From the Blog: Great Houses, Great Hikes

[rastagirl777]

A friend of ours has property between Orange Bay and Green Island that measures roughly one square mile. Included in that acreage are a Great House, remnants of the three-hundred year old windmill, a couple of acres of beach front…and a cave.

The cave was last explored in the 1970′s and our friend remembers climbing into and around it as a child. Since then though it has “gone back to the bush”. Locked within, according to our friend, are artifacts belonging to the Arawak Indians, also known as Taino, who were wiped off the face of the earth by the Spanish in the 16th Century.

Les has been dying to get into that cave since he’d first heard about it, anxious to photograph it and its contents. The discussion had been going on for a couple of years and our friend assured him that he’d have “his man” go out to find it, clear it and get it “ready” for exploration. Unfortunately, “his man” was getting on in years and was not nearly as excited at this prospect as our friend would have hoped.

The property has been in our friend’s family for four generations. His people came over from Scotland as indentured servants and worked their way into ownership of this estate. Like many others, it was probably originally a sugar plantation and with each generation evolved into different types of agricultural concerns. The Great House, nearly four-hundred years old, has been built upon and updated and inhabited throughout up until recently. It is there that our very own Lewis and Clark met early one morning in February 2011. It was from there that they embarked on their adventure to find this cave.

Not far from the Great House they came upon the old Windmill, the only other structure standing from the original plantation. It is imposingly large with a series of steps reminiscent of an entrance to an ancient temple. Les explored its innards – the archways and stone and bush growing in and around it. On a wall, in bright red was a reminder literally set in stone of the savagery of the days of bondage.

From there the pair slogged through bush and more bush. Armed with a machete and a distant memory, our friend led the way, walking carefully, chopping through thick bramble pausing to ponder and get his bearings. Both are wearing “bush-gear”: Covered from head to toe, they are wearing long pants, socks and shoes, long-sleeved shirts trying their best to prevent picking up those tiny tics that are everywhere in the jungle. As they battle through acres of elephant ear plants that are as big as their head they had a sense of adventure that must have surely served as a distraction for the fear of being hopelessly lost.

At one point they approached a clearing. There appeared to be a small shack, a fence and the remnants of a wood fire. Our friend proceeds in to check things out, cautioning Les to stay back until he sees what’s up. If it were squatters, things could get dicey. After a brief inspection it is determined that the place has been abandoned for sometime now, so Les comes in, they both sit down, chill and plan their next move.

Just before sunset our two weary explorers show up at our door. They are dirty, hot and exhausted. I poured our friend an Appleton and Pepsi, Les relaxed himself with a spliff. Tired as they were they told their tale and were quite excited. While they never did find the cave, they came close. They are certain that now that they know where they are going and have made some head-way in clearing the trail, their next excursion would certainly uncover their “holy grail” and what lies beneath it.
To be continued….