Hunting for wasps and chickens – the submerged road

Although the exclusion zone was not to be on our itinerary, we did want to have a closer look at the intermediate zone – that area where people were allowed to enter routinely but not to live.  Below the observatory, snaking down from the slopes of the Soufriere mountain itself, was a massive channel of stones; where an enormous mudslide had filled in an old ghaut.  It bulged out as a delta into the Caribbean Sea.  Tracing upwards to its source, above the abandoned farmsteads on the lower slope, was a barely vegetated moonscape.  The volcano was still active and new ash kept on burying any attempts by nature to recolonise the screes.  In some parts there was a smooth coating of ash, sometimes incised with deep water channels.  Here and there huge misshapen boulders clung to the sides of the slopes.  These had not rolled down by gravity from a higher perch; they had been catapulted thousands of feet in the air from the crater and fallen, literally like a stone, on to the ground and they lay where they landed.  Often it seemed they actually defied gravity – they were stuck at curious angles in the ash.  And of course they were misshapen because they had solidified en route from the crater; some of the youngest rocks of all…. and probably some of the lightest.  No wonder they seemed to perch so precariously.

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We took one last look before we dropped down to the river bed  – Matt pointed out a villa on the other side of the gravel channel; the AIR studio where so many artists had recorded in the 70’s and 80’s.  AIR had closed because of Hurricane Hugo and the changing fashions of the music industry; long before the volcano had wreaked its havoc.

We drove down the hill through the last village in Montserrat but turned left along the old main road to Plymouth.  We passed the no entry sign that marked the boundary of the unsafe zone.   The road was even more pitted beyond here but we continued down the hill to a point where it disappeared under a mass of gravel.  The road continues down the valley to the river at the bottom, but the flow of ash and mud had smothered a large chunk of that valley.  The river was called the Belham, but a channel had long since vanished.  Instead of a tarmacced road, a set of tracks winds between the larger boulders on the surface of the ash to the greenery on the far side.  I was neither sure of the firmness of the gravel and ash, nor about the 4 wheel drive capabilities of our pick up – I had once before been stranded on a gravel slope in one of these babies during my time in BVI. So we parked at the end of the tarmac, just off centre so other vehicles could pass.  Then we walked out on to this moonscape of grey ash.  Large boulders, smaller rocks and the remains of trees littered the whole surface.  Rainfall and water flows had sorted some of the finer materials but most of the detritus was as it had been when deposited in the main mud flow.  The government warned people that to step out on to this crossing they were giving up any government liability.  And with good reason – the river crossing continued to flash flood during rains and mudslides were an occurrence here ten years on from the eruption.

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