You'll time your arrival with the tide chart, waiting for the two-hour window when the pools fill but the current stays gentle. Wade in from the beach and feel the temperature shift—the shallow water sun-warmed, almost bathlike, while cooler currents pulse through the deeper channels. The sandy bottom gives way to coral rubble, then living reef, brain corals the size of beach balls rising within arm's reach.
“The reef's natural architecture creates protected pools where even nervous swimmers can snorkel safely, face-to-face with reef fish in chest-deep water.”
Person walking on a sand spit
Pull on your mask and the underwater topography reveals itself: valleys of white sand between coral ridges, schools of sergeant majors striped like convicts, the occasional spotted eagle ray gliding over the reef edge. The water clarity depends on recent rains—after dry days, you'll see twenty feet down to where nurse sharks rest in the sand. Waves break on the outer reef in a distant rumble, but inside the pools, the surface barely ripples. You can snorkel here without fighting current, drifting between coral heads as French angelfish investigate your fins.
Local guides lead morning snorkel tours, pointing out octopuses tucked into crevices and explaining which urchins to avoid. By midday, the pools warm considerably and families arrive, children shrieking as they discover their first sea cucumber. You'll exit through the same sandy channel you entered, rinsing gear under the beachside shower while frigatebirds wheel overhead, their shadows crossing the turquoise water.
