pack a backpack (snorkels, books, sunscreen, picnic supplies, camera), hike for a few hours to a good snorkel spot, snorkel, picnic on the beach, hike back, read on the porch of our cabin with a creatively concocted rum drink, cook something on the Coleman stove to enjoy on the porch while watching the colors fade, and maybe have another swim before heading to sleep (although that required a descent of over 100 steps down to the beach and back up as well).
Back to day 1 – we arrived at Maho Bay campground, which is an eco-resort on the north side of the island that was built on a series of elevated pathways to minimize the impact on the forest floor, giving it a Swiss Family Robinson feel. These pathways connect simple canvas-sided tent cabins that all share common bathhouses and a central pavilion which has a small store and a restaurant with nightly entertainment. The utopian aspect is enhanced by the fact that you can sign up for activities ranging from yoga to glass blowing to snorkel tours.
On the first day, we arrived in time for an evening snorkel at Little Maho Bay (at the base of the aforementioned many steps), sighting in a matter of an hour or so, a giant school of silvery Jacks, tube worms of all sizes and colors, an assortment of whimsically shaped corals and sponges, noisily munching parrot fish, a giant eel, and even an octopus! That night, we tried out the pavilion restaurant and were sadly disappointed by limp vegetables and four sad, overcooked mussels, hence the routine of campstove-cookery which we followed for the remainder of our stay. That night, we fell asleep to the chirping of tree frogs and gentle, and moist breezes blowing across out hardened, dry winter bodies. The morning’s soundtrack was a chorus of songbirds with a background of passing dappled showers. After breakfast of toast t
oasted in a pan on our campstove and real drip coffee through a makeshift cone attached to a measuring cup, we packed the daily backpack and headed out for the ruins of the Anaberg sugar plantation. Our list of wildlife grew with sightings of two deer and a mongoose along the trail before reaching cliff-side Frangipani trees filled with munching caterpillars. The sugar plantation was one of 25 or so on the island in the late 1700s, run by Dutch settlers with labor provided by African slaves, which produced molasses 
and rum. There is an impressive windmill on the plantation that was used to mash the cane and can be seen from much of the island. With the end of slavery in 1848 on the island and the refining of sugar beets rather than cane in other parts of the world, the sugar industry collapsed. There was a brief period of cattle ranching afterwards, leading to the further removal of nearly all the first growth forest on the island. In 1917, the US purchased the island from Denmark to prevent takeover by the Germans in WWI. Then, in 1956, Rockefeller purchased most of the island and turned it over to the US Parks Department so that it could be preserved.There you have the brief history of St. John. Following the advice of a very helpful guide at the plantation, we walked up the path to the ruins of a villa of a former sugar baron named Murphy,
passing donkeys on the trail. Yet another cliffside tree poked through the crumbling walls of the villa, with a pair of kestrels framed against the pale blue waters of Leinster
Bay below. We trekked on to Brown Bay, where we encountered a stiff breeze, but found a sheltered stretch along the rocks to snorkel and saw our first sea turtle while in the water. Creeping conchs, listless sea cucumbers, and hidden flounders dotted the sandy 
sea floor. On our hike back, we added soldier crabs skittering around a fallen termite next to the wildlife tally, their crackling sounds giving them away despite the stolen snail shells they wore as disguises. We fit in one more snorkel of the day at big Maho Bay, which led Chad to remark, “Every part of the reef is like a little miracle.” Finally, a hummingbird greeted us upon our return on the walkway back to our cabin.The next morning, we were greeted by a large iguana silhouetted in the tree in front of our porch. He was not at all phased by us and made himself a part of th
e view during our leisurely breakfast. That morning, our hike took us to Waterlemon Cay, which we learned was not Watermelon Cay. And, on the way, we saw giant iguana/dragon #2 of the day, rustling about on the forest floor. We snorkeled around the Cay and saw another amazing array of fish and reef critters, including a stingray with a remora tagging along for the ride and a brightly spotted eel hidden in a large coral head. We returned to the Anaberg ruins in time for lunch so that we could sample the “dumb bread” produced in the cook shack for the site’s work crew and available for the tourists to sample. It is a simple doughnut-like bread with coconut and powdered sugar on top and was delicious. We returned via Francis Bay for another snorkel, where we saw our first big leatherback turtle with two remora in tow and also a baby turtle munching eelgrass, as well as a lobster, a brittle star, a giant rainbow parrotfish floating above orange coral cups, a blue iridescent spotted flounder, pipe fish bobbing up and down next to purple gorgonians with flamingo tongue shellfish attached, a giant puffer fish, boxfish, and a five foot barracuda. We took it all in once back at Maho Bay while sipping Cruzan rum and Cokes from the deck and cooking burgers on the trusty camping stove. We attended an evening lecture at the pavilion on the ecology of the reefs in the area and then headed down the many stairs for an evening swim, marveling at the lights of St. Thomas in contrast to the darkness of the vastly protected parklands of St. John.In the wee hours that night, we heard the scuttling of soldier crabs through the cracks in the floorboards of our cabin, their constant clickings adding to the night songs of the tropics. And, for our morning wildlife sighting, we saw fish jumping nearly five feet out of the water in the bay below. We snorkeled first thing in the morning at Little Maho with two young green sea turtles, one of which let us look him right in the eye with millions of tiny silversides streaming through the water and sparkling in the morning sun. Among the other treasures were a corkscrew anemone (with little white corkscrew markings twisting up each tentacle), fingerlike soft corals and frilled gorgonians, trunkfish, puffers, featherduster worms, tangs, angelfish, wrasse, and gobies, just for a snapshot. I really wish I had pictures of these fantastic plants and animals! After snorkeling, we picked up a rental car for the last couple of days and headed to Vie’s Snack Shack on the east end of the island for recommended garlic chicken and Johnny cakes drizzled with honey, both of which were worth the trip. On the way there, we were able to see more of the island than previously covered on foot, including twisty roads with peeks of hidden rocky bays reminiscent of Sardinia – particularly the narrow, winding roads, and the goat crossings.
That afternoon, we hiked out the Reef Bay Trail to another abandoned sugar mill, passing iguanas, chickens, mongoose and deer along the way and smelling the sweet scents of Bay Rum trees. We took a side trip on the Petroglyph trail to see the paintings of the Taino Indians on the rocks reflected in a small pool beneath a completely dry waterfall. These are the same native group that we saw evidence of on our trip to Puerto Rico. The reef at Reef Bay was the first we’d seen in St. John that was in poor shape – covered in sediment and plant growth with murky waters that were hard to see through while snorkeling. Even more eery through the cloudy water was a shark, which Chad claims was six feet long (though I never actually saw it). We attempted a picnic upon return, but the beach was hopping with sand fleas and hurried us on our way. We headed back to Maho Bay for our last night on the porch with ginger beer Dark and Stormies followed by a final night’s swim.We were sent off from Maho by a chirping bananaquit on the porch amongst gently cooing doves
and a brown-throated sparrow, which hopped right onto the banana peel on our breakfast table. We spent the last night of our trip at Concordia Camps, which is the sister resort to Maho Bay. We had first read about Maho Bay because the owner is currently in a battle with the land owner to maintain the lease on the land. During this battle, he bought a piece of land on the dry southern side of the island on the site of a former cotton plantation and built another resort that he wholly owns. From Concordia Camps, we hiked out to Ram’s Head for beautiful views from steeply de
scending cliffs, a perfect spot to see a turtle and a ray from above. The terrain was completely different and very reminiscent of San Diego and Baja, Mexico – prickly pears, tiny wildflowers and scrubby desert vegetation and spicy scents. We passed a fault line at the neck of the head, beyond which the rocks were dark and cobbly rather than the porous coral, which enhanced the different feel of this part of the island. Quite parched from the hike, we eagerly donned masks and snorkels and spent an immeasurable amount of time exploring a small islet in the middle 
of Salt Pond Bay, which had the brightest, most varied array of corals and critters we’d seen so far. When we finally extracted ourselves from the water, we picnicked at a shady table beneath a giant mangrove cuckoo, its spotted tail hanging down over the branch above, and a flitting hummingbird, which barely slowed long enough for us to identify it. On the way back, we crossed the neck over the salt pond to Drunk Ba
y to see the whimsically arranged rock/coral/coconut shell people displayed on the rocks and then poked our way along the shore to perhaps the gem of the trip – an empty beach with two chairs in the shade of a homemade shanty of sorts, branches woven together by 
an old fishing net, where we read for hours punctuated by dips into the water. Not knowing exactly how we’d make our way home and hoping we wouldn’t have to scramble over the rocks from whence we’d come, we happily discovered that we were just below the foot of a road that led directly back to Conco
rdia Camps. We’d decided to splurge for our last night and get a place with actual walls and running water – a nice place to rest and clean up before our trip home. After settling in and cleaning up, we enjoyed our final rum concoction - an invented coconut milk and grapefruit soda mixture, which was very refreshing given the dry heat of the day. Our other splurge was a dinner out in Coral Bay, where we were instructed to try the Guavaberry martini (guavas have berries?) and were not disappointed.
And, finally, the last morning – we had to get in the water one more time and were not disappointed. We were bid farewell by a 
sea turtle, a spiny lobster, and a giant silver grouper. A quick rainshower subsided to provide a full rainbow across the bay, which we viewed upon surfacing. We then caught the ferry from Cruz Bay, wading along the shore among silver tarpon while waiting for our boat, 
and then headed to Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas, catching views of yachts practicing for the upcoming Rolex Regatta along the way.And that was it – one bottle of blackstrap and one bottle of guava berry rum purchased as souvenirs, and then we were whisked back to Boston, arriving as readily identifiable tourists in flip flops and with slightly toasted skin. We returned solar charged, wondering how long we could hold onto the warmth before it ran out of juice and if it could last until it finally would get warm in Maine. At least we timed our trip so that we returned after the end of daylight savings and also after the first crocus bloomed, daffodils were opening and buds had emerged on the forsythia bushes. This spring has been quite anomalous, in fact, and has come much earlier, so we were not thrust back into the wet, chilly muck that is usually mud season in Maine – and were grateful for it. Now, we watch daily the progression of new green shoots, surprised every day by previously unknown plants in the yard, this being our first spring on Federal St. I will close with a favorite quote of my alma mater’s namesake, John Burroughs, “Nature is always new in the spring and lucky are we if it finds new also.”
