The great Cayman Islands getaway

Wall Magic
Little Cayman
It is evening and the beach at Little Cayman Beach Resort is empty. Lazy palms sway above empty hammocks. The water laps toward me luring me to jump in for an impromptu night dive. I walk toward the shore, and with each sandy step I anticipate a chill. To my surprise, the water wrapping around my ankles is warm. When I look up, the bright stars shine like a spotlight on the sea. Then I notice I am not alone. From the glow of the occasional torch, I can make out the silhouettes of divers moving up the dock. They have returned from a night dive and from the sound of their laughter, it must have been a good one.

Good dives aren’t hard to come by on Little Cayman. Measuring a mere one by 10 miles, the smallest of the three islands is known for its simple life and dynamic diving. Columbus sighted the islands in May 1503 when his ship blew off course on his last trip to the New World. And the island hasn’t strayed far from the way he found it — people and cars are scarce compared to the iguanas and bikes that make up the small amount of daily traffic.

My first morning I take advantage of the unspoken bike-sharing policy and peddle my way down the main — and only — road, which leads to the local market, museum and Red Footed Booby Bird Sanctuary — all of which close at dusk. Along the way, small gravel paths lead from the road to the beach, a reminder of the water just a short walk away. And almost metaphorically, at the end of the main road is the sandy doorstep to the airport. Topside I have already discovered Little Cayman’s simplicity. And underwater, I’m looking to discover Bloody Bay Wall.

The story goes that a diver named Lea Lea saw a hammerhead and wanted to return to the same site every day to see it. Sadly, it didn’t give her an encore. But the divemasters ended up naming the site after her. So here we are at Lea Lea’s Lookout on Bloody Bay Wall. As I glide through the swim-through that will throw me into the abyss, I look up — something every diver should do at least a half dozen times on a wall dive. As the sunlight pierces down, the basket sponges and sea fans exude a ghostly glow. A large crab hides in a crevice as his super-sized counterpart takes cover in a dark cove farther down the way. The misunderstood spotted eel opens his mouth like a playful puppet — mimicking a friendly hello. Barrel sponges stand tall like vases in a grand dining room. Not until we surface do I realize that we never saw a hammerhead, but I don’t mind.

On our next dive, we hit the Meadows. Because the wall starts shallow, most of the dive sites have the benefit of the dramatic views of a wall dive in addition to the extended shallow-diving bottom time. For divers who enjoy exploring swim-throughs, Bloody Bay Wall is diver heaven. The reefs are “Swiss-cheesed” with every type of swim-through imaginable — from the drive-your-bus-through variety to the take-off-your-BC-and-go kind. As I enter another dark opening looking cautiously for the light at the end of the tunnel, I notice a flamingo tongue (my favorite) hiding under a fallen sea fan. Its pink and black skin is so smooth, it begs to be touched. But I know better and leave it in its secret spot. Nearby, a fireworm curls on a gorgonian fan like a sassy lady in a fancy fur. I watch as she fluffs her cotton-like trim giving me a spicy warning. And although I’m sure she is soft, I avoid the temptation and the burn that would likely follow from her fiery sting. As the boat makes its way back to the resort for lunch, we swap stories and share pictures. On the stern, a group takes their semiannual dive-club photo commemorating their last dive of the trip. When they claim the Meadows as their new favorite site on Little Cayman, the bubbly divemaster Annabelle gives them a laugh and a few teases. They’ve obviously said this after every dive she’s taken them on this week. Jokes then fly about an un-named diver who had a habit of losing things all week long — even his shoes. In typical diver fashion, they’ve turned their dive trip into a friendly affair.

Dining at the Bird of Paradise Restaurant is an event as well. The home-style setting feels like I’m in my best friend’s familiar kitchen — that is, if she lived on an exotic island and owned a dive boat. As the departing dive club continues teasing one of their members, the Pezze family is excitedly talking about how they are going to celebrate their 16th or 17th anniversary (depending on whom you’re asking). And amid it all, Denvil, one of the chefs, stands tall in his crisp white chef coat making sure everyone is enjoying the food they have so delicately laid out — the spread includes fresh grilled fish, cold iced tea and carrots so sweet they taste like candy. Off to the side an array of fluffy cakes — dark chocolate, Key lime and strawberry — tempt the guests. But I can’t help but give in when my eye catches a small sliver of the brightly colored strawberry cake.

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

The sun is signaling the midday heat, and it is time to get back in the water. Before our dive at Coconut Walk, PADI Divemaster Ron draws the site on the whiteboard. We watch in awe as he draws a mess of squiggles suggesting what he says will be a “lot” of fish. While the rest of the group heads along the wall, I stay behind, and just as Ron predicted, a mass of confusion appears before me. Blue chromis, Bermuda chubs and yellowtail snappers dance around each other as if in a tremendous ballroom. Then for some reason, diver intuition hits — something is going to happen. I watch as a barracuda glides in with his long pointed nose held high, showing off his importance and utter power. The intruder attempts a few nibbles on the frantic fish, but with no success. And then just as quickly as he appeared, the barracuda is gone. I look to my right and at the Pezzes, who are excitedly cheering underwater. The dancing fish don’t miss a beat and calmly return to their routine. Just as the yellowtails seem to breathe a sigh of relief, a reef shark slowly starts to materialize from the deep blue below. First his outline is fuzzy, and then as he gets shallower, he comes into view. The fish disperse. I have to hold myself back from darting down to meet him, but I know it would only scare him away. I watch him slowly swim off as the fish cautiously move back into place and my dive comes to and end.

It is one hour before my departure off Little Cayman, and as I take the two-minute drive from LCBR to the airport I have just beaten the “traffic.” Little Cayman’s annual Mardi Gras parade is about to take place, and the excitement pulsates through the air. Both locals and vacationers are decorated in Mardi Gras beads, balloons and face paint. One float is even holding a wedding ceremony complete with a minister, pews and, of course, the happy couple. It is a big day for the little island. And although I am at the airport, I realize I’ve got one of the best seats for the show as the parade continues past the airport and down the runway. With only moments left on Little Cayman, I enjoy the perfect finale as the cast of characters disappears down the runway and into the horizon.

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