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My driver eased the seventies Galaxy to a stop on the long climb out of Scarborough, Tobago ’s bustling little capital.  He smiled at me, muttered something like ‘Just a moment,’ and was gone.  I watched him in the passenger door mirror as he shambled back down the road.  He stooped to pick something up and headed back to the car.  I looked at him questioningly but he merely smiled again, and we drove on for another mile or so up to the ridge that runs two thirds of the length of this Caribbean island which was to be my home for the next two weeks.  We stopped again.  I sighed, perhaps a little too obviously, but I was feeling tired and tetchy after my much delayed flight from Gatwick.  This time my driver had stopped adjacent to a stand pipe which he briefly turned on and he appeared to wash something in the flow.  As he climbed back into the car he grinned broadly and presented me with what he had picked up earlier, and which he had now scrubbed clean for me.  A ripe mango.  ‘For you,’ was all he said, as we moved off once more, and lest I be mistaken in what I was to do, he handed me a scrap of cloth as a napkin.  It was my first, and unforgettable, experience of fresh mango, and of the warmth and generosity of the Tobagonians.

I had travelled out to this little island paradise, at the invitation of Earthwatch, a field research organisation for which I had done some office-based voluntary work.  Two weeks observing and reporting on one of Earthwatch’s many projects worldwide is my reward for that work.  The base for my stay is Castara, a fishing village on the northwest, Caribbean coast of the island.  Accommodation for me, and the rest of the Earthwatch contingent, is in the basic but comfortable Blue Mango Cottages.  These are owned, and were built, by Scrabble fanatic Colin Ramdeholl, a Trinidadian of mixed blood, and efficiently run by his Jill-of-all-Trades, Rebecca Nedd who, as well as managing the business side, also cooks for us, and somehow still finds time to look after her own family.

The project I am attached to for the two weeks is examining the ‘lifestyle’ of the Manicou Land Crab, a delicacy on neighbouring ‘big brother’ Trinidad – but curiously not in its native Tobago – which is being over-exploited and, as a result, becoming endangered.  Our mornings – and evenings – are spent searching for these elusive creatures, in a stretch of river in the rain forest, which in this part of the island reaches down to the sea.  Adults can grow up to half a kilo, which may not sound much when compared with marine species, but they have extremely powerful pincers and if not handled carefully can cut a finger to the bone.  I leave the handling to the experts.  Specimens are taken back to Blue Mango, fitted with small radio transmitters, and returned to where they were found.  Our role then is to track them to establish what their pattern of behaviour is over the period.  We also catch juveniles – smaller, even more aggressive, but less able to inflict real injury.

Two weeks wading through, and occasionally falling into, rivers may not be everyone’s idea of fun, but the overall experience gives an opportunity to become far more involved in Caribbean life as a whole than the average package tourist.  (Although I have to confess to spending some of my free time lazing on some of the most scenic beaches one could imagine.)

Tobago measures around 35km from Crown Point at its south western tip to its north eastern headland where Atlantic meets the Caribbean .  It is a mere 11km at its widest.  Small, but amazingly diverse in both scenery and wild life.  Land crabs aside, the marine and bird life provides a feast for all but the most demanding enthusiasts.  (For them, Trinidad undoubtedly offers a cornucopia of delights, particularly for serious twitchers).

Crown Point and the surrounding area are rather flat and featureless.  The ideal location for the international airport, maybe, but it is less obvious why so many major hotels have sprung up there – unless they were given little option by the planning authorities.  Luxurious though some of these four and five star establishments are, many of the tourists who stay in them have little idea what the real Tobago is like – but that probably applies to myriad tourists in similar situations across the globe.

If you want to explore, though, the best way is to hire a car – public transport is available but not entirely predictable – and head away from Crown Point .  The choice then is really between taking the Atlantic coast road or crossing the ridge to the Caribbean side, the route my driver took when I first arrived.  The main roads are reasonably well surfaced although some stretches are winding and uneven, to say the least.  There is a speed limit of 50 km per hour over most of the island, and it is both difficult and stupid to attempt to go much faster.  That said, a brief round trip is possible in a day, although this would leave little time for exploring.

The Atlantic road passes through Scarborough , the capital, which is worth a visit, indeed essential if you want to change money at better rates than normally offered by the hotels.  Scarborough is a bustling little port, with the inevitable fast food outlets as well as places selling more traditional fare.  The banks are modern and, if the service is a little pedestrian, the air-conditioning provides a welcome relief from the heat of the tropical sun.  There is also an Internet café, similarly air-conditioned, for those needing contact with the outside world.  The botanical gardens are pleasant but one is inevitably approached by the odd down-and-out offering an unsolicited and garbled history of the place, in return for cash – for his unfortunate family, of course.

Leaving Scarborough you can either turn left to cross the ridge via Moriah, as my driver did, or continue along the Atlantic road.  This winds its way through numerous small villages.  Bacolet, Pembroke, Belle Garden, Delaford, Roxburgh, Goodwood, Richmond, Speyside – a curious mixture of French and British names which hint at the island’s early encounters with Europeans.  You need to drive with care.  In the evenings the inhabitants congregate on corners ‘liming,’ a term which means simply chatting and socialising.  Even the dogs are so laid back they frequently stretch out in the middle of the road, oblivious to all around them. Yet another reason to drive carefully.

There are innumerable bays along this road, but by no means all are safe for bathing.  The currents can be quite treacherous and there are tales of swimmers being swept away by them and their bodies eventually turning up half way round the island.  Signposted beaches are generally safe and Speyside not only offers good swimming but also excellent snorkelling and scuba.  Excursions on glass-bottomed boats frequently leave the jetty and cross to Goat Island and Little Tobago, the latter a nature reserve which can be visited with a guide.  The boats cruise slowly over the best reefs around Tobago with some incredible specimens of brain coral.  Snorkelling from the boat is possible, and the coral is far better preserved than that at the Buccoo reef near Plymouth , at the other end of the island on the Caribbean coast, where considerable damage has been done by divers and anchors, and is not to be recommended.

Speyside has several small reasonably priced hotels, and one – Blue Waters Inn – which is more expensive but pleasantly situated in landscaped grounds on an old sugar plantation at the north end of the village.

Beyond Speyside the road twists its way across to the Caribbean side, to Charlotteville, a delightfully romantic spot, which should be visited if at all possible.  You can then walk a kilometre or so further to Pirates Bay , where the water is unbelievably clear and the snorkelling is superb.

Only the foolhardy, or experienced 4WD driver, will attempt to continue from Charlotteville along the Caribbean coast.  There is a road of sorts, but the 10 km to Anse Fourmi is poor.  Better to turn round and drive back as far as Roxborough, turning right and crossing the ridge through the best part of the Tobago Forest Reserve.  This area was, according to the sign at the boundary, designated a protected Crown reserve as far back as 1776, making it the oldest conservation area in the western hemisphere.  Walks in the forest are worth the effort but it is advisable to have a guide.  Indeed it is difficult to avoid hiring one as they lurk near the entrance to the trails.  They are very knowledgeable though and you learn more than you would without them, and you do not get lost.

The forest road joins the coast road just above Bloody Bay .  Right heads up towards Anse Fourmi, a rather remote spot, left heads southwest towards Parlatuvier, Castara, Runnymede and Plymouth , place names that hint yet again at the turbulent European influences of the eighteenth century.

Between Parlatuvier and Castara is one of my favourite spots, Englishman’s Bay.  A crescent of soft golden sand, fringed with coconut palms and, when the sea is calm, some of the best snorkelling on the island, on a small coral reef within 100 metres of the beach and at a depth of 5 metres or less.  I have seen turtles, barracuda, enormous stingrays, fish of all shapes and sizes and the most brilliant colours and patterns, squid and octopus.  Or you can sit on the beach and watch the pelicans patrolling and, as they spot the shoals, plunging with that last second contortion of their necks to scoop as much as they can into their massive bills.  The brown boobies are far more aerodynamic and there is barely a ripple as they dive into the water.  Those pirates of the tropics, the magnificent frigate birds, are never far away though and they soar on high waiting for the gulls and terns and boobies to do their work for them.  Then they attack, and force the smaller birds to release their catch, or even regurgitate what they have already swallowed.  And if I feel hungry myself there is an excellent little snack bar on the beach which serves freshly cooked hot local dishes for next to nothing. 

A half hour stroll, or a few minutes drive, brings me back to Castara.  From this approach there is little to indicate the wide bay below but when I first travelled from the airport direction my driver stopped on the road above Castara.  From there the view is simply stunning.

Castara is a tranquil spot but it is a working fishing village.  The fishermen go out before dawn to set the seine nets and later haul them in, with their catches of king fish.  A few provisions and liquor stores are dotted along the road above, and there are others down the hill near the beach, along with two or three eating places – which may not always be open.

Blue Mango Cottages are tucked discreetly in the trees on the cliff top fifty metres or so from the road.  I am staying in Cliffhanger – a somewhat disconcerting name, but it is built to withstand whatever might be thrown at it, including hurricanes.  From my veranda, while enjoying an ice-cold Carib beer, I can watch humming birds sipping nectar from the frangipani.  Barred ant shrikes call to each other in the trees, their little bodies bobbing with each note.  Powder blue tanagers flit to and fro, and banana quits perch on the dining table waiting to feed on left over fruit. As the tropical sun slides below the horizon an eerie whine, almost painful to the ear, fills the air.  When I first heard it I could only think it was due to a malfunction in some manmade device; perhaps a dry bearing in a pump.  When I eventually traced the source of the noise I was astonished to find that it is in fact produced by an insect, a beetle.  And just one solitary specimen at that!

It was not the only disturbing and puzzling sound I encountered in my early days in Castara.  On my very first morning, before sunrise, I was rudely awakened by a most dreadful screeching and squawking, which sounded as if it emanated from directly beneath my cottage.  I stumbled outside to investigate but the sound stopped abruptly.  I could see nothing which might explain the din.  The tropical dawn was breaking and I changed into swimming shorts and descended the few steps to the beach and entered the soft warm Caribbean for a pre-breakfast dip.  The noise, I learned later, was produced by the cocrico or – to give it its alternative, onomatopoeic, name – the rufous breasted chacalaca.  This is a bird which looks something like a cross between a large pigeon and a small turkey and is, for some reason, the national bird of Tobago .  It appears in the country’s coat of arms.  Noisy beast.

One frequently mentioned, but rarely, if ever, seen, phenomenon of the tropics is the blue – or green – flash that is supposedly seen as the sun dips below the horizon.  So few have seen this that many believe sightings to be apocryphal.  However I can confirm it is real and I happen to have seen it twice – on separate visits to Tobago .  Conditions have to be absolutely right.  There must be no vestige of cloud above the horizon – all too often the final moments of the sunset are obscured by cloud.  Given a clear sky though an intense blue green light appears for a fraction of a second at the point where the sun disappeared.  It is very brief, but very intense and unmistakeable.

As darkness falls, around six thirty to seven o’clock local time, geckos edge out from their hiding places and stare at the insects attracted by the artificial light.  Their slow motion stalking has a strangely soporific effect and before long one begins to feel drowsy.  That’s one of the great things about staying away from the tourist centres, particularly in the tropics; there are fewer temptations to ‘party,’ and fewer feelings of ‘missing out’ by taking an early night.  And, if the whispering of the waves breaking on the beach below fail to send one to sleep, then fire flies are far more exotic things to count than sheep.

My first trip to Tobago was a result of serendipity – an unexpected and unsolicited bonus of my work with Earthwatch, to visit somewhere of which I knew little, apart from its being – vaguely – somewhere in the Caribbean .  But it turned out to be one of those rare experiences – love at first sight.  And as long as Tobago remains relatively undeveloped I will remain faithful.