From Ja-Mon to Cay-Mon

The cliff divers in Negril were actually quite cool. I had been delaying my visit to Rick’s, a very popular club which was full of tourists. Some of its popularity comes from the fact that it is situated on tall cliffs which some locals dive off of. Any visitor is allowed to jump off of several, lower ledges and you see many people in their swimming suits. The majority of the establishment is a bar and restaurant that comes to life especially during sun-set.

The most colorful of divers, the Tiger, goes around with a red bucket, soliciting tips and amping up the crowd. He and a few other Jamaican divers, including some children, jumped off of heights that I would say vary from 50-80 feet high, perhaps more. The highest jump was from the top of a dead tree. They would fall, flip and plunge into the cove, surrounded by spectators and boats. At the same time, amateur tourists were free to jump into the very same cove. You just had to be careful to stay out of the way of the pros stunts.


I was happy to be pushing on and I felt that this was a good place to end my visit. I had begun my shooting on Runaway Bay, on the north-central coast of Jamaica and made my way gradually to Negril, on the far, western-end of the island.

During my stay I had many opportunities to have long conversations with the locals. Often these would take place on my hours-long drives in taxis. At my final place of lodging I also had a chance to speak with the predominately European visitors. There was a particularly high concentration of Italians and Germans staying here.

Another Jamaican staple that I found particularly good was the coffee. I miss it already. Very black and rich and excellent everyone I had it!

One unpleasant thing was the burning that seemed to occur every night. Sometimes the smell was a nice woodsmoke, but more oft than naught, the smell had a chemical tinge. It infused much of my clothing for days after. Also at night is the constant ‘gleep, gleep’ sound of some frog I’ve to identify. It had an alarm quality to it. In Negril would also be throbbing reggae bass and toasting raps of performers. It would go very late, especially if it was a good show.

I didn't find the driving 'crazy' as so many people seem to say it is. Jamaicans are actually some of the most courteous drivers I have seen. It's true some pass and buzz around and make it just before another oncoming car approaches. But you'll see most drivers be patient with one another and rarely get upset. They honk their horns a lot. This is usually to warn of their approach or to say hello to one another. They were also always very punctual.

The morning after Ricks was an early drive back to the airport in Mo’Bay. I wanted to get there early for any customs hassles. Early it was. But I was able to find a phone and a customs agent came down, checked my gear and accompanied me through the airlines check-in and security and I was soon at the gate. Hurray!

Cayman was hot and sunny. My taxi driver was a Caymanian woman with a strong Scottish accent mixed with an island sound. She drove me to where I’d be staying, the East End. Different than the western part of the island and towns like Georgetown, the East End was quiet and relaxing. The coast was hit by strong winds and seemed a mix of reefs, rocks and nice sand beaches. She pointed out where a ship once carrying rice sank on the reef. They had rice for many days after. The same thing happened with one carrying prunes, she said. We passed a ‘blowhole’ where the waves pressure shot a geyser up a hole in the rocky coastline. “Scraggadey” was how she described the rocky coast.

So, for the past few days I’ve been on the East End of this flat Caribbean island. It is full of money, nice houses and just two resorts that I’ve seen so far. The lack of congestion makes it even easier to appreciate the sun, the beaches, the green water reefs teaming with life and the relaxing pace.

I’ve been able to take in some fun adventures as well! Stingray Bay is a very popular attraction. Boats sail out to a sandy reef where you jump in water four feet deep and feed a whole gang of stingrays squid. The sound of it always bothered me. It’s just not a good practice to feed most wild animals, for many reasons. It also sounds so dang touristy. But I was to find it quite fun thing!

We first stopped for a snorkel. I shot people from the deck of the catamaran. The colors were nice and the sun cooperated for the most part. Then, I too jumped in and swam to a coral reef. Taking a big breath and diving below the water is quite fun. You glide over the coral and push your goggled face as close as you can fish. The black form of a eel caught my eye. But he just lay there in the open sand, the front of his body half tucked into the reef. He didn’t move. That is until I swam down closer to investigate. Then he swam out. I really had no desire to stick around. That’s another things about feeding creatures – they associate you with food. I’ll watch from a distance! Well, the stingray was another story, entirely.

We boated over to a shallow sand bar and the anticipating stingrays came from all over. They look like a gray kite, hovering through the water. They also give me the impression of automatic vacuum cleaners, hovering over the ground until they bump into something and then move around the obstacle. People filed in the water one by one and everyone was giddy with excitement. Several girls shrieked and clung to their mother, but another little girl looked at her mother and affirmed, “I’m not going to scream like those girls!” After I shot, I too jumped in and couldn’t help but make a b-line straight for the one the guide was holding in his arms, allowing people to handle it. As I came up, the Stingray had wandering eyes and nostrils fluttering. His gray top contrasted greatly to his white belly. I was told to slide my arms extended, straight forward. The underside could not be smoother, like slick, flappy rubber. People were told that they would get seven years good luck if they kissed it and a lifetime of good luck if they French-kissed it. So, well, you know me! Licky, licky. I tickled his proboscis nice and proper-like. Poor guy! But he was getting food out of the deal and was a big ol’ bolshy fellow!

Now, I’ve been to island after beautiful Caribbean island, twice with chances to go diving and, well, it just didn’t work out. But I was set and determined to get in a dive! Especially in this diving mecca!

And you know what? It worked! I head out for a one-tanker to a place called Grouper Grotto. Though the tarpon have now taking the place of the grouper, it’s a place of coral mazes and ‘swim throughs.’ This is where the coral creates overhangs and creates occasional tunnes. The water is reknown for its clarity. It was nothing to look down sixty feet with a clear line of sight. Our guide brought us down into the walls of coral. The large silver tarpon look at you with wide eyes and slanting up chin. They are quite a narrow fish, but very long and beautifully silver and shiny. We saw a lobster stick his head out of the coral and there were yellow striped seargeant majors.

Our guide then lead us down into our first swim-through. For this, I was in the rear. Though most swim throughs allow at least some overhead sight of the surface above, this first trench began with an actual tunnel. I have to say that I found it a bit unnerving. My first thought is on what you would do if you had to evacuate in case of an emergency. There would be no room to turn around and you could only go forward. Though, the coolness of it actually overrode the fear of it. But it was nice and snug. You did not want to touch the sandy bottom and kit up silt and you had to mind that the top of the tank did not smack the coral. You float through like an astronaut, with small kicks of your flippers and the ever-so-often wave of your hand. But proper streamline is for your arms to be folded against your belly, holding in you dive computer and hoses.

We did a few more swim-throughs. As you look up, there is nothing quite like the view. Instead of floating above the Earth, you feel as though you are floating within it, looking out. The edges of the coral, formed by miniature life, are in shadow, and through this window you see life suspended in ocean blue. The rays of sunlight are slow and bring color to even these depths. Sometimes you look down one trench and see a multitude of large fish, hanging together like a mobile above a child’s bed. In fact, there is really nothing to compare it to but that. Being a child in your crib, smiling in wonder at the shapes of animals floating magically above you. I think to be a diver is often like feeling you are finally floating in your very own mobile.

But that was that. I was more than ready to end, and happy this was a one-tank dive. After all there is so much more to explore.

The dry of the desert is calling. Time to move on. Must move on. Always moving on!