A Friday like no other.

Muskmelon Bay has had enough of us. A swell picked up, sending waves crashing high into the air at the cliffs at the mouth of the bay. Winds swirled from every direction. The sea was confused, choppy, like it was having a tantrum. So we jumped in for a 2-mile swim. 

We wouldn't do this with every SwimVacation group, but this gang has a few things going for it: they swim fast, they swim straight, and they swim together. Simon and I put them right to the edge of the bay, where the ocean was slamming up against the island, sending clouds of bubbles below and spray high above. The wind howled. It was raw, untamed, and wild. One of those places that makes you feel very small, and changes you a little bit. 

Despite the fact that this Island no longer wanted us here, we stuck around for the whole day. Some folks cracked a beer. Some took a nap. Some did both. 

Heather did swimmer portraits in the afternoon (Muskmelon still tantruming) while Simon took this insatiable group out for yet another swim. I put on a mask and a pair of fins to check on our lobster friends. 

Kerry, Richie, Lou Lou, Heather, Hopper and Bazza: SwimVacation family.

We weighed anchor around 3, sailing away from this place for perhaps the last time, as we don’t have another trip planned to the BVIs. Heather put it well when she said that this place needs a break from us. It was difficult to watch the bay disappear behind us, and later, the whole island chain. This is where SwimVacation started. Sixteen years ago I dreamed up the details of this business while trying to sleep on a beach in the rain here. I ran my first trip here, and it’s really where SwimVacation was born. There are a lot of other places we want to bring guests, and this will make some room for that: Tahiti, Croatia, and Cuba are all on our radar. 

Speaking of SwimVacation’s beginnings, and back at the marina, we were visited by our old friends Kerry and Bazza. They owned the boat we first chartered here, the Promenade. They were instrumental in helping us get started, and provided us with our long term Captain and Chef, Richie and Lisa. We are grateful for their friendship and guidance over the years. 

We celebrated the end of the trip with glasses of champagne, ginger wine, and lime, the new Tortola Dazzler. Shrimp on skewers. Stuffed pears for dessert, which I’m sure has a fancier name than that. The marina was quiet for a Friday night, and I fell asleep thinking about the folly of permanence, and the wild adventures we still have coming. 

Hopper

Post script by Heather:

I’ve been working stints in the BVI for 28 years. In that time, I’ve made friends like family and seen amazing things. Like a girlfriend leaving a toothbrush to secure return to the boy’s apartment, I’ve left pieces of myself here, in the islands’ many bays and harbours, among the rocks at the Baths and definitely in the cliffs and depths of Muskmelon. The BVI, her people and waters have always welcomed me back, open armed. Sometimes a little rough around the edges, a little rougher all the time as the years have gone by. 

I remember reefs colored by vibrant corals and trimmed with bright purple tunicates, with schools of silver sides so dense and swirling it was dizzying. I remember countless turtles, stingrays and my favorite, spotted eagle rays. I remember a pair of remora who seemed to find me every year in Salt Bay. I remember the short span of years when there seemed to be a resident manta ray at Peter Island - a unicorn I had the privilege of seeing 3 times.

I remember vividly sitting in a comfy chair in my studio in Maine, gripping the arms of it and staring out the window as 1800 miles away, a monster storm scoured Tortola in a direct hit. I felt helpless then and for 10 days afterward waiting to hear back from Iris and Albert that they had survived. When we returned 6 months later, I recorded Albert describing the storm, recounting how he and Iris had held a window in its place as a wind that sounded like a train tried to wrench it from the walls, and peeled the roof back above their heads. At the end of his telling, he handed me a weathered bag. In it was our island phone that he always kept for us in between trips. He’d lost his roof, but he had the thing we’d entrusted him with.

Damage was done to the reefs in that storm, Irma, with entire structures washed away in Great Harbour, Little Harbour, Angelfish reef. My heart soared when a year later, we were greeted by teeming life like the old days - schools of silversides cast into geometric arrays by tarpon and pelicans on the hunt. One time we swam to the back side of George Dog island to encounter a sea thick with pelagic tunicates, budding and twisting and propagating before our eyes. A sea soup of life finding a way.

Resilience. That’s the word that comes to mind when I think of island peoples, and in particular BV Islanders. The fragile ecosystem that surrounds them is somewhat resilient, but less so, or perhaps less able to quickly adapt to a rapidly changing world. Generally, the health of the reef ecosystem in the BVI has declined in the decades I have been immersing in it, and the change from last year to this was stark. Everywhere I looked I saw the ghostly glow of a massive bleaching event. I believe this latest event was recent and fast, as the reef structure still housed many fish and invertebrate species, some looking a little desperate and aimless, like residents of a house on fire. The water was hot, likely too hot for a delicate system with limited latitude for such changes. Without question, this area needs a break. 

There are other compelling reasons for us to bid so long to this place, our home for the last 15 years, but after the last two weeks, I feel that eliminating our small contribution to the pressure problem is primary.

A big hug and a hard goodbye with Albert. xx

Goodbyes are always hard when there’s love involved, and leaving the islands last weekend felt heavy. It also felt right, for now.

I’m in touch with Albert almost every day in one way or another, so I’ll keep tabs on him and Iris until we hug again. Chosen family connection transcends miles.

Thank you, BVI, for brining me and launching my career as a sea-guide with a camera. Thank you for catching me again and again, no matter my condition on arrival. Thank you for rainbows and manta shaped unicorns. Thank you for the warmth of strangers who became family. I’m wishing for your shores resilience and rest.

Love,

Heather