By Tara Bradley

updated 6:21 p.m. ET May 1, 2007

It’s finally here — the week I’ve been waiting for. I have left behind e-mails and meetings and returned to the real reason I work for a dive magazine — the water. The second I hit the hotel room, swing open the door to the balcony and breathe in the fresh ocean air I feel my feet reject my shoes. All I want to do is dive. By day’s end, I am giant-striding off a swim platform, my eyes on a watercolor horizon. When I’m finally submerged, my gear fits like a favorite pair of jeans and the coral looks brighter and bigger than ever. Sharks, eels, barracudas and rays all come out to say hello. After a few dives, I’ve officially turned “blue.” I have dive fever and if there is a cure for the condition, I don’t want to know about it.

In no time I’m sporting a bronze glow and a lazy stroll. Life would be perfect if we could do this every month. Luckily, the three islands that make up this Caribbean nation are a short flight from most U.S. gateways — and in my case, the drive to the airport takes longer than the flight. When I want to make the most of those precious diving days away from work, the Cayman Islands are my go-to destination. And it is always a trip to remember. 

Shoeless Shores
Cayman Brac
“When the road ends you’ll find a rocky beach spreading out to the end of the island,” the sunny lady at the front desk of Brac Reef Beach Resort tells me. “That’s where it is: Shoe Rock.” She then explains the legend of Shoe Rock. Along the shoreline are shoes. If you find one, make a wish and throw it at the rock (which shouldn’t be hard to find as it is covered in shoes). If the shoe sticks, your wish will come true — yet why the shoes actually stick seems to be as much a mystery as why they are there in the first place.

Never one to pass up a chance to make a wish (or to look for shoes), I drive toward the southeast corner of Cayman Brac.

My bare feet stumble on the rocky shore until I find the perfect walking stick — just my size. The sun peeks from behind a cloud and exposes mismatched shoes scattered along the beach. I wonder how far they have traveled and whose feet they have adorned. I think how amazed I would be to find the single red flip-flop I lost a few years ago on Grand Cayman. I look up and a few yards away, decorated like a Christmas tree, is Shoe Rock. Just then, I see it — a lone sun-bleached red flip-flop hidden by the shade of a large rock, and just my size. I gape in disbelief and pick it up. As I make my wish, I throw it to the top of the rock and watch as it tumbles down, joining the pile of rejected aspirations at the bottom. Sadly, its luck must have worn out. It did travel all the way from Grand Cayman, 90 miles away.

Cayman Brac is not the smallest or the largest of the Cayman Islands, but the middle child. It is one of the Sister Islands and less than a five-minute flight from Little Cayman. Like many middle children, it shares the manners of its siblings, having the calm of Little and the lights of Grand. And although the islands may be different, their common thread is the water that surrounds them.

That water is why I’m here. Divers in the know have flocked to the Brac for years — evident from the high rate of return customers found on the dock of PADI Dive Center Reef Divers the next morning. We watch as the melon-colored sun climbs up the horizon and divemasters Donnie and Chris prep the morning boat. To the sound of clanging tanks, we board their 46-foot Newton called Little Sister and take our places next to our gear — already set up. Gear is the last of our worries as Reef Divers provides what they call a “valet diving experience” — perfect for divers who don’t like carrying their gear, or cleaning it … or setting it up. Basically they do everything for you but breathe.

At our first dive site, Public Beach, my dive buddy Scott and I have already figured out our dive plan: a deep wall followed by a search for swim-throughs. On our way to the wall, a small purple anemone pulses inside a crevice of the coral, like a wind-snatched scarf. Ahead I see the dark secret of a swim-through and the promise of the wall. As Scott and I fin through the passage, a hermit crab couple slowly moves, giving away their disguise. We slip out onto the wall and hover wide-eyed in the open abyss. Making our way down, we find light at the end of a crevice, calling us to shallower water. As we make our way through, holes in the coral give fleeting glimpses of fish and sea fans — making me wonder what I’m missing on the other side of the underwater fence.

Ty Sawyer A large barrel sponge forms the figurehead on the prowl of a Cayman wall.

In a way, I get to find out. A short boat ride takes us to Sergeant Major, our second dive site. This time Scott and I have decided to focus strictly on the little stuff … and the swim-throughs. Peterson cleaning shrimp frantically clean an anemone as the first of what will be three stingrays skirt my peripheral vision. A hogfish rises over the peak of a giant coral head while below a massive lobster reaches its antenna out of its small lair. Sponges with the intricate designs of fine linen decorate the sea floor, and nearby a large grouper and a few parrotfish primp at a cleaning station as if preparing for a night on the town. When I stare long enough at the bright yellow tube sponges, their wrinkles and ripples start to resemble faces like the trees in The Wizard of Oz. And as we ascend, the top of the reef is clouded by a school of horse-eye jacks blissfully circling each other — the perfect safety stop.

Before the sun goes down on my last day, I take a final drive around the island. Caves and flowers line the roads like topside swim-throughs and colorful coral. And like the dark recesses I’ve found so plentiful on the dives here, the caves have the same draw — begging me to enter.

Slide show   A Mermaid’s Playground The underwater world presented by Sport Diver Magazine. more photos

Along the way I stop to see Garlon — a born and bred Bracker — whom I met my first day on-island. He is blessed with a face drawn by decades of good stories, lots of laughter and Cayman sunshine. As I take a seat next to him, I have the feeling I’m sitting next to my grandfather — a man filled with stories from “back when.” Upon talking with a local woman, I have discovered Garlon’s former profession — which he conveniently has repeatedly forgotten to mention. And when I tease him about it, the former district commissioner for the Sister Islands, answers with a feeble smile. As with many Caymanians, boasting is not part of his repertoire.

As the day comes to an end, I say goodbye to Garlon and make my final way westward toward BRBR. Neighbors visit on front porches as their faithful pets nap at their shoeless feet. As the sun falls, the dust slowly settles on the empty road. A young girl in a pale pink shirt sits alone on the front step of her similarly colored pink house. The shades of dusk emphasize the warm hues as she looks down the road. She notices me in the distance and in Caymanian style gives a friendly wave. Smiling, I wave back — a simple way to end a simple day. As I drive down the road, I can see her in the distance, still waving goodbye — just like an old friend.

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