'There's Tobacco Cay, our first paddling destination," said Omar, our Belizean guide, as he pointed to a flat smudge of coconut palms on the horizon over two kilometres away. "We'll practise our wet exits when we get there."
Most of our group of 13, ranging in age from 9 to 70 and mostly Canadian, had never kayaked before and knew nothing about wet exits. But with the help of our guides, we picked up our paddles, put on our spray skirts, and eagerly launched our two-person sea kayaks into the calm, emerald waters inside the 265-kilometre-long Belize Barrier Reef.
We had chosen Vancouver-based Island Expeditions' Ultimate Adventure because it offered a variety of activities in multifaceted Belize (formerly British Honduras), a tiny Central American country wedged between Mexico and Guatemala.
Instead of a typical winter vacation lying around the pool of an all-inclusive resort, we wanted to dive into adventure — and dive in we did. During our nine days in Belize, we would kayak in the sea, snorkel above coral forests teeming with life, observe seabird nesting colonies, paddle down rain-forest rivers and plunge over waterfalls. But first we would gaze at the remains of Mayan human sacrifices.
On the first day of our Belize adventure, we had waded into the cool waters of Actun Tunichil Muknal, a recently discovered cave a 45-minute drive from San Ignacio, used by Mayans for religious rituals between 300 and 900 AD. To get to the cave, we waded a river three times, hiked jungle trails in between, watched a poisonous fer-de-lance snake from inches away, then donned headlights and caving helmets to swim, wriggle and clamber along the underground stream that wound through the five-kilometre-long cavern. As a dramatic climax, we photographed the skeletal remains of human sacrifices surrounded by red clay pots and obsidian blood letters used by the Mayans.
Now, on our second day, we were paddling from one picture-postcard island to another through a clichéd tropical scene of white sand ringed by emerald and azure water, hammocks swinging between the coconut palms and warm trade winds. Then a sudden tropical squall changed everything.
White fluffy clouds turned into scudding grey fog and Tobacco Cay disappeared. Huge raindrops as big as hailstones pelted our kayaks and bounced off the water like balls. I angled into the wind-crested waves to prevent being sideswiped as we rode the burgeoning swells. The smudge ahead disappeared and reappeared as the squall continued.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the rain stopped and we sloshed ashore in front of a thatched beachside bar. It wasn't surprising to find that in this remote part of the reef the bar was closed. No matter, within the next 20 minutes, the rest of the kayakers straggled in, bubbling with pride that they had survived their first open-water crossing. To celebrate, the guides produced a fabulous lunch complete with Belize's famous Belikin beer.
Belize is blessed with 200-odd cays, or small islands, that lie in relatively shallow water both on and inside the barrier reef, extensive mangrove swamps with abundant birdlife and innumerable patch reefs. Fortunately, the government and private agencies treasure its pristine wilderness and has protected 36 per cent of its land and water for conservation and tourism.
You can stay in a luxury resort hotel on the biggest island, Ambergris Cay, and take boat tours to the most popular diving or snorkelling spots, or you can paddle your own kayak to cays of your choice, the smallest being a mere mound of sand topped by a couple of coconut palms. The cays to the south off Placencia and Punta Gorda are the most secluded.
