Cayman Brac Beach Resort, Cayman Islands

Dear Fellow Diver,

Diving during the off-season has its advantages - fewer divers on the boat, cheaper flights, and deals on accommodations - which were just some of the reasons I was looking forward to my first post-pandemic dive trip, a September visit to Cayman Brac. But I was worried after reading this summer's headlines of record-hot ocean temperatures stressing coral reefs from Colombia to Key Largo. Would Cayman Brac fare better?

Unfortunately, the check-out dive at Preacher's Barge on the West End didn't give me hope. Diving down to 40 feet, I faced an expanse of whitish-gray coral with multiple patches of algae and stands of purple staghorn here and there. The water temperature, in the mid-80s, felt too much like bathwater. Also, my hopes that off-season diving meant fewer divers didn't materialize - 15 people from a North Carolina dive club jumped off the boat with me and clustered together. I had to fin away to keep from bumping into them (particularly one frenetic diver I'll call "Camera Lady" because she rushed everywhere, and in front of everyone, to capture everything on her GoPro). Fortunately, Barb, a friendly blonde from Toronto who I hired for the day as my dive guide, found a few notable critters - a spiny lobster poking out from under a ledge, a coiled-up green moray in a bommie hole, and sand divers and jawfish on the powdery bottom.

The next dive, at End of Island, was more promising, with more color, bigger coral (staghorn, star, and brain), and barrel sponges on the tunnels and fingers I finned through and over. A lone barracuda hovered in mid-water, so close I could scrutinize its pointed teeth and moving gills. When Barb pointed away from the North Carolina cluster, I eagerly nodded, so we took off, spending our allotted 60 minutes peeking into crevices. She found a tiny black cleaner wrasse in a jade green tube sponge while I spotted an arrow crab nearby. That's when the daily $100 fee I paid for a private guide felt worthwhile, especially watching the large dark cloud of divers hovering behind the one divemaster. When a large grouper swam alongside me, I saw orange fuzz-covered wire protruding from its side. Did it want me to remove that painful fishing gear? Barb later told me it was tagged and monitored as part of REEF's Grouper Moon Project to restore the Caymans' dwindling grouper population.

All the resort staff members were friendly and welcoming. Nine other guests and I were promptly picked up at the airport after arriving for the standard Saturday-to-Saturday stay and taken in air-conditioned vans for a five-minute drive to the resort. After check-in, it was down to Reef Divers' dive shop, a large dockside building operated by Reef Divers, to show my C-card and photo ID to Barb, who also managed the place, and rent my gear and a Scubapro computer for the next morning's 8 a.m. dive.

The resort has 40 rooms in a two-story stretch of pale green cinder blocks topped with white tin roofs. My ground-floor room wouldn't win awards - the few cable channels on the flat-screen TV were either fuzzy or not working, the lumpy pillows on the two double beds needed replacing, and the water in the bathroom switched between hot and lukewarm at its own pace. I wish I had gotten a second-floor room because their patios offered more privacy and a better sea view. But the walls were soundproof, and the AC and ceiling fan muffled the wild roosters living in bushes outside the resort that always greeted the new day before dawn.

The resort's centerpiece is the Tipsy Turtle, a circular bar area topped by an observation deck overlooking a large, oblong-shaped pool with a jacuzzi. The pool felt as warm as a hot tub should be, but I got used to the 86-degree temperature. While the beach was sandy smooth, the seaweed- and urchin-filled waters weren't inviting. However, the shaded hammocks were perfect for reading and meditative views of the palm-fringed Caribbean.

At the dining room, on the opposite end of the resort, I had the choice of sitting in a sterile, over-air-conditioned room or on an enclosed patio, which, with low ceilings and no ceiling fans, felt oppressive on the humid, 90-degree days. The buffet-style meals offered a great daily assortment. Breakfast had muffins and breads, juices, fruit, yogurts, scrambled eggs, bacon, roast potatoes with peppers and onions, oatmeal, and a daily special like pre-made Eggs Benedict. Dinners included fresh salads and soups, an assortment of vegetables, a nice charcuterie platter, and choices of meat or fish dishes, such as chicken cordon bleu, seared tuna with soy-miso sauce, and beef Wellington. They offered three selections for dessert, from flan and walnut pie to black forest cake, blueberry cheesecake, and my favorite, a puckeringly tart Key lime pie.

I got to personally thank the chef at the managers' welcome party, a festive event on our second night, featuring sushi rolls, bruschetta, pineapple-wrapped salmon, and pork meatballs.

I had selected the resort's two-meal plan so I could have lunch elsewhere, such as a burger with fries or a taco salad at the Tipsy Turtle's more inviting poolside setting. Bartenders T.J., Chino, and Gigi were experts in remembering everyone's names. While the Tipsy Turtle was where the post-dinner activities happened every night (Bingo Tuesday, Karaoke Wednesday, Trivia Thursday, and BBQ Friday), most people were back in their rooms by 9 p.m.

Divers were assigned to one of the two 42-foot Super Newtons moored at the end of a long dock. I got the Reef FantaSea, along with the two other solo divers - Terry, a Calgary native, and Larissa from Dallas, both globe-trotting divers with sophisticated camera rigs. Also joining us was the North Carolina dive group, a few being total newbies who were nervous about jumping off the boat. I looked across the dock at the Ocean Sister, which had all couples. Having traveled solo, I felt lonely that first day, being the outsider sitting next to a large crew who only talked to each other.

At the same time, I felt cramped. Eighteen divers on that boat just seemed like sardines in a can. Our gear was set up along the two long rows of tanks behind benches. My seat was between two people who seemed permanently fixed to the bench when not diving, so I had difficulty squeezing in. A cluster of people stood around the camera table near the snack bowl full of bagged chips and cookies. I found breathing room on the partly shaded top deck.

Our divemasters were Carl, a no-nonsense blond from South Africa, and friendly but still no-nonsense Rosie from Siberia. They checked everyone's Nitrox. gave detailed briefings and drew great maps on a large whiteboard. One stayed on board while the other led the group. Both were quick at bringing my tank to me at the stern, then helping me into my BC and then standing position for a giant step into the blue. When emerging from a dive, I climbed the ladder with all my gear on, which they helped remove, but I could have doffed it in the water.

After the boat docked, I went to the patio next to the dive shop, dunked my mesh bag with my mask and fins in the rinse tank (there were others for photo equipment and wetsuits), then stashed it in the dry room, which had hanging space for wetsuits, bags, and gear.

Carl and Rosie reminded me of schoolteachers, gently chiding us for our mistakes. At Elkhorn Forest, Rosie chastised Terry and Larissa, the two most experienced divers of our bunch, for coming up four minutes past the 60-minutes mark. "We only went down 60 feet!" Larissa told me later. Both Carl and Rosie were diligent in alerting us to the few critters they spotted, but when you're one of a dozen divers trying to see a tiny fireworm, and the Camera Lady jostles past to get her shot, you quickly give up.

Orville and Wade, friends from the dive club, made for quite a pair. When Carl was noticeably amiable before an afternoon dive, Orville loudly proclaimed, "You must have 'gotten some' during lunch!" Both guys disdained any help, quickly gearing up at their seats and duck-walking down the deck to be the first in the water.

Within a couple of days, some North Carolina divers didn't dive, so Reef FantasSea went down to 10 or 12 divers. I was assigned a new buddy daily, so eventually, I got paired with Orville and Wade. They weren't so bad underwater. Orville unfortunately ran through his air quickly, ascending at 900 psi, while I had more than double that amount. Wade always stayed behind the entire group, calmly watching Camera Lady dash around looking for photo ops. She didn't get many. It got depressing, especially on the second dives, to see more algae than fish life. Terry told me that his friends had come to Cayman Brac in April, and the coral had looked decent then, so all this damage had been done in just five months. Rosie added that the heat wave came earlier and faster this summer, moving the average water temperature up two degrees from 86 degrees in 2022 to 88 degrees while I was there.

Maybe that's why Carl decided to take us to sites with interesting topography, like Wilderness, a 15-minute ride to dive through swim-thrus down to 110 feet and cruise along a wall with 80-foot visibility. Among splayed coral fingers at Tarpon Reef, I found four invasive lionfish, mane-like fins all fluffed out, under a ledge at 60 feet. A hawksbill turtle avoided Terry's camera by doing a half-circle toward the rest of us on his way to the surface. Purple tangs, yellowtail snappers, sergeant majors, and bluish butterflyfish circled the reef top. I was the first to see half-a-dozen large metallic tarpon hovering in the back of a channel and hung with them for a minute before Camera Lady swam toward them and nearly kicked me in the face with her fin.

A northern wind prevented night diving until late in the week. At Sgt. Major, I was Terry's buddy, and he quickly steered us away from the group. I was tasked with being his spotter for photo-ops, and I came through quickly by spotting a tiny hermit crab hiding in a sponge and a large lobster sparkly in the dive light. But the coup de grace was finding a powder-blue reef octopus in the open. Afterward, Terry said, "This was the quietest I've ever seen it on a night dive." Not even a brilliant display of the Milky Way above the boat could make up for lack of activity below.

One morning, I borrowed one of the island's free cruiser bikes and pedaled a few miles inland along quiet roads with wild roosters darting in and out of the shrubbery. The hot sun and humidity ultimately got to me, so I stopped at Crossroads Market for a blackberry soft-serve and ate it on the shaded front porch.

I decided to see the island by signing up for a two-hour van tour with Mossy, a 70-ish retired schoolteacher from Sheffield, U.K., who had moved to the Brac decades ago and taught Spanish at the high school. He had a story for every eighth of a mile we went. Two hours passed, and we had not gone halfway across the island. But Mossy's stories were great - history about the settlers, gossip about the "Cayman Brac Mafia," descriptions of the trees, the caves, the roosters, and the economy. We finally made it to the end of the island for a view across to Cuba from the lighthouse's bluff, but the couple who had come along wanted to go back and pack. We cut the unfinished tour at three hours, but I gladly would have stayed for more.

On a sunny day with the week's calmest water and clearest skies, Carl took us on an hour-long ride to Little Cayman to dive Bloody Bay Wall. At Donna's Delight, I cruised over the seabed at 25 feet, then dropped down the wall to 90 feet. While I didn't see any pelagics, it was an excellent dive and I was happy to note healthier coral and a lot more reef fish and activity, with multiple groups schooling and swirling in the blue. At Mixing Bowl, Camera Lady and I hovered side-by-side at 60 feet, watching a huge lobster climbing the wall and giving her a great photo-op before settling into its crevice. Sitting on the top deck for the ride back, I don't know what was more entertaining - watching a frigate bird dive-bombing around the boat for a meal of flying fish, or watching Orville and Wade go bananas as they watched the bird. "That's some National Geographic right there, bitches!" said Wade.

On our final day, Orville and I dived down to 90 feet to view the MV Captain Keith Tibbets wreck, a Russian navy "destroyer" once owned by Cuba and purposely sunk in 1996. (Wade didn't come, because there was a lot of partying the night before. One guest rode a bike around the resort, yelling. "I'm a grown-ass man! I can do what I want!") We swam across the stern and then toward the bow, peering into the interior to see the tangles of wire and metal bars. The bow, rising up at 40 feet, sported an impressive sprouting of various corals along the rails. Looking across the bow, I saw a large jack shadowing a larger sting ray along the sand as they hunted together. It's a fine dive and even though I had 2,000 psi left, I could see Orville gesturing he was low on air, so we ascended together. Back on the boat, he turned to me and said, "You're a good buddy." That night, I joined him and his dive group for dinner and promised to join them next year for a trip to the wreck dives along their Carolina coast.

Just as it's possible for total opposites from Northern California and North Carolina to come together on a dive trip and end up as friends, maybe it's possible for Caribbean diving to rebound. For the wonderful staff who run Cayman Brac Beach Resort and the residents who love this island, I certainly hope so. Because even with the algae and the bleached coral, there are plenty of glorious, awe-inspiring things to see in the waters around Cayman Brac and especially Little Cayman. Like the one shark I finally got to see 50 feet down at Elkhorn Forest. It was a nurse shark resting on the sandy bottom between two narrow coral fingers. It had a big cut on its side, but the shark was breathing and stayed calm as we finned past it. It was beautiful. To me, that shark seems like a symbol of Caribbean reefs and its marine life in general: They've taken a beating, but they're noble and beautiful, and hopefully, they will heal and rise again if only we humans will let that happen.

- J.V.

Author's bio: J.V has written a variety of stories for Undercurrent since 2006, with the last travel piece covering a trip to Loreto, Mexico.

Divers Compass: I paid $2,475 for a seven-day, single occupancy "Cayman Escape" package in September, which included two morning dives for five days, all breakfasts and dinners, and airport transfers . . . To travel light, I rented a BCD and regulator for $35/day, and mask, fins, and snorkels for $15/day . . . Get a tip envelope to mark specific people or teams you want to tip, and who gets what amount . . . The resort has a tennis court, cruiser bikes, and a laundry room . . . I flew from San Francisco to Miami International and overnighted at the Tru Hilton, a 5- to 10-minute shuttle ride from the airport . . . The resort requires you to email ahead your passport information and a copy of your certification card . . . Stores accept U.S. dollars; the island's only ATM is at Cayman National Bank near the airport . . . For a tour with Mossy's Tours and Taxi Service ask the resort's front desk to make arrangements . . . Website: caymanbracbeachresort.com