The island that never sleeps

Midnight ritual
When I hear about the Festival of San Juan — an annual ritual on June 23 in which believers attempt to cleanse a year of sins by jumping into the sea 12 times, starting precisely at midnight — I’m immediately intrigued by this display of others’ faith, perhaps because I have so little of my own. But sins or not, I want in.

Minutes before midnight, revelers of all ages gather on the shoreline at Copamarina Resort, laughing, shouting and cheering. Before I know it someone grabs my hand and pulls me a few yards out into the moonlit water. We plunge in then race out to do it again. I realize I’m having trouble keeping up because rather than focusing on my own scramble through the water, I can’t help watching the faces of those around me: They look so happy and free — and their energy is infectious. Amid the frenzy, the voice of an older woman booms into the night, laughing and calling out our dip count.

After the magical 12th dunk, all freshly anointed and pardoned of a year’s misdeeds, we linger in the moonlight, basking in the pure glow of this clean-slate state. Then it’s back to the Copamarina’s bar. We can’t race each other fast enough to enjoy another round of mojitos and to uncover what else the night may hold.

Las Pesotas
The next morning, shouting is coming from the dive boat and I frantically scan the horizon to find what the fuss is about when three dolphins shoot out of the water. Thinking their presence must be an omen that the diving around Desecheo won’t disappoint, I laugh, wondering if some last night’s faithful fervor might have rubbed off on me.

Like Mona, Desecheo is uninhabited, unless you count the goats, lizards and rhesus monkeys biding their time among the shrubs and cacti. It’s much smaller than Mona —only a little more than half a square mile. It’s also much closer to Puerto Rico’s mainland — the boat ride takes less than an hour.

At Yellow Reef, a site protected by a curled finger of rock outcrop, I peer down at the sponges so brightly visible that they look like lift bags. Guessing we’re in only 60 feet of water, I notice my depth gauge reads 85.

Our dive group explores the site and finds that although it’s lovely — visibility stretching to 120 feet — it doesn’t leave us breathless. Back aboard the boat we nibble sandwiches as Captain Elick tells us about the monkeys. Apparently, they don’t take to kindly to strangers and have been known to pelt visitors with stones. Before I can test that lore, we’re nitrogen-greenlighted and Captain Elick asks where we want to go. One of the guests requests that we head to Pesotas, which is Spanish for nipples. The rocky site is named after the pinnacles that jut from the water.

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As we motor closer, white streaks of water bend against rock before scattering like broken glass — each wave is like a bottle of champagne christening the rocks.

I jump in after Alberto and chase him as he swims in the wake of an eagle ray. Not surprisingly, we’ve lost the group by the time we navigate yet another swim-through, this one leading to a cavern. For the first time this trip, I shiver. Swirls of cold water — each bringing a burst of increased clarity — tell me that within the cavern lies a freshwater upwelling. We peer into the cavern’s recesses for a moment before deciding to return to the 80-degree water to keep exploring.

We find ourselves swimming against a current. We’re circumnavigating the island via a submerged plateau that rings the island like the second tier of a wedding cake. Below us the bottom plummets, and the current charges up from the depths where just out of sight any number of pelagics might be swimming.

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We duck behind rocks to catch our breath, and I welcome the respite — a chance to pause. The pace slows, and I watch the ocean triggerfish above. A school of black durgeon circles closer to the island. I steal glimpses of the surface and the sergeant majors that can’t seem to — or don’t want to — escape the strong-armed pull of the breaking waves. As I watch them give in and let the current carry them where it may, I’m inspired to let go myself and see what comes next.

It’s another adrenaline surge as we’re carried by the current before deciding to power again into the melee, then steer ourselves into another bend in the spur-and-groove formation of the island. We find several sheltered areas, one hiding a napping nurse shark, another a green turtle and its baby, while the third exposes a school of horse-eye jacks — all seemingly oblivious to us. If we want to find our own spot, we’ll have to keep following the dramatic terrain.

This is the dive I’ve come to Puerto Rico for. I can’t stop spinning around to take it all in. I want to cement these images in my mind. I want to slow it all down so I can experience more of the thrill, but then again, at any other speed, it wouldn’t be Puerto Rico.

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