PLACES THAT INSPIRE
Notes from the Clouds
Morne Trois Pitons, Dominica
By Zachariah Brown
Zachariah Brown, @35.ism is a photographer and quiet observer of everyday beauty. Join him in Dominica’s Morne Trois Pitons National Park: a place of steep climbs, sudden rain, black sand beaches, and endless green. What starts as a search for waterfalls becomes something deeper: a meditation on nature, preservation, and the perspective found from above.
“The Nature Island.” I’d seen it everywhere. Hand painted by children on the side of elementary schools, on murals in the small but bustling capital of Roseau, and even on a paper
menu as I browsed over stewed goat and fried breadfruit. The tourism slogan for the tiny Caribbean island of Dominica was hard to ignore. Even more so, it was hard to deny.
“The Nature Island.” I’d seen it everywhere. Hand painted by children on the side of elementary schools, on murals in the small but bustling capital of Roseau, and even on a paper menu as I browsed over stewed goat and fried breadfruit. The tourism slogan for the tiny Caribbean island of Dominica was hard to ignore. Even more so, it was hard to deny.
My traveling companions and I had been on the isle for two days, and already we felt inundated by the natural world. Parrots called from the treetops over our morning coffee. Frogs croaked in chorus under a clearly visible and sparkling Orion’s belt at night.
Butterflies swarmed us in the many gardens, and agoutis (medium sized rodents with a funny gait and a penchant for trying to run under the wheels of your rental cars) hunched roadside in the early dusk. Flowers bloomed, every color, every shape, everywhere.
Our plans for this Thursday were a bit more serious. We swam in the ocean from black sand beaches, and explored the streets of Roseau where roadside sellers peddled fresh pressed cane juice and woven baskets.
But today we wanted waterfalls. We wanted vibrant greens, cloud-drenched mountains. We wanted to damn near break our legs. So we hopped in the car and headed to Morne Trois Pitons.
Dominica is a country of national parks; 5 to be exact, with the largest three comprising over 20% of the entire country (for comparison, the USA is, at the most generous estimates, 3.7%). Morne Trois Pitons is without question the prize jewel. A massive park, it spans much of the north of the island, holding the highest peak Morne Diablotins, an active volcano that reaches almost 5,000 ft.
We left our hostel near the famous hot springs of Wotten Waven with the aim to scale. The drive was rough. My friend had gotten an international driver’s permit; Dominican’s drive on the left-hand side of the road and after many honks and calls to “Hold your side, brother!” he had gotten somewhat of a hang of it. But the climb up the backroads, pitted and steep, through sugarcane and mists, was nonetheless uncomfortable and at other times, downright scary. My abs hurt now just thinking about it.
After climbing in our beaten 4×4, we made it. The entrance to the park was marked by a tiny trailhead. Off to the side, hummingbirds buzzed in a blooming bushes. Antillean-crested, Green-throated carib, Lesser Antillean – we learned the names later, but at the time just enjoyed the commotion. It had rained nearly every other hour of every day we had been in Dominica. Today was no different.
As the storm clouds moved in, we climbed onto the trail. The greenery was immediate, the shades shocking. Broad leaves dripped with water. Mushrooms sprouted on fallen logs – guaranteeing new life where once was death. The trail was steep, but Dominican coffee (and the rum we had spiked it with) is strong. A few slips in the mud were no deterrent.
Passing through trees that were hundreds of years old, their roots intent on tripping us, I had to imagine the future of Morne Trois. Dominica is a country uniquely committed to environmental preservation – I had barely seen a speck of litter around, even in the city.
Still, we live in a world where conservation is in peril. As I glanced up at the stately canopy, nearly half a mile above my head, I had to wonder – when does a forest become more valuable by prospect than intrinsically.
My mind was cleared as our group reached the overlook. 5 miles in, 4,000 feet up. The end of the trail. Clouds formed over the trees, below us and above. The showers waned and birdsong filled the valley. The top of the world gave us just a moment.
Of course, the rain returned. Back in the car, we diverted to Syndicate Falls, where we swam in the frigid dark blue waters. Every sound was drowned out – every concern washed away.
At a small, roadside bar on the way back to the hostel, we purchased shots of “bush rum”; local spirits infused with herbs. I chose lemon balm, but my friend and my partner went for the ganja. Can’t blame them.
Dominica is many things, but as countries go, it’s surprisingly consistent. The people know exactly what they have, and its value. The rain knows when to come, and the birds know when to sing. The falls? They know exactly how to treat a sweaty tourist with aching joints. And the government knows what a good tourist campaign sounds like:
“The Nature Island.” I’m convinced.
From SIELA,
A shout out to Zach for trusting and sharing his experience with us all.
If this story stirred something in you, a sense of awe, a deeper reverence for nature, or a quiet question about what we choose to protect, hold onto it. Let it remind you that perspective can shift everything, especially when we allow ourselves to climb a little higher and look closer.
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