You'll recognize the bay's crescent shape from countless Caribbean postcards, but the perspective here differs—fewer loungers, more open sand, a sense that you've discovered rather than been directed. The same white sand that made its southern neighbor famous extends this far north, though foot traffic keeps it less groomed, marked by occasional seaweed deposits and natural debris the tide arranges in organic lines.
“This beach offers identical water quality and sand as its famous neighbor while maintaining the atmosphere of a local secret.”
Person walking on a sand spit
A handful of private villas face the beach, their occupants emerging mid-morning with coffee mugs and paddleboards, treating the bay like an extended swimming pool. The water depth and bottom composition mirror the main beach conditions—transparent shallows over sand that reflects sunlight back upward, creating that signature aquamarine glow. You can walk out thirty yards before needing to swim, the transition so gradual you barely notice when your feet leave the bottom.
Local families favor this section on Sundays, arriving with coolers and portable speakers playing soca and calypso at respectful volumes. Children build moats and tunnels while adults float just beyond the shore break, gossiping and laughing. A few beach chairs sit stacked beneath a sea grape tree, their ownership ambiguous but their availability generally assumed. By sunset, the bay takes on that golden-hour warmth, the water turning from turquoise to liquid amber before the light finally fails.
