Contentment Needs no Explanation: Sailing the Turks and Caicos

“This?  This is what water is supposed to look like.”

The man under the crumpled fisherman’s hat sighed contentedly and introduced himself to me as Tibi Galu. His name sounded like he should be the main character in a novel set in some far off land, and although I would soon learn that he had many colorful stories to tell, for the moment, he was simply the skipper aboard the S/V Atabeyra.

Extending beyond the bow of the 77 foot schooner was a sparkling expanse of teal  water that faded into emerald and then surrendered into deep, beckoning blue. We cast off the lines and silently pulled away from the dock. I had to agree with the skipper’s sentiment that this was exactly how ocean water should look, and I echoed his contented sigh as we set off for an island cruise around the Turks and Caicos.

True Beauty Lies Beyond the Beach

Island vacations and the pictures that spring from them always seem to be focused on the beach. I’ve never really understood that vantage point, personally. While I enjoy a good stroll on the beach and the sand in my toes as much as the next guy, the real heart of any island is in the lapping water that surrounds it. If I were choosing a hue out of Mother Nature’s crayon box, Caribbean blue water would have to be my favorite. It is one of those colors that you don’t just see with your eyes, but with your soul, and once you know it, you cannot wait to get back.  Setting out on a half day cruise would mean spending the day surrounded by sights that were like a deep cleansing breath to my soul.  Among the gently flapping rigging above, and the smattering of green shrub covered islands beyond, I had found my happy place.

Our First Stop: The Reef

Although it seems like we are on our way to somewhere, we stop long before we get to anywhere. Bobbing along, I realize that our destination is below. Fins and masks are produced and there is the fumble of flippers and gear wrangling. Even though I am a certified scuba diver, the gearing up process has always had the flavor of the gangly, growing teenage years. I am not graceful, and always feel awkward in my awkwardness. Pressing past the ungainliness, I waddle to the side of the boat and giant stride into the water. In my mind, this move is always graceful and effortless, but it must look something less than agile, for Tibi leans over the boat with concern to ask if I am okay. Pressing past another awkward moment, I duck my head quickly in the water and flutter kick towards the reef.

In the water, the clumsiness of the surface disappears. Once I am positioned over the reef, I take a position of inert rest and try to move as little as possible. I have never been a strong swimmer, I am claustrophobic, and honestly don’t like to get my hair wet, but the ocean erases all of those trappings. Becoming a voyeur into the undersea world is hypnotic- the mesmerizing monotony of the current, the deep, unending expanse, and a sweet sensory deprivation silence are all a part of what draws me back. It is not at all about what I see, but I how I feel.  If everyone had regular access to the ocean, Xanax and Prozac would become unnecessary.

Aside from a small collection of fish gathered in some sort of meeting of the minds, the sea life is fairly minimal, and the snorkeling is brief. My time underwater is long enough to get that ocean buzz that keeps me strapping on fins and waddling gracelessly to the side of the boat.

Cliff Scrambling and Shipwrecks

Pulling up anchor we head to our next destination, Pine Cay.  The island is the home to one private resort, but is otherwise unspoiled and uninhabited. From our vantage point on the beach, it is our own island paradise. We have stopped here to snorkel the shipwreck that lies just a few yards off the beach in shallow water, but something else catches my eye first. Towering above the beaches are chalky white cliffs, cut by wind and water to look like stacks of sandy pancakes. In an uncharacteristic move, I am compelled to climb them. There is nothing to see at the top and no real extra advantage to getting 15 feet above the beach, but I am compelled nonetheless. I want to climb them simple because they are there. As I scout out my hand and foot holds, I wonder if this is how my boys feel all the time.

At the top, the view is stunning, butI have really gained nothing except the pride of doing something out of the norm, and that is enough. The climb down is more of a controlled fall than anything, but with my grace far left behind, it hardly matters.

The next task is to check out the shipwreck that brought us to Pine Cay in the first place. Although thoroughly crusted by time and coral, the ship retains its original shape and looks much the same in form as it must have before it sank. I am curious how it came to be at the bottom of the ocean, but none of the crew seems to know or really care.  It’s a shipwreck, and that’s enough.

Before motoring to our final stop, one of our guides plunges into the water with intent. When he surfaces, he proudly produces a giant fiery red star fish. Without even asking, he places into to my hands where its size is even more obvious. It spans the width of both hands and as I am marveling at the size and weight, the guide gets a glint in his eyes, and tells me to hold still. I instinctively suck in my breath, but then my face breaks into a smile as I feel the suckers at the bottom of starfish burrow into my hand. It is surprising and marvelous. I know this is must be how children feel about life.

Deserted Island and Iguana Inhabitants

Our final stop is Little Water Cay, known locally as Iguana Island. We are, of course, hoping to see iguanas, but I am struck by the rugged beauty at this stop more than any other. A broken boardwalk welcomes us ashore, twisting and turning into the brambles on the island. Unlike the shipwreck, Tibi knows the story of how this boardwalk came to be, and it is a personal one. His father was the craftsman of most of the boardwalk; an effort that he hoped would bring tourists and encourage activity on Little Water Cay. When the money ran out, and the government was uninterested in chipping in, the project was abandoned, leaving the boardwalk unfinished. Time took its toll and left the boardwalk in its white weathered state, a state that was somehow more beautiful than a finished product.

Iguana tracks were plentiful and we did catch a glimpse of many of the slithering creatures, although it was mostly feet and tails as they scurried to hide in the bushes. Earlier in the day, we were told, they would be out sunning on the rocks. This late in the day their instinct was to head for home.

Fear and Sailing in Turks and Caicos

Our instinct was the same, and Tibi polled the group to see if we had enough time to return to the dock under sail. It would be more time consuming, but also more relaxing. At that moment, I realized that was, in fact, captive on a sailboat, and I was filled with unexpected fear.  I developed a fear of sailboats that refused to be reasoned with when I was caught on sailboat in a writhing storm. As a person who is fairly fearless, my fears always surprise me, and this was no exception.

I began to feel a cold dread, a feeling I hate, not just because it is uncomfortable, but because it is unwelcome. Before I had time to ruminate on my misery, Tibi was asking for volunteers to hoist the sail and I was on my feet before I could think it through or back out. I have always coached my children that they only way to get over their fears is to go through them, and it was time to take my own advice.

I stood ready for instructions and braced myself for whatever might come. What came was a deep seated pit of sickness in my stomach. Without my permission, my mind and body went back to that night on the stormy lake. I must have looked pale as one of the other passengers asked me if I was okay, forcing me to realize that I obviously do not have a poker face.

Tibi signaled for me to begin to raise the sail. Hand over hand, I pulled, putting more and more effort into the hoisting with each tug.  With every motion I felt the grip of fear loosening. As the billowing sail reached its uppermost point, the passengers cheered, and I was satisfied with my progress. Perhaps my fear would be much more reasonable the next time I encountered it.

Sailing into the Sunset

With the sails flapping gently, I took a natural position at the bow of the boat, where I could watch the nose carve a frothy path through the blue water. Mingled contentment and pride rumbled around in my thoughts, and I stared at the water and tried to make sense of my gamut of emotions. Taking an afternoon sailing trip, even if it is in the most beautiful water surrounded by the most beautiful beaches, is not a life changing event. Still, I felt different. Was it the conquering of a fear, or the trying of something new and unnecessary? Or was it just spending the day fully immersed in the glory of nature? I really couldn’t say much what made this new feeling, and I took a page from the captain’s book and decided not to care. I was content and that was enough. 

~Ocean Beach Resort provided my sail aboard the Atabeyra. They did not require that I express a particular viewpoint and all opinions are my own.~