The Pitch Lake
I know this is what they all say, but from afar the Pitch Lake really doeslook like a parking lot, albeit one dotted with puddles and bushels of grass.
The area was fenced in and two tour guides stood at the ready to pounce on me, should I come any closer. But I didn’t care, I’d made it. I could take my snap and leave.
This felt like the end of a marathon.
Hector and Vincent weren’t too put off when I declined their offer of a tour. Ten US wasn’t a bad price, but I really couldn’t afford to pay that on my own. My secret hope was to tag along with a group and split the fee.
Vincent jumped up and sped towards a turning car. He waved at us, then signalled the driver to turn in and park a short way further down. He was on the job.
There is a fence around the lake, but no gate. It appeared to be publicly accessible. If I could get a little closer, I might get some better pictures.
“Don’t walk on the lake,” Hector warned. “It’s like quicksand in places. People die.”
“I know. I won’t—not without a guide.”
I got half-way to the turn-off—marvelling at the pitch that was encroaching on the path and rippling around the plants even without any visible source, this far from the lake—when Vincent called me over. He was consulting with a bunch of Indians.
“You walk with me,” he said, not waiting for any objections from the group. “Come.”
So I did get to tag along, but in my hurry not to cause any delays I missed a lot of good photo opportunities. If you want to see what the lake really looks like—and get a description of it from a better writer than myself—you could do worse than checking out this link.
Richard Seaman (above link) has found the words that escaped me on that day. The lake is almost like a living thing: oozing, warm and soft. It yielded under our steps like the skin of a giant beast. It oozed with imperceptible slowness, reminding me of a snail uncurling from its shell, wrinkles and grooves caught in a snapshot as they are unfurling. It even breathes. Vincent poked a finger into the soft pitch and prodded, opening a gas pocket like a tiny crater. He demonstrated that the pitch is riddled with holes, like a sponge.
“Otherwise this would be an active volcano,” he said.
In the rainy season, the lake is covered with small lakes and water-filled furrows. The water is almost golden with dissolved tar and smells of sulphur. Vincent swears that it would heal anything.
“Grazes, acne, mosquito bites—”
“Really?” I interrupted. “I could bathe in the stuff.
That got a laugh and I washed my feet with a bottle he had scooped up from one of the pools, but I didn’t have any actively itching bites that day, so I can’t attest as to whether it works.
Tiny fish dart between the furry algae that line the underwater walls. There was an amazing amount of life. Despite their pending peril, grasses grew crass and green between the black folds of pitch. Dragonflies perched on them. Vincent said that there were no mosquito larvae (“they can’t breath the toxic air”) but I saw a tiny waterbug, no bigger than a pin head.
“In six months they all die,” Hector said. “Here we get six months of sun and six months of rain. In the dry season, the water evaporates. Within three days, the pools will be filled again with pitch. Pitch is lighter than water and it’s pushed aside.”
At the bottom of every one of the mini lakes and furrows, we could see seams of fresh pitch oozing forth, as well as sometimes another substance that was creamy white. I wanted to ask, but the others were hurrying on. Vincent had stopped by a shiny patch, gesturing us all to stand back.
Most of the lake is covered by a leathery layer commonly referred to as ‘elephant skin’. It is peeled back and discarded when the pitch is mined. For some inexplicable reasons, part of the lake stay soft and you can draw strings of tar with a stick ‘like taffy’ as RS puts it.
Even on the dry patches we had to watch our step, as the lake constantly expels twigs and tree trunks, bits of a forest that may have been swallowed thousands of years ago. The wood is bone-dry and—as Vincent put it—as light as cork.
We had to come to the end of a fascinating tour. It was a bit like walking on the surface of another planet. I drank in the rich green of the wetland that surrounds the lake as Vincent went to pick a few flowers “for the ladies” (me and a teenage girl). Feeling sheepish at having intruded on their tour, I offered the others the bag of rose apples that I had bought from one of the street vendors in lieu of not taking him on as a tour guide.
When we shook hands I gave Vincent my card and twenty TT. I had noticed that this was what the others had paid per person. He didn’t say anything.
On the way back to the road, I stopped over at his and Hector’s patch to thank him again. I was gushing, because it had been an unexpected treat. I had regarded the Pitch Lake as a glorified parking lot: something that has to be ticked off on the list of sights in TT, like the Tower in London (not that the Tower is a glorified parking lot, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there).
“One of Trinidad’s true surprises,” I said.
Tags: Americas, La Brea, Pitch Lake, Trinidad, Tag Index
Denni
January 3rd, 2009 at 09:13
Hi Denni
Have been following your blog. Hang on in there… I spent some time in Trini doing fieldwork on wild guppies with a group from St Andrews Uni (we staid in University accommodation). Many of the tiny fish in pitch lake are guppies – this was one of our field sites. Don’t know if you have red Journey to Red Birds by Jan Lindblad – IMO it is worth reading and you can still get it second hand. If you come away from Trini with even vaguely good memories, you may want to read it – here’s a seller
http://www.clarebooks.co.uk/item11673.htm
My take on Trini was that it is a bit like the Phillipines – best avoided unless you have a very specific purpose (such as field work or cave exploration) and local connections.
Hope you find what you were looking for.
January 3rd, 2009 at 16:59
You had connections to St. Andrews too? Our lives seem to shadow each other 😉
I’d love to do field work here. The bird life is mind-boggling. Birds aren’t my thing though. There are said to be manatees in Nariva swamp and the waters ought to be teeming with Sotalia.
I’m having a great time, but panic disorder is a curse and it catches up with me now and then, and minor depression tends to follow in its wake. It goes up and down.
January 3rd, 2009 at 17:11
P.S. I’ve edited this since. How embarrassing!
I shouldn’t post without editing, but the I don’t want to spend my days in internet cafés either :/