We dive by the light of a full moon. The sea is an alternative world, soft and muted in the silent glow. Below us, the bottom is a jagged mosaic of rock and coral, cast in shades of gray, sloping to the lip of a wall and then disappearing in the dark abyss. Above, the brilliant light catches each wave and ripple on the surface in a delicate web. Beside me, my brother, Flip, swims in dark silhouette, perfectly defined, his bubbles trailing in the moonlight and a faint green aura of phosphorescence surrounding him.
At the edge of the wall we switch on our lights. Tiny, bright orange eyes peer at us from nooks and crannies along the reef-shrimp and crab frozen amidst their evening scavenge. Fish hang suspended in aquatic slumber-squirrelfish, grunts, spotted drum-hypnotized by the light and bumping blindly along the reef. Wiry coral projects from the edge like miscreant whiskers and retreat into hidden crevices with the approach of our lights. I swing the beam into open water and spot a small reef shark. It turns and swims aggressively towards my light, swooping past my shoulder in a blind charge. I nearly lose my regulator, shouting incoherently at Flip: "DID YOU SEE THAT!?!" It was a small shark, but a shark nonetheless.
We swim a length of reef and back, our lights alternately on and off, soaking up the wonders of the site called 'Rappel.' As our air dwindles, I hear a muffled shout from Flip and swim to his light. An octopus crawls mechanically across a coral spire, its form and color changing rapidly to mimic the terrain. I reach out, resting my hand in its path. It touches me with probing tentacles, then retreats. We rise to the surface, lacking air but bursting with adrenaline.
We are on Bonaire, in the southern Caribbean, by far the most dive-friendly island on Gypsy's voyage. It is a giant theme park for adults-all the rides require strapping on a mask and fins and plunging beneath the turquoise waters. There are over 60 named dive sites strung along the leeward shore and ringing Klein Bonaire, a small island to the west. Anchoring is forbidden anywhere on the island, but there are moorings at every dive site, and scores more off Kraledijk, the capital, where we tie Gypsy at night. The dive shops are friendly and accommodating, filling our tanks each day, offering advice, and encouraging us to explore the island on our own. We are more than happy to oblige.
Flip is fastidious with his leisure, insisting on a strict regime of constant stimuli. He has ten precious days of vacation, two of them wasted in transit, and he is determined to squeeze the most out of his time aboard Gypsy. In eight days we make 12 dives (including two night dives), and a passage to Curacao. We sail up and down the length of Bonaire and around Klein Bonaire, visiting all the best sites.
At 'Twixt,' we encounter a coy sea turtle, paddling shyly in the swaying soft corals as we swim past. At 'Thousand Steps' we are surprised by three 100-pound tarpon, gliding effortlessly along our right flank like silent sentinels. The 'Hilma Hooker' is a 250-foot freighter we explore at night, swimming deep within her cavernous hold. On 'Sampler,' two large filefish poise vertically on the reef like psychedelic kites-twirling in exotic dance, their color changing slowly from burnt orange to mottled olive to bright blue spots. On 'Leonora's Reef' we ambush a huge spiny lobster, and rue the fact that park protection denies us a gourmet dinner.
Sated with Bonaire's underwater treasures, we sail for Curacao on August 9, a clear morning with a fresh breeze at our backs. We anchor in the afternoon at Klein Curacao, a deserted strip of sand about 12 miles southeast of the big island. The only structure on the island is a lonely lighthouse, with a huge ship grounded on the reef beside it. (It was unclear whether the lighthouse was built subsequent to the wreck, or the ship ran aground despite the lighthouse.) On Klein Curacao we enjoy one of our most spectacular dives-spotting two turtles, a gigantic grouper, menacing barracuda, and luscious corals galore. There is a Wild West feel to the place-how we envision Bonaire several decades before.
Curacao is Dutch, like Bonaire, but larger and much more diverse in population and geography. The inhabitants speak Papimento, a mish-mash of Dutch, Spanish, and English. Flip departs, and two days later Julie and John Scuras, old friends from Chicago, join me. The living is easy with the Scurases on board. We eat out constantly, rent a car for several days, and meet many people. John is a conversationalist of the first order, making acquaintances wherever we go. Regardless of the pretense, he always mentions that he once lived in Germany, an icebreaker that seems to work with the Dutch. Julie is five months pregnant, but handles life aboard Gypsy like a seasoned sailor-always game for adventure. She does treat herself to several well-deserved nights at fancy beach resorts during the trip, a luxurious respite from the rolling anchorages we visit.
Together we sail the length of Curacao and back, about 70 miles total, stopping at secluded beaches to dive, snorkel and sun worship. The leeward coast we traverse consists of continuous low cliffs, rising to hills, with occasional gaps framing beautiful white-sand beaches. The dive sites are as accessible and breathtaking as Bonaire. Along the way we meet a Dutch couple, Bernadette and Erwin, and they join us on Gypsy for several dives. Erwin dives every day, completing his requirements for Dive Master certification, and advises us on where to go. We visit Playa Jerimi, his favorite site, and are rewarded by encounters with an eagle ray, a turtle, and spectacular slopes of colorful corals.
John and Julie's final days on Curacao are spent at the Avila Beach Resort, a four-star establishment where the queen of Holland stays when she's on the island. I manage to join them each morning for the exquisite breakfast buffet, and then lounge on the beach soaking up sun and the pampering of the attentive staff. It was a brief but appreciated upgrade from the boat confines.
And now we are alone, Gypsy and I, thankful for the stream of visitors over the past few months and energized by the challenge of proceeding alone. To be honest, I'm anxious for a change. I'm tired of diving, and bored with beaches. It's time to rouse Gypsy for a long bout of sailing. We'll make the overnight cruise to Aruba, and then tackle the 400-mile passage to Cartegena, Colombia. The islands have been fantastic, each in its own way, but it's time to make landfall on a real continent. To witness snow-capped mountains and unbroken coastline. The Caribbean has taught us so much, but the Pacific beckons from beyond.
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August 25 - The Silent World
