Small Hope Bay Lodge, Andros Island, Bahamas

Dear Reader:

Small Hope Bay Lodge sits on the edge of Andros Barrier Reef, the third-longest in the world it falls into a 6,000-plus foot trench, the "Tongue of the Ocean". A fascinating system of caves connects freshwater sources on the island, including freshwater blue holes, to as many as 200 salt-water blue holes offshore. So, the Lodge offers geological diving diversity -- including a unique air dive to 185 feet -- unlike any I've seen in the Caribbean.

The congenial boutique hideaway is where this 1000+ dives baby boomer chose to go in December after spending the last six years taking Asia-Pacific dive trips. Within minutes of taking off my medical mask to sip my first welcome cocktail, the only mask I wore was while diving. My decision to make SHBL my first "COVID coming out dive vacation" felt comfortable from the start.

While SMBL is indeed a diving resort, it is as much a social resort. Rather than quiet evenings where photographers silently sit at their computers trying to coax maroon hues out of their lionfish photos, at night people mingle, swap stories, and share laughs. In fact, the resort does not have a dedicated camera area, perhaps one reason no one else here was a serious photographer. The socializing, not the shutter bugging, made this dive trip enjoyable.

During my week, the guests could have been featured in a Reader's Digest "The Most Unforgettable Character I Ever Met" story. A former staff member to Secretary of State Madeline Albright painted scary pictures about aggressive foreign powers' military maneuvering behind the scenes. An English lawyer smugly pontificated about how backward the U.S. was about gun control. Young Florida pilot's club member who gave a thrilling goodbye by buzzing the dive boat at low altitude. And a personal fitness coach who, with his wife and two daughters, had a run before breakfast, and returning from a dive, would get dropped a half-mile out for a swim back. So, after a two-year hiatus, the camaraderie of making a bunch of new diving friends, plus a solid diving operation, a good lodge, and a safe feeling during the time of COVID, made it a winning stay.

My first dive, however, came with a jarring surprise. After a brief check-out next to the dock, we left for a pleasant wreck dive on 90-foot Marion Barge. The guides claimed it sank after its crane became unbalanced and tipped . . . hmmm. A story on the web said it was sunk purposely in 1987 to serve as an artificial reef. Regardless, a barge, tractor, and crane lay on the bottom at 70 feet, providing some nice shots. During my safety stop, I noticed a tiny string of bubbles coming from between the inflator hose connector and my Dive-Alert. Rotating the connection to get a better seal made things worse. Behind me, Dan, the resort's able dive operations manager, noticed bubbles also pouring from around my first stage and tried to fix it. Suddenly, a massive and loud flow of bubbles erupted behind me at the inflator hose connection. I took a slow ascent from 17 feet to about five feet over the next 60 seconds, then boarded with less than 300 psi. Thankfully, it didn't happen at depth, where I'd have to ascend to the surface in a short time if I didn't find someone nearby with an octopus rig to get me to the safety tank suspended 20 feet below the boat.

On board, there were no tools to tighten the fittings, so I sat out the second dive, shooting the breeze with our skipper Dennis from Andros Island and Dylan, his younger South African assistant. Later that day, Dan attached my dive computer to a loaner regulator, and I was back in the water.

The lodge's beamy pontoon dive boats, powered by twin 200HP Yamahas, carry about ten divers with room to spare. After the guides briefed us, I would take a giant stride and head down; upon returning, the crew hoisted my camera, tank, and BCD into the boat -- which I appreciated after developing a painful back twinge. I handed up my fins and climbed the narrow hinge ladder. Their dive shop stood at the ocean-end of the dock, where I rinsed my gear, hung my suit, stowed my smaller gear in the assigned bin, and took a freshwater shower.

I appreciated their laid-back dive schedule, which began with a two-tank dive at 9:00 a.m., and one tank at 2:00 p.m. Most sites were a smooth 10-20 minute ride; waves rarely hit more than a foot. Viz was 50-80 feet on most dives with no current; water temps were 79-81F at depth. The only follow-the-leader dives were on deeper walls and the Ocean Blue Hole. Bradley, Dylan's brother, often accompanied just me while Dan or Yente, Dylan's South African girlfriend, hung with the other 5-6 divers.

The 2300-square-mile island has but 8000 residents, and labor shortages and iffy supply lines in the States gave me low expectations for both meals and service. I was quickly pleased. My day started when coffee was delivered to our room at 6:30 a.m. That's right -- delivered. An hour later, an abundant breakfast was served at the main lodge, with fresh juices, sliced pineapple, watermelon, cantaloupe, or mango, cold cereals, yogurt, French toast, pancakes, or eggs, with corned beef hash, ham, bacon or sausage.

With temperatures in the low 80s, lunches and dinners were served outdoors. We stood on one side of tall plastic screens while the food warmed in pans on the other side. We pointed to what we wanted, then took our plates to whatever tables we wished. Lunches included leftovers from dinner, a fresh salad bar, tasty soup, and sandwich fixings, including lunch meats and cheeses. Dinner was more elaborate, which the chef dramatically described standing before the guests. Our first dinner -- spinach salad, lamb, and sweet potato fries followed by dessert (like lemon poppy seed cake or caramel cookies) set the tone. Food was plentiful, satisfying, but nothing memorable. Dinners were highly enjoyable, at times raucous affairs, punctuated by a staff conga line procession, led by drum-beating resort owner Jeff Birch, proclaiming guests' birthdays or anniversaries, or theatrically presenting departing guests with diving and snorkeling certificates of achievement.

You see, the hefty price at Small Hope Bay includes all drinks, including a bottomless well of tropical drinks. With Happy Hour underway around 5 p.m., chips and dips arriving at 6 p.m., and hot conch fritters at 6:30 p.m., the festivities always started early, continuing well after the 7 p.m. dinner serving.

But, wise divers know when to stop (which included me -- most of the time). At Andros, it's critical because of some unique dives. For example, Belize's Blue Hole may be more famous, but Jacques Cousteau recognized the Andros Ocean Blue Hole as special. After descending into a crevice-like entrance, I swam from clear water into darkness through the halocline and into wavy, translucent water. I looked up to see daylight filtering through to outline a rocky ledge. I trailed the others down through twists and turns with no clue as to what was around the next bend. Below, the unseen bottom plunged to 320 feet. Silly String web-like goo draped from algae, the byproduct of bacterial consumption of organic material from island caves connected to the island. I reached the 106-foot mark in seven minutes, and then we slowly started our 20-minute ascent to the safety stop; near the top, occasional soft coral, small and delicate yellow tube sponges, and a few blue tang, parrot, and ocean surgeonfish appeared. Bring a light for this dive -- you'll get more out of it.

On most reef dives, I swam with typical Caribbean reef life, occasional schools of parrotfish and Creole wrasse, smaller schools of blue tang, rock beauties here and there, lantern fish, blue heads, jawfish, grouper, yellowtail snapper, butterflyfish, angelfish, and trumpet fish, photogenic Christmas tree worms, an occasional flamingo tongue, and patch reefs with soft and hard coral, much of it covered with algae and dying, as is the case in the Bahamas these days. On some dives, a barracuda or reef shark might appear. I saw four or five lionfish on almost every dive, perhaps a reason that reef fish were sparse. While sunlight bathed the upper reef, the somewhat monotonous finger-like grey-green-hued structures of the mid-depth reefs at time appeared ominous. While passing through a delightful swim-thru, I paused to let the falling sand clear and lost track of the diver ahead. I started up what seemed like the logical passage, but it grew too narrow to let me through. Trusty Bradley gently tugged me back down into the right position.

Not finding many unique photographic subjects, I was content with two daily morning dives and usually skipped the afternoon dives, as did most guests. I rarely cared to push my bottom times past the preferred 50-minute limit. One afternoon, while snorkeling under the dock, I discovered a nice school of about 100 grunts and snappers.

During the resort orientation, new guests recorded their certification levels and the number of dives they had made. Toward the end of the week, I asked to go on their unique deep dive, and while I was told I was the only one they would take, they didn't have enough staff to run two boats. So, there was no special shark dive or their signature 185 feet "Over the Edge of the Wall" dive. (I did this years ago and retain my bragging rights).

It was always nice to return to my room after diving. Small Hope Bay is an intimate resort, with some 18 or so rustic single-story bungalows, including some duplexes, with about 30 guests, including a Bahamian official or two and foreign travel agents scouting things. My room felt intimate and homey. Freshly painted white with local art on the wall, the décor -- ocean blue Androsian batik curtains, turquoise batik pillowcases on the king-sized bed -- harmonized with the exposed rafters. The ample room held a couch, coffee table, a couple of chairs, a 5-gallon jug of potable water, and open shelves. With the floor and ceiling fans running and our screened windows open to the ocean air at night, the A.C. (for which they charge $15/day extra) was unnecessary. However, the bathroom was so cramped that I jabbed my shoulder on the towel bar if I stood up "wrong" off the toilet. A small shower stall with a handheld plastic shower head, as you might find in a sailboat, and a single small sink did not measure up. But, I was happy enough to rinse my feet using our outdoor shower. Outside our front door, a couple of sturdy cushioned chairs faced coconut trees, a comfy hammock, and the ocean beyond.

Perhaps my last dive day at Whip Wire Wall was the most exciting. I descended 90 feet to the top of the wall, to peer down into a 6,000-foot-deep abyss. Over the edge we went. Knowing bottom time would be limited, it took about seven minutes to drop to 141 feet. I felt a bit heavy but not narked and focused on managing my buoyancy. I was carrying 16 pounds to offset the lift of my five-mil full wetsuit. I was careful not to overinflate and conscious that I still needed to fin to rise. After we bottomed out, I took 18 minutes to ascend to our 20-foot safety stop, along the way admiring whip wire coral, soft and fuzzy sea rods, a blue tang, a hawksbill turtle, and other critters. I hovered near the anchor line for five minutes, watched my saturation indicator drop another bar, and climbed back on the boat with a bottom time of 32 minutes. It was an awe-inspiring, thrilling dive.

Looking back, Small Hope Bay Lodge made me feel like a little kid dreaming about a secret safe haven loaded with favorite treats and toys. SMBL is a dive destination that gave us a way to escape our socially distanced lives in the U.S. and enjoy my first dive adventure in two years. Who knows what guests will be at the Lodge should you visit? But the resort ambiance should still be there; after all, most traveling divers are pretty darned interesting. I'm sure you'll have a good time, along with a unique mix of basic and advanced dive opportunities.

-- V.P.

Our Undercover Diver's Bio: "I've been diving for more than three decades, logging over 1,000 dives, starting in the Caribbean, California, and the Pacific Northwest before switching over to Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines. I'm a published amateur underwater photographer, but I still have a long bucket list to check off, and at this point I'm thinking what many of us may feel: So many great dive sites, so little time!"

Divers Compass: According to their website, seven-day packages, including food, alcohol, and air transfer from Nassau, run between $3100-$3400. A 6% gratuity was added to my bill when I checked out (plus we tipped per U.S. standards for the dive and boat team) . . . U.S. Dollars and credit cards accepted . . . . Nitrox was $15/fill, but deep dives were on air . . . All fees, including tips, can be charged . . . A/C was $15/night as an option . . . . Nitrox blends were always around 32 percent . . . . To reach SHBL, we flew to Nassau and hooked up with LeAir Charter . . . Taxi to and from the airport was $20 one way . . . . Web site: www.smallhope.com.