Snorkeling in St. John by Ann Banks
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Kate and I are holding hands and floating in a bright blue, tropical sea. Through our face masks, we discover a world of wonders: the white sand of the ocean floor blooms up in a coral garden that teems with fantastic plants and creatures—life forms so flamboyantly improbable that they might have been invented by Dr. Seuss.
From behind the mouthpiece of her snorkel, Kate squeaks excitedly; she points toward a crayon-bright assemblage of scales and fins. My daughter has spied her first stoplight parrotfish. As any snorkeler knows, these creatures are a dime a dozen around tropical reefs, the undersea equivalent of pigeons. But they are new to Kate, and she is stunned by the gaudy miracle of their existence — just as I was when I first explored a coral reef at age twentysomething.
I had awaited such a moment for a long time. Before we became parents, my husband and I shared many vacations decked out in face masks and immersed in saltwater. When Kate was born, I pictured her as an additional snorkeling companion, as soon as she was old enough to be comfortable in the ocean. Snorkeling seemed to me the perfect family sport: thrilling, yet safe, low tech, environmentally benign, and equally accessible to grown-ups and kids.
My vision of underwater family togetherness would have a better chance of succeeding, I figured, if Kate's introduction to snorkeling was planned with care. Picking a place was easy: we would go to the Caribbean island of St. John. Part of the U.S. Virgin Islands, St. John is a clump of green mountains that rise from the sea; its shores are outlined with crescents of white sand. Prom a previous visit, we knew that the island was more than half national park, which means there are friendly park rangers to offer snorkeling classes and interpretive programs on the marine environment.
On our first morning, we headed for the Virgin Islands National Park and Trunk Bay, which boasts a self-guided snorkeling trail marked with underwater signs that identify various types of coral. (What's left of it, that is: the bay is the most heavily visited spot on the island, and its reef has suffered from overuse.) It also is the site of the beginners' snorkeling orientation given by the park service. A small group of us gathered on the sand as a park ranger ran through the basics. He showed us how to check the masks' fit (hold it to your face and inhale; it should stay on even without the strap around your head); how to prevent fogging (rub spit on the inside and then rinse with water); and breathing technique (in and out through the snorkel tube's mouthpiece).
Finally, he came to the impassioned segment of his presentation, the part about protecting the reefs: "I always tell people that it's important to make sure your equipment is working properly before you start to swim; otherwise you might find yourself standing up on the fragile coral bed to make the necessary adjustments. We have a rule here — if it's not sand, don't stand." As far as we were concerned, the ranger was preaching to the converted, but when we spotted a half-dozen people breaking that rule in a few minutes of observation, it wasn't hard to see why Trunk Bay's coral is in bad shape.
We were delighted to leave behind the crowds and head for less spoiled snorkeling spots — of which there are too many to see in a four-day visit. All along the north shore of the island there are beautiful, fringing reefs within an easy swim of the beach; last time around, Peter and I had enjoyed exploring these on our own. With Kate along, I preferred the security of snorkeling from a dive boat. It was comforting to know that an experienced captain would keep a watchful eye on us, and as a bonus, we would be going to offshore reefs accessible only by water. (To find a dive boat, ask at your hotel's activity desk or one of the local tourist offices.)
Our first outing was an around-the-island trip on the Cinnamon Bay, a 40- foot motor yacht. As soon as we were settled on board, I pulled out a surprise I had brought for Kate — the lavishly illustrated What's in the Deep? An Underwater Adventure for Children by the renowned underwater photographers and environmentalists Alese and Morton Pechter. I wanted Kate to learn something of the ocean marvels she was about to encounter, and I knew from experience that she would read more eagerly if I waited to produce the book until the moment of submersion was close at hand. This strategy worked; as we cruised along the coast, Kate followed the snorkeling adventures of a fictional brother and sister. She was intrigued by the photographs showing examples of marine camouflage, and at our first snorkeling stop, triumphantly spotted two of the fish depicted in the book: a trumpet fish doing its best to resemble a soft coral branch, and a mottled peacock flounder trying to blend into the sand.
Just as I had hoped, Kate was hooked. Later she described the experience in a school report: "We jumped into the water, and suddenly I forgot about what was above the surface ... It was a magical kingdom, fish popping out of hiding places, sea fans swaying back and forth ... I really liked snorkeling; it helped me see the inside of the sea."
At the next stop, Bob, the boat's captain, pointed us toward a tiny grotto that could be reached by swimming through a narrow passage. Kate was so enchanted with this secret spot that I had a hard time luring her back to the boat. "I was sad to leave the little room made of rock," she wrote, "but I knew I would never forget it."
At the National Park Visitor Center, I bought Kate a guide to local marine life, and in a few days, she built an impressive scorecard. Besides the glorious reef fish the queen angelfish, the French grunts, the red cardinal fish - we saw a barracuda and a stingray. Despite their fearsome names, the latter two pose no danger to snorkelers, though they added spice to the story Kate told at school. Oddly, the ocean creature that most excited us was an ordinary green sea turtle that Kate spotted.
For parents, conjuring such wonderment is an unbeatable thrill. Peter and I can't, after all, show our daughter outer space. But we can introduce her to the mysterious deep, home of some of this planet's most marvelous creatures -lavender tube sponges, four-eye butterfly fish, rock beauties, and more.