The Wetter The Better

Like so many travelers, my family and I like to investigate our vacation destinations beneath the surface. In this case, we wound up taking that literally. We explored the waters around St. Thomas from, first, the surface itself (via kayak). Then we checked things out from just below (snorkeling), and from about 25 feet down (more about that later) and finally from the Atlantis sub. It was a multi-layered view of the water, a kind of sea-life parfait.

The high point was not at the bottom.

Enter the Lagoon

We started our island exploration at the Mangrove Lagoon, which sounds like a water park ride but is one of the most ecologically important features on St. Thomas. Guided by the sort of cheerfully earnest folks who spend their days doing what others pay for, about a dozen of us paddled flat-bottom kayaks around the sanctuary.

We learned all kinds of stuff: that the mangrove trees sip seawater and convert it, via osmosis, into fresh water they can drink; that they form a natural barrier from the pounding waves of the Caribbean and a filter between the developed island and natural coast; and that, most significantly, they offer shelter to juvenile fish. The small fry grow safely in the shallows of the lagoon until they can fend off predators.

We got to fend off some creatures ourselves when we beached our craft and put on snorkeling gear. We had to keep our life jackets on so we didn't scrape the life-teeming bottom with our (unflippered) feet. "If you even graze the coral, it dies," a big guide with a wide hat said repeatedly.

So warned, we mostly just bobbed face-down on the surface, spread-eagled, to view the bounty below, daintily wrist-paddling between areas. We did indeed see junior versions of the grown-up fish we saw elsewhere darting around in nervous miniature schools. Often we hovered just a foot or two above some upside-down jellyfish throbbing lightly on the sandy bottom.

The guides also explained -- as did several naturalists we met during our trip -- that the white sand of St. Thomas's beaches is produced almost entirely by parrotfish. It appears the creatures nibble the coral and excrete the white crystals in quantities vast enough to line the island's shore.

This made for some interesting thoughts when, determined not to unsettle the delicate web of sea life, I snorkeled back to shore nearly all the way in rather than standing up when the water was knee-deep.

I gently beached myself, chin-down, in parrotfish poop.

The Mask

People will tell you that St. John, the more rustic Virgin Island neighbor of St. Thomas, is the place to go for snorkeling.

They are right. Still, we liked the snorkeling on St. Thomas just fine. In fact, we chose our hotel -- the mid-priced, decently appointed Sapphire Beach Resort -- for its location. In addition to two pools, three restaurants and a full water sports concession, the place has several good coral reefs right offshore. This meant we had access to both walk-up snorkeling and swim-up cocktail bars at the very same resort.

Any reef so close to people slathered with SPF 15 and carrying plastic cups of margaritas is not going to offer the pristine coral formations that make for the best snorkeling. But we saw plenty of underwater life anytime we liked. Those ubiquitous yellowtail snappers were there, too, along with blue chromis and some bone-white cousins muttering along the bottom, sometimes in water no deeper than your armpits.