Turks and Caicos Dive Travel Guide: Triple Play
Swimming with stingrays in Gibbs Cay, Grand Turk
After the Serendipity’s captain drops anchor, divemaster Tim Dunn jumps in to check our location. A few moments later, Dunn bobs to the surface and gives a quick in-water briefing: “There’s a bit of a current, but we’re almost dead on it. It’s just a short swim.”
“It” is the wreck of the Endymion, located about 10 miles south of Salt Cay in the Turks and Caicos. We backroll off the boat quickly: With about 20 feet of choppy water and surge beneath it, the 36-foot Serendipity is pitching on the swells, its stern swinging back and forth.
My group has made the 45-minute crossing from Grand Turk to dive the Endymion, an 18th-century British warship that found itself impaled on the reef on Aug. 28, 1790. All of us except Dunn are diving the wreck for the first time to see what remains of this once-proud, 140-foot wooden-hulled sailing vessel. Current and surge on the wreck are normal; we’re down for only seconds when the current shoves us back. I put my head down, tuck in behind my buddy and kick hard.
After a couple of minutes, we reach a picturesque swim-through, a slender portal to a sand-and-coral groove in the reef. The current has given way to a manageable surge, and the vis is glassy-clear. We fin with the surge — a few kicks forward, pause, let it rock us backward for a bit, and then propel us forward when the underwater swell returns. It's a nice gym workout. Splitting up, our small group fans out over the reef, a series of narrow sand channels flanked by ridges adorned with sponges, sea fans, staghorn and pillar corals, a riot of tie-dyed colors. Juvenile tropicals, like rock beauties and stoplight parrotfish, pinwheel over coral heads, while pairs of gray angelfish and spotfin butterflyfish flit about.
At the end of one coral knoll, my buddy spots an enormous iron anchor still attached to its chain, which is partially embedded in the reef. Suddenly, it’s not difficult to conjure the massive size of the Endymion, or her crew — all of whom survived — scrambling to drop anchor and stop the ship’s forward momentum. After more than 200 years on the bottom, its hull, sails and spars long gone, what remains of the Endymion is still impressive. We wend our way up and down the gullies, in 30 to 40 feet of water, exploring the flanks of coral ridges, finding warship-worthy anchors and cannons, and stopping to examine bronze pins. The remains of two other wrecks also lie scattered about the reef, victims of the same fate. Lulled by the rocking motion of the surge and the sunlight playing on the sand bottom, we’ve succumbed to the romance of wreck diving. We’re reluctant to surface.
In fact, after spending eight days in the Turks & Caicos, I’m reluctant to leave, period. Southeast of the Bahamas, the archipelago consists of two island chains that sit atop two limestone banks separated by the 6,000-foot-deep Turks Island Passage. Rising above the submerged Caicos Bank are six islands, including Providenciales and West Caicos. To the east are the islands on the Turks Bank, including Grand Turk and Salt Cay. The three islands I visit—Grand Turk, Salt Cay and Providenciales—have three distinct personalities, but share one trait: awesome diving.
GRAND TURK
My trip begins on seven-mile-long Grand Turk, where the diving is a mere 300 yards off the island’s western shore, along a steep drop-off. Most operators make the short ride to the reef, returning to the beach for a relaxed surface interval before heading out for tank two.
Grand Turk’s dive sites are crowd-pleasers. Coral Gardens is a favorite among the island’s divemasters—the dive starts in 30 feet of water on a pretty coral garden that slopes gently to the wall. Between 65 and 90 feet, divers encounter a lower plateau, almost like stumbling onto a secret garden. The star attraction, however, is Alexander, an affectionate, two-foot resident Nassau grouper. “As soon as you reach the reef, Alex will come to us,” divemaster Kell Talbott says as we gear up. “And maybe a little one, too.” Nassau groupers are friendly and curious, and Alexander is no exception: He immediately snuggles up to Talbott, coming lip to fish lip with him. Soon, we’re joined by a chubby juvenile as inquisitive as Alexander, but more timid.
Our second dive is at McDonald’s, named for the graceful coral arch on the wall’s edge, a gateway to the site’s showy drop-off. I float like an astronaut in the blue abyss and turn to watch the rest of my group drift though. The wall rocks: A mixed school of French grunts, schoolmasters and horse-eye jacks congregates near the reeftop; plate corals are stacked at drunken angles on the wall’s face; a freckled hawksbill turtle rests on a tabletop ledge. McDonald’s is emblematic of the diving off Grand Turk — shallow reefs that give way to a striking wall.
Above water, Grand Turk has its pleasures too, though not the high-octane variety found elsewhere in the Caribbean. Still, I find plenty to do, from swinging in a hammock to kayaking on “Sporting Sunday,” a high-spirited event at Bohio Dive Resort during which you can also play volleyball, toss Frisbees and sail in a regatta, the day’s highlight. Evenings on Grand Turk are fairly quiet, but you can get a cold beer and hear live music nearly every night at various open-air bars, where visitors, ex-pats and belongers — island natives—gather.
Grand Turk features charming hotels, inns, dive shops, restaurants and bars that line Front and Duke streets in Cockburn Town. Roosters, donkeys and stray dogs called potcakes roam the narrow, dusty streets and sun-browned plots of land alongside the island’s salt ponds, or salinas.
What I end up loving most about this island is why other divers come — it's a get-away-from-it-all vacation with lovely dive sites.
SALT CAY
After diving the Endymion, we stop on tiny Salt Cay. Out here, eight miles southwest of Grand Turk, the cays and islets are dwarfed by sea and sky, huge swaths of water and air painted in various hues of blue—plummy azure, bright sapphire, aquamarine. Salt Cay, a triangular speck of sand surrounded by water, is home to only about 70 people. Grand Turk operators making the trip to dive the Endymion and sites just off Salt Cay’s north side often stop on the island for lunch.
Dive sites here include Kelly’s Folly, a seascape of undulating coral gardens that slope down to a precipitous drop-off, and Northwest Point, where black coral clings to the wall and tiger groupers hang out in cracks.
Tim Dunn, the divemaster on my Endymion dive, still owns his grandfather’s stone house, built on the southwestern side of the island in 1835. Known as the White House, the home was used by Dunn’s family’s salt business. The island’s windmills and salinas are a reminder of Salt Cay’s salt-producing history—for nearly three centuries, the anchor of the islands’ economy.
We tie up the Serendipity at Salt Cay’s tiny marina, and jump off the boat, barefoot — no one that I see wears shoes on Salt Cay. There’s a sun-drenched, drowsy languor here — a kick-your-flip-flops-off way of life that’s even more pronounced than Grand Turk’s sleepy ambience. A trio of sociable dogs ambles over to greet us as we make the short walk to Diver’s Tavern, which consists of a small kitchen and open-air porch. We settle down in plastic chairs and order a round of beers and fish sandwiches.
Debbie Manos and her husband Ollie Been own the Coral Reef Bar & Grill and Salt Cay Divers, the island’s only dive operation. Salt Cay has its enthusiastic fans among divers who lament the fast-disappearing way of life that characterized the Caribbean of 40 years ago. “We have something special here,” Manos says as she brings out thick slices of homemade key lime and chocolate and peanut pies. “And we’ll never change.”
PROVIDENCIALES
I end my trip on the Turks and Caicos’ largest and most populous island, Providenciales, commonly called Provo. Fourteen miles long, Provo is a comma-shaped wedge of white sand, low hills, flat scrub, coves, and sounds, lakes and ponds. Perfect for divers who like to play both above and under water, the island offers a wide array of resorts, restaurants and activities. You can play golf, view rock carvings or visit a conch farm.
Not to be missed is Boogaloo’s, a waterfront shack where you can have freshly made conch cooked to order—from a zesty conch salad made with tomato, onion and lime to deep-fried fritters and foil-wrapped grilled conch marinated in coconut milk and garlic. Many of the water sports are concentrated along Grace Bay’s scenic beach on Provo’s north shore. Parasailers in colorful parachutes float in a blue sky. Kayakers paddle past sunbathers and swimmers. A handful of dive boats dot the turquoise water.
Featuring a shallow reeftop and steep mini-walls, the 14-mile barrier reef bordering Grace Bay is one of three main areas on the island where diving takes place; Northwest Point, a national marine park off the west coast, and uninhabited out islands like West Caicos are the others.
At least once a week, most of the island’s dive operators make the hour-long trip to West Caicos, 10 miles southwest of Provo. Here, divers find a dizzyingly steep dropoff — just 100 yards off the island’s west shore, the wall plummets straight down for 6,000 feet. Choice sites include Elephant Ear Canyon, which is packed with healthy tube sponges and black coral (and is still a spectacular dive even though the giant elephant ear sponge for which it’s named is long gone).
Easier to get to than West Caicos, Provo’s renowned Northwest Point is dived more frequently, and is a must-do for all divers visiting the island. There are more than a dozen sites clustered along a three-mile-long drop-off, and though, sadly, there is no way I’m able to dive all of them, I make sure that I get in a two-tank dive.
Departing from Turtle Cove Marina aboard Dive Provo's Provo Challenger, we settle down for the 45-minute boat ride to the point. Divemaster David Jolin tells us that our first dive will be at a site called Shark Hotel. “It’s called Shark Hotel, so of course you won’t see any sharks,” Jolin jokes during his briefing.
He’s right; back onboard, Jolin tells us that he wants to check out a nearby site, Amphitheater. Our luck changes: Dropping down on the wall to about 80 feet, we spot a five-foot-long silvery-gray reef shark that cruises toward us, coming surprisingly close. We get a good look at its gill slits and pointed snout before it disappears into the indigo depths.
Back on the reeftop, a pageant of fish — parrotfish, clown wrasse, angelfish — zip about. In the shallows, we find the smallest gems of the reef, lots of flamingo tongues with their creamy white, spotted mantles and an arrow crab that glitters solid gold in the ambient light.
The next day, we head to Grace Bay, where low-key diving is found at numerous sites, including Graceland, Pinnacles and Aquarium. At the end of our second dive, at a site named Cathedral, I lazily inspect scattered coral heads on the sandy bottom under the boat. And then we have one of
those quiet moments that divers treasure. A small hawksbill turtle paddles within only a couple of feet of us, headed for the surface.
We watch it glide up to the surface, take a gulp of salt air, pausing for maybe 30 seconds. A few moments later, it’s headed back to the reef, out of view. It’s a sweet encounter — and a sweet end to my trip.
THE WHALE WHISPERER
Every year, between January and April, some 2,500 North Atlantic humpback whales migrate to the Silver Bank and the Mouchoir Bank, southeast of the Turks and Caicos Islands, to give birth and to mate. Everette Freites, who runs Oasis Divers on Grand Turk and offers regular whale-watching trips to Mouchoir Passage, has become so associated with the creatures that he’s known locally as “the whale whisperer.”
“I know where to go and how to find the whales—I can almost guarantee seeing them,” Freites says. “Through the years, I’ve tried to build a relationship with them. I approach them slow and easy, and I don’t run my engines the whole time. I can tell when they want an encounter and when they don’t. I’ve been very successful with this type of trip, and I think it’s because of how much I love them.” Freites runs twice-daily trips (except Sunday) from Jan. 20 to April 15.
Off Salt Cay, the whales also pass by from January to April on their annual migration.
For more information: Oasis Divers
Swimming with stingrays in Gibbs Cay, Grand Turk
After the Serendipity’s captain drops anchor, divemaster Tim Dunn jumps in to check our location. A few moments later, Dunn bobs to the surface and gives a quick in-water briefing: “There’s a bit of a current, but we’re almost dead on it. It’s just a short swim.”
“It” is the wreck of the Endymion, located about 10 miles south of Salt Cay in the Turks and Caicos. We backroll off the boat quickly: With about 20 feet of choppy water and surge beneath it, the 36-foot Serendipity is pitching on the swells, its stern swinging back and forth.
My group has made the 45-minute crossing from Grand Turk to dive the Endymion, an 18th-century British warship that found itself impaled on the reef on Aug. 28, 1790. All of us except Dunn are diving the wreck for the first time to see what remains of this once-proud, 140-foot wooden-hulled sailing vessel. Current and surge on the wreck are normal; we’re down for only seconds when the current shoves us back. I put my head down, tuck in behind my buddy and kick hard.
After a couple of minutes, we reach a picturesque swim-through, a slender portal to a sand-and-coral groove in the reef. The current has given way to a manageable surge, and the vis is glassy-clear. We fin with the surge — a few kicks forward, pause, let it rock us backward for a bit, and then propel us forward when the underwater swell returns. It's a nice gym workout. Splitting up, our small group fans out over the reef, a series of narrow sand channels flanked by ridges adorned with sponges, sea fans, staghorn and pillar corals, a riot of tie-dyed colors. Juvenile tropicals, like rock beauties and stoplight parrotfish, pinwheel over coral heads, while pairs of gray angelfish and spotfin butterflyfish flit about.
At the end of one coral knoll, my buddy spots an enormous iron anchor still attached to its chain, which is partially embedded in the reef. Suddenly, it’s not difficult to conjure the massive size of the Endymion, or her crew — all of whom survived — scrambling to drop anchor and stop the ship’s forward momentum. After more than 200 years on the bottom, its hull, sails and spars long gone, what remains of the Endymion is still impressive. We wend our way up and down the gullies, in 30 to 40 feet of water, exploring the flanks of coral ridges, finding warship-worthy anchors and cannons, and stopping to examine bronze pins. The remains of two other wrecks also lie scattered about the reef, victims of the same fate. Lulled by the rocking motion of the surge and the sunlight playing on the sand bottom, we’ve succumbed to the romance of wreck diving. We’re reluctant to surface.
In fact, after spending eight days in the Turks & Caicos, I’m reluctant to leave, period. Southeast of the Bahamas, the archipelago consists of two island chains that sit atop two limestone banks separated by the 6,000-foot-deep Turks Island Passage. Rising above the submerged Caicos Bank are six islands, including Providenciales and West Caicos. To the east are the islands on the Turks Bank, including Grand Turk and Salt Cay. The three islands I visit—Grand Turk, Salt Cay and Providenciales—have three distinct personalities, but share one trait: awesome diving.
GRAND TURK
My trip begins on seven-mile-long Grand Turk, where the diving is a mere 300 yards off the island’s western shore, along a steep drop-off. Most operators make the short ride to the reef, returning to the beach for a relaxed surface interval before heading out for tank two.
Grand Turk’s dive sites are crowd-pleasers. Coral Gardens is a favorite among the island’s divemasters—the dive starts in 30 feet of water on a pretty coral garden that slopes gently to the wall. Between 65 and 90 feet, divers encounter a lower plateau, almost like stumbling onto a secret garden. The star attraction, however, is Alexander, an affectionate, two-foot resident Nassau grouper. “As soon as you reach the reef, Alex will come to us,” divemaster Kell Talbott says as we gear up. “And maybe a little one, too.” Nassau groupers are friendly and curious, and Alexander is no exception: He immediately snuggles up to Talbott, coming lip to fish lip with him. Soon, we’re joined by a chubby juvenile as inquisitive as Alexander, but more timid.
Our second dive is at McDonald’s, named for the graceful coral arch on the wall’s edge, a gateway to the site’s showy drop-off. I float like an astronaut in the blue abyss and turn to watch the rest of my group drift though. The wall rocks: A mixed school of French grunts, schoolmasters and horse-eye jacks congregates near the reeftop; plate corals are stacked at drunken angles on the wall’s face; a freckled hawksbill turtle rests on a tabletop ledge. McDonald’s is emblematic of the diving off Grand Turk — shallow reefs that give way to a striking wall.
Above water, Grand Turk has its pleasures too, though not the high-octane variety found elsewhere in the Caribbean. Still, I find plenty to do, from swinging in a hammock to kayaking on “Sporting Sunday,” a high-spirited event at Bohio Dive Resort during which you can also play volleyball, toss Frisbees and sail in a regatta, the day’s highlight. Evenings on Grand Turk are fairly quiet, but you can get a cold beer and hear live music nearly every night at various open-air bars, where visitors, ex-pats and belongers — island natives—gather.
Grand Turk features charming hotels, inns, dive shops, restaurants and bars that line Front and Duke streets in Cockburn Town. Roosters, donkeys and stray dogs called potcakes roam the narrow, dusty streets and sun-browned plots of land alongside the island’s salt ponds, or salinas.
What I end up loving most about this island is why other divers come — it's a get-away-from-it-all vacation with lovely dive sites.
SALT CAY
After diving the Endymion, we stop on tiny Salt Cay. Out here, eight miles southwest of Grand Turk, the cays and islets are dwarfed by sea and sky, huge swaths of water and air painted in various hues of blue—plummy azure, bright sapphire, aquamarine. Salt Cay, a triangular speck of sand surrounded by water, is home to only about 70 people. Grand Turk operators making the trip to dive the Endymion and sites just off Salt Cay’s north side often stop on the island for lunch.
Dive sites here include Kelly’s Folly, a seascape of undulating coral gardens that slope down to a precipitous drop-off, and Northwest Point, where black coral clings to the wall and tiger groupers hang out in cracks.
Tim Dunn, the divemaster on my Endymion dive, still owns his grandfather’s stone house, built on the southwestern side of the island in 1835. Known as the White House, the home was used by Dunn’s family’s salt business. The island’s windmills and salinas are a reminder of Salt Cay’s salt-producing history—for nearly three centuries, the anchor of the islands’ economy.
We tie up the Serendipity at Salt Cay’s tiny marina, and jump off the boat, barefoot — no one that I see wears shoes on Salt Cay. There’s a sun-drenched, drowsy languor here — a kick-your-flip-flops-off way of life that’s even more pronounced than Grand Turk’s sleepy ambience. A trio of sociable dogs ambles over to greet us as we make the short walk to Diver’s Tavern, which consists of a small kitchen and open-air porch. We settle down in plastic chairs and order a round of beers and fish sandwiches.
Debbie Manos and her husband Ollie Been own the Coral Reef Bar & Grill and Salt Cay Divers, the island’s only dive operation. Salt Cay has its enthusiastic fans among divers who lament the fast-disappearing way of life that characterized the Caribbean of 40 years ago. “We have something special here,” Manos says as she brings out thick slices of homemade key lime and chocolate and peanut pies. “And we’ll never change.”
PROVIDENCIALES
I end my trip on the Turks and Caicos’ largest and most populous island, Providenciales, commonly called Provo. Fourteen miles long, Provo is a comma-shaped wedge of white sand, low hills, flat scrub, coves, and sounds, lakes and ponds. Perfect for divers who like to play both above and under water, the island offers a wide array of resorts, restaurants and activities. You can play golf, view rock carvings or visit a conch farm.
Not to be missed is Boogaloo’s, a waterfront shack where you can have freshly made conch cooked to order—from a zesty conch salad made with tomato, onion and lime to deep-fried fritters and foil-wrapped grilled conch marinated in coconut milk and garlic. Many of the water sports are concentrated along Grace Bay’s scenic beach on Provo’s north shore. Parasailers in colorful parachutes float in a blue sky. Kayakers paddle past sunbathers and swimmers. A handful of dive boats dot the turquoise water.
Featuring a shallow reeftop and steep mini-walls, the 14-mile barrier reef bordering Grace Bay is one of three main areas on the island where diving takes place; Northwest Point, a national marine park off the west coast, and uninhabited out islands like West Caicos are the others.
At least once a week, most of the island’s dive operators make the hour-long trip to West Caicos, 10 miles southwest of Provo. Here, divers find a dizzyingly steep dropoff — just 100 yards off the island’s west shore, the wall plummets straight down for 6,000 feet. Choice sites include Elephant Ear Canyon, which is packed with healthy tube sponges and black coral (and is still a spectacular dive even though the giant elephant ear sponge for which it’s named is long gone).
Easier to get to than West Caicos, Provo’s renowned Northwest Point is dived more frequently, and is a must-do for all divers visiting the island. There are more than a dozen sites clustered along a three-mile-long drop-off, and though, sadly, there is no way I’m able to dive all of them, I make sure that I get in a two-tank dive.
Departing from Turtle Cove Marina aboard Dive Provo's Provo Challenger, we settle down for the 45-minute boat ride to the point. Divemaster David Jolin tells us that our first dive will be at a site called Shark Hotel. “It’s called Shark Hotel, so of course you won’t see any sharks,” Jolin jokes during his briefing.
He’s right; back onboard, Jolin tells us that he wants to check out a nearby site, Amphitheater. Our luck changes: Dropping down on the wall to about 80 feet, we spot a five-foot-long silvery-gray reef shark that cruises toward us, coming surprisingly close. We get a good look at its gill slits and pointed snout before it disappears into the indigo depths.
Back on the reeftop, a pageant of fish — parrotfish, clown wrasse, angelfish — zip about. In the shallows, we find the smallest gems of the reef, lots of flamingo tongues with their creamy white, spotted mantles and an arrow crab that glitters solid gold in the ambient light.
The next day, we head to Grace Bay, where low-key diving is found at numerous sites, including Graceland, Pinnacles and Aquarium. At the end of our second dive, at a site named Cathedral, I lazily inspect scattered coral heads on the sandy bottom under the boat. And then we have one of those quiet moments that divers treasure. A small hawksbill turtle paddles within only a couple of feet of us, headed for the surface.
We watch it glide up to the surface, take a gulp of salt air, pausing for maybe 30 seconds. A few moments later, it’s headed back to the reef, out of view. It’s a sweet encounter — and a sweet end to my trip.
THE WHALE WHISPERER
Every year, between January and April, some 2,500 North Atlantic humpback whales migrate to the Silver Bank and the Mouchoir Bank, southeast of the Turks and Caicos Islands, to give birth and to mate. Everette Freites, who runs Oasis Divers on Grand Turk and offers regular whale-watching trips to Mouchoir Passage, has become so associated with the creatures that he’s known locally as “the whale whisperer.”
“I know where to go and how to find the whales—I can almost guarantee seeing them,” Freites says. “Through the years, I’ve tried to build a relationship with them. I approach them slow and easy, and I don’t run my engines the whole time. I can tell when they want an encounter and when they don’t. I’ve been very successful with this type of trip, and I think it’s because of how much I love them.” Freites runs twice-daily trips (except Sunday) from Jan. 20 to April 15.
Off Salt Cay, the whales also pass by from January to April on their annual migration.
For more information: Oasis Divers
