Stand at the channel mouth and you can read the tide by watching the water: incoming flows clear and salty, pushing Caribbean green into the lagoon, while the outgoing tide drains brown and brackish, carrying leaves and foam toward open water. The beach follows this rhythm, revealing different widths of sand depending on whether the water's rising or falling. Driftwood piles mark the high-tide line, salt-bleached logs mixed with plastic fishing floats and the occasional flip-flop.
“This channel-side location lets you swim in water that's part lagoon, part sea, changing its salinity and temperature with every tide shift throughout the day.”
Crashing wave at sunset
Fishermen know this spot for corvina that hunt the channel edges where currents stir up baitfish. You'll see them casting from wooden boats anchored in the flow, or standing thigh-deep with hand lines, feeling for strikes. The channel stays deep enough that pelicans dive here, folding their wings and hitting the surface like dropped stones. Behind the beach, scrub vegetation gives way to mangroves, and hawks perch on dead snags waiting for fish scraps.
The sand itself is coarse, mixed with shell fragments that crunch underfoot. When the sun climbs, heat radiates off the beach in visible waves, and the only shade comes from a few wind-bent trees that look like they're trying to escape inland. Afternoons bring a breeze that funnels through the channel, carrying the smell of seaweed and diesel from passing boats. Locals come at dusk to cool off, wading in where the current isn't too strong.
