Dear Reader:
I don’t want to offend my many dive buddies who look
forward to browsing those Cozumel jewelry shops or eating
nachos at the same franchise eateries they could find
in Des Moines, but for me that’s no adventure. Sure the
diving is good, but I prefer reefs less traveled. So, in
February my partner and I headed for the Caribbean coast
of Nicaragua, where the only jewelry sold was strung seashells
and no one had heard of nachos. My only question
was whether the diving was any good.
Room with a view |
After spending a pleasant evening in a hotel near
the Managua airport, I was shuttled by the hotel’s van
for a 7:00 a.m. flight to Big Corn Island, 50 miles off
the coast. Along with 25 islanders and a handful of travelers,
I boarded a huge panga and a half hour later I
stepped onto the beach in front of Dive Little Corn, which
is owned by the Casa Iguana Hotel, my home for a week.
Running along the “front side” of Little Corn Island is
a sidewalk fronted by a few small businesses. The only
wheeled vehicles on Little Corn, population 900, are bicycles
and wheelbarrows.
“Streets”
are sidewalks
or dirt paths.
Once dominated by
British colonizers,
the traditional
population
of African
ancestry speaks
English, though
some mainland
“Nicas” have moved
to the islands.
While I occasionally
switched
between English
and my bad Spanish, I could have just as well stuck
with English.
Casa Iguana measures up quite well.
The staff carried our gear by wheelbarrow
on a ten-minute trip through the woods
and hotel vegetable garden to our casita,
#1, private yet close to the restaurant. I
had a comfortable bed, low wattage but adequate
24-hr lighting (115V power available),
a desk, a clean inside bath, and a private
outside shower. From the very private
porch, with chairs and hammock, I viewed the
wide Caribbean expanse and long empty beach.
A friendly iguana viewed me from a rafter
above. The setting, cottage, and grounds
looked as good as the website advertised. I
felt safe and welcomed. The island’s three
police officers enjoy free breakfast daily at Casa Iguana, but I doubt they find
much to do here but walk around town visiting.
At 2:00 p.m. my partner and I were on the dive shop deck for a briefing so
thorough I thought the site, White Holes, must be their featured attraction.
Turns out that the DMs give this kind of briefing for every dive. I waded to the
boat and ten minutes later backrolled off for my first look at Little Corn diving.
White Holes (sand holes in the coral) is a shallow formation capped with an
elkhorn forest (elkhorn is so under threat that the U.S. government may label it
an endangered species). Two funny-faced clown wrasses were display-fighting in
a mouth-to-mouth posture. Halfway through the dive, I stopped counting the nurse
sharks. In the coming days I would see dozens, none more than 7 ft. Besides the
typical reef residents, most sites were loaded with juvenile slippery dicks, and
some had beautiful black-on-yellow juvenile puddingwives. I saw eagle rays on most
dives, but few large food fish, such as snappers and grouper. Perhaps more disconcerting
was the colorful but heavy algae growth. The cause certainly couldn’t
be effluent from tiny Little Corn. Could it be the lack of big parrotfish? When I
mentioned it to the dive staff, I just got puzzled looks.
A dive boat most basic |
Elsewhere, the coral looked healthier. I liked My Place and Yellowtail, both
low-profile patch reef networks with a sandy bottom at 50-60 ft. At My Place I
watched five big midnight parrotfish (almost the only type of big parrots I saw)
munching the coral. Pompanos flashed high in
the water column. A beautiful little goldentail
moray peeked out. At 15 ft, I was surrounded
by a bloom of spot-winged comb jellies.
Yellowtail was similar, but with more
schools and cleaning stations. I counted six
barracuda being deloused, most by multiple
fish, including fairy basslets. I emerged from
a short swim-through to a wall of French,
Caesar and sailor’s choice grunts. Midnight
parrots were joined by queens and the tiny
pink-on-turquoise blue lip parrot. A swarm of
bluehead wrasses had broken the defense of a
male sergeant major and were devouring his purple
egg clutch. After the dive, I handed up my
weight belt and BC and climbed a side ladder.
Although a one-person dive shop has opened
next door at Delfines Hotel, Dive Little Corn is Nicaragua’s first dive operator, so
many reefs bear monikers of former staffers.
They do three dives a day, using a
panga with tank racks and room for eight
divers. The open boat has no amenities,
but sites are close and intervals are
spent at the beach. They carry a DAN O2
kit. They split us eight divers (there
are fewer in the off-seasons) into two
groups, each under the eyes of one of
their North American divemasters, Tim or
Carron, both competent and agreeable. By
the time you get there, others will have
replaced them, I suspect. Turnover is
high.
Between dives, they switched aluminum
80s on the boat, and Tim switched my
buddy’s high pressure hose without breaking
a sweat. Rental gear, yes; Nitrox,
no. They limited dives to 55 minutes.
(The 82F water kept them pleasant.) The
DMs allowed divers the option to do their
own thing but managed to annoy my little
group when we wanted to do a third dive to a 60-ft site after a second dive to 50
ft. Oddly, they firmly vetoed this “reverse profile.” After diving, I carried my
gear up to the shop, rinsed it, and stored it in their secure area.
After two morning dives, my friends and I would walk down the front side for
lunch. I liked the cheese empanadas (turnovers) at the next-door Colombian restaurant,
and the Cuban restaurant was a good choice for lunch, dinner or drinks.
None of these joints had signs, nor are they needed. One day a norther blew
through and wiped out diving, so folks fell back on the Caribbean three Rs: rum,
relaxation, and romance. I took a 15-minute walk to the lighthouse for good
views of the island, then wandered on trails to the north end, where an eccentric
German runs a little camp-resort. A 30-minute beach walk gets you to Peace
and Love Farm and a good Italian dinner; Casa Iguana will radio them to make a
reservation. Despite the isolation, the island is rather cosmopolitan. The young
guy who runs the Colombian restaurant is from the nearby Colombian island of San
Andres, but his parents are from Venezuela and Nicaragua. He was happy to chat
about Caribbean life, as were Captain Jorge and other folks we met.
I did one night dive at Buoy (misnamed: there is none). Starting early, we
saw the grunts leaving the reef in the twilight. After dark, I found a 3-ft turtle
snoozing in the coral. I cut a wide circle with my light to avoid waking it,
but the big guy stirred and swam over me. By then the red swarm -- the cardinals
and squirrel fish -- were rising. A basket star spread wide over a gorgonian,
and I found three large lobsters, a surprise since the economy is based on lobster
fishing. On a day dive, hundreds of small bar jacks circled the site. About
100 mojarra hung motionless over the bare sand, as if in a trance. A ray gently
pushed off the sand and let me shadow it. This reef has a well-defined halo
of bare sand, with turtle grass beyond. The 20 ft bare patch marks the limit of
where the algae eaters will venture from the safety of the reef.
Sites outside the reef are accessible on calmer days. At Shark Hole, I
entered a long and convoluted tunnel. Halfway through it, hundreds of glassy
sweepers parted to let me pass. Forty minutes into the dive, a 6-ft reef shark
crossed in front and another cruised past the divers behind me, followed by an
eagle ray. At Tarpon Channel, the stars are apparently hammerheads (the divemasters
claim it’s a 50/50 chance to see them) though at ten minutes and 70 ft into the dive, my buddy’s pressure gauge blew, so we left the movie before the plot
developed. Captain Jorge spotted us within seconds, so we didn’t suffer a surface
swim. The DM reported two hammerheads. Tarpon Channel, Sueños, Shark Hole and
other windward sites, most of which have nice swim-throughs and overhangs, often
have murky 20-50 ft visibility, which gives the shark’s sensory system an advantage
over prey.
While the Delfines Hotel is clean and air-conditioned, most readers of
Undercurrent will prefer Casa Iguana and its 13 casitas. The deluxe casitas sit
atop a low cliff overlooking the reef on the windward side. These are simple but
comfy, with potable well water from the tap and a private porch, a great place
for reading. There’s no a/c (but the sea breeze kept it perfect) and no hot shower
water unless the sun gets the rooftop tank warm (which made it easy to obey the
“please conserve water” sign). Most electricity comes from wind power, though they
run the generator (and open the satellite-dish Internet café) each morning. The
American owners, Cathy Sherman and Grant Peeples, have spent ten years shaping it
into a genuine eco-resort. What other resort’s website boasts “Ten reasons we may
not want you to come here,” beginning with “Your favorite travel destination has
been Nassau, Bahamas.”
Casa Iguana catches most of their meals (if you go on their fishing boat,
your catch is dinner), buys local lobster and conch, and grows vegetables and
fruit in an extensive garden. For a remote resort, the full dinners are excellent.
Most nights I had fresh barracuda or lobster, prepared in various ways, and always
fresh vegetables and good desserts. And the inevitable Toña or Victoria beer. The
breakfasts are plain but plentiful with a half-dozen good choices, all with fresh
fruit on the side. Excellent coffee is always available.
My cottage |
The guests were an interesting mix of divers and travelers with whom I spent
evenings in the comfy lodge, imbibing, playing cards, and talking diving. Some
were off sailboats; others were there to fish. Most were North Americans, a few Europeans. A friendly Irishman was on
a six-month world tour, and an American
was kicking back after serving as assistant
captain on an Aggressor.
After several days of patch reefs
on a flat bottom, I missed the sensation
of flying over the deep blue off
a wall. The deepest site here is Phil’s
Find, where the reef top is 60 ft and
the sand floor is 95 ft. As compensation,
the beautiful cover girl on Paul
Humann’s Reef Fish, the rare golden hamlet,
with its black and electric-blue
face, is common -– I spotted four on one
dive. The studded sea star, described
in Humann’s Reef Creatures as a rare and
undescribed species, is also common. And
there aren’t many Caribbean spots where
you can reliably find unchummed sharks in an unspoiled environment.
Perhaps their top dive is Blowing Rock. Only six divers can make the trip,
and because I was slow to sign up, I was relegated to more reef dives. However,
a friend who joined us for part of the week told me: “After a smooth 50-minute
ride, we arrived at a pinnacle of rocks. On the first dive, we headed to the bottom,
which slopes from 80 ft to more than 100. The first thing I noticed was the
sheer number of large fish. Schools of big bar jacks, snappers (including cuberas),
as well some big midnight parrots and mixed schools of tangs. Diving on the
coral-and-sponge-encrusted boulders, some of them house-sized, reminded me of Los
Islotes off La Paz in Baja.
“On our first dive, three reef sharks suddenly appeared, darting erratically,
maybe hunting or jostling with each other. I got as close as I wanted under the
circumstances. We circled the islet on each dive, taking a shallower profile on
the second. Between dives we spent an hour interval on the boat, where the rock
pinnacle provided little relief from the swells. The trip back, against the wind
and seas, was bumpier than the morning trip. This is a dive you don’t usually
experience in the Caribbean and worth the ride and the $90 (instead of the usual
$60) for the two dives.”
When divers sit around the bar, inevitably the talk gets to dive locations.
When I mention an off-brand place like Cayos Cochinos, Honduras, or María la
Gorda, Cuba, everyone wants to know more. But I suspect they still book their next
trip to the Caymans. Most divers want that extra bit of comfort and predictability.
I’ve never regretted heading in less-traveled (and less expensive) directions,
and this was a fine trip. So, if you’re an off-the-beaten-track sort of diver,
happy with a good array of fish, some nice patch reefs, and a bit of an adventure,
pencil this in. But do more than pencil in Blowing Rock, because that’s one boat
you’ll want to be on.
– M.A.
DIVER’S COMPASS: Dive Little Corn charges $30 per dive if you do
15 and one is free. Deluxe casitas at Casa Iguana are $55/night,
double. Prices include the 15% tax. Dinner is $9 (or order lobster
for $15), breakfast $4.50, beer/pop/juice $1.50, mixed drinks
$2.50. Their website (www.casaiguana.net) is descriptive and accurate
regarding the hotel and diving. In Nicaragua, my expenses ran
about $125/day for everything . . . To get to Little Corn Island,
you fly to Managua (serviced by American, Delta, Continental and
TACA), where you may have to overnight. Casa Iguana will book you a hotel (with