Argyle Waterfall, Tobago

By the time the tour guide finally brought the group to the Argyle Waterfall, after talking incessantly about the flora along the side of the dusty path, Dierdre’s head was pounding from the heat and constant chatter and she wasted no time in stripping out of her tee-shirt and shorts and wading into the pool at its base, still and deep enough to totally immerse herself in the refreshing coolness, surrounded by the curious gazes of freshwater mullet. The other tourists in her group were not so adventurous, or perhaps this was too tame for them. So Dierdre put her sandals back on and followed the others up the path and over the rocks that brought them up to the second and third pools filling with the cascade as it spilled over the lip of the escarpment out of the rain forest. It was heaven. Already her head was pounding less, her skin had lost that hot dry feeling and her forehead the tightness from squinting against the too-bright sun. This was heaven.

She noticed right away that the bottom of the pool was uneven: there were large rocks hidden in the water that tripped her up. Under the falls themselves the sensation was intense. The water pelted her head and shoulders like an avalanche of pebbles and she half expected to come away with bruises. But like after the ministrations of a muscular masseur, she felt the tension leaving her body, her own muscles relaxing after the long trip in the car, the enforced sitting. Conversation was impossible beyond shrieks of pleasure and Dierdre frisked and frollicked under the falls, finally retreating to calm waters close by where she lay on her back and looked up at the blue sky framed by the tropical vegetation. “I’ll be back,” she thought to herself.