The Ascent of Gros Piton

We set out in the early morning, long before the scorching equatorial sun had begun to rise. Even so, the dark air retained the thick heat of the day before. Our 4x4 may have been rusting at the edges and with a gear stick that needed more than just a little encouragement, but it clattered sturdily over the potholed dirt track away from the house with reassuring vigour.

Our journey from the north of the island took us along intensely meandering roads flanked by sheer drops which passed at times beside stunning vistas of rainforest, and at times through remote fishing villages. The sun rose steadily over the horizon as we drove and, not long after embarking, the two picture-perfect peaks rose into view in the distance. The Pitons unashamedly dominate the landscape of St Lucia.

As we drove through the quaint narrow streets of the southern town of Soufrière the sun’s early light was already producing a fierce heat and the humidity was palpable. This was what intimidated me most about our venture ahead – the unrelenting damp heat. But we were not going to let the weather stop us from one of the activities we had been most excited about since we had booked the trip to St Lucia. Nothing was getting between us and the summit of Gros Piton.

The Pitons hold an important significance in St Lucian culture. The Pitons Management Area is a UNESCO world heritage site and the twin peaks (Petit Piton and Gros Piton) are depicted as triangles on the country’s flag. St Lucia has a dramatic and magnificent volcanic landscape and the peaks typify this. They are the remnants of the lava domes from a collapsed stratovolcano. The climbs for both the Grand and Petit Piton start near sea-level and they rise to 770m and 743m respectively.

When we arrived at the base of Gros Piton we were assigned a guide from the national park. The first thing that she did was to ask us to show our water bottles to prove that we were carrying a minimum of 1.5l water each. We were warned that it would be thirsty work. Our guide then used a model of the mountain to explain the different stages of the climb. The mountain looked a lot friendlier in miniature form. She said that it started off moderate, with the middle section progressing to moderate/strenuous and with a rest stop at the three-quarter mark which was nicknamed “the point of no return” since it became steep and strenuous after this.

With that, we embarked on our ascent. The mountain is covered with lush rainforest which is inhabited by a wealth of wildlife, including five endemic birds, so we were hopeful for some good nature spotting.

Not far from the start we were joined by a curious male Lesser Antillean Bullfinch who hopped around from branch to branch at head height, seemingly interested in our movements. Perhaps he had managed to elicit snacks from visitors in the past. Elsewhere on the island we had encountered these adorable little birds and had found that the confidence of individuals varied greatly depending on their vicinity to tourist attractions. The sexes are dimorphic; the males are easy to spot with their vibrant scarlet throats but the females are subtler with grey and reddish-brown feathers. They have the distinctive short curved beak shape of many finches.

The climb to the one-quarter mark was fairly tame. The path was rocky and gently undulating in places but moderate enough to take in the beauty of the flora and fauna fully. At this first rest spot we were treated to a spectacular view across the small villages and sparkling turquoise sea below.

As we began the second section of the walk, the shrill squeaks of Bananaquits trilled through the trees around us. They flittered by with a flash of their yellow breasts as they moved between flowers to forage for nectar and insects.

The path gradually became a little steeper along the second section of the walk but simultaneously the occasional views between the dense trees became more magnificent.

We were enchanted by a number of hermit crabs which scuttled hurriedly to the sides of the path as we approached. They were wearing shells of a variety of colours and sizes. Hermit crab behaviour is fascinating; there is no way that I could do these hilarious little creatures justice in just a paragraph. These crabs inhabit empty gastropod shells, rather than growing their own, which leads to the brilliant diversity in their appearance. Unlike some of the terrestrial crabs we came across on the island, the hermits would rather run or retract themselves into their shells for safety than stick up their claws and prepare to fight.

Just before the halfway point we came to a steep rocky ascent. At the foot of this mini climb was the curled-up body of a dead tarantula, lying on its back with its fat muscular legs scrunched together. It’s a good job that I’m not superstitious or this would have looked like a bad omen.

After a pause at the halfway point to take in the outstanding sweeping panorama of sea and coast below, we continued on our ascent. As promised, the route became steeper and rockier. By now the dry t-shirts which we started with were just a thing of memories.

Spiky bromeliads and emerald-hued ferns colonised the trees above us in spectacular numbers. From time to time we caught sight of tiny delicate Antillean Crested Hummingbirds buzzing past on their way to feed at the rainforest’s scented blooms. They would hover impressively in front of each flower for a few precious seconds with steady precision while tapping into the sweet nectar with their specially adapted beaks.

The path up to the three-quarter mark was much sheerer and less even. But then again we had been warned that it would get harder. After all, we had now reached “the point of no return”.

Spurred on by our relative proximity to the top, we stopped only briefly at this rest point. The view from here was obscured by the verdure but the melded tunes of the various birds that had joined us along the way floated melodiously on the air, making our break worthwhile.

The steep final ascent to the top was more precarious underfoot. We climbed over the large boulders that lay in our way, using our hands at times for support. By this point the sun had been up for hours and its heat was scorching through the protective leaves above.

The canopy had been effectively dimming the sunlight above us through most of our walk but gradually more and more light began to creep through as we climbed. This could only mean one thing – we were nearly at the top.

We began to hear strident screeching calls above us. “A chicken hawk”, our guide grinned, seeing our quizzical faces. Also known as a Broad-winged Hawk this impressive bird of prey is blamed by some locals for snatching young chickens from farms, hence how it acquired its colloquial name.

Suddenly the ground levelled off and light streamed into our corneas. Sweaty, out of breath, but in one piece, we had reached the summit. Despite the warnings at the base, the trek was challenging because of the heat but not beyond the capabilities of anyone with a good level of fitness. In any case, the varied wildlife and stunning scenery made it well worth the effort.

As we rested at the summit, drinking in the panoramic views of the ocean below and downing copious amounts of water, we were struck once again by the startling beauty of this island. If you want paradise on earth mixed with a healthy dose of adventure, this is the place to be. The wildlife may not be as welcoming and friendly as the locals but it sure gives you something to write home about. Unfortunately we didn’t see the highly elusive endemic St Lucian parrot but, hey, that just gives us an excuse to go back one day.