Billed as being a slice of ancient Barbados, the gully is a romantic place, a three-quarter-mile densely wooded passageway through what was originally an underground cavern. In fact, it was once part of the same cave network as nearby Harrison’s Cave until the roof collapsed, creating the gully. It’s said that walking through Welchman Hall Gully is like stepping back into the primeval forest predating the island’s colonization by Europeans.

But I don’t see this at all. A forest, yes. Wild and primitive looking, yes. But primeval? Hardly.

There are citrus trees and bamboo, both originally from Asia. There are guavas, hog plums, and avocados, haling from Central and South America. The rubber trees are native to Malaysia, while the nutmeg and clove come from the Moluccas. The breadfruit trees, almost infamously, come from Tahiti, descendents of those brought by Captain Bligh (of Bounty fame) on his second attempt to transport breadfruit to the Caribbean colonies.

In short, a list of the gully’s flora reads like a roll-call of imported exotic species.

There are native species as well, but the thing that strikes me – as on every other island I’ve visited – is the dispersal of certain key plants, such as coconuts and mahogany, which man finds serviceable. Gullies such as these were often planted with such useful trees. This gully was once belonged to an early settler, a Welshman that "Welchman" refers to.

As there are two entrances to the gully, I found it easiest to have a taxi drop me off at one entrance and meet me on the other side. Steps lead down into the gully, continuing as a rather mossy, slippery concrete path through the long, narrow ravine. It’s eerily quiet as I wend my though the jungly growth, with the columns of stalactites and stalagmites of the original cave looming alongside. The hanging "beards" of fig trees and enormous leaves of giant elephant ears create an otherworldly Lost World atmosphere. There are monkeys here, glimpsed fleetingly in the canopy, and a host of birds. Carib grackles perch saucily on branches, emitting their long whistling calls ending in kew kew kew!

Welchman Hall Gully

I enter an airy grove of tall palms after emerging from a stygian section of forest with trees draped in twisting aerial roots resembling mandrakes. Soon I’ve reached the other side of the gully, where my taxi is waiting, but first I climb up to a gazebo perched on a dramatic overlook that offers sweeping views of the coast and Atlantic Ocean.

On my way out, I stop to chat with two active, fit retirees who have pedaled to the gully on their bicycles. She sounds Swedish; he sounds Canadian. They spend each winter on sunny, hospitable Barbados and appear to be flourishing.

I’m still thinking about imported species, plant and animal alike, as I get into my waiting taxi.