From the top of a hill in Barbados, I could see the Caribbean waves breaking over the rocks and the reefs. The water was so turquoise, the sand so white. I could have stood there for hours, staring out to sea.
But that would have been avoiding the problem staring me in the face.
I had to get off that hill. It hadn’t been an easy climb up, and the way down looked even more daunting. I turned to my companion, Bruce Rudder, a 59-year-old Bajan (or Barbadian) farmer. He pointed to a narrow path of white clay, studded with roots and branches, that led to the beach below.
A very long, very steep path.
My heart lurched, and I gave him a panicked look.
But Bruce had spent his entire life hiking this terrain. “There’s no other way,” he assured me. “Trust me. I will get you down.”
We were six hours into the Colin Hudson Great Train Hike, the highlight of the local hiking calendar. Bajans are passionate about hiking, thanks to the late Hudson, an environmentalist who in 1983 began leading morning, afternoon and evening hikes on the island every Sunday. Hudson died in 2004, but the weekly hikes remain popular with locals and tourists alike.
“He was a great innovator and a great environmentalist,” said William Gollop, head of the Barbados National Trust, which now runs the hikes. “This is a great memorial to him.”
The hikes are intended to show locals and tourists that there’s more to Barbados than beaches. Cane fields, gullies and tropical forests also contribute to the island’s rugged landscape. “We want you to enjoy the natural world,” Gollop said. “It’s education and pleasure combined.”
Usually, the hikes cover 5- to 14- mile stretches of the former route of Barbados’ now-defunct rail system, which transported sugar cane from Bridgetown to Belleplaine, on the eastern side of the island. But once a year, in February, hikers trace the entire 24-mile route, as Hudson did.
I wanted to do the hike to see the island and mingle with the locals in a way few tourists do. I’d thought that I might actually be able to cover all 24 miles — lots of people can’t make it — but now I wasn’t so sure.
Bruce grabbed my backpack, flung it over his shoulder and took my hand.
“Will we make it?” I asked nervously as we began our descent.
“Nobody dies in Barbados,” he said firmly.
We’d gathered for the hike in Independence Square in Bridgetown at 5:30 that morning, more than 300 people, most wearing hats and backpacks, and all abuzz with excitement.
Gollop pulled out a loudspeaker. “Take it in stride,” he instructed. “I know some of you want to challenge yourselves and do it in four hours, but that’s impossible.”
At 6 a.m., he blew the whistle, and we set off, walking in one huge pack.
“I’ve always wanted to travel the train,” said Barbados resident Arriett Goody. Goody had filled her backpack with enough energy bars and water to make it to the end.
I quickly lost her in the crush, though, and started chatting with two local artists named Benita and Gena. The two women hike at least once a week and were used to walking. “Here in Barbados, everyone is a walk away,” said Gena.
The two credited Hudson for showing Bajans how environmentally rich their land is. His mantra was “renew and recycle,” and he was known to teach Bajans such environmentally friendly tricks as turning an old tire into a planter. Not only did he start the popular hikes, but he also helped develop the modern sugar cane harvester. British by birth but Bajan by heart, Hudson became fascinated with Barbados while studying agriculture at Cambridge University. During his 43 years on the island, he fought against its overdevelopment.
The sun rose dramatically overhead as we walked through flat neighborhoods. The yellow arrows marking our route took us into the sugar-cane fields of St. George parish.
The large pack had broken up by then, and hikers were strung out along the route in smaller groups. I started falling behind the group I was with as I struggled to make it through the tall cane. Caylen, a 20-something loan officer with whom I’d earlier struck up a conversation, abandoned his friends to help me.
“There’s a camaraderie in hiking,” he insisted when I told him not to wait for me.
We pushed through the cane. Caylen broke off a stalk and handed it to me, urging me to suck on the tip. It was a lovely treat after more than an hour of walking.
Our group finally arrived at the closed Bulkeley Sugar Factory, which some locals are pushing to turn into a sugar museum. We were 6 miles into our hike, and we needed a break.
“No matter how long you’ve lived here, it is still beautiful,” Gena said as we gazed at the farmland.
We resumed the hike, walking past a one-story house in the middle of a field. Two men came out to wave at us. “See how many people I brought you,” shouted out Gollop, who at 64 seemed more fit than I am.
“This is a great way to see the locals,” he said, turning to me.
We snaked past oil refineries, natural-gas pipelines and tamarind trees. Caylen pointed out sweet-potato crops. Then he turned my attention to the mahogany trees, tall and wide and reddish-brown. “The school that I went to used to have these trees,” he said, looking nostalgic.
In the countryside
We were now in St. Philip, the largest of Barbados’ 11 parishes. This southeastern parish is what the locals consider the “country.” We walked past the Bushy Park Plantation, where race-car drivers from around the world compete. Then we took another break at what had once been the Carrington railway station. We had gone 9 miles and it was not yet 9 a.m. The sun was beating more strongly, and we were all thirsty and sweaty. But we didn’t linger long.
I started chatting with Laon Lionel, another bank employee and a regular hiker. “When you do these hikes, you come across things you wouldn’t expect to see,” he said. “Not all of it is pretty. This takes you beyond.”
In fact, some of the homes we passed were small and rundown, with gritty front yards. Not the usual tourist views.
We made it to the coast shortly after 10 a.m. At Consett Bay in the parish of St. John, we walked up a hill under a canopy of trees whose branches were so long and thin that I was tempted to swing from one. That’s where I met Bruce, who was staring up at the trees deep in thought. “The last time I was here I was 15,” he told me.
I liked Bruce’s spunky attitude and stuck close to him, as did locals Angela Lynch, a travel consultant, and Christina Sandiford, a student. There was no question whom we would turn to when we came to a fork in the road. “Bruce!” we shouted in unison.
“Turn left,” he instructed.
We were all tired and hot, but Bruce encouraged us to continue. He was full of energy. “I’ll come back for dinner,” he shouted, waving his green cap at a man lounging on his deck.
We reached a bluff that offered a spectacular view of the beach. At the bottom of another hill, I pushed through my fatigue and climbed. At the top of that hill, we reached another fork. Right, Bruce instructed. “Go toward the sun.”
We hiked down a narrow, tree- lined path and up another hill for several minutes, Angela and Christina several paces in front. Bruce, thankfully, was still behind me.
Then came the hill. And the steep clay path that seemed to fall perpendicularly about a third of a mile downward to the beach. I froze. It looked as though hiking was suddenly to become rappelling without a rope.
“I’ll go first,” said Bruce, looking not at all concerned.
I took a deep breath and put all my faith in a Bajan farmer I had just met. Somehow, I trusted him. There is a camaraderie in hiking, after all.
I stayed close behind Bruce as we made our way down, holding on to roots and branches to keep from sliding to the bottom. Bruce tested each handhold before telling me which ones to grasp. Christina and Angela had made it to the beach and were shouting encouragement.
“I’m not going to leave you,” Bruce kept telling me.
It took us at least 30 minutes to make it to the bottom. Angela and Christina ran up, and we all hugged in triumph.
My knees were covered in scrapes, but I didn’t mind. Despite the scare, I was feeling accomplished. I’d done what I had set out to do. I’d seen more of the island, both the good and the bad, than most tourists do. And I had gotten to interact with the residents in a way I never would have had I stayed at a resort.
But I was tired and decided that 16 miles was enough for me. Bruce, Angela and Christina were determined to finish the hike. I wished them luck, exchanged contact information and bade them farewell. Then I grabbed lunch with some other hikers who had also opted not to complete the route.
Days later, I got an e-mail from Bruce. He wanted to let me know that he had made it to the end of the trail. At the bottom of the message he’d signed off: “Your Guardian Angel.”
Barbados Insider’s Guide
Stay: The Crane Residential Resort, Crane, St. Philip, 246-423- 6220, . Resort overlooking Crane Beach with pools, restaurants, shops, an art gallery and a general store. Rates from $228.
Coral Reef Club, Porters, St. James, 246-422-2372, . Family-owned resort with 12 acres of landscaped gardens. Rates from $232.
Sea-U Guest House, Tent Bay, Bathsheba, St. Joseph, 246-433- 9450, . Colonial-style inn with lovely views of the ocean. Most of the simple rooms have shared balconies. Rates from $109.
Eat: Round House Inn Restaurant and Bar, Bathsheba, St. Joseph, 246-433-9678, . Casual restaurant with outdoor seating overlooking the ocean, serving local delicacies such as breadfruit soup and flying fish. Dinner entrees from $21.
Spago Restaurant and Bar, Second Street, Holetown, St. James, 246-432-7394, . Italian restaurant in the heart of Holetown. Pastas and pizzas from $12.
Sand Dunes Bar and Restaurant, Lower East Coast Road, St. Andrew, 246-422-9427. Tucked-away open wooden house with a big patio serving Bajan cuisine from $5.
Play: Hike Barbados, 246-228- 8027, . Free Sunday hikes. The morning hike starts at 6 a.m., the afternoon hike at 3:30 p.m. and the Moonlight Walk at 5:30 p.m. Meeting places vary each week.
George Washington House, Bush Hill, the Garrison, St. Michael, 246-228-5461, . The house where Washington stayed during his visit to Barbados in 1751 is now a museum. Open Monday- Friday 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. $10.
Welchman Hall Gully, Welchman Hall, St. Thomas, 246-438- 6671, . Hike through this tropical forest formed by the collapsed roofs of caves.
More info:
Nancy Trejos
