By Harvey Hagman August 25, 1996 Publication: The Washington Times Page: E1
Word Count: 1801
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Peering down thousands of feet from the droning, 18-passenger
Cessna, the world of the Caribbean spreads out in deep blues,
indigos, turquoises and aquamarines. Tiny, white waves roll,
foam, then disappear in the endless sea.
Suspended in time and space, Earth, the Blue Planet, humbles us and fills us with awe.
The 20-minute flight from Belize City passes in a flash; soon we circle to land on
Lighthouse Reef, home of Lighthouse Reef Resort, which is the No. 1 dive destination
in Belize, the tiny Caribbean nation flanked by Mexico and Guatemala. Jacques
Cousteau made Lighthouse Reef lagoon famous when he visited it in the 1970s,
attracted by a natural wonder called the Blue Hole.
The resort is on Northern Cay, at the lagoon’s north end. Once home to a remote coconut
plantation, the island today houses the resort, but its lagoons, wild interior and seldom-
walked shores remain unchanged.
We bounce twice and come to an abrupt stop on the rudimentary cement runway; the
terminal, an open wooden hut filled with smiling island staff, greets us. In 1970 the first
plane landed here on sheets of plywood after the island was purchased by a Californian.
He later joined forces with a Texas dive operation to open the cay (pronounced key) as a
dive resort.
As I walk barefoot along the powdery white-sand beach, scenes from Columbus’ diary
replay in my mind. Time has changed little, save for few cabanas that dot the beach. I
almost expect to see the Santa Maria’s sails on the horizon. White hammocks are slung
under coconut palms as yellow sea kayaks await launch on the brilliant blue sea.
Our official welcome comes the following morning as Honey leaps alongside our
moored dive boat. In the excitement, everyone dons masks, flippers and snorkels and
slips quietly overboard as the 6-foot, 600-pound bottlenose dolphin dives, leaps and
cavorts around us; we reach out to touch her moist, soft skin.
“Don’t touch her eyes or blowhole,” cautions resort manager Andy Stockbridge, 29.
After a two-year jaunt around the world, the dive master, electrician and mechanical
wizard from Bristol, England, landed here 4 1/2 years ago.
“The fishermen hereabouts have known Honey for six years,” he says. “Her mate died or
left, and she stayed on. She was a friendly fixture to divers until she disappeared. Then
three months ago she was spotted at Half Moon Cay with a male dolphin. Looks like
she’s back.”
Later, as divers hang near the anchor rope to decompress at 15 feet, Honey reappears,
swooping through air bubbles, nuzzling outstretched hands, lunging, plunging and
diving with infinite ease. No one wants to surface. Life has become an underwater
odyssey.
Although 90 percent of the resort’s guests are divers, others come for the snorkeling, sea
kayaking or simply the serenity. Some just swing lazily in hammocks and read books.
“People love the remoteness,” Mr. Stockbridge says. “And divers don’t have to move
their equipment on and off the boat. Our staff washes it down and cares for it, and the
diving is great.”
Flight attendant Jude Reider says she was looking for a place “without hordes of people
diving in multicolored outfits with strange apparatus around their necks, a remote place
without shops. But Lighthouse was so booked, I could not get in here for a year.”
“The staff is 90 percent Belizeans, and they’re from the heart, such loving people. They
treat the guests like family. At 6:30 in the morning I’m over at the restaurant dancing to
the radio while the staff is making coffee.”
Miss Reider has been a guest 9 1/2 weeks, which she claims is the record. “I’m a single
diver. Sometimes I come alone, sometimes with a buddy. Friends have been here six and
seven times.”
The 24-member staff makes this island kingdom work. Food is flown in, fish are caught
nearby, and a diesel generator provides the electricity. The resort can accommodate up
to 22 divers for a week with its five cabanas, two junior suites and one two-bedroom
villa. Seventeen dives are scheduled during the week.
Lighthouse Reef, one of four atolls in the Western Hemisphere, sits atop the undersea
Maya Mountains. It is part of Belize’s barrier reef, a spectacular formation that runs
most of the 185 miles of coast as it swings from within 10 miles to 40 miles of the
coastline. This natural wonder’s size is surpassed only by Australia’s Great Barrier Reef
and a few in the South Pacific.
One of the planet’s richest ecosystems, it is characterized by cays and exotic underwater
structures that harbor hundreds of animal and plant species and 220 types of fish.
White surf rings Lighthouse Reef, which is about 24 miles long and 6 miles across.
Inside, it is no deeper than 30 feet and filled with scattered coral heads and patch reef.
“We have 20 or more dive sites near us and fine diving down south at Half Moon and
Long Cay,” Mr. Stockbridge says. “Few dive boats come to our sites.”
Each dive brings new wonders: two hawksbill turtles, with translucent brown-and-
yellow shells, rest along a coral wall; huge stingrays glide above the sands; 12-foot
yellow tub sponges are so big that divers can stick their head inside.
We pass through a world of huge, swaying basket sponges; sleek, 6-foot silvery tarpon;
8-foot purple sea fans; man-sized barracuda; giant, slow-swimming groupers; hidden
spotted moray; spider crabs; and rainbow-hued parrotfish. We gaze at irridescent blue
angelfish; black and yellow French angelfish; black triggerfish with their balletic,
aerodynamic fins; stealth-bomberlike yellow-spotted trunkfish; radiant blue chromis;
and schools of shimmering purple reef fish.
At times divers disappear in vast schools of yellowtail, or swim behind a huge, black-
speckled jewfish. Tasty red grouper pay little attention as we fin past; squirrelfish
abound. No sharks are spotted as underwater videos are made.
One morning we dive the Blue Hole, then continue south to Half Moon Cay, Mr.
Stockbridge ever vigilant for coral in the shallows. Two rusting wrecks guard the outer
reef as white surf breaks.
On Half Moon Cay we enjoy a picnic lunch, chat with the lighthouse keeper, and climb
a tower in the Half Moon Cay Natural Monument to view the nesting colony of some
4,000 web-footed red boobies that nest in trees. It’s a noisy time as nests bulge with
young. The slow-witted boobies are so named because they showed no fear of early
sailors, who killed them indiscriminately and ate them. Magnificent frigate birds circle
above, ready to eat their eggs with the same zeal they steal their fish. Some 98 bird
species have been spotted in the reserve.
Then it’s back in the water to dive the famed Half Moon Wall. A white-sand shelf slopes
gently to 40 feet, home to garden eels, conch, rays and star-eyed hermit crabs. Then a
magnificent coral ridge, fissured with crevices and caves, rises to within 25 feet of the
surface. Its ocean side drops vertically thousands of feet.
Grooves separate the phantasmagoric coral accumulations and form exotic tunnels. In
the coral overhangs and reef canyons, grouper, yellowtail snapper, black grouper,
razorfish and toadfish hang out. The sea’s wonders dazzle us. Deeper on the wall lurk
wire coral, small feather black coral trees and red lace coral.
Stefan and Carmel Tessmer, members of a northern German dive club who have
submerged themselves in their favorite sport from the Dutch lakes to the Red Sea, love
this dive site. “It’s good to leave the hordes of divers in the Mediterranean and see these
beautiful, unspoiled seas. Wunderschon! [Wonderful!] Don’t tell anyone. I will say
nothing of this in Germany.”
One bright morning I launch a sea kayak, remembering the resort brochure’s tongue-in-
cheek warning: “It is not recommended that you circumnavigate the island – in fact it is
expressly forbidden – but if you should, it will take you 2 1/2 hours to do so.”
Paddling around the point I spot foot-long bonefish in the shallows, their dorsal fins
above the water. A narrow sand channel cuts through the turtle grass into a lagoon.
Nature has weathered palm trunks into a fantastic sculpture garden amid the red
mangroves.
Floating quietly I spot the red, beady eyes of a saltwater crocodile. He fixes me in his
gaze momentarily, then dives with a splash of his tail. Birds squeal in the underbrush,
and herons circle this enchanted backwater.
A messy, 4-foot-wide osprey nest high in a dead tree is the only landmark in the vast,
watery world. Ospreys, or fish hawks – with white heads and wings, black chests and
hooked beaks – daily ride the winds over the cay and far out to sea in search of fish.
I paddle on leisurely, coming upon eagle rays, assorted jumping fish and rich tropical
flora until I hit bottom. I cannot proceed. I retrace my route in the shallows, often
grounding with wrong turns, then emerge into the shining turquoise sea. In the distance
the reef’s white froth rides the horizon. Later, I snorkel lazily off the resort’s beach.
Although no one fishes during my stay, the resort offers a fishing guide, boat and
equipment for reasonable rates. Barracuda are said to be easy to catch; tuna and grouper
are more difficult to land. The resort’s record for bonefish is a 12-pounder caught by a
retired Kansan accountant.
An afternoon is spent visiting Sandbore Cay, with its rusty lighthouse, two brightly
painted pastel houses and beach. The lighthouse keepers regale us with tales of
hurricanes and island life.
One late afternoon I investigate the path through the jungle that leads to a quiet lagoon,
then on to a remote beach. Various birds and iguanas, locally called Wish Willies,
appear before I watch a fiery magenta sunset.
Meals are hearty and informal at the restaurant-bar; all guests have swapped stories by
week’s end. After an evening drink on the dock, a typical dinner might include chicken
soup, grilled steak with sauteed onions and green peppers or grilled fresh fish with
rosemary and lemon pepper, vegetables and a dessert.
At night the Big Dipper is so dazzling that the distant lighthouse beacon appears as a
star in the constellation’s handle. Hammocks provide the perfect perch to search the
night skies for shooting stars.
All too soon the last night comes with its rum drinks and barbecue under the stars. It’s a
time for stories, laughs, guitars and songs. No one wants to think of tomorrow’s
departure from our star-strewn island kingdom.
We’ve been surfeited with serenity, sky, land and seas. Later we will feel a great
emptiness: We’ve lost our island connection with the infinite.
The Washington Times
Date: August 25, 1996
Page: E1
Copyright 1996 News World Communications# Inc.