The approach reveals what keeps crowds away: a narrow path threading between buttonwood shrubs and brackish channels, opening onto a beach where driftwood leans against sea grape. Foam gathers in the corners where swamp water meets surf, carrying the faint tang of decomposing leaves mixed with salt. Sandpipers sprint along the tide line, probing for crustaceans where freshwater seeps darken the sand.
“One of the few Caribbean beaches where you can watch both ocean swells and wetland ecology within the same sightline.”
Sea-foam edge on volcanic black sand
Morning light catches the wetland grasses in amber, while frigatebirds wheel overhead, scanning both ocean and marsh. The sand feels coarser here than on groomed resort beaches, packed firm near the water and scattered with seagrass fragments. Small waves arrive in steady rhythm, their sound layered over the rustle of reeds.
You'll share the space with herons stalking the shallows and perhaps a handful of locals who know this pocket of coast. The wetland acts as buffer and filter, creating a microclimate where dragonflies hover and fiddler crabs scuttle across the waterline. Pack out everything you bring; this is a beach that survives precisely because it asks visitors to leave no trace.
