The Marauding Caterpillar - Part One of Day Six of a British Virgin Islands Adventure

Attention!  Pictures have been added to this post - hooray!

Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers:

This is part seven of the epic saga of my vacation in the British Virgin Islands.  Today's blog post is "Part One of Day Six" - so yes, part seven, part one, day six ... lots of numbers going around here.  But I suspect you are calm enough and mature enough to handle it.    

You can find other blog posts about the British Virgin Islands and Yacht Promenade, the sailing charter, by clicking on the links on the left-hand side of the blog.  If my blog were a boat, that would be the port-side, people.  Look, I'm a sailor!    

When Squidge and I went to sleep Wednesday night, she informed me of two things - One - that Mr. Cucaracha (the cockroach-like bug in our room) did not deserve a name.  Squidge apparently has a zero tolerance stance on kindness toward insects.  And number two -- to make sure I wake her up for breakfast.  Evidently Squidge must have known that our Valentine's Day breakfast would be Eggs Benedict.  

When we were on Salt Island on Wednesday, I realized that we had not been on land since Sunday.  Surprisingly I did not miss it at all!  It was a beautiful morning in the BVI for the start of Valentine's Day.  Living on a sailboat, the temperatures tend to be up to 10 degrees cooler than on land and no mosquitos.  In other words, heaven.  The breezes off the water are like having your own personal cabana boy fanning you at all times.  OK, maybe not as slick as that ... but darn close.  

Captain Chad took the dinghy to the dock of Salt Island and was jumping rope while we ate our Eggs Benedict.  I found the idea of eating rich Hollandaise sauce while a tan, buff man works out to be quite decadent.  Actually from the angle I was sitting on the boat, I couldn't see Captain Chad working out while I ate my roasted potatoes and Eggs Benedict.  My tablemates relayed the play by play of Chad's morning workout.  Which was probably better for me - my heart can't handle BOTH rich Hollandaise sauce AND a fluffy-haired, good-looking man working out in front of me.  My cardiovascular system is just not that strong!

Since the sea glass hunt was slim pickings on Wednesday, Captain Chad had offered to take us to Haulover Bay on Cooper Island for what he deemed to be some "good beach combing."  My inner slug told me to stay on the boat, but Squidge was going to go beach combing - so I decided that I should do the sisterly thing and join along - even though I am almost done with my Tyler Hamilton book and really wanted to just lay on the bow and finish it.

Chad and Jessica took us on the dinghy over to Cooper Island.  The shore at Haulover Bay is filled with large rocks and we slowly motored the dinghy in trying to find the best spot to jump off on to the rocks, as there was no way to land the dinghy on the beach without cutting up the motor and the bottom of the dinghy.  

We aimed for some rocks that look the least slimy and slick.  Jessica hopped out the dinghy like a seasoned pro and pulled the rope line to keep it steady as we tentatively climbed out upon the large sun-baked boulders.  

Having the grace and elegance of a herd of rhinos wearing ill-fitting ballet shoes, I am always scared of falling on my face when jumping in and out of the dinghy.  Perhaps in my next life, I will have a better sense of balance - but in this one, I am a weeble wobble that likes to fall down ... a lot.

All six guests managed to make it out of the dinghy without injury of pride or body.  Captain Chad had told us to cut through the mangroves to the beach on the other side of the island to find the "spectacular beach" with "good beach combing."  The first time I went on a hike with the crew of the Yacht Promenade back in 2007, Richard the 6'5" Brit, brought a machete.  I looked over at blonde, tan, young, significantly shorter Jessica and wondered if she was hiding a machete in her bikini.  

The ground on this particular stretch of Cooper Island is not so much dirt but an ever-shifting slippery minefield of old coral and jagged rock.  You had to be careful of where you stepped because you could inadvertently cause a mini avalanche - and the only victims of the rock slide would be your bare feet.  Squidge and I wore our aqua shoes- which did have a suitable rubber bottom, but if you landed on a piece of jagged coral the wrong way you could definitely feel it through your shoe.  I walked delicately and carefully at about one mile an hour.  

Up ahead the "path" (a term I use very loosely) wound through the mangroves - gnarled, dried out bush-style trees weaved over the rocks like a wicked witch's bony, sharp fingers clasping with glee at the thought of a fattened Hansel and Gretel for dinner.  

We bent over to avoid the slivered, aged wood while still trying to find the stable pieces of coral to step upon.  We looked like a marching army of tentative stepping hunchbacks.  We were a line of well-nourished Gretels slowly ambling to their doom.  Being almost 5'9" even when I bend over, I am quite tall.  I could feel the sharp branches scraping my rash guard shirt.  If the witch's fingers were checking if I was plump enough for eating, I could almost hear the wind cackling "DINNER'S SERVED!"  

We continued to make our way through the rocks, coral, piercing trees and thorny foliage.  With each step you could hear the coral falling in a cascade of hollow scraping and clanking.  Before setting my foot down, I would survey the ashen, sun-bleached coral and wonder "Is this the right foothold?  Will this rock stay steady and hold my weight or will this choice be the one that sets a rockslide in motion and twists my ankle?"  

In the beginning of the trip, I am always ubercautious of doing anything that would ruin my trip.  I slather sunscreen on, wear cover ups and am incredibly careful to not get hurt.  By the end of the trip, I'll be jumping around like a howler monkey on crack.  But at the beginning of a trip, I walk like a little old church-loving granny.

To help balance our walking on shifting rock, we tried to gingerly hold on to the dried out branches above us.  Unfortunately the branches were so covered in slivers that they resembled porcupines.  The patchwork of dead tree limbs were also deceiving.  You could not tell which branches were actually attached to a tree and which ones were fallen driftwood, until you grabbed one with the bulk of your weight and found it slipping away, leaving you unsupported and pitched forward.

Eventually all seven of us (six guests and Jessica), made it through to the other side of Cooper Island.  Despite my Steinbeck-esque description, I will fess up that it was about a 5-10 minute walk - not the epic odyssey you might believe from my words.  We could now stand upright after crawling through the mangroves and witch fingers.  We were on a stretch of beach with the most glorious waters ... and the most glorious garbage.  

Captain Chad had sent us to the Garbage Beach.  

It was the windward side of the island, so everything and anything that was blown off boats (or sadly dumped from boats) ended up here.  Flip flops, a torn up fisherman's boot, frayed ropes, netting and a zillion water bottles were strewn across the jagged rocks.  I was suddenly in an anti-pollution, pro-recycling television commercial.  

Being a complete diva, I was annoyed that I had not listened to my inner slug and stayed on the boat.  I had walked like a hunchback and dared a thousand slivers for THIS?  The others set about combing the rocks for hidden treasure.  I stood indignantly on the shifting coral and pouted.  I spent an impoverished childhood dumpster diving for "treasure."  I knew there was nothing to be found on this beach!  Eventually I would start taking pictures - there were baby sea shells attached to everything.  I saw a coconut with shells attached.  If I would not be taking away treasure from this beach, I would at least take away good pictures.

While I had given up on collecting any treasure, Squidge was taken her role as scavenger seriously.  She combed the entire length of the garbage field - um, I mean rock beach - and squatted down between the corals, combing every inch.  I took pictures of her with my zoom and admired her tenacity, but chose not to follow in her footsteps.

Between the entire gang, two pieces of sea glass were collected from Cooper Island.  Squidge found a couple neat seashells.  On the way back, Miss B shouted out to Miss M - "By your foot!  It's moving!  LOOK!  LOOK!"  

Miss M froze and surveyed the area around her.  By the urgency in Miss B's voice, it was quite clear that there must be a cross between Godzilla and the Loch Ness Monster behind Miss M.  But after ardent scanning, no sea beast could be found.  

Miss B kept shouting "LOOK!  RIGHT THERE! BETWEEN THE ROCKS!"  

I kept my eyes peeled on the rocks and saw nothing.  Finally Miss B said "LOOK - LOOK - it's a caterpillar."  Miss M started laughing -- all this commotion for a caterpillar!  She kept walking, seemingly glad that she had so easily avoided this "near encounter with catastrophe."  

I looked down where Miss B was pointing and sure enough - a big, fat caterpillar with a blazing red head was twisting itself like a slinky through the rocks.  I chuckled and took a few pictures.  

Miss B kept walking and soon I was alone with the caterpillar and my camera.  The caterpillar raised itself up as if looking around to see if we were truly alone.  After it determined we were, it straighten its body out into a long, skinnier line and then started charging toward me.  Evidently, this caterpillar was sick of the paparazzi and it was going to go all John McEnroe or Mel Gibson on me.  I straightened up and skipped off between the fast shifting coral pieces to avoid an ass-beating from a red-headed caterpillar.

I was soon back at Haulover Bay.  Miss M and Miss B were splashing in the clear water pools between the boulders, oblivious to the fact that we were almost killed by a marauding caterpillar.  I decided not to share the news that we had narrowly escaped death's hungry clutches and instead stripped off my rashguard and stepped into the cool water.  Everything is sweeter after you avoid death by caterpillar.

The rest of our Garbage Beach scouting party eventually joined us.  Captain Chad came back out on the dinghy and we gingerly climbed the boulders and cautiously leaped in.  

We motored back to the Yacht Promenade.  Squidge showed me the shells she had collected and I showed her the pictures of the homicidal caterpillar.  Captain Chad asked how our treasure hunting went - we looked at him and said "GARBAGE BEACH!"    He said "So for your beach COMBING, you want a perfectly pristine beach that only has the treasures you're looking for on it?"  I looked him dead in the eye and said "YES!"

Captain Chad looked back at me with what some may say is pity and derision, but I am going to reclassify it and say he was looking at me with admiration and a soft, melty crush.  Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friends ... 

For lunch, we had teriyaki chicken caesar pitas.  I think Captain Chad was on a fusion kick - creamy Caesar salad with bacon pieces layered with pineapple and teriyaki chicken in fluffy pita pockets.  A combination I probably would not have ever come up with, but it was interesting and hearty.  And after nearly dying at the multitude of hands (feet?) of a caterpillar, I was happy for the meal.

During lunch, we began motoring to the island of Virgin Gorda - the fat Virgin.  Squidge and I would be going to "The Baths" while the rest of the boat would go toward the SCUBA spots and meet us at Leverick Bay later.

Check in tomorrow for Part Two of Day Six ... The Baths and a very special Valentine's Evening ...