Cozumel Curacao BVI Easy Adventures

8/14/2019 Cozumel Curacao BVI Easy Adventures

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Pomato Point, Ley advises for my nea nice museum there. He pauses. The

They have a radio. If the weather gets bHalfway to Pomato Point, the rain

want to retreat. And more than anythinto rescue me. The sea leaps up to meet thrain as I paddle on. At the point, I pull th

the waterline and search in vain for thelater bring me back in his truck to see thof 200-year-old bottles and Arawak artifrusted roof its no Smithsonian but p

Im thrilled Im lost and that the drumon a cold, goose-pimpling edge. Salt stingssand stings my shins. Its a laughable far cbut it shows me what the A negadians cleasame thing that puts the island at risk makethat risk. Rescue boat be damned. I shoutcan hear me, and then I walk along the sandraise a coralline sea around my feet.

me detailed summaries of the swell and wind direction onthis coast, but he failed to mention this exact patch of coral.Sliding from the kayak, I tenderly pick my barefoot way acrosssharp coral, painfully aware that I may be causing harm toliving creatures. Meanwhile, I hold the bowline in a white-knuckle grip. Should the kayak slip from my grasp in therising wind, Id have a long and embarrassing swim home.

Back in sufcient depths, I continue west as the low coraland limestone slash of Anegada, studded with salt-beatenbuttonwood and mangrove trees, scrolls by me. I pull ashoreon the small beach fronting the Anegada Reef Hotel nearWe Be Divin. Ley appears calling, Hooyah, master chief!Hes a former Navy SEAL; a f ramed citation lauding him forhis dedication hangs on his wall. I dont deserve the title ofmaster chief, but I do want to go back out, so I keep quiet.

Im drawn to remote waters where I can revel in blessedprivacy, and as the thunderclouds advance, Im starting torealize that in this place that barely pokes above the horizon,I am hidden too. I want to worm deeper.

emerald surface, a breeze lufng gently at my back. Despitethunderclouds massing in the distance, I feel at peace.

I felt the same way earlier in the day when I visited theSettlement, the grandly capitalized collection of sun-bakedhomes where most Anegadians live. Nods and lazily liftedhands greeted me. Anegadas population numbers about 200people, most of whom sustain themselves from the sea, supply-

ing sh to the BVI along with famed Anegada lobsters. WhenI asked a local man how many families this represented, hedidnt linger in calculation. Seven or eight, he said.

Within five minutes Im paddling up to the listingremains of a sailboat. Shorn stubs of rope hang from twistedmetal, and guano spatters everything above the waterline.Seabirds sit on a bent railing. The dark shadow of a raypasses the boat. One mans misfortune is another mans morbid

fascination , I think as I drift slowly around the wreck. Imabsorbed until a crunching sound jars my attention. Ive runonto the same reef that doomed the sailboat. For centuriesship captains have run aground off Anegada. Ley had given

The view rom Anegada in the BVI is the Caribbean and nothing but the Caribbean. Oosite: A addler head

anegada is the last frontier for us, a woman from Tortola in the British Vi rgin Islands tells me. We allknow it is the last pristine place. She follows with a story:Every time a hurricane th reatens, a boat goes to Anegada toferry residents out of the storms path. Every ti me, the boatcomes back empty, the woman says with a touch of pride.

To reach this place worth dying for, I

board a boat in Virgin Gordas SpanishTown and ride 15 miles north alongsidecartons of fresh vegetables, a Yamaha key-board and a hubcap. Anegada appears onlyat the last minute a sliver rising just above the sea. Low-lying

Anegada is known as the drowned island, which begs a ques-tion: Why would anyone choose to ride out a hurricane here?

I rent a kayak from Ley Ordenes at We Be Divin andset out alone. Pushing out from shore, cool mud betweenmy toes, I see the stirrings of bonesh muddying the green

waters. Mangrove and sand ats, a y-shermans dream,extend along the islands south shore. I glide across the

Story By

Ken McAlpinePhotoS By

jen judge


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Off the Path in Curaamy curses behind me. i turn and see her half-concealed in dead plants, her blue cotton dress caught in thebushes. Blood trickles down her bare shin. I dont under-stand how you got over there, she says. Theres no trail here.Picking my way through the thorn bushes and cactuses hadput me in a trance. Now I notice a prickly pear bulb lodgedin my calf. Ive lost a snorkel n somewhere. The ocean wereouttted for we havent seen in an hour, and somehow weveentered that storybook wasteland used to scare chi ldren intosedentary professions. Unltered sun ricochets off jaggedrocks jutting from desiccated desert bramble. Its perfect.

I probably should have mentioned, I say as I thrash my wayback to Amy, recovering the fallen n and pulling her dressfree, I sort of enjoy suffering. This is our rst trip together.

I promised her adventure. She gives me a look I take to meanget me out of here so I can stop being friends with you.Adventurer Ryan de Jongh had told us the Blue Room was

the one spot we had to see in Curaao. Ryan grew up here, andhe trains for trans-Caribbean kayak voyages by paddling lapsaround the island. Its not on many tours, he said. You have

to swim in. Those are the notes I listen focool. So we rented a car, drove to the wesa dirt track to a locked gate, backtrackedand nally landed at t he beach bar/constrLets Go Watersports. Ryan told us to nThe deep tan and the faraway look in hi s

Dont go today, thetoo hot out there, and tIll rent you a kayak tomminutes paddling, no p

But we want to wrepeated. Amy wore

sion that suggests impatience. Theretain pointed past his last concrete platfo

nude sunning deck. The rst ve minuThe rst ve minutes ended two houron through the scrub, scraped up and heger onto a well-kept dirt road. We followback to a black pebble beach, Santu Pretumarching the other way. Its lovely, but it

Story By

MAtthewMiller

PhotoS By

jon whittle

Mostly tamed andusually welcoming,Curaao still oersa rugged landscaewith a ew wild cor-ners worth exloring.


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36 March 2010 I SLA N D S. c o m March 2010 I SLA N D S. c o m

Its too late to keep searching today, so we swim, lie on thebeach and watch the sun come down between Curaaos darkshoulders of layered rock. This secluded place should be idyllenough, ample reward for a trip to Curaao a nd the sting ofsalt water in open wounds. But I want to see the Blue Room.

Its midafternoon the next day when Captain Goodlifegives a told-you-so nod toward his battered kayaks and duct-taped paddles. We take the seaworthiest tandem and paddlethrough the maze of inshore reefs past the salvaged cruise-ship lifeboat the captain uses as a dive boat. Amazingly, Amyhas agreed to join me for a new attempt, this time by sea.

Rounding the bluff, we pass yesterdays pebble beach.Captain Goodlife told us to look for the black third buoy and ashrine to the Virgin Mary set in the rock. Past Boka Piskado, asfar as we reached on foot yesterday, we nd the third buoy. Itsblack, but theres no sign of a cave. A starburst pattern in therock looks like Marys halo if I squint. Im about to dive underthe cliff to explore when we spot a Zodiac full of divers tyingoff to something farther on. Coming abreast, we can clearlysee the arch of the cave entrance, waves lapping at its edges. Aplastic statuette of the Virgin occupies a niche in the cliff.

We tie off, ship the paddles and slide into the water. I carrymy camera above my head in a dry bag. Amy has my 3-poundtripod in a giant Ziploc bag. Its possible to keep one arm outof the water and kick backward toward shore, but that armgets heavy. I feel like Im going to drown, Amy says matter-of-factly. I want to tell her how good she looks with only herscarred shins and her face above water, how if she survivesIll take her on more adventures. But this may not be the besttime. Drop the tripod if you have to, I offer. She doesnt. Wemake it to the cliff a nd set the gear on a ledge by the cave.

The divers swim out as we swim in. Theres just roomunder the entrance arch to oat the dry bags and breathe.Inside, the cavern opens 50 feet across, with a deep blue-greenpool lit from below and a vaulted dome of black rock. A schoolof silvery sh ows in ribbons through mushroom-shapedunderwater stone formations. Amy, already out of the water,sits on the damp ledge, glowing in aquamarine light andsmiling at me. Beautiful, she says, another matter of fact.

We spend an hour in the cave, and no one comes. Thesun outside angles in as it sinks toward the horizon, theshades of blue shifting as the swell rises and falls in the cavemouth. We feel the pressure rise and fall in our ears, as ifwere inside the beating blue heart of Curaao. A motorboatapproaches outside, Captain Goodlife coming to check onus. He leaves again, but were running out of daylight.

Warm with fatigue, we sink back i nto the cool water, andI get that feeling again. B etter yet I can see Amy feels it too,her face bright. The electric thrill runs through us as we swimout under the arch of rock, past the school of sh now fannedacross the entryway and backlit by the setting sun. Billowingsilver curtains part to let us through.

Legend has it theBlue Room seacave on Curaao'swest end can bereached on oot.Its easier by boat.

Already out of the water, Amy sits on the damglowing in aquamarine light and smiling

Beautiful, she says, another matter of fa

MATThewM

ILLeR

dive cozuMel >>


5/6March 2010 I SLA N D S. c o m

80 Feet Below Cozumelas we descend, the oceans pure white floor

comes into focus through the clear water but I dont care.My wetsuit sticks to my burnt gringa skin, my tank drags mearound and my mask is fogging. Darth Vader breaths echoin my head; I feel li ke Im breathing through wax paper. Myns are giving me blisters. A stingray glidesthrough the scene, at ease, taunting me. It

belongs here. That makes one of us.Francisco, our PADI dive instructor

from Scuba Du, stares at me. My husband,Jason, oating next to me and completelymesmerized by the new world around him,doesnt notice my anxiety. How can he enjoy this? My earspop. How can so many people including about 1,000daily visitors to Cozumel enjoy diving so much?

Ten minutes into a two-tank dive, I already wish Id stayedback at the hotel and practiced my Spanish with the locals.My secret: Im a beach-loving Florida girl whos scared of thewater. Just 15 feet down, sitting cross-legged on the ocean oor,

I panic. My regulator must be leaking. My tank is emptyingtoo fast. My heart beats faster than it does after a kickboxing

workout. But Francisco looks at me so intently Id believeanything he said, or rather gestured. You, he crisply points.

Youre ne. Breathe. His arms rise and fall in the perfectbreathing cadence. I give the OK sign, half to talk myselfinto being OK, half b ecause I dont want to be a quitter. Still,

I dont like it. I add the universal hand signal for lying in ahammock drinking a margarita as the sun sets the otherreason people come to Cozumel. But Francisco isnt buying it.He gestures for us to follow him deeper, toward the reef.

As we kick along the sandy bottom, I think about thedivers Ive met on this trip, jealous of their passion for div-ing. The couple from Arkansas come celebrating their 40thwedding anniversary. The wife has a pink regulator and girlydecorations all over her gear, and she dives wearing a dia-mond the size of a baseball. No wonder she sinks so fast.

Youll love it, Greg, an IT g uy from Texas, had told meon the boat. Ha rness the anxiety. Turn it into excitement.

Story By

AshleyfrAxedAs

PhotoS By

stephengiordAno

Your frst scuba dive may be the scariest and the most exciting. A drit dive o resort-rich Cozumel makes it a

jOnwhITTLe;AshLeYfRAxedAs;OppOsITe:s

TephengIORdAnO


6/640 March 2010 I SLA N D S. c o m

I was uncomfortable when he said it, camarones al diablo gur-gling in my stomach, my suit binding in the wrong places. Imeven more uncomfortable now, and I still want a margarita.

But as Antonio Madrazo, sales manager of Scuba Du, toldme, You can drink anywhere. People come here to dive. Itstrue. From our patio at the Presidente InterContinentalCozumel Resort & Spa, I could see two tiki huts: one stockedwith tequila and abandoned at dusk, the other stocked with divegear and always packed. Just wait until you see the PalancarWall, Antonio said. Your jaw will drop. With a regulator inmy mouth? All their well-meaning advice still sounds ridicu-

lous, but as I ght to stay horizontal, maintain my depth, slowmy breathing, I resolve that if these people can do it, so can I.

As we cross from white sand to 40-foot-tall coral heads, thefamous Cozumel current gives us a 2-knot push. I move with-out effort, like Im on an underwater people mover. Scrawledlesh pucker their lips at me, ta ils spreading like Chinesepaper fans. Stoplight parrotsh in blue, green, yellow andpink swim past my mask, followed by a brilliant blue tang. Idont even have to kick. I stop ghting and give in to Palancar.

Watching everything around me, Im no longer thinking,Im going to drown! Im thinking, I want shoes that color!

Francisco taps on his tank to get our attention andmotions for us to come back and look at something in thereef. Please not something carnivorous with sharp teeth , Ithink, but he points to a splendid endemic toadsh in the

study all the concentric circles, Etch A Skasterisk bursts that make up the patterns the reef. Im thinking this intimate viewIve seen snorkeling must be what ever

And then the ground disappears frand my jaw drops somehow. The C10 hues darker, and the temperature fallThe Palancar Wall plunges what seems sh respect the abyss only the biggeslooking creatures swim over that edge.

I want to go farther. I nally feel likeknow how deep I can swim. I want to s

I turn around and see Francisco com

thing in broken sign language. Im too fstand, but I assume he means welcome tyour fear. Jason is staring at me now tooand squeezes it, happy as I am to be sh

When Francisco gives the thumbs upascending, I shake my head no.

coral. Its one of the most elaborately hideous creatures Iveever seen, and I couldnt have seen it anywhere but threeatmospheres of pressure underwater in Cozumel.

As we drift north in the massaging current, a coral amphi-theater pink vase sponges, convoluted barrel sponges,great star coral, black sea rod surrounds us. Nurse sharksswim by. Hawksbill turtles sink their beaks into the mostappetizing parts of the reef. Spotted morays duck into eel-only crevices. Jason spots what must be the worlds largestnon-goliath grouper. The monster has entranced a trigger-sh one-sixteenth its size. The trigger doesnt move. Thegrouper comes at it ve or six times, mouth wide open. Wekick against the current, watching until the grouper nally

opens wide and swallows the trigger in one salty gulp.Fifteen, 30, 50, 75 my depth gauge tells me Im 80 feetunderwater, but the surface seems close. I want to reach up andtouch it just to prove my gauge wrong. Im eight stories under-water, and Im not scared. Jasons eyes smile at me through hismask. We hover inches above Palancar Reef, so close we can

I want to go farther. I nally feel like a big sh.to know how deep I can swim. I want to stay dow

peole visit Cozumel or two main reasons: drinking and diving. Only one gives you this view o the palancar Ree.

AshLeYfRAxedAs;OppOsITe:sTephengIORdAnO

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Cozumel Curacao BVI Easy Adventures