Backpacker – August 2019

JULY/AUGUST 2019

50 BACKPACKER.COM

W

ITHOUT WARNING, a vio-

lent blast of water and debris

erupted over the falls toward

me, transforming the dreamy swimming

hole into a churning monster. The river,

which had been emerald minutes ago, was

suddenly a dark and muddy torrent. I ca lled

out to my partner, Christina, but my shout

wa s drowned out by the noise.

It was late afternoon on Basse-Terre

Island in the French West Indies, and until

that moment, it was another day in para-

dise. The weather had been nearly perfect

for November—sunny skies with occasional

showers. A few hours before sunset, we

decided to hike to Acomat Fa lls, tucked ha lf

a mile into the rainforested mountains near

Guadeloupe National Park.

Heavy rain began to fall as we arrived at

the trailhead, so we decided to wait for five

minutes. Sure enough, it stopped a nd we set

off down the muddy path.

Christina and I are experienced hikers.

We’ve explored California’s Sierra Nevada

and slot canyons in Utah, where we knew

the importance of checking the weather

for f lash f lood risk. But for some reason, it

didn’t occur to me that the sa me thing could

happen on our tropical escape.

Expecting to spend no more than an hour

at the falls, we wore T-shirts and swimsuits.

I carried my phone, camera, and a mini

tripod. We were on vacation and visiting

a well-known spot, so I hadn’t told anyone

where we were going.

We hiked for 15 minutes through mud,

roots, and hanging vines. After crossing

the 10-foot-wide river at a shallow spot

and walking upstream about 100 yards,

we reached the falls—a 30-foot barrel of

whitewater shooting over the rim of a gran-

ite basin. It was around 4 p.m. and only one

other couple was there. We dove into the

green pool and f loated on our backs, looking

up at the canyon walls.

By 4:30, the other couple had left. We

knew we needed to head back to the car

before dark, but I was waist deep in the river

trying to photograph the falls, the hang-

ing vines, and the dreaminess of the place.

Christina was sitting on an outcrop of

granite above the basin. I finally got a good

shot—and then she screamed.

With a crack like thunder, a wall of brown

water hurtled over the top of the falls, car-

rying fragments of trees and plants with it.

Flash flood. I jumped out of the river sec-

onds before the deluge crashed over the

CHASED BY

A FLASH FLOOD

For J.P. Rose, 34, and Christina Fialho, 35,

an idyllic dayhike in the Caribbean in 2017

turned into a nightmare. B y J. P. Rose

SHANE L. JOHNSON

Skill Set
OUT ALIVE

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