|Forest and sea at north-east Tobago|
|Path to Pirates Bay|
Stairs descend through palm trees and bamboos. A motmot observes us, a question in its eye. No, we have no snacks.
|Stairs descend to Pirates Bay; these were laid in the late 1980s|
|Motmot in Bamboo|
The first view of any beach is a sigh, a release, as if to say, “we reach.” The arrival at Pirates Bay is a quintessential “aaah” a homecoming. Maybe this is what going to heaven is like, if you believe in heaven. The sun comes late to this west-facing hidden cove where the likes of Morgan and Blackbeard are supposed to have stashed treasure, their layaway for retirement. Maybe they did return to collect their savings. Our bounty today is soft sand underfoot, the gentle slap of the sea, gulls and pelicans soaring and swooping, and the towering green hill at our backs.
|Our treasure: Pirates Bay, pristine, precious, perpetual|
|Snorkeller at Pirates Bay|
|From the bluff over Pirates Bay, you can see Fort Campbleton and the hidden Lovers Bay|
We leave reluctantly. Our hearts say we’ll be back. Perhaps not so soon as we might like, living in the world tugging in our heads. We will be back. The sun, fully risen, shines over the bay, a jewel in the coast.