(Yes, whale song.)
Guana Island, with it’s iguana head rock formation and unpredictable weather, is a place we can’t resist. Although it is close to Tortola, it feels remote. Looking north, there’s nothing between this island and Bermuda but 1500 miles of open Atlantic. Over the years, this place has given SwimVacation’s guests great swims, deep blue water, massive schools of fish, big ocean swells, privacy, bats, gusty winds, and meteor showers. Sometimes it treats us kindly, sometimes it knocks us around a little.
We plotted a near 3-mile swim from Monkey Point, across White Bay, around the Guana Head, then around the inside of Muskmelon Bay. A quick scout on the dinghy revealed ideal conditions: favorable wind direction and a small, reasonable swell for a touch of drama. Our guests ate up the miles quickly. Janine said of the swim: “this water had a little bit of everything...just how i like it, parts were smooth as glass, windy and slapping you, and stretches with the current tugging your legs, it was a really great day in the water”. We ate a tray of cheeseburgers even faster than we swam. Endorphin highs turned into naps.
A shorter swim around the bay was planned at 4pm, some of us doing more of a snorkel than a swim. I dove under to look at a pufferfish, and heard singing. Long, mournful sounds. Then mooing, like from a cow. Whales! We couldn’t see them, but they kept getting louder as more guests joined us. It was such a special thing to hear these mammals communicate. Their songs are so complex, and we can only hear a fraction of the frequencies they make. Heather recorded them while taking video of us diving and listening. She and Kendra couldn’t stop, and were waterlogged by the time they climbed aboard an hour later.
Painkillers (a close cousin of the Pina Colada), were served, and everyone was in the mood to celebrate their swims. We gathered on the bow for some photos and a sweet sunset. Baked chicken, asparagus, and more of those impossibly bright orange carrots appeared. Music, conversation, warm breezes. Deep sleep. - Hopper