Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
It was time to leave the engine problem and explore some of the island, meet the dogs, per-
haps meet the poor Swiss girl who had fallen out the coconut tree, and maybe bump into
the owners of Southern Star. The dogs were waiting for us and started yipping and yelping
before we had landed on shore. We had brought them some food, and the two medium sized
brown and white mutts had jumped into the dinghy and gave us the warmest, wettest wel-
come we could ever have asked for. We made a big fuss over the two of them and stepped
ashore to see the island; the dogs took the lead.
It was very green and lush with tropical plants, pandanas, forests of cool coconut groves,
and large leafy trees that provided a dense canopy over most of the island. There was a well
worn path that branched off to various parts of the island. The path was crunchy and white
with dead, sun bleached coral. It almost looked as though it had been man-made, perhaps
it had. The island had changed hands many times throughout its history. During the Second
World War, the US used it as a base for fuel and ammunition. There were the rusty remains
of old lorries and jeeps, fuel barrels, and storage buildings. There was even a huge under-
ground tank that still contained thousands of gallons of contaminated fuel. Nobody used it
though, as it was too old and suspect.
Soon we were at a crossroad in the coral path; I turned right, and Gavin and the dogs carried
on straight. My path wound around through the cool green forest and I came upon a rope
that had been attached across the path. I looked beyond and saw an old, rusty iron roof over
what appeared to be a large concrete water tank. I stepped over the rope and pressed on.
Sure enough it was the massive, old water tank I had read about, topped up permanently
with the constant rain falling on the old iron roof, continually topping up the tank with cold
freshwater. I saw an old shower rose with tap, and cranked it open. An ice cold torrent of
water hissed out. I would definitely be back for a shower later.
I looked around and followed the little path to a copse of trees and bushes and came across
a large, rusty, old bath with an ancient gate valve poised overhead. As it squealed open, a
stream of cold water thundered out into the bath. I could see that it would fill in a matter of
minutes and determined to have a cool bath as well, when it was very hot. I saw now the
purpose of the rope “gate” across the path when someone was having a shower or bath.
I retraced my footsteps and followed the path that Gavin and the dogs had taken. I ended
up on one of the loveliest half-moon beaches I had ever seen. It was deserted apart from
Gavin and his new friends; the immediate ocean out to the protective reef was calm and
green in color. Lazy palm trees stooped down and kissed the placid seawater, their reflec-
tions almost perfect in the afternoon gloom. I saw and heard the white breakers out towards
the reef where they thundered and fetched up harmlessly on the reef. This would be ideal
to continue my jogging habit I had acquired, running six miles a day with rock weights in
my hands.
