Things to Do in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines in March

March is likely your best bet for combining steady wind for the sail over with placid, glassy water once you drop anchor in the Cays. The sun is strong enough to warm your back on the deck but hasn't yet cranked up to its blistering summer peak. You'll hear the wind humming in the rigging on the passage over, then the silence is broken only by the splash of turtles surfacing and the crackle of parrotfish nibbling coral. Book through licensed operators who include park fees. The mooring buoys here are there to protect the seabed, and the rangers do check.

The trail up to the rim of the active La Soufrière volcano is a different beast in March. The upper slopes are often still wrapped in the cool, damp cloud forest, the air thick with the smell of wet earth and bromeliads, while the lower bamboo groves are less likely to be a slippery, leech-filled mess than in the wetter months. That said, the summit views are a lottery. You might get a crystal-clear vista over the crater's steaming vents and down to the Caribbean, or you might spend an hour in a dense, misty whiteout where you can see ten feet. Guides are non-negotiable. They know the shifting weather patterns on the mountain better than anyone.

This is the month to see Dark View Falls in full, roaring voice. The winter rains have topped up the rivers, so the twin cascades pound into their pools with a force you can feel through the wooden viewing platform. The walk in crosses a river via a bamboo bridge that sways underfoot, and the air in the gorge is cool and charged with negative ions and the smell of wet rock. Combine it with a drive up the wild, Atlantic-battered windward coast, where the sound of the surf is a constant, booming backdrop and the salt spray hangs in the air. It's a world away from the calm leeward side.

The Saturday morning market in Kingstown is where the island's agricultural rhythm is on full display. In March, the tables groan under the first harvests - bunches of golden finger bananas, piles of breadfruit, and the aforementioned mangoes. The sound is a cacophony of patois haggling, the slap of fish being cleaned, and gospel music from a tinny radio. Pair this with a visit to Fort Charlotte, perched high above the harbour. Up there, the breeze cuts through the market heat, and you can almost hear the echoes of the colonial sentries in the empty barracks, while looking down at the cruise ships looking like bath toys in the blue bay.