I Spent 4 Days Hiding Out in the Caribbean's Best Secret Getaway

Ever wonder where Dr. Seuss might’ve secretly binged the creative juices for his illustrations? Look no further than the otherworldly coral of Glover’s Reef, part of the Belize Barrier Reef. The 190-mile-long section of the 560-mile Mesoamerican Barrier Reef System (the world’s second largest barrier reef after Australia’s) extends from Cancún to Honduras. More specifically, it’s home to the finest offshore Belize vacation adventure hub tucked way beyond all those crowded cays farther north. Hiding out in Glover's Reef (a remote atoll about 40 miles off the coast of southern Belize), my four days of glamping, paddling, and snorkeling on Southwest Cay were a revelation both above and below the turquoise waves. The mix of hard and soft corals here are straight out of Whoville—a land of trumpets, fans, fingers, giant Mayan vases, and an even zanier Seuss-like selection of fish.

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An unplugged stay at Southwest Cay—the largest of a remote atoll of five “coral rubble” islands (called such because of their westerly location where Caribbean waves have beaten down the reef enough to form land)—reveals one of the finest coral reef shows on Earth. Southwest was bigger until Hurricane Hattie severed it in two in 1961, creating the island of Manta next door across an emerald channel.

Comprised of more than 700 coral patch reefs across 135 square miles and renowned for its marine life, Glover’s Reef is one of the only atolls (an island completely subsided beneath the water, leaving a ring of growing coral with an open lagoon in its center) in the Atlantic Ocean. Most are in the Pacific. Recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1993, its elliptical-shaped reef system—coincidentally shaped like Belize itself—stretches 18 miles long and 7 miles wide, serving as a vital nursery and feeding ground for a variety of marine life, including several endangered species. 

Inside its shallow lagoon are coral patch reefs waiting to be explored by snorkel or scuba. By staying on Southwest Cay with Island Expeditions, an outfitter specializing in sea kayak trips in Belize, I explored this hidden gem of the Caribbean in the best way possible: by SUP and sea kayak.

“It’s pretty unique to have a private, family-owned and -run island in the Caribbean like this,” says the outfit’s operations manager Steve Barnes, a Canadian hockey nut who’s been out here for seven straight years and can’t get enough. “There’s just something special about it, aside from its incredible location next to some of the richest marine life in the world. You get the coral and the culture,” he adds, noting that a recent client earlier this season just couldn’t leave. “He kept signing on, staying for four consecutive weeklong stays.” By the end of my own week here, I fully understood the temptation.

Paradise Found

Pulling up to the dock after a 90-minute boat ride from Dangriga on the Southern Belizean mainland, we're greeted by an oasis of palm trees swaying over a kaleidoscope of blue. Facing the oncoming wind as built-in air conditioning, our accommodations are rustic but appropriate: white wall tents with floorboards, double beds, nightstands, and shelves—not that we’ll need anything more than T-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops.

A maze of hammocks leads to a bathroom with gravity showers and composting toilets (sprinkle two coconut cups of wood chips afterward). Past a cornhole game, we come to a kitchen manned by Ms. Cynthia, or ‘C,” and Ms. Elta, and a happy hour lounge with honor system bar, counter stools overlooking the water, and couches. Happy hour’s signature concoction—a punch made with Belizean gold One Barrel rum—is announced with the blowing of a conch shell. Above it is a palapa-roofed, open-walled dining hall with library. Just down the shoreline lies a kayak and SUP hatchery, housing a fleet of paddlecraft—our vessels for accessing the island’s world-class waters.

C’s cooking chops surface at lunch: breaded barracuda, caught that morning, with rice and beans, fried plantains, and melt-in-your-mouth papaya. While we might want to nap afterward, there’s no time. Instead, we’re whisked away to learn the ins and outs of SUPing and kayaking, practicing wet-exits and re-entries in a nearby emerald-green lagoon. Then we’re issued our snorkeling gear. We’ll use the boats to snorkel the reefs.

It’s a great place for both. The island has been owned by the family of Belizean Jaime Usher since the 1940s, with his grandson, Alex, our boat captain from Dangriga, owning our half and his cousin the other. Island Expeditions has been offering trips here for over 30 years, finding it the perfect basecamp for their expeditions.

"It’s truly one of the best sea kayaking and snorkeling destinations in Belize,” says company owner Leif Sverre. “The massive lagoon has more than 700 documented coral patch reefs, and our island also lets you access the outer reef wall, with even more species of coral and fish. Plus, it shelters the inner lagoon from the northeastern trade winds, making it perfect for paddling from island to island or patch reef to patch reef.”

Originally discovered by Mayans sailing over from the mainland to fish, Glover’s Reef gets its name from pirate brothers John and Rodger Glover, part of a ragtag band of swashbucklers hired by the British in the 1750s to raid Spanish ships. Bootie from those early days can still be found in local waters. But we treasure its biodiversity even more.

Our days will be filled with paddling kayaks and SUPs to go snorkeling, scuba dives, bonefish and barracuda angling, nighttime snorkels, and octopus-revealing tide pool walks. Add to that daily happy hours to celebrate it all, some of the best island fare you’ll find in all Mesoamerica, and a ceaseless Caribbean breeze lulling you every night with the lap of the outer reef’s waves. Sleep and repeat.

Fish School Is in Session

Before venturing into the reef’s rum-clear waters, we get a fish talk from one of our guides, “Professor” Luis, 35. He’s color-blind, but that’s a good thing for identifying marine life, he says. Fish can change color throughout the day as well as their lifespans, so better to use such characteristics as shape, behavior, swimming style, preferred habitat (bottom, sea grass, coral), and other identification markers like stripes versus bars—though some fish actually change their bars to stripes at night. Professor Luis might not have a higher marine biology degree, but 15 years of guiding here under his weight belt is the real doctorate. “Color doesn’t matter,” he says. “Look at where you find them and what they’re doing instead.”

We learn to look for such features as fake eyes near their rears (honorable mentions to the four-eye butterfly fish), fin placement (surgeons pack heat in the form of switchblades that pop up to deter predators), propulsion mechanisms, and more. We also learn that the famed parrotfish—which grooms coral by eating algae and pooping out sand—is hermaphroditic, starting out as female (ovaries and all) before changing into multicolored, testes-toting males. In short, we learn to become thalassophiles—lovers of the sea—and note how everything in this bustling Seussian ecosystem has a role.

The fish’s names also belong in Whoville, including puddingwifes, schoolmasters, fairy basslets, stoplight parrots (with red, yellow, and green tails), grunts, goatfish, the patrolling sergeant majors, damsel fish, blue tangs, squirrelfish, saucer-eye porgies, balloonfish, cleaning gobies, funky dudes, bluehead wrasses, feather dusters, and silver guys. It’s the reef—made up of coral polyps, which are actually tiny animals related to anemones and jellyfish—that provide habitat for them all.

“It’s what makes it all possible,” Luis says. “Glover’s is the healthiest coral reef in the whole country. There’s hardly any human impact out here.”

But there’s treachery as well, just like we humans demonstrate above the surface—from fish whose antennae look like worms. Remember Dora’s near-miss in Finding Nemo? Invasive lionfish out here are equally adept at faking a submissive posture to lure in cleaner fish like gobies—and then gobble them. Yellowhead jawfish remove sand from their holes only to have their neighbors drop sand back in, like snow blowing onto your neighbor’s driveway. The antagonism runs from daring dashes to protect algae crops to squirting ink getaways. But it all balances out. Everything is with its purpose in the giant coral circle of life—providing that the mothership reef remains healthy, a mission facing its own struggles.

Luis has seen the effects in his 15 years of guiding. When we paddle out for our first kayak-snorkel, he points out a giant maze-filled brain coral that’s now half white, a victim of global warming that fosters algae growth and overwhelms the polyps. Hard coral disease, caused by bacteria dumped in the water by big ships, is also harming the reef. “When you spend enough time here and get to know the coral heads, you can see the difference,” he says. “It’s sad to see.”

Us ear-equalizing neophytes don’t notice it as much. We’re swimming in aquamarine waters just a short paddle from our fluffy pillows, oohing and aahing over forests of coral and a veritable oasis of marine life. Luis points out queen angelfish, barracuda, nurse sharks, tiger rays, and other amazing reef residents patrolling clusters of otherworldly, coral-encrusted sea floors. The real challenge in this vast underworld is to look closely (like Dr. Seuss’s Horton) to see and appreciate all the smaller details—an apt metaphor to follow in life.

At first, my instinct is to cover as much ground as possible, flutter-kicking from reef to reef to see everything possible. But you’re better off easing up the pace and taking the time to look closer. The lesson: Go slow. The little things in life make it whole.

With that, I ignore the giant tarpon cruising the perimeter like sentries and take in the tiny goby fish setting up their “cleaning stations” for other fish, darting attitude-filled damselfish, and gangs of tangs riding in a mob-like herd. Later, a night snorkel will bring out more nocturnal creatures like lobsters, crab, squirrel fish, and basket sea stars that only open at night.

Returning to the library for rum punch and Belikin beers, we compare the day’s discoveries with Paul Humann and Ned Deloach’s Reef Fish Identification: Florida, Caribbean, Bahamas, turning into professors as well.

Bobbing for Barracuda

On day three, I get a bonefish on the fly line (no, I didn’t land it) and struggle at yoga, all before breakfast.

“Let your legs sway like the pam trees. Feel your breath ebb like the tide,” says my yoga instructor Jayme, who’s also a guide for 12 women from Explorer Chick, sharing the island with us.

After a morning spent snorkeling, today’s first “real” scheduled activity is fishing. Or “catching,” as the dreadlocked Byron, a commercial lobster and conch fisherman on the side, corrects. Luis shows us photos of the fly-fishing Grand Slam if the stars align—comprised of tarpon, permit, bonefish, and (the cleanup homer) a hog fish that changes color to match sea grass or sand.

Motorboating outside the marine reserve, we drop lines affixed with pieces of conch, using nails and sparkplugs as weights. Once on the bottom, our lines instantly jiggle like puppet strings as we hook into French grunts, saucer-eye porgy, yellowtail snapper, and more, while Byron cleans them to use for bait or throwing into the cooler for C to cook back in the kitchen. Next, we hand-troll for barracuda. Byron cuts the conch bait to look like a squid. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel the strike,” he says, as my daughter takes the line only to feel a massive hit just seconds later.

“I think I got one!” she says, incredulously.

She does a commendable job handlining it until it breaks the hook next to the boat. I try and instantly get an even bigger strike, draping the line over the gunnel for extra friction. When it gets close, Byron deftly gaffes it and pulls it up—revealing a prehistoric monster with a giant Cro-Magnon forehead that no one can quite identify. Over Belikan beers back on the island, the guides debate about what it might be, perusing the book for distinguishing features. In the end, Venancio wins, IDing it as an African pompano jack, as evidenced by the two fins on the bottom.

An affable helper named Tucky cleans it on a wooden countertop in a foot of water on the beach. The entrails draw nurse sharks and opportunistic frigates, while a manta ray glides nearby by coincidence.

I snap a photo of my friend Cindy paddleboarding by in the background. After another rum punch happy hour and fresh African pompano jack dinner, we head outside. Wait, we already are outside. Heading to a sandy area by some hammocks, we learn the basic moves of a traditional Garifuna drum dance—which include hitting a log crocodile with a stick, wiping your brow, and shimmying over it seductively before passing the stick to the next dancer in line.

The rum helps everyone join in. Our moves might not be quite as reproductively creative as, say, those of the locals or even hermaphroditic parrotfish. But, as in Whoville or the reef, everything has its place.

Where to Book Your Next Offshore Belize Vacation

Island Expeditions offers sea kayak and snorkel trips throughout Belize from November through April, for all levels of paddlers, from bed-and-breakfast trips to point-to-point camping trips to base-camp-oriented trips on islands like Halfmoon Cay and Glover's Reef. For lodging in Dangriga before your trip, try Pelican Beach Resort. For inland adventures afterward, try the San Ignacio Resort Hotel in nearby San Ignacio.

Travel Trips for Exploring Belize

Wear sandals or flip-flops before earning your “Belizean sandals” (going barefoot). Shuffle your feet when walking in shallow water to warn sting rays of your presence. Don’t nap under palm trees for the obvious Caribbean Newtonian reason—getting pegged by a falling coconut. Start slow with mild Marie Sharp’s habanero pepper sauce before graduating to fiery hot—the latter being what the guides use.

Other Things to Do in Belize

Once you’re off the island, stick around and explore what Belize has to offer on the mainland.

Visit a Traditional Garifuna Village

Hopkins Village is a Garifuna community, made up of people who comprise about eight percent of Belize’s population and descended from African slaves and indigenous Arawak Indians. Take a Garifuna Culture Immersion Tour with Get to Known Belize Adventures to learn about traditional village life, take in a drum circle, dance the fast hip-gyrating punta, and partake in an authentic Garifuna cooking class where you’ll shred coconuts, barbecue barracuda, and mash plantains for your traditional coconut fish stew lunch.

Explore Ancient Mayan Sites

Don’t worry, the ATM Cave doesn’t stand for “Another Tourist Missing.” The Cave of the Crystal Sepulchre—aka the Actun Tunichil Muknal Cave—tucked away near San Ignacio in the Cayo District introduces adventurers to a stunning Mayan archaeological site packed with ceramics, stoneware, and hundreds of other artifacts including the “Crystal Maiden,” the skeleton of an adolescent sacrifice victim whose bones have been calcified to a sparkling, crystallized appearance. Sign up with local outfitter Nine Belize Ecocultural Tours, and be ready to wade and swim through an underground creek.

Nine Belize also offers a separate guided trip to the Ruins of Xunantunich, another ancient archaeological site sitting atop a ridge above the Mopan River, just a half mile from the Guatemala border. A civic ceremonial center in the Late and Terminal Classic periods, at its peak nearly 200,000 people lived in the Belize Valley. The name means "Maiden of the Rock," referring to the ghost of a woman rumored to inhabit the site.

Take an ATV Jungle Tour

Blast through the jungle with Nine Belize on a guided ATV tour to Elijo-Panti National Park, where your own private plunge pools below Sapodilla Falls on Privasion Creek cascade off Mountain Pine Ridge.