Text & Photos by Shirley Brown
Looking through the window of the small plane, I see a volcanic mountain, crowned with white clouds, rise in our path. An audible gasp comes from the passengers as the plane heads straight for a craggy cliff then banks to the left and smoothly lands halfway along the diminutive runway. Looking back from the cockpit, the pilot grins and with a wink announces "Welcome to Saba."
Saba: Latitude 17.3 North, Longitude 63.1 West
Saba, a tiny Dutch island of five square miles, was formed from volcanic action that created the Windward and Leeward Island chain. The island rises straight up from the sea to a 2,984-foot rain-forest peak then plunges down into the protected waters of the marine park. Saba does not have beaches, but it does have spectacular scenery. It is home to 1,200 of the friendliest folks in the Caribbean. They live in one of four pretty villages nestled against steep slopes and connected by a single road. Saba is self governed with a resident Governor representing the Queen of the Netherlands. The official language is Dutch, but everyone speaks English. Every inch of "the rock" above and below water is an ecologist's dream.
To preserve the pristine underwater environment the Saba Conservation Foundation formed the Saba Marine Park (SMP) in 1987. Chairperson of the foundation, Tom van't Hof, a marine biologist from Holland, is responsible for establishing marine parks at Bonaire, Curacao, and Saba. Tom informed me that plans are now underway for establishing a land park incorporating the Elfin Forest.
With so much natural beauty, it's no wonder that tourists return to enjoy the diving, hiking, and peaceful atmosphere. Poets fall in love with the island, some return to live and become part of the community. Saba has schools, a modern hospital, retirement home, and a newly opened Saba University of Medicine in the capital, The Bottom.
A single road, built by hand, twists up and around impossibly steep slopes to the villages of The Bottom, St. John's, Windwardside, and Hellsgate. The Saban architecture of tiny white, red-roofed houses with green trim and gardens full of flowers graces the countryside. The road winds down to the water at Ft. Bay harbor, a busy place with a daily supply boat, dive boats, and sailboats unloading and loading. Once a week the live-aboard dive boat MV Caribbean Explorer and the Windjammer Polynesia bring divers for a tour of the island.
In earlier times all supplies came by sea to Ladder Bay and were ferried ashore and carried up steep steps to The Bottom.
Hurricane Countdown:
Luis: Latitude 14.0 North, Longitude 39 West, Speed 14 mph
The eerie sound of minuscule crickets wakens me to a spectacular view of the mountain above and the blue of the sea 1,000 feet below. The morning sounds of the road sweepers (the road is swept every day) and birds' songs draw me from the view. A glorious day to climb to the Elfin Forest at Mt. Scenery. Glen Holm of the Saba Tourist Board drives me to the beginning of the steps; on the way he tells of the location of Hurricane Luis. All thoughts of Luis disappear as I begin the climb.
The Saba Conservation Foundation maintains the many trails throughout the island, some following original pathways. A delighted Glen tells me of a donation of a tract of land near the old sulfur trail. The park is becoming a reality.
The Elfin Forest is crammed with tropical foliage, lichens, and beautiful flowers. Tiny yellow black-eyed Susans are dwarfed by giant heliconia. Giant elephant ears and philodendrons fight for space among trees covered with bromeliads. Climbing steeper, I almost step on a harmless black snake. Stopping for a rest at a wooden shelter, I share a moment with a battalion of green humming birds and watch the spotted anoles lizards scatter in all directions. Indigenous to Saba, these lizards are the subject of research. I am startled by a huge green iguana.
I continue to the canopy of tree ferns that gives way to the twisted branches of the red mountain mahogany. Covered with ferns and mosses, they resemble gigantic flower baskets. Through breaks in the mist and foliage, I see Statia and St. Kitts. Exhilarated and tired, I return to the Cottage Club where my host Dean Hassel has an update on Luis.
Luis: Latitude 17.2 North,
Longitude 51.2 West,
Speed 15 mph
The weather is the calm before the storm, and the island is battening down for Luis. At Ft. Bay harbor, fishermen are bringing their boats to shore and securing them high on land.
At the Saba Marine Park office I am warmly greeted by park manager and my friend Kenny Buchan, an affable Scot who joined the park after earning a master's degree in tropical coastal management at the University of Newcastle, England.
Kenny is assisted in his many duties by Percy Ten Holt and conservation-conscious volunteers. The funding for the park comes from private and public sources, including the Saban government, World Wildlife Fund, retail sales, dive and membership fees. In 1994, the park won the Caribbean Conservation Association achievement award. A hyperbaric facility at Ft. Bay is operated by the SMP, aided by trained volunteers and the students of the medical school.
The park extends around the entire island from the high tide mark to a depth of 200 feet and includes the offshore pinnacles. The three island dive operators and the live-aboard dive boat crew help with the moorings and educate divers in preservation of the marine ecosystem. The SMP presents slide shows, distributes newsletters, and encourages research in fish populations, coral monitoring, and other projects. There is a plan for more moored dive sites and greater involvement with the schools.
Saba's diverse dive sites, sea
mounts, wall, and reefs, are suitable for both novice and expert divers. Depths range from
40 feet to more than 130 feet with a topography similar to the craggy peaks. The variety
of marine life and invertebrates is astonishing. In the past, I have seen humpback whales
cruising the park during the winter months. On the deep pinnacles, the healthy coral
growth is phenomenal, and it's not uncommon to see several turtles on one dive. At one of
my favorite dive sites, two 70-feet deep pinnacles called Man-o-War Shoals, the clouds of
fish and sponges create a constant kaleidoscope of color. Yet another favorite spot, Tent
Reef Wall, is home to a red hind named "George." Non-divers enjoy the snorkeling
trail through ancient lava tunnels at Torrens Point.
What will Luis do to the park?
Luis: Latitude 17.4 North, Longitude 63.5 West,
Speed 15 mph
I'm invited to stay with Jack Buchannan and his wife Ruth during the storm. Jack is the dean of the Saba University. Sitting in the light of hurricane lamps, we play solitaire and listen as the wind hits the island at 140 mph. I am grateful that the Sabans build their houses to withstand hurricanes. Faxes arrive with updates until the lines go dead. Luis is big, 136 miles across, winds in excess of 140 mph. Through a crackling radio, we hear that St. Martin is getting the brunt of the storm. In Saba, the waves are crashing over the airport 150 feet above sea level. It is a long night and an equally long day.
The day after Luis, the foliage and flowers are gone or wind-burned. The landscape has the look of winter. Debris is everywhere. The whole community is out clearing the roads and repairing buildings. At Ft. Bay the waves are 15 feet high, and during the hurricane, they lifted one-ton rocks like jacks. In front of SMP's building is a mass of boulders and the road is washed out. People have congregated here to share tales of the storm. News about St. Martin--not good, Antigua--not good, St. Kitts --not known, Statia--O.K.
Within three days the island has power and water. The Saban community has worked hard to return the island to near normal. Through ham radio, we learn of the massive devastation in St. Martin, where many locals are desperately seeking information of loved ones. In the hurricane anchorage of Simpson Bay in St. Martin, only 200 boats are floating out of 1,500. We heard that Sea Saba lost a boat, the island's supply boat went aground, and the Caribbean Explorer had difficulties.
Three days after Luis, I joined Kenny and the folks at Saba Deep for a diving reconnaissance of the Saba Marine Park. Relieved to find the mooring intact, we ventured a dive at Man-o-War Shoals. The bottom of the pinnacle appeared to be five feet deeper. The sand had washed away, exposing fossilized coral around the base. Some of the anemones were missing, and the barrel sponges were sliced in half. Schools of blue tangs and rock beauties patrolled the reef looking for the eggs of the sergeant major fish. Lack of fish hidey holes had increased the variety of fish out in the open.
On sites nearer the shore, the elk horns were broken, but the sea fans were still healthy and standing. There was damage to the coral but it was not as bad as in hurricane Hugo. At Tent Reef Wall, George, the red hind, was still sitting in his sponge.
Four days after Luis, I landed in St. Martin on my way home. It was like landing in a war zone. The airport is near Simpson Bay, and I could see boats smashed everywhere. Sailboats were corded like wood, million-dollar yachts were tossed across the road. Armed Dutch Marines patrolled the roads to prevent looting. I looked around and saw rebuilding and the vegetation turning green. A little girl shared a giggle as she cuddled a kitten. The islands are recovering.
Saba already has.
On reaching Panama City, Florida we heard the news of Hurricane Opal--Latitude 23.1 North, Longitude 90.4 North, Speed 8 mph!
Free-lance photographer/writer Shirley Brown lives in Panama City, Florida, where Hurricane Opal paid a call.