animals

      During my St. John newspaper career I have written articles about a variety of animals;
feathered and scaly, four-legged and humanoid. Bird-watching and fish-counting have intrigued
me enough to put pen to paper. I’ve reflected upon sightings of fresh, chain-smoking weirdos
and elusive, ship-jumping pumas. Elephants, monkeys, goat-boys, hummingbirds and aging
rock icons have all made appearances in my paragraphs. This place is, among other things, a
nature-lovers paradise. There’s a lot of nature out there, if you dare leave the air-conditioning.

Last week, I enjoyed my annual BVI sailing adventure with friends from Virginia. This tradition
started twenty-five years ago when “Drunken Billy” and I introducing Mr. Miller to the nauseating
combination of Heinekin beers and Sage Mountain mushrooms. But that’s another story.
Thanks to the hassles of Homeland Security and the policies of the V.I. Government, a vast
majority of cruising vacations start (and stay) in the British Virgin Islands. So, to join my
companions, I rode with Captain Ashley on a run over to West end, Tortola.

It didn’t take long to spot the first curious animal. Rounding Lind Point, the ferry barely up to
speed, I saw him: St. John’s shaggy sentinel. He’s a handsome, white ram goat with a perplexing
fascination with the shoreline. Check it out next time you pass on ferry. I swear he’s been there
for twenty years. He ranges from the rocks of Cruz Bay to further around the corner by the first
stony beach. He appears to be waiting for a school of fry with the intention of pouncing on it like
a pelican. But that’s absurd. Maybe he just likes watching the waves. Many of us do. My source
in the National Park Service says he’s been spared the Goat Eradication Program, so he joins
the ranks of other horny bachelors who are allowed to roam free here in Love City.

Once aboard our Hunter 42, we motored uphill to North Sound, Virgin Gorda. These gray
blustery days seem to be conducive to flying fish sightings and there were hundreds of them
skipping across the tops of the whitecaps. A giant ray broke the surface and plunged back into
the briny. Nurse sharks circled lazily in a cage at the Bitter End. But, these are animals I’ve seen
many times before. It wasn’t until we arrived at Anegada that a new species caught my eye.

If you’re not comfortable doing little or nothing, don’t go to Anegada. But if a dose of pleasant
catatonia strikes your fancy, head north. Anegada is only about twenty-eight feet above sea
level at its highest point and the view from the back of the taxi is virtually unobstructed as you’re
chauffeured around. At this time of year, there appears to be at least one friendly driver/guide
per visitor. Our driver was Mitch who spoke incredibly fast, which struck me as strange because
it seemed there was little to talk about. At a blistering pace he explained about the flamingos.

Flamingos, the pink, shrimp eaters that adorn trailer park lawns in plastic effigy, have been
introduced to the wilds of the island with great success. They number in excess of one hundred,
but since they all look exactly alike there could be many more or much less. They were raised,
as hatchlings, and the flock flourished. They populate the inland salt ponds that dot the island,
particularly on the eastern end. They are nesting now, so we could only glimpse them from afar.
Unanswerable was the question of why they were brought to Anegada in the first place.

Another curious choice of animal immigrant is the iguana. Why anyone would possibly want to
encourage a population of these ugly reptiles is a good question. At least flamingos are pretty. I’
m reminded of a time, many years ago, when a friend told me of her job at the Grenada Zoo.
“We have a pair of armadillos,” she reported. I gave up wondering about people’s animal
fancies at that time. Apparently, the mini-dragons have had less success than their feathered
neighbors. They are still relegated to their breeding cages.

Also in cages are the famous lobsters. This is off-season for Anegada lobsters and the price of
a dinner ($45) reflects the shortage. They’re still good and any trip to the island should include
at least one crustaceous feast. There’s no better way to ingest melted butter than to swab it into
your mouth dripping from chunks of tender lobster meat.

Indigenous to the island is the lonesome bartender, a sullen breed that once alerted to your
presence, is spurred to shuffle toward a groaning beer cooler and retrieve you a bottle. Beer
should be served at thirty-seven degrees but a figure nearly twice that is widely accepted in
many places. Politeness prevents one from commenting on this sad state of affairs. A chest of
ice is a required item while touring Anegada.

One day we employed the knowledgeable services of Garfield Faulkner of Garfield’s Guides.
With his brother, Kevin, he transports bone fish anglers across the knee-deep waters of the
flats south and east of the settlement. Bone fish are prized prey for fly fishermen to catch and
release and are in abundance thereabouts. Those dark spots in milky water are bone fish
stirring up the white sand in a relentless search for tiny shrimp. As we raced across the
turquoise green lagoon, we rousted a number of other marine animals, including a nine-foot
lemon shark, which we circled back to harass. Turtles and rays are plentiful there, as well.

The purpose of our day with Garfield was to explore the infamous Horseshoe Reef, arguably
the finest, most pristine coral reef in the Northern Hemisphere. There is very little evidence of
bleaching or any other signs of a sick reef. There are corals that I’ve never seen, fish that fear
no man and the clearest, cleanest water you can imagine. Literally hundreds of shipwrecks are
strung out along the reef’s entire length like charms on a schoolgirl’s bracelet.

Once back on the beach, we heard a report of a seal sighting. One fellow had spied the elusive
mammal on a secluded strand and went to get a collaborating witness. When they returned he
was gone. The other day, I read that he was spotted on Culebra, injured and uncatchable. It
seems, he was, in fact, an escapee sea lion from a marine aquarium in the Dominican Republic.
The relationship between human and animal is really somethin’, ain’t it?

                                                                                                                   -Jeff Smith