I continued up the stream, past the abandoned house of the Canadian who mysteriously arrived one day, built his home, married a village woman, and just as mysteriously disappeared. I climbed the approach to Bassin Bleu using first the makeshift ladder left there for the tourists and then the handholds and the footholds carved into the rocks by the Arawaks. I had the cascades, the waterfall, the pools, and the sheer rockface covered with ferns and orchids all to myself. I slipped out of my clothes and dove in.