Clearwater Paradise Resort, Guanaja, Honduras

Article written in October 2024 Undercurrent Magazine

 Today, it seems, most Caribbean divers visit heavily populated islands, where after deplaning, they grab a taxi to the hotel and drive through streets packed with cruise ship tourists: Grand Cayman, Cozumel, and Bonaire come to mind. These once-charming islands are today urban centers where divers go restaurant hopping, meet the hotel staff only when they have an ice bucket delivered to their room, and watch TV at night. And dive with a couple dozen other divers who seem to rotate daily. I’ve had good trips to most of these islands, but I feel far more adventurous when, after I deplane, I have a boat ride ahead to some out-island and an isolated resort where the Wi-Fi might not always work; I’m served home-cooked meals that reflect the culture, no tourists are shouting or automobiles rumbling, and The Milky Way is the after-dinner entertainment. One of our writers (Undercurrent) recently returned from such a place in Honduras’ Bay Islands, and here is his story. – Ben Davison, publisher

Reaching the Clearwater Paradise Resort requires a 75-minute ferry ride from Roatan, after a 20-minute cab ride from the airport. And then a second wind-in-yourhair boat trip. And Tom Smith, who has owned the resort for the year, offered cold drinks as his captain sped us through the channel cut to the North-East end of Guanaja, on the opposite side of two other dive resorts, Clark’s Caye and Dunbar (Tom’s daughter, Elizabeth, manages Clearwater). Besides my partner and me, three other guests were on board. I introduced myself to the diver sitting near me: “I know what your favorite color is!” She smiled, as we both admired her pink luggage, pink shoes, pink shorts, and pink top. A dive instructor, she had won a free trip at DEMA and brought her daughter (an ex-cop and martial artist). Another diver instructor was the fifth guest. As we neared the resort, Tom pointed at the Ocote’s, pine tree species Pinus Montezuma, and told us Columbus called this the “Island of Pines.” Peeking out from a hilltop behind the pines and palms were the large balcony terraces of our home for the next seven nights. While the dive crew took care of our luggage, we walked up to the secondfloor dining veranda, where Catalina, the friendly main server, gave us a rum punch. A dozen hummingbirds sipped at feeders, and a fist-sized jungle frog studied us from the balcony edge. Tom pointed to cans of Deep Woods Off and suggested we keep ourselves lightly spritzed to ward off the no-see-ums. I worried about the buggers, but Off did its job, though light long sleeves and light long pants helped. Having emailed ahead our answers to questions about diving certifications and experience and food preferences, our only task was to sign waivers. The eight-room, three-story main building felt like a warmhearted, cool-looking big bed and breakfast, with a friendly and helpful three-woman kitchen/housekeeping staff and three-man dive team. (Spanish is their language, but they speak enough English to communicate easily.) The third floor hosts a veranda game room with a pool table, foosball, books, board games, and TV.  The first morning, after breakfast -- they varied with tortilla Baleadas (a traditional Honduran dish of mashed beans, thick cream, and salty cheese), quiche, eggs, bacon, pancakes, juices such as pineapple, mango, watermelon, hog plum or tamarin, brown bread, and island fruits. At 8:00 a.m., I walked down the 27 hillside steps and through a short tree-lined path, carefully stepping over a parade of leaf-cutter ants hauling their green loads. At the dock, their partially shaded 29-foot dive boat held our assembled gear, a cooler with fresh water for cameras, and a nitrox gauge, which proved the mix had 33 percent O2 each time. We had plenty of room for us five divers, Chino, our soft-spoken and super-smiley divemaster, and Captain Sarko. Their largest boat, with temporary engine trouble, sat idly by, and a smaller boat was also available. After Chino’s briefing, we back-rolled in for our checkout at Blue Leak, with no currents, 86°F water, and 80-plus-foot visibility. The healthy 40-foot wall had nice soft corals, interesting cuts and pinnacles, and some fuzzy brown algae, but certainly not as much as Roatan, where I had just dived for two days. While I checked out moon jellies and lots of reef fish, a barracuda stared at a line of Creole wrasse. After half an hour, Chino checked the air on the divers close to him, though he could probably tell from how they geared up and their buoyancy control whether they were air-suckers (and they weren’t). He kept a close eye on the ex-cop, who had logged only 20 dives but left my buddy and me free to do our thing, which I appreciated since I dislike regimented diving.  As we approached the mooring line, a stingray glided off. We continued diving while Chino watched from the surface, and when we surfaced, he helped pass our BCs up to the captain, who helped us climb over the gunwhale -- we did need his help since the ladder was without handholds or poles to grab at the top. (Tom said he’ll be installing poles.) On board, they offered us water, watermelon, chips, cookies, and hard candy. Chino asked how much time we wanted before the second dives, no hurry-up-and-dive here. Chino asked if we were okay with him spearing lionfish. Of course, we said, especially since he bribed us with a promise of ceviche. But after 20 minutes, he was hunting much more than guiding. Our other male diver later had a polite discussion with him, and on future dives, while he did snag the predators, he also showed us around town. After a few dives, it became apparent how Guanaja diving differed from Roatan and lots of the Caribbean. First, the unique volcanic architecture in Clearwater’s front yard was especially interesting. Black Rock Canyon, with 80-plus-foot tall canyon cuts, pinnacles, crevices, and swim-thrus, sparkled with glinting sunlight beaming down like rock-concert lighting. Indeed, a miniature Canyonlands National Park painted black. I spotted a slender filefish hiding in a gorgonian, a channel crab, and a decorator crab (I still can’t figure out where their mouths are). A marauding band of black tang worked the reef, and as we hung on the line, my buddy spotted a thumb-nail-sized lobster on my vest. At Tito’s Labyrinth, where it’s 35 feet to the sand, we navigated cuts and penetrated mazes, a bit like cities with high-rise buildings and nearly empty streets, except for a three-foot tarpon, giant midnight parrotfish and a school of glassy sweepers -- another unique dive. In one tight swim-thru, Chino pointed out an invisible scorpion fish, a warning not to inadvertently put our hands on it. Hard corals were generally healthy -- a three-foot pristine staghorn gave me hope -- and barrel sponges the size of kettle drums were common. Soft coral was unbroken and untainted -- sea rods in red and knobby, purple sea fans, flumes, feathery blacks, and wire coral in black and lime. I hovered over beautiful gardens in shades of red, black, beige, putty, brown, and even lavender, especially when illuminated by a dive light.  At Lee’s Pleasure, I thought I was looking at Dr. Seuss illustrations. And then there were the undulating schools of silversides. At Bayman Drop, I was mesmerized by a massive, flowing cloud, expanding and contracting, until I saw two nurse sharks sporting remoras coming in close. Chino gently held their pectoral fins, turned them upside down, and rubbed their bellies, putting them into shark dreamland. He seemed to love them, and, not to be too anthropomorphic, they loved him, a man born and reared on the island and in the water. Well, probably they just came for the massage. I saw nurses on several dives and the amazing shape-shifting clouds of Clearwater Paradise Resort 4 silversides at half a dozen locations. While some sites were not well populated with fish, overall, the dives had a wide range of tropicals: blennies, goatfish, jacks, a tilefish diving into its hidey hole, chubs, spotted drumfish, queen and midnight parrotfish, rock beauties, French and queen angels, flounders, morays, anemones in blue and yellow, and nudibranchs. My standard room (one of the six) was clean, white, and spacious, with a queen-sized comfy bed, air conditioning, an excellent shower with lots of hot water, and daily maid service. (They also have two suites, and, above their separate-building dive shop is a 2-bedroom apt with a small kitchen.) The small pool was fine for a post-dive rinse. Guanaja, with only 5500 people, has a lot of walking paths, interesting birds, a waterfall to view, and I took a short hike to a nearby overlook. And, of course, I dived. We made two in the morning and one every afternoon, except when we made a night dive at Diane’s. A light rain announced it was time to drop in, and the first thing my torch picked up were scores of smooth-leg brittle stars creepy-crawling out of the beam. Tiny shrimp with shiny copper-red LED eyes peered from everywhere -- shine a torch on them, and, poof, they’re gone. Spotted spiny lobsters with saturated orange tail feathers and beautiful 4-inch red coralbanded shrimps were common. My dive partner illuminated a football-sized toadfish, and I watched a small octopus flash a range of colors until another diver blasted him in the eyes with a camera strobe. (Bad idea: this leaves the animal vulnerable to predators until its eyes recover.) Indeed, this was a better night dive than four I had in Raja Ampat. After watching four small squid dance, I rose to the surface to be welcomed by the Milky Way and billions of stars in the black sky. The gently glowing indigo lights on the wood-plank walkway guided us home. And then, it was time for dinner, served by the staff and always a delight: on different nights, BBQ pork chops, lobster tail, shrimp alfredo, flank steak, mahi mahi, pepperoni pizza, baked chicken, pasta salad, scalloped potatoes, carrots, breadfruit, squash, green salad, rice and carrots . . . followed by flan, ice cream, pecan muffins, brownie, gooey butter cake or cherry pineapple cobbler . . . There was so much food, one diver joked, “Better start serving me half portions.” Elizabeth explained, “Our last group had some big eaters, so we upsized to ensure everyone has plenty.” With such satisfied stomachs, it was easy to fall asleep, but Kiwi, a one-year-old puppy, couldn’t contain his energy and started barking two nights around 1:00 a.m., waking me and others for a short while. Oh well. At lunch, it could be ground beef tostadas, chicken wraps, cheeseburgers, BLTs, onion rings, The fast dive boat Bonaire Boating Incident On Sunday, September 15, Melina Charbonnet and her dive buddy Daphne were practicing scuba diving skills in water just a few meters deep when they were struck by a small boat driven by a 17-year-old girl. She got her severely injured buddy back to shore and called 911. In a letter to bonaire.nu, Melina later wrote, “What followed the accident was equally disturbing. The police were called to the dive site but did not arrive until after we had already left in an ambulance. They told others on the scene that they would come to the hospital to take our statements, but they never showed up. Bonaire’s rules are clear: boats are not allowed to enter the light blue zone close to the coast, where divers and snorkelers are active. Despite these rules, enforcement [in Bonaire] remains weak.” The incident highlights urgent need for stricter enforcement of water safety on Bonaire. 5 or fries. The chef honored everyone’s

The chef honored everyone’s needs. “Don’t eat shellfish? Red meat? No problemo, here are other options.” The friendly house cat showed its love by bringing geckos to the chef, who gently shooed it away when its mouth was full. At snack time, after the third dive, the kitchen delivered Chico’s promise, lionfish ceviche, and other times chips, cheese, carrots, cucumber, dips, or popcorn. And at the small bar, drinks -- even spirits -- were on the house as part of the package. I should note that Guanaja has one wreck dive, the intentionally sunk 440-foot nicely encrusted Jado Trader wreck. Nearly 40 years old, it sits on its side in 100 feet of water. It was our only dive with a noticeable, and unpleasant, current. Inside, I spotted a 6-foot grouper, and nearby pinnacles are available to finish the dive. One thing about out-of-the-way places is that you can’t call a doctor or run to the drugstore. But Tom has his ways. One diver felt UTI symptoms, so the two diver nurses suggested a specific antibiotic, and within a couple of hours, Tom had it at the resort. On our final morning, I woke up to no power in our rooms, but as we packed to go, the generator and battery backup system were gearing up. Tom has installed solar panels and plans to install even more to mitigate intermittent problems. As a former building contractor, he is updating the property and says he loves being busy “in this, my 3rd Act in life.” A personable guy, he checked on us throughout the week while Elizabeth would peek around the corner and ask, “Can I get you a fan? Would you like to see a dive-site map?” Tom’s wife, Laurie, was the culprit behind the addictive gooey butter cake and pecan muffins. They were a loving family, excited to take on their crazy retirement adventure together. For my two cents, they’ve created a truly unique and entertaining dive trip experience in the Caribbean. -- P.L. Our undercover diver’s bio: While serving 1974-78 as a U.S. Marine Embassy Security Guard, I wrote a bucket list with diving near the top. Subsequently, college offered a YMCA scuba class as an elective, so I jumped on it as a freshman in the first semester. I hit 930 worldwide dives at Guanaja. To help spread the word, when I meet another diver, I always ask, “Do you know about Undercurrent?”