The trail descends through scrub forest, cicadas screaming in the heat, before opening onto a cove barely wider than a tennis court. Weathered granite boulders—some tall as a tuk-tuk—anchor both headlands, their surfaces pocked with tidal pools where anemones pulse. A single longtail boat rests on the sand beside rental snorkel gear hanging from a driftwood rack.
“You can identify individual fish from the beach before even getting wet—the reef sits that close to shore.”
Sea-foam edge on volcanic black sand
Wade in and the seafloor appears immediately: purple sea urchins tucked into crevices, parrotfish grazing on algae-covered rocks, schools of sergeant majors striped like referees. The reef starts three meters from shore, shallow enough that you float face-down in a meter of water, watching clownfish defend their anemone territories. Families spread sarongs on the narrow beach while children chase blue-spotted rays in the shallows.
By mid-afternoon, the boulders cast shade across half the cove. You can climb the southern headland for views across to the mainland—fishing trawlers like toys on the horizon, the silhouette of Rayong's refineries hazy through humidity. A vendor arrives by kayak selling mango sticky rice and coconut ice cream, her cooler balanced across the bow. The snorkeling remains excellent until sunset, when angelfish and butterflyfish retreat into the coral for the night.
