After yesterday’s baby jellyfish soup here at Mountain Point, Virgin Gorda, I woke up hoping they’d moved along. I paddled the SUP out a few hundred yards and kept jumping in to check the water. Clear! We set a swim course to Savannah Bay, about 2.5 miles down the coast. I swam with Debbie for a bit. She’s been out of the water for about 6 months, but we always say to our guests “we’ll catch you where you are”. It turns out Debbie didn't need a lot of catching, swimming wise. Her excellent stroke technique makes up for any lack of conditioning she may have from taking the 6 months off, and she’s been swimming beautifully.

A bit of backstory here. I love archaeology, and old stuff in general. I’ve been digging through old trash heaps behind abandoned farmhouse foundations since I was a kid. I drive a 1929 pickup truck. I’m a big fan of the show Time Team. A couple of years ago guide John and I found an historic conch shell midden on Carriacou Island just off Grenada. I contacted an archaeologist who had worked there, and she added it to her list of known sites. Just a couple of weeks ago I threw a dig party in my backyard, where several friends dug through my backyard ash pit and found cool treasures like old bottles and tools. You get the picture.

The guides set their watches for 20-minute breaks, our intrepid group benefitting from a light tail wind. Just before our second stop, I saw an object on the bottom that was quite different from the reef structure I’d been seeing for the past mile. It was cylindrical and about 3 feet long, in about 20 feet of water. I dove down for a closer look, and realized it could be a cannon!!!! We took photos and contacted a local expert, and I’ll blog about any developments. At a minimum, we’ll try to find it again next week and show the guests.

Back to the swim. There’s a fairly narrow entrance to Savannah Bay, even for swimmers, and Heather guided us in from atop the SUP expertly. Our skipper had anchored about ¼ mile away, and Heather, sensing the group needed a little boost to finish, formed a Conga Line, one swimmer in front of the next, the lead swimmer doing 30 strokes before handing off the lead to the next swimmer. It worked, and we triumphantly returned to Rhapsody.

A brief stop at Great Dog Island for some cave, crack and crevice exploring, where guides did an underwater swim-through they’ve charming called the Crack of Death, seafood salad for lunch, then a sail to Guana Island and its mysterious, wild, Muskmelon Bay. Margaritas flowed. Tenderloin steaks were grilled on the stern. Fish bats flapped about. I climbed in my hammock, dreaming of sunken treasure.

Hopper