On the little Island of Bequia, once upon a bygone era, there lived a lady by the name of Ma Peggy. She would often sit high atop a rock, at the highest point of land called Mount Peggy, and as she gazed down below at Life in the Bay, she would somehow sign to the fishermen just where to lay their nets for the best catch of the day.

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There was no Yoga this morning. Instead we had ourselves a serious breakfast, grabbed our freshly filled Camelbak's and met up with fellow Friends and Adventurer's at the dinghy dock,



where Dalynn happily greeted us with "Are you wearing your Big (Adventuring) Boots today?"

It was not even 10:00 a.m., and the morning was already hot and muggy.



OnOn (groan, moan), and "Oh Dear and Oh Bother", Up(the)Hill we go.



This season has been extremely dry for many of the islands,



yet the brilliant reds of the Flamboyant trees persist,



and sometime later in the village of La Pompe, we find ourselves walking towards and right into an incoming rain squall...



where you can spot the Whaling Station on the island in the back of the photo.



The Bequian's are allowed, using traditional methods (harpoons and wooden boats) ONLY, to harvest 4 humpback whales a year. Bequia is located in the middle of the Humpback Migration area, and whaling season is between February and April. It is not often that 4, or any, are caught, which makes me kind of happy, yet also impressively amazes me to imagine "traditional methods only" in the catching of a whale, with a hand-held harpoon, in a wooden boat half its size.

We found the perfect spot to hide away from the few sprinkles of a rain-shower that arrived,



having a good chuckle or two at our surroundings.



The concrete road turned and zigged and zagged, always ONwards and UPwards we continued, sweating and stopping to say hello,



to someone's idea of a pet, on a chain, in a dog hut, in the heat.

An immediate right turn,



showed us more impressive views of the village of La Pompe



and the higher we climbed, the nicer the views.



The dryness of the shrub,



with a sharp left turn by the red jeep?



It was easy to imagine being a mountain goat grazing onwards and upwards in these open pastures,



and Keep on Going ! Moan.Climb. Sweat. Walk. Climb. Clamber. Move.



Somewhere in the heightened elevation that is Mount Peggy, in the somewhat shade with just a hint of cooler air rustling the few very dry leaves on the trees, a bit of greenery started to appear,



as the path started to disappear amid the Gardens of Rock.



Climb up and over the rocks and boulders, and duck under the twigs and branches, (now you know why we do Yoga, right?)



and after a few more repetitive moves of the above, we finally reached the peak, the red flag of success, the Rock of Ma Peggy,



and toasted ourselves with Grins and Smiles and Whoops of Joy all around.



A facing the fear and do it anyways type of moment, right?



"That's enough with the photos - get me outta here !!"



Sometimes heading back down is harder than it looks, the dry sand and pebbles causing a few slippages of the feet, and our eyes carefully sought the right footing, the boulders that didn't move, the branches strong enough to support our weight, and,

"Put your glasses on" admonished Safety Dave, as he recounted a story of snapping back branches hitting him in the eye back in his Navy combat training days.

We continued down the hill and this time veered right and headed towards the fishing village of Paget Farm. Back at sea level, the households had laundry drying in the sun, the villagers friendly and waving hello,



and where the fleet had just arrived with fish to sell.



We stopped for an ice-cold treat,



as we waited for the bus that would take us back towards lunch.

It was a cheap fare (1EC pp) that dropped us off at the turn where we faced another walk on the hot concrete roads, going round corners and zigging and zagging, until we, once again, headed down the hill, towards Keegan's, each step of our weary feet hoping and praying that she would be open today, as we really didn't want to tell Capt'N Dave he had to walk all the way back up the hill without an ice cold refreshment and lunch.

They were open and we smiled in exhausted delight as we moaned and groaned ourselves into the brightly coloured chairs at the mauve and green tables, where we told the kind waitress of our morning antics,



and she immediately gasped and said "Drink up, you'll be needing another one !!"



Fish Burgers all around, and an order of fries to share, why not !!??

She waved good-bye and incredulously shook her head as she watched us walk back up the hill, towards the path



that would once again take us back down to the Sea Level of Princess Margaret Beach,



but first a side trip to the MakeOut Caves,



and then just a short walk back, in the hot afternoon heat, where barefoot was the only way to go, as the water splashed over our achey toes and hot tired feet in welcome relief,



and where we faced the hardest part of the journey,



that of the final sit-down and bend-down in order to clamber into Dinghy.

But first, we turned and looked from whence we came, (and if you squint real hard, you can almost see the rock with the waving red flag, at the most highest point of land there),



and we smiled as we waved to Ma Peggy, who was undoubtedly sitting up high on her rock, waving back at us, with a proud grin on her face.