CURRENT LOCATION: Anchored off Green Beach near Punta Arenas, Vieques, Puerto Rico

18 07.034' N, 065 34.699' W

My eyes are closed, and I can hear the waves crashing so close I feel as though the water is about to rush up on me. Then, it does. My feet and lower legs are wet and cooler, as the water recedes back down the sloping sand, but the rest of me is still hot. The strong rays of the tropical sun are forming warm colors on the insides of my closed eyelids. I know that if I open them I will see the baby blue waters of the Caribbean Sea, inviting me to take a dip and cool off. The brilliant sunlight will reveal the crescent of palm-tree backed sand which makes up this secluded beach upon which I lie. Just me, alone in my own little slice of paradise. No, I think I'll keep my eyes closed and lie here just a little while longer, listening to the waves.

The 'Caribbean' is a somewhat nebulous term. From all the reading I have done, I have found no absolute distinction of exactly where the line of demarcation is drawn. By most accounts, though, if we are not currently in the Caribbean, we are most certainly on its doorstep. Considering our current position, moored off a beautiful beach on the island of Vieques, we opted to spend another day here, rather than pushing on toward the island of Culebra.

Vieques is an interesting island. A former location for US Naval military maneuvers, activity along those lines has diminished and the island (part of which is now a nature preserve) is slowly being discovered by tourists.

As for my own explorations of the island, I decided to travel light. Under normal exploration circumstances, Sheryl and I head out weighted down with food and water, maybe a paperback book to read, and often our laptop computer. Other times, we are exploring in our kayaks which are loaded with snorkel gear (just in case we find a spot we want to examine in underwater-mode). Today, I wanted a more simple approach. I dove from the toerail with nothing but a swimsuit and a healthy application of sunscreen. Sheryl opted to remain aboard.

My walk along the beach, heading for the southwest side of the island, took me past just a few people (of the tourist variety). Some were alone and a few were gathered in small groups. It may help to define the general ambiance of this place when I say that even those in groups were engaged in their own individual activities: reading, beach combing, snorkeling, or simply napping. No conversations were taking place. Something told me that I should not disturb this silence as I passed through their space on the sand. Acknowledgement of one human being for another took the simple form of a nod and a smile.

As I rounded the corner to the southwest side of this island, the few morning beachgoers I had encountered gave way to isolation. To my left were signs indicating that the area was a bird sanctuary and behind those signs, a tall fence with another sign which read, 'PELIGRO EXPLOSIVO' (Danger Explosives), a testimony to both the island's past and present. To my right was the Caribbean Sea, its near-shore waters a light shade of blue, growing darker and deeper as one looked out to where the sky met the water. Above, blue skies and sunshine were interrupted only occasionally with a puffy white cloud.

I discovered several beaches in succession, separated by rocks, each prettier than the one before. The rocks were relatively smooth and easy to climb in my bare feet. I could have spent the entire day finding out what was 'just around the next corner,' were it not for one particularly high set of rocks which forbade me to pass. It was time to turn around.

Thinking about the trip back, I was not in a big hurry, but I had not bothered to consult a tide table before I left. Some of the sections of beach I had traversed in order to get here were rather skinny. A rising tide may make the trip back a bit more difficult. Immediate observational tidal data was required. Hence, my position described at the onset of this blog entry. I laid down on the sand, with my feet just touching the extent of the waves lapping up on the shore. A half-hour later, I was relatively dry and had my answer: the tide was going out. I could adopt a leisurely pace on the trip back.

After a brief swim in the crystal clear waters of my own private beach, in an effort to rinse off the sand and cool my sun-toasted skin, I started the trek back home. The people I encountered on the return trip were more numerous and just slightly more conversational. An occasional "hi" or "hello" was offered, but nothing more. Fortunately, this afternoon's set of tourists had something much in common with the folks from the morning: no loud music, no screaming children, no wild partying. Just adults enjoying quiet time on the beach, definitely my kind of place.

Sheryl waved from the bow of Prudence as soon as I returned to view. We were the only boat remaining in the mooring field. We had shared these waters with only two boats the night before, a catamaran and a 31-foot Southern Cross. s/v Autumn Rose (the first Southern Cross we have ever seen besides our own) departed in the morning...



...and the catamaran must have snuck out during my solo explorations. It is an incredible feeling to have this pristine spot all to ourselves.

I finally reached the section of the beach perpendicular to the boat and dove in for the long swim out to the mooring. Time spent in the Dominican Republic and mainland Puerto Rico has left me a little out-of-shape relative to swimming (especially when I am sans fins). I look forward to getting back in the habit of entering saltwater on a daily basis, now that we are back in waters where one can see clearly all the way to the bottom.

Upon reaching the boat, my lovely wife had lunch waiting for me. And, boy, was I hungry. I ate the hot meal she had prepared and followed it up with two peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and some pretzels.

My explorations today afforded me some all-too-rare time to think about where we are, what we have accomplished, and what options we have before us. We have been talking, of late, about including an Atlantic crossing and time cruising in the Mediterranean on our eventual itinerary. More immediately, though, we are still uncertain where this year's hurricane season will find us. Near Salinas is a fantastic hurricane hole, but here we sit at the threshold to the islands of the eastern Caribbean (with the safety of Trinidad at the other end to guard us for the onset of hurricane season). Do we stay, do we go, and if so...how far? So many options, but timing is everything. Our long-term itinerary remains undefined.

For the present, we need to do a little weather research and chart talk to determine what tomorrow will bring. Culebra and all its little satellite islands, which (in addition to Vieques) make up the remainder of the so-called 'Spanish Virgin Islands,' are only a daysail away.