Tobago Cays Snorkel and Trinkets

Today came the catamaran and snorkel excursion to Tobago Cays, famous for beach scenes from Pirates of the Caribbean. The sun sent forth a froth of filtered sunshine through layers of silky clouds. Forty of us loaded from a dock onto a bobbing catamaran after gurgling to shore in a tender – one of the motorized lifeboats put into service. For some reason, standing on the dock reminded me of a trip that Kim and I took last year to northern Idaho to go fishing with her two younger brothers, Mike and Chris. When we arrived in Idaho, it was nearing twilight, but we stopped at a sporting goods store anyway and picked up bait, fishing licenses, and a new rod and reel for me, and then we met her brother Mike at a small lake ringed with pine trees. Our dog Kelty, when walking out onto the dock, decided she was a water dog after all and plunged into the lake, splashing and spluttering, leash and all, and our yellow lab dog-paddled back to shore while I walked alongside her on the dock. But no dogs here in the Grenadines. The crew from the catamaran gathered our paper tickets and gave the ladies a hand getting on board, supporting their elbows as they hopped aboard. The engines growled as we pulled away from the dock but they soon raised the sails and sailed we did, plunging through the frothy seas.

We sailed past a spit of sand dotted with palms. Just a dinky stretch of beach. Sort of like Caye Caulker in Belize. On a trip some ten years ago, Kim and I took a snorkel tour from Ambergris Caye in Belize to Shark Ray Alley with a skipper by the name of Tar Baby (yes, his real nickname) and Suave (the handsome Gilligan). The pair nearly ran the boat out of fuel while returning from the excursion in a sudden rain squall, nearly got us all lost, perhaps as far north as Mexico, two Americans without a lick of identification. I had fronted Tar Baby some of his Belizean dollars for our snorkel tour in the Lazy Lizard Bar on Caye Caulker. He drank a beer or two, that I counted anyway. When we left the Caye, he ducked under a cover on the bow for a snooze while the clouds descended and rain eventually pelted us full in the face. We wore swimsuits and we wore tank tops and we wore flip flops. Not much else. We draped towels over our heads as if they wouldn’t become waterlogged in a matter of minutes. It was a tropical rain and it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Like reheated leftovers. Suave drove the boat. He squinted at a fogged up compass mounted by the boat’s steering wheel and tried without success to clear the condensate with his thumb. Just trying to get his bearings. He bent his head into sheets of rain. Then the engine sputtered. Low on fuel. Finally Suave lifted the canvas cover and gave his captain a gentle but firm kick in the rear end. Land was eventually found and gas was replenished.

But back in the Grenadines, the weather was golden today, pristine. Perfect amount of cloud cover – not too much or too little. Once we reached Tobago Cays we snorkeled. Dozens of colorful fish swam past in orderly pools. Several boxy shaped puffer fish darted about. I saw one eel but no Nemo. Even a pencil fish or two skimmed just below the surface. These fish of course need warm sea water to survive, and back in the day, when I was a kid, my Dad kept an aquarium of tropical fish. I mostly remember the guppies and catfish, but we had an Angelfish or two, and with their triangular shapes and long flowing fins, they were especially graceful. Once Dad transferred the Angelfish into a goldfish bowl because he somehow knew she was about to lay its eggs, and sure enough, the water turned to milky tapioca with the hundreds of eggs released by the female. Too bad not one grew to adulthood.

 
Well, once we finished with our snorkeling, we meandered over the sandy beach, flirted with sand crabs and watched the pursuit of colorful iguanas by camera toting tourists. Then we loaded onto the catamaran for rum punch. Aw Caribbean rum! You’ve got to love it! Once I bought some on a business trip to St. Croix when I was in the Army in the late 1980’s. It was dark rum with a caramel taste. It was yummy mixed with Coca-Cola (or as the people of Atlanta call it: co-cola). Our spirits now lightened with rum punch, the catamaran sailed some more, wind gusting into our faces and carelessly whipping our hair about in dozens of different directions. Rum rum rum in our tummies.

We cruised past Palm Island Resort, a ritzy island dotted with palm trees and palapas, with only 43 available guest rooms, the very least expensive going for only $625 a night! It reminded me of the secluded Heron Island perched on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia where we traveled to in 2001 and from where Kim and I booked a day trip to the deserted Wilson Island, an even smaller island chock full of coral beaches, an island so teeny tiny that one could walk around it in ten minutes. And we were the only ones there! Aw the glory of that day! And this day too, when we finally returned on the catamaran to Mayreaux, hungry, thirsty, sunburned, glad, and still a bit rum tipsy.

Copyright 2011 by Tom Flynn

Comments

[Bilmar Cruises & Tours]

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