Gros Piton The Bluff
Gros Piton
The Bluff
Julian Crist made the hike up Gros Piton in St. Lucia’s southwestern point in just under thirty minutes.
Summiting the Piton was a popular tourist excursion, and he and his group had made the trek the day before.
This evening, though, Julian ascended only to the Soufriere Bluff, a spot he had found yesterday and determined to be a perfect place to watch the sunset.
A simple hike, it required little more than following the trail that spun its way around the base of the mountain.
The most strenuous part of the journey was a steep climb up a series of fifty steps built into the side of the cliff by native St. Lucians who used boulders and bamboo to create a navigable staircase across the steep lower gorge.
Once a hiker was past the only spirited challenge on the way up to Soufriere Bluff, the rest of the climb was a tranquil waltz along a dirt path that offered occasional glimpses of the Caribbean Sea and the Jalousie Plantation.
It was a picturesque hike, but when he made it to the clearing, Julian knew he’d picked a flawless location for what he had planned.
He pulled his backpack off his shoulders and laid the blanket across the smooth granite of the bluff.
Below him was a pristine view of the Pitons Bay, where, in about forty minutes, the sun would descend from the cloudless blue sky and sink into the horizon.
He checked his watch. To make up for his foolishness, the setting needed to be perfect before she arrived.
He had nearly ruined everything earlier today.
He’d been wrong to accuse her, especially when it was he who was hiding things.
But he’d make it up to her tonight. He pulled two champagne flutes from his bag and popped the top on a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label, the cork rocketing into the air in a high arc until it fell out of sight over the edge of the bluff.
His stomach dropped as he watched the cork’s flight.
For the twentieth time since starting up Gros Piton, Julian checked his pocket, rubbing his fingers over the edges to make sure he hadn’t lost it.
With everything prepared, Julian stood to the side of the blanket as he looked out at the falling sun.
A sailboat, with its colorful sail full of wind, angled across Pitons Bay.
Down to his right, he could see Sugar Beach and the small group gathering to watch the sunset.
If there were a more beautiful place on earth, he’d never seen it.
He heard a twig snap behind him, and wondered briefly how she had reached the bluff without him sensing her approach.
Before this thought could trigger his muscles to react, a jolt coursed through his body.
It started in his head, a quick shock that stalled time and congested his movements, like swimming through oil.
Only the trickle of blood through his hair and over his ear caused his mind to catch up with the present.
He touched the spot on his head where the shock wave had originated, managing to get his hands back out in front of himself as he fell forward onto his knees.
On all fours, he watched as blood fell onto the granite as he leaned forward, like an artist dribbling paint onto a canvas.
The sun highlighted his right hand, the fingers of which were shiny red prongs that felt as though they belonged to someone else.
He staggered back to his feet and took unsteady steps, two forward and one to the side in an attempt to turn around.
A firm jerk—a shoe planted in the small of his back—snapped his neck backward and sent him careening toward the edge of the bluff.
He felt his stomach rise again, as if he were rewatching the arc of the champagne cork.
A twisted image of the mountain face, lush with green foliage, filled his vision for three full seconds before the ocean came up and grabbed him.
High on Soufriere Bluff, the setting sun highlighted the spilled blood and cast shadows of the champagne bottle and two flutes across the granite.
They stretched to their full length, three inanimate objects pulling all the contradictory darkness of their shadows from the brightness of the sun, until an hour later when they faded and melted into the night.