The Cunha Cunha Pass conjured up images of a wild bushy track through lush masses of flowers, leaves and vines, with birds singing sweetly and the bubbling of a small stream always to be heard off in the distance.

So on our way to Millbank, Portland, eco-tourism definitely wasn't one of the things that crossed my mind. Would we be able to make it back down to Port Antonio? was certainly a thought that got much attention, because after crossing a dirt-covered, pothole-riddled single-lane bridge in the vicinity of Windsor, the roads deteriorated into little more than dirt and river-bed stones with a smattering of thin asphalt.

Eric McCurbin shows the cacoon vine, which he said the Maroons used to camouflage themselves during their war with the British. (Photos: Karl McLarty)

Even the route taxi operators were forced to make their way at a crawl. But despite the deplorable roads, scores of Portlanders could be seen smartly dressed for work or in clean, crisp school uniforms ready to brave the roads to start their day. This hit home the resilience of the Portlanders, and indeed all the Jamaicans who are forced to live with bad roads on a daily basis.

Eco-tourism though, is something that we all know about. If not by name, then by the idea, because we know that there should be a way to market our natural attractions, apart from the sea, sand and sun, while preserving our unique natural environment.

The Cunha Cunha Pass is a poster-child for eco-tourism endeavours, but in my mind, what's more important is that it shows our ability, as we Jamaicans say, to 'tun wi han mek fashion'.

Bowden Pen Farmers' Association President Peter Higgins makes his way along a stony section of the Cunah Cunah Pass.

When the Bowden Pen Farmers' Association (BPFA) faced the realisation that planting ginger was no longer going to support their livelihood and their community, they turned to the Environmental Foundation of Jamaica (EFJ) for funding. Their intent was to restore the Cunha Cunha Pass, which, for over 300 years, had linked the communities of Bowden, Millbank, Ginger House, Comfort Castle, Windsor and others to districts in St Thomas, like Hayfield.

"People from the district used the trail to visit their families in St Thomas," explained BPFA vice-president Eric McCurbin.
Bowden Pen Farmers' Association President Peter Higgins added, "People would use it to go funerals in St Thomas. You'd see women in black with dem grip on dem head a walk."

But when the Forest Industry Development Company (FIDCO) began using the lower section of the trail as an access route to land nearby for pineapple planting, as a result of being widened, water began to break down the Pass. "And then after (Hurricane) Gilbert, it was impassable," said Higgins.

Hurricane Gilbert was at Category Four strength when it devastated Jamaica in September 1988. It was the first hurricane to pass over the entire island since Hurricane Charley in 1953.

The first rest-stop on the Pass.

These huge pineapple plants continue to border the beginning of the Pass, but they now belong to the Forestry Department. With the exception of the pineapples and small signs nestled in trees, there is nothing that gives a hint of the cultural importance of the area or even the magnitude of the endeavour to re-open the Pass.

Quite easy on the legs, the start of the 'country man' five-mile journey to Look Out, 2,350 feet above sea level and the highest point on the Pass, is gently upward sloping and a vivid shade of green.

The Cunha Cunha Pass has two rest stops; the first is two miles from where we started in Bowden, Look Out is another two miles up the trail, and then the end of the Pass in Hayfield is two miles after Look Out.

As we walked, Higgins and McCurbin delighted us with explanations of the uses of some of the 90 medicinal herbs and plants found along the lower section of the Pass. Higgins said that 'black jointer', if mashed together and applied to a cut, will stop the bleeding; the beautiful Wild Ginger flower is good for rashes and that there are others which can be used to stop running belly and if a baby has gripe. "First time people never have to go doctor unless dem break someting because dem did know 'bout bush," Higgins explained, as we continued our walk.

But it was the 'dehydrated grass' and the 'soap bush' that captured my imagination. I mean, imagine... your languid walk along the trail has begun feeling like a hike, and you've just realised that you didn't carry any water with you.

(Being the true 'city slicker' that I am, my water bottle was safe and sound in the transport vehicle.) And then you're handed a long stalk of grass that you're told is just as good as water, once the outer section is peeled off. My normal scepticism about leaves and bushes evaporated immediately, and I gratefully accepted as McCurbin handed me the 'dehydrated grass', which, to my surprise, tasted just like lemonade, except with too many lemons.

The 'soap bush' was a real treat. As McCurbin explained, this bush was used by our Maroon ancestors to wash-up after eating. My scepticism returned full force, until Higgins poured water over the bush McCurbin had been rubbing together and it actually began to sud! At that point, I decided to stow my doubts for the remainder of the tour.

My 'languid walk' feeling had evaporated miles ago and the 'hike' feeling had turned into a 'military exercise' feeling when I gave in and asked McCurbin how far along the trail we were. He replied, "About a quarter mile up", and I immediately started shedding. Not clothes. No, I needed those as protection against the mosquitos, which were determined, skilful and very thirsty.

As Higgins explained, "Them nuh normally get fi si nuff people". Instead, I shed my necklace, watch, bracelet and cap, which although all very light, somehow pooled massive amounts of sweat in the humid atmosphere. I also gave in and asked McCurbin if he had any water.

So, armed with a slightly out-of-place blue plastic cup filled with water, and a new resolve to just keeping walking until I fell down, I trudged on.

As we climbed, however, I found that my feet became better at avoiding the slippery side of the stones and finding the natural steps along the trail. At one point, I looked out to my left and found myself with a truly breathtaking view of the valley, and the intersection of the fog-shrouded Blue and John Crow Mountains across the way.

By this time we had already passed the first rest-stop, which I had actually been very happy to leave because the mosquitos had taken the opportunity to converge on us like an angry mob.

I found my rhythm and we climbed on. Always heading upwards, we passed through the 'disturbed forest', where there has been some farming and the introduction of non-indigenous species, into the 'natural forest', a part of the Blue and John Crow Mountains Park.

Here, not only was the soil different, as Higgins explained, but the air felt different too. Cleaner, crisper, 'more country' as one member of the group said, and really just more natural. It's as if our guides felt the change too. Stopping at 'Three Finger Jack', the spring where legendary Maroon Jack Mansong slid down the rock-face and broke his finger, Higgins explained that when the Maroons used the Pass it was nothing more than a bridle path.

"Rememba, is hand and foot dem did use walk," he explained, while showing that the Pass at that time had probably been no wider than the length of his machete.

McCurbin also showed us the cacoon vine, on the more sloping sections of the Pass, saying, the Maroons "would wrap this 'roun themself an' hide on the side of the pass 'till the British pass".
The Pass was named by the Maroons, who used the trail to escape from the Hayfield plantation in St Thomas.

However, on the Millbank side, the Maroons found another plantation and they 'cunha cunha' or couldn't pass. They then retreated to the Pass and took the hills as their own.

With a second cup of water in hand, and bolstered by McCurbin's saying that I was doing a great job managing the trail, I started up the last half mile to Look Out. We stopped briefly at the entrance to the trail that would take you down to Quashie Falls, which I was eager to see, but our guides said that it was an arduous mile-and-a-half climb down that even experienced hikers had difficulties with.

As we moved on, I wiped sweat off my neck and forehead, seriously contemplating just sitting on the side of the path and asking to be rolled downhill.

Then suddenly, the way ahead cleared. Not another turn, not another bridge, not another spring, but a rest-stop twice the size of the first one and a neat little blue sign that read: Look Out.

Unfortunately, when we got to the top of the Pass, we were greeted with a thick fog that completely obscured the fantastic view we'd been promised - "All the way to Newport West!" Higgins had said. Dejected, I slumped onto the bamboo seat in the rest-stop, not even caring that the mosquito horde had found my exposed right ankle.

I can still honestly say that the Cunha Cunha Pass is truly spectacular. Nature-lovers will certainly enjoy it, scientists will find a lush laboratory, and for 'city-slickers' it is quite an endurance test, but it is worth it. If only for that one moment when you look out across the wide expanse of valley, and the jaw-dropping view shocks you to your toes.

Since its restoration, the Cunha Cunha Pass has apparently been having its fair share of visitors. Students, more recently from Austria and Westchester University, regularly visit, and tourists have been known to rent the Ambassabeth Cabins on the Bowden side for as long as a month.

Earlier in the year, former US Ambassador to Jamaica Sue Cobb toured the Pass. And if you're planning to visit, it may be a good idea to take a leaf out of her book: start on the Hayfield side, and send your car around to meet you in Bowden.

Feeding the multitude

DANGEROUS PETS

Pepper Pot