When we first lived in Dominica we were fascinated to learn about the wild life around our home!

Various people had mentioned the fact that Dominica has several species of snakes that are not poisonous – the biggest and longest being the Boa constrictor which can exceed 10′ on your domestic tape measure.

We live close by the Layou river and take enormous pleasure in taking to the waters each day through the summer months – and often ( brrrrr!) beyond . Some really interesting guys who own property bounded by the riverbank told us that there was a pair of Boa constrictors living close by in a large hole overlooking the rapids! The snakes apparently like to come out and sunbathe in the afternoon sun over the stones.

We on several occasions went to this spot when conditions were bright and lucid to look for these two huge snakes but they failed to show, so we took the hint and backed off.

Then a really strange occurrence happened:  We had a 10′ Boa constrictor that turned up and decided to live in a hollow tree by our drive.  Wow! What a huge beautiful snake, we named her Carla; her skin was the most amazing mix of browns and coppers, with deep purple tints that glittered in the sunshine.  Carla’s pleasure was to come out in the afternoons and lay full length catching the rays.

Carla was beautiful until she opened her mouth which showed razor sharp pin teeth slanting backwards; these were kind of scary and not nice to look at all, but she seemed to enjoy the fact she was able to lie nonchalantly with her mouth open.  No wonder she could kill vermin so effectively with those gnashers, plus the constricting factor that takes the victim out in a heartbeat – or rather the lack of it – eeeeeeeeek!!

Our friends live nearby in a tree house and had a very scary time one night!  They heard a thud on their tin roof and then a huge thwack thud onto the ground!  Their dogs were making a terrible noise.  Our friends got out of bed and hurried down below in time to see this enormous Boa constrictor rearing up attacking the dogs.  The snake had dug its bony tail into the ground, forming an anchor and was attacking everything within its range.  Boas are protected by law and our friends did not want to kill this aggressive visitor so they started to throw things at it to get it to vamoose.

In the end this copper brown serpent slithered off and all was saved; however, it was very nail biting stuff especially for my girlfriend who is terrified of anything snakelike. She feels this night visitor had actually been in the tree after their cat!  Both of them had noticed that the cat had been acting weird – and definitely frightened to go out – for a few days before the attack!

Needless to say our friends now check that there are no unwanted strangers in their tree before disappearing under the sheets!!!!!!!!

Living in a country setting – to a city denizen at least – can remain a distant wish over many years of summing up the pros and cons of whichever lifestyle you feel the most comfortable with. Having all the services, conveniences, streetlights and ease of urban commute remains a deep rooted warmth that many would not give up, even for the rustic purity of fresh air, more space and fewer vehicles clogging the highways. Some of us though have thrown caution to the big winds, made the move to the remote environs and as they say in ‘street cred’ “Bring it on, ‘mon’- bring it on!”

Our setting in the mid-upper Layou Valley of Dominica is virtually neighbourless with views that centre upon many tree-line levels, a backcloth of verdant cliffs and a picturesque winding road that provides us with a quick access to whatever social intercourse one needs without sacrificing one iota of privacy.

Though remote, we have always felt safe in this area and ‘tuned in’ with the locals. How strange then late in the evening a little while ago – as I was battling with a Windward Islands version of ‘Montezuma’s Revenge’ sur le John and the dogs were in their loudest chorus – my better half shouted – as if she was on the downhill descent from a roller coaster – that ‘Someone’s climbing up the telegraph pole with a torch! Do something!!’ I replied, ‘In my state, wondrous one, I am doing something at a great rate and totally fixed to the spot. Improvise, will you?!’

Well, eventually I emerged from the bathroom to a mildly sarcastic ‘Well, here’s my hero now.’ The dogs were not impressed with me either, but seemed to have downsized their excitement somewhat.

Outside was blacker than liquorice – even the stars were in remission and whatever was upsetting the peace had disappeared. So I just stared at what was scantily possible to discern, thinking out loud as to what sort of a ‘torches and a telegraph pole’ mystery was about to unfold?

Dawn arrived uneventfully and bathed the surroundings in a fissure of light, you know – the sort of illumination that artists have difficulty in trying to reproduce? Some would say: A valley of prisms no less.

I focused upon the telegraph pole, the one with the torch issues and noticed some baling twine – lengthily hanging down from the cables that span the highway to the other pole, maybe 25ft or so across. A large torch battery was attached to the twine and appeared to have been slung over the telephone and electric wires and then pulled on tight. No matter how I pulled on the twine I couldn’t budge the contraption and started to puzzle over the motive for such a stupid move. Mmm… OK, OK – The gardener was fully paid up; no fall-outs with anyone and we always give lifts to people we know.

The ‘novelist’ within my sub-culture mind took over and I imagined that someone wanted us to lose our utilities for whatever reason in a reckless manner. Just picture the scene: If the hanging nylon twine snagged itself to some metalwork on a passing container truck, the cables – and maybe the pole – could be dragged in its wake, totally oblivious to the driver. Scareee!

I gave a friend a call in St. Joseph and in turn he called by with a friend to take a look-see. A lot of possibilities were considered, from pranks to retribution, and a few more imponderables – not for this posting – but one of the guys who spoke for the first time since he arrived nailed it, – ‘You got manicou hunters , ‘mon. Dis is the only place on dis road where cables cross from one side to de udder. Manicou, dey no like crossin’ de road, so dey up de pole, tread de cables and get over safe. Mon wid de torch shine up, see de manicou, sling over de battery and twine, pull hard and try to shake de manicou off. Wid luck it’s Splat! - Tomorrow’s brekfist, huh?’ …seriously, he had a colourful accent!

For those who haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, a Manicou is an elusive kind of opossum; a timid rodent-like creature that grows to 2ft or more and is considered a delicacy – albeit an acquired taste.

So I won’t be surprised one of these fine days to have some guy, or gal, at the door peddling a skinned version of the above and – if he or she is down on their luck – putting a donation in the pocket as you do. But as for a gourmet delight, I don’t know!!

No one with an eye for metal detail, surely, can ever forget the scene within the movie Crocodile Dundee 1 where the ‘Croc’ is confronted by a would be mugger in NY city, who has drawn a blade against our Aussie superhero . Animatedly, Croc weighs up the size of the fickle weapon before him and says “You call that a knife?” – And in a nanosecond from behind his back, pulls out the longest piece of steel akin to a sword you’ve ever seen and says, “Now this is a knife!” – the would be mugger then, not unwisely, exits centre stage. Enter the Cutlass.

In Dominica to see men or women carrying a cutlass, especially in the countryside is an everyday occurrence with nothing particular in mind other than clearing the hedgerows, tending their plentiful gardens or severing hands of plantain or banana. To understand more about this inventive tool – also referred to as a machete – it’s prudent to explore the history a little.

Cutlass came into the English language – some say – about 1594, presumably derived from the French word Coutelace. It was often used as an agricultural tool in rain forest and sugar cane areas, but in pirate mythology it’s claimed that it was invented as a weapon by Caribbean corsairs and evolved from a ubiquitous long meat cutting knife. There are sources that dispute this proffering and say the glory days of pirate activity were well over before the emergence of our steely blade, who can say?

Today, most modern factory made cutlasses are of a very simple construction, consisting of a blade and full-length tang punched from a single piece of flat steel plate of uniform thickness – thus lacking a primary grind – and a simple grip of two plates of wood or plastic bolted or riveted together around the tang. Finally, both sides are ground down to a rough edge so that the purchaser can sharpen the blade to their specific geometry, using a file – so much for the tech aspects.

On a day to day basis in Dominica, many a slip of the swipe from a cutlass can result in cuts and lesions that need treatment at the various clinics – in fact only last week I had to deliver a young man to the St Joseph Health Centre with a self inflicted gash just below his right knee. He’d been pruning the roadside razor grass and presumably had a target area to cut before the day was over when the accident happened.

Because of the regularity of this kind of mishap the nursing staff at St Jo’ was extremely au fait with what had to be done and our wounded soldier was soon stitched and bandaged ready again to take on the verdant front line.

Sometimes when you hear of the ever increasing knife culture in the UK and other mainland countries for criminal gain, it’s commendable to know you can meet someone on the Dominican highways and byways innocently armed only avec machete, a friendly ‘cakafete’ and have a great day.

“…fantastic beauty on the wing, they dip, sip, dart and… dip again

Wild and curious in all their rainbows…” (Anon)

It’s quite amazing how much has been documented about this adorable creature, the size of an EC dollar – sometimes referred to as the ‘Colibri’ – when you consider that it’s only found in the Western Hemisphere and viewed therefore, in its natural habitat by only a tiny percentage of the global community.

Originating in equatorial South America, the majority of Hummingbirds still remain there simply because of the abundancy of suitable flowers – their raison d’etre – which bloom year round. But, as with many bird species, migratory patterns expand from the indigenous centre outwards and the Eastern Caribbean has been fortunate enough to attract an interesting cross section of the 328 known Hummingbird species.

In our region, Trinidad & Tobago claim 13 types, Grenada and Puerto Rico 9 apiece, Dominican Republic 5 and the rest of the Lesser Antilles an average of 3 to 4 per island; some are endemic to the territory, a few are passing ‘visitors’. Guyana, with its stunning remoteness, probably has species of Hummingbirds not even recorded yet!

These airborne specks are so colourful with exotic names such as Guiana coquette, white necked Jacobin, ruby-throated, Cuban emerald, crimson topaz, herran’s thornhill and violet-crowned et.al. Hue variations mainly occur on the head feathers and neck area, referred to as the gorget. The plumage here resembles rainbow-like colours of green, purple and red and a chameleon blend of art when in motion.

In motion of course evokes an image of hover mastery that has taken thousands of years to evolve. Besides its helicopter style, Hummingbirds can fly straight up, straight down, sideways and backwards, achieving a speed of 60 mph and can stop in an instant. It can move its wings at an average 53 beats a second, invert them and perform the aerodynamics of an insect, which could support the little known folklore theory that the Colibri at one time were flies that the Sun God converted into little birds.

Hummingbirds are considered the prime nectar searchers on the planet bar none. Blessed with long beaks and tongues they easily pluck this high calorie food from the remote corners of blooming plants, at the same time encouraging efficient flora pollination. Evidently, the colour of a flower is as important as its shape when attracting a Hummingbird. Red petals stand out amongst green foliage making them number one targets; orange, pink, yellow, blue and purple flowers make up the rest of the menu.

Most commonly, people view the’ Hummer’ whilst engaging a healthy stamen in hover mode – of course – but hardly ever in a perched position, probably because of its shyness, minuteness and colour camouflage. My closest encounter was in Dominica when an Antillean Crested version flew into the bathroom of our recently built house. The bird was uncomfortable in the strange surroundings and began fluttering wildly beneath the exposed rafters – furnishings were not in place, so there was nowhere to perch; windows were open but the little soul couldn’t hone in and eventually, exhausted, dive bombed into a bath-towel on a nearby hook. Its tiny heart was beating at such rate of knots, I was mesmerised. Getting second wind, he/she headed for the rafters again only to repeat the landing. I decided my presence was not helping and left to get a long distant camera shot. On my return the plucky mite was nowhere to be seen……I swear I heard a little voice say: “The Colibri has left the building”.

Posting an image of a calm sea, a sinking sun, a palm tree at a 90-ish degrees lean to the water, an imminent ‘Green Flash’ in the offing – with your property digitally photographed in the foreground and duly uploaded to the appropriate website – could be considered as a dream shot for any real estate agent’s portfolio. The sea, the Sun, even the angled palm tree can be conjured up most anywhere in the Caribbean – but ‘El Rayo Verde’? The Flasho Greeno? Now here’s the tricky component in the mix. I have lived in the West Indies for 20 years and can truthfully say I’ve seen no more than nine meaningful sunrise or sunset Green Flashes in that time – probably because I’ve not been looking that hard; out there I mean. Usually it’s the wrong time, right place and vice versa. But unabashed, I thought it prudent and curious to investigate the phenomenon a little further.

Evidently, as most tuned in school-kids can attest to, the Green Flash is enmeshed in a refraction of light – aka as a prism – in the atmosphere: light, presumably, moves more slowly through the lower, denser air than through the thinner air above, so sunlight rays follow paths that curve slightly in the same direction as the curvature of the Earth – still with me? Higher frequency light – green and blue –curves more than lower frequency light – red and orange – so green and blue rays from the setting Sun’s upper limbs remain visible after the red rays are obstructed by the curvature of the Earth. I’m told a Green Flash is more likely to be seen in clear air, when more of the light of the setting Sun reaches the observer without being scattered.

Having said that – from my experience – what lays immediately above that far off imaginary horizon line, such as thin banded cloud, even pinkish wisps, can lessen the green hue effect greatly; even to a zilch amount, leaving our picture-less avid photo buff with a 24 hour layover to the next dusky event. And with the miniscule amount of time available to capture the picture, it’s wise to set your duty free mega pixel camera to a continuous advance setting that can take about 15 frames in rapid succession, covering the whole scenario, thereby ensuring that your wait has not been in vain.

As a gentle conclusion, the notion that a Green Flash denotes a human soul returning to Earth is an interesting digestion for you alone – suffice to say may your God go with you.

Green Flash