Okay, here's part of the description of the trip to Saba. Once again, I make the disclaimer that this is what happened to me, and may not be what happens or happened to you and yours. I hope though, that if you make the trip to Saba, you'll be as taken with it as I was.

Also, I'll stop apologizing for the long posts and figure that, if you want to weed your way through it, you will...

As always, for your pleasure, we head to...

Wednesday, June 27 - Saba

So, lots of folks (including many on TTOL) told me “the diving on Sint Maarten isn’t so great but you MUST try Saba! It’s the best!” So, well prior to leaving for SXM, I went on to the WINAIR site and booked a flight to Saba and back on the same day on Wednesday, June 27. I had some reservations about the reservations since I had formed the impression from various posts that WINAIR was a bit of a “bush-league” airline and would turn out to be similar to experiences I had flying in far northern Australia a long while ago. I flew from Thursday island (on a Tuesday) to Cairns in Queensland and the flight was supposed to be a straight shot of about an hour and a half and turned into a two and a half hour excursion to search for crocodiles (unsuccessful), to view the Great Barrier Reef (very successful) and to search for the site of the proposed new space launch facility (still unsuccessful, I believe). This was pretty typical of flying the small, regional carriers of the area and, since nobody seemed particularly concerned about schedules and actual itineraries, you just learned to go with it, connections be damned.

I found the WINAIR website (www.fly-winair.com) to be very professional and booked the flight out and back for the grand total of $40 (plus another $47 in fees and taxes!). That seemed awfully reasonable to me, as long as the trip actually took place and I got to Saba. I then also arranged to dive with Sea Saba, one of the local dive operators and they said their driver, Garvis, would meet me at the airport and then drive me “across the island” to meet the boat and then to meet my departing flight at the end of the day. “Across the island” to me conjures up a brief trip across some rolling hill country. A way to start the day pleasantly in contemplation of the dive adventures to come. I had not yet thoroughly researched the island and Saba knew this. It was waiting for me with a few surprises…

I checked in at Princess Juliana Airport like I always try to do – early. I was at the WINAIR counter at 5:20 a.m., a little over 90 minutes before I was due to fly. For the first 10 minutes or so, I think I counted 6 people in the whole departures area of the airport that I was occupying. None of them had anything to do with WINAIR. I was mildly concerned but surely they wouldn’t leave without me. Eventually a couple and their mother showed up and sat around joking and laughing. The fellow was a local and was blessed with one of those wonderful island-accented deep laughs that are so compelling. They and I exchanged pleasantries and I was much relieved since there were other people who clearly felt the need to comply with the airline recommendations for checking in early. A lovely young WINAIR counter attendant showed up shortly after 6:00 a.m. and check-in formalities were only complicated by my attempt to make sure the bags weren’t over-weight (since that certainly only applies to me personally, and not my luggage). I had earlier placed my diving regulator in my carry-on bag, along with my dive camera to lessen the weight in my dive equipment bag. I tried to explain this since I didn’t know how security would react to the image of the regulator going through the x-ray. The conversation went something like this…

Me: “Hi. Do you think this will be okay? In order not to cause undue concern at security I decided to put my regulator into my carry-on bag.”
WINAIR: “What’s that?”
Me: “It’s the bag I’m taking on the plane.”
WINAIR: “I know. But what do you mean?”
Me: “I mean… Um… It’s a container that you put things in… a small number of things that would otherwise fit under the seat… well... not MY seat of course… I mean, how could I do that without hurting my back? Ha ha… so… it’s a bag… THIS bag!” I show her the bag.
WINAIR: “Yes but, what’s that you put in the bag?”
Me: “Oh! Ha Ha… Things that you would need to put under the seat…”
WINAIR: “What’s a regulator??!!”
Me: “Oh! It’s dive equipment. For diving... Scuba diving… On Saba”
WINAIR: “You’re going to scuba dive on Saba?”
Me: “If all goes well in the next couple hours! Otherwise, maybe on Saint Eustatius! Ha ha…”
WINAIR: “But, you’re going to Saba!”
Me: “Yes… That would be the case” (Only if we finish this conversation soon) “So, what about my carry-on and security?”
WINAR: “Yes. Security. Go to the gate you see over there and then upstairs. Thanks for flying WINAIR today!”

I’ve often thought it reassuring that the check-in agent says “Thank you for flying Acme airlines today!” when you haven’t yet actually flown. I think they do this to comfort those who are afraid of flying or those who don’t yet know what will happen to them between now and the time they finally leave the plane.

Since the baggage tag printer was broken she grabbed a label and wrote “SAD” on it (upon later examination I determined it was supposed to say “SAB”, the airport designator code for Saba) and attached it to my dive equipment bag and sent it (hopefully to Saba and not to Guantanimo after my requests about security) off on the conveyer belt (which was working). I thanked her and headed for the entrance to security. It turns out they weren’t concerned with the regulator in my bag (or my dive camera and strobe) so I guess the young lass at check-in knew her stuff after all…

For those of you who have flown to Saba before, you know what’s coming. For those who haven’t…

I presume that, some time ago, an aircraft carrier missed a navigation waypoint and slammed, at considerable speed, into the northeast tip of Saba Island. I don’t know what befell the crew (since I didn’t see any evidence of cannibalism on the island) but the locals, well known for their resourcefulness, stripped off the arresting wires and turned it into the world’s smallest commercial airport runway. I think the primary reason for this was to provide ample amusement at the reaction of frightened westerners who are used to at least 11,000 by 180 feet of very thick concrete as something of a standard for most airports. Landing here is an absolute kick. You fly towards this mountain. Right at it. And keep flying toward it. It becomes very, very large. Off to the left of Mount Everest is this tiny strip of flight deck running from one cliff to another at an angle of about 45 degrees to your line of flight. Despite its ridiculously short length, the runway / flight deck actually now looks pretty good compared to your presently selected alternative (the sudden death of impact into a giant lump of basalt that’s now just in front of you – Objects in view are closer then they appear – much closer!). I hoped my dive equipment went to Guantanimo after all. I felt sorry for my regulator since it was with me. I should have packed it. All of a sudden, the little Otter makes a sharp turn and sets down right on the numbers on the aft end of the flight deck and begins to slow. The landing run seems to go on forever (about five seconds – but that’s the same thing when you envision slipping off at the catapult end and plunging into the blue sea beyond – after all, it IS supposed to be a dive trip…). When we make the turn to head back to the terminal, we’re right at the other end of the runway. Right at the end. The cliff part… I’m so glad the aircraft carrier didn’t have the power to actually push through the island when the accident occurred so long ago or we would not even have had this much to land on. I hope the crew members were at least tasty.

The pilots don’t even stop the starboard engine on the little Twin Otter. I guess they don’t even have an Auxiliary Power Unit handy at the aircraft carrier/air field but it kind of adds to the whole excitement. “Come on! Get off! We loved that landing so much we just can’t wait to try taking off. Just don’t watch or you’ll probably want to go back by boat!”

When you arrive at the SS “Saba Airport”, you clear immigration at a little window outside the building / conning tower before you’ve even made it into what was probably a small officer’s mess or paint locker when it was an aircraft carrier. That’s okay. I’m having so much fun by now I’m not even sure what I told the friendly lady behind the window (I’m not even sure it was a lady!) when she asked how long I was staying and why I was visiting. Formalities complete and passport stamped, I was now legally and wholly on Saba.

There were a number of gentlemen sitting at a small bar relaxing and one of them, a handsome tall ageless fellow, turned out to be Garvis Hassell, my driver for the day. My “SAD” bag was soon collected from the small pile that turns out to be baggage claim (oh if only things worked like this at major airports…”Here’s your luggage! After all of two minutes waiting…”), I tossed the bag (now “HPY”, no longer “SAD”) into Garvis’ van and piled into the front seat. Garvis was pretty reserved towards me at first and I figured he had therefore come from Sint Maarten or had at least been infected with Wary-local syndrome, perhaps from eating one of the carrier crew a long time ago (in fact he was born and raised on Saba and had lived there all his life), but we ended up getting along well later on in the day as things progressed.

For those of you who have been driven on Saba, you know what’s coming. For those who haven’t…

Apparently prior to the 1950’s, the only transport route on-island on Saba was by a series of trails that the locals used to walk or use donkeys to ferry their goods and selves. It seems that someone figured the donkey trails and steps were too wide so, as a prelude to building a proper vehicular road, they commissioned a sidewalk that could safely be used by scooters as powered travel over the island while the road was being built. I guess as is so often the way of these bureaucratic things, the road never got built and now they use the scooter path instead. They do this with normal vehicles. Side by side. I’m not kidding. Oh, they also park on this road. One of the reasons they park on this road is because the island is so steep there isn’t really anywhere to park your car at your house. I guess the weight of the car could cause the house to come careening down the cliff to the sea. There musn’t be any fat people living on Saba.

These roads are steep. Really steep. We went through a seemingly endless series of switchbacks just to get up from the carrier flight deck to near the top of the first hill, next to Mount Everest (I looked for impact marks from flying Otters but couldn’t really see around to that side). They are also incredibly thin and, since they are in fact just a sidewalk, that’s how the locals use them (for walking and driving). There’s room for two cars to just pass each other. I saw several vehicles with glancing-blow damage along the side and it was immediately apparent how this would happen. So, we’re on climb-out from the carrier careening up a switchback and… Garvis passes a vehicle in front of him. On these roads. He passes it. I almost passed out as he passed it. A little further along there’s a slender woman walking up the road (she must be a local – her weight won’t cause her house to slide into the bay). If she had been a little later starting her hill climb, she would have been ejected out into the ocean far below. An impromptu dive trip. I would have thrown the bag for her (but then I realized that my regulator was in my carry-on).

After an incredible journey through the first third of the island along the scooter trail, we ended up in the primary town of Windwardside. This is a really cool little town with driveways (which actually turn out to be roads) heading off up and down incredibly steep inclines at all angles off of the scooter freeway we were on. We reach a point where Garvis suddenly stops, backs up into a crevice in the wall and announces “You go in there and register. There at the dive shop. I’ll meet you at Juliana’s around 8:45 to take you to the boat. Okay?” Please don’t leave me. I didn’t mean to be offensive! I have absolutely no idea where I am! “Sure!” I say and hop out of the van and make my way into the Windwardside offices of Sea Saba.

If you’ve seen the movie Point Break, about a group of carefree young bank robbers in California who are all well-tanned with unkempt surfer hair and an attitude for life outside of the norm, that’s what the group I met at the dive shop resembled. When I waked in, I was greeted by (Patrick Swayze) Ryan… “James, Dude!” I shook hands with this happy-go-lucky beach hound and then they all promptly left. “We’re makin it to the boat, man… Later…” I turned nervously to the woman behind the counter at the shop and said “Um… shouldn’t I be going with them?” “Oh no... You’ve got plenty of time. Garvis will take care of you…” I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that last remark but there wasn’t much I could do about it. We made sure all documentation was in order and I said calmly, “Where’s Juliana’s?”

“Oh you walk down this road a little till you see a supermarket, then turn right and walk up the street until you see Scout’s place – it’s a hotel – and then you turn right and walk down a steep hill until you see Juliana’s. You can’t miss it…” Oh really?

“Umm… Thanks. Bye!” Now, she wants me to walk on that road / scooter track. She wants me to be ejected by a couple of wild-eyed Sabans who happen to be driving past me in either direction at the same time. I’m savvy… I’ll walk fast. I reach the supermarket a few hundred feet down the road from the dive shop, buy a couple of drinks and a couple of power bars since I’ve just discovered the diving doesn’t include food of any kind and I also haven’t eaten breakfast. At the supermarket, I ask about Juliana’s just to be safe and they sure enough tell me to turn right and walk up that hill to Scout’s Place.

Walk “Up” that hill?? Up is a relative term on Saba. I didn’t bring technical climbing gear and I think I could have used it. Sure enough, a hundred yards and a certain amount of sweat later, there’s Scout’s, but there’s no hill going “Down” immediately after it. There’s a litter crew working by the side of the road (I’ll talk more about this later) and they point to a hill that’s still going “Up” and suggest, with a knowing smile amongst them, that I take that to get to Juliana’s. Okay. Sure. Disappointed!! Off I trudge and by this time I’m getting unhappy. Is this any way to treat a customer?! I continue my climb past the North Coll, past base camp and then see a sharp turn down to the right well before I reached any of the glaciers. I set up a three point belay, clip on my trusty Descender and rappel down the cliff/road/scooter track to what turns out to be Juliana’s. It’s only 8:00 a.m. and it’s going to be a long wait. I sat down in the restaurant and composed my words to Garvis when I next saw him…

“Take me straight to the airport… and DON’T pass anybody or eject any locals from the road. Let’s go! NOW!”

The fellow at Juliana’s asked me if I’d like a menu (I would) and if I’d be ordering breakfast (yes) and he was very friendly. I began to settle down. I had fresh juice, and a cup of good coffee. Then shortly thereafter I ate the most fantastic breakfast. I mean, three eggs, three sausage links and toast NEVER seemed so good! I was beginning to get it now. If you make it this far, the locals will take you in. If you give up and walk back to the aircraft carrier looking for Maverick, they’ll eject you from the road or simply let you fly out… It’s a Saba thing and it begins to grow on you pretty quickly.

Sure enough, Garvis showed up in time to have a cup of coffee and chat with the lad who made my breakfast and a couple of other guests who had wandered in. Everyone knows everyone else and they all seem to get along. He even motioned to me when it was time to leave and, armed with some sandwiches for folks from “the Edge” (I had as yet no idea what that meant but on Saba, I figured it could mean just about anything), we began the final terror ride up and down across the rest of the island to the boat and my bank-robbing Californians who were probably planning how they would keel haul me or laugh maniacally as they took me parachuting with my dive gear… “But Duuude! Didn’t you know we were jumping today… not swimming! Just flap your buoyancy compensator and you’ll make it man! We all did! Geronimo!”

The last few hundred yards down to the little harbor are on a road as steep as I’ve ever seen and there’s a hard left turn at the end (or you’re diving early)with a foot-high curb (they don’t believe in road barriers on Saba – why would you need them for a scooter track anyway? They probably planned to put them in if they had actually built the road) to arrive at the wharfs.


So I’ll end this first part here and save the rest for later. Otherwise I’ll blow the post limit on the TTOL site and shut the server down for a month…

Thanks for reading this far. Stay tuned for the diving and the incredible journey home, where Garvis and I become fast friends and I meet enough of the locals to know that this is a very special place indeed, and such a contrast from Sint Maarten, only a 12 minute flight away (if the plane makes it off the ground before plunging off the cliff!).

I’ll wait a couple of days to post the next installment to give those of you following along a little breather…

Thanks

James