All winter we’ve explored. We’ve seen <strong>the</strong> flamingos in South Caicos, snorkelled with a whale and its calf in Salt Cay, meandered along Duke Street in Grand Turk. Each island has had its own unique characteristics and given us incredible experiences, which we don’t believe we would have found elsewhere in <strong>the</strong> Caribbean. But in February 2016, I think we found <strong>the</strong> icing on <strong>the</strong> cake. It is Little Ambergris Cay, where <strong>the</strong> shallow banks stretch to <strong>the</strong> horizon and water a bright duckegg blue is specked with stingrays. It is several miles to <strong>the</strong> nearest island—Big Ambergris Cay, where only non-human residents live. We managed to sneak into a bay so secluded it felt as though <strong>the</strong> last people to have visited could well have been pirates. Its narrow entrance passage is around 3 feet deep, but once inside, a basin perfectly fit for our 34-foot catamaran encircles us in 10 foot depths <strong>of</strong> warm emerald-green waters. The grassy floor below attracts an array <strong>of</strong> inquisitive creatures, including a nurse shark who saunters past but doesn’t stay too long. Later, a dozen squid line up in a perfect row, facing <strong>the</strong> boat. They swim in perfect symmetry towards and away from our vessel, getting <strong>the</strong> courage each time to edge a little closer, wondering what on earth has arrived on <strong>the</strong>ir patch <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> sea. At sunset, bonefish tails skim <strong>the</strong> surface over by <strong>the</strong> mangroves and at sunrise a hummingbird hovers outside our door, attracted by <strong>the</strong> shimmering gold and pink fishing lures left hanging to dry in <strong>the</strong> sun by <strong>the</strong> winch-handle holder. The beach is just as you’d expect for a deserted island—as white as pearls, as s<strong>of</strong>t as icing powder. Despite being <strong>the</strong> epitome <strong>of</strong> a place to relax, I’m seduced into exploring its every inch. A short 10 minute walk reveals 21 pristine sand dollars—no wonder <strong>the</strong> sand is so white. I stop collecting <strong>the</strong>m, as <strong>the</strong>re are too many to carry. Having already spent two weeks away from land while exploring <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r islands, we’re running short <strong>of</strong> everything. Water, food and gas are worryingly low. But we’re not ready to leave this paradise we’ve only just discovered. We ration more than ever before, even turning <strong>of</strong>f our fridge to conserve <strong>the</strong> gas only for cooking. Luckily, we have a freezer that runs on 12 volts, so <strong>the</strong> little food left goes straight in <strong>the</strong>re. One afternoon we head out several miles to a shipwreck to try bottom-fishing for our dinner. It starts slow, <strong>the</strong> only action is <strong>the</strong> seagulls that keep fleeing <strong>the</strong>ir perches on <strong>the</strong> rusty wreck every time <strong>the</strong> osprey circles above. As <strong>the</strong>y all settle down we get our first bite. Half an hour later and we’re heading back to <strong>the</strong> bay with a healthy helping <strong>of</strong> yellowtail snapper, triggerfish and a grouper. We plan to cook <strong>the</strong> snapper that night on a beach bonfire. As we collected <strong>the</strong> wood for that evening’s fire I realise that it’s Valentine’s Day. “This will be <strong>the</strong> most romantic Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” I think as I drag a large branch across <strong>the</strong> beach to a spot right on <strong>the</strong> tip <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> sandbar; a perfect sunset viewpoint with our boat as <strong>the</strong> foreground. We head back to <strong>the</strong> boat, grab some sparkling wine we’d saved for a special occasion and head back out on <strong>the</strong> dinghy. With <strong>the</strong> fire mimicking <strong>the</strong> orangey-red <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> setting sun, my partner Andy hugs his arms around my waist as he turns me toward him, and I start to feel an unusual energy about this moment. “There’s only one thing left to say . . . will you marry me?” he asks nervously as he bends down on one knee. “Of course I’ll marry you!” I say as a tear rolls down my cheek and I try to recover from <strong>the</strong> shock. We hug each o<strong>the</strong>r tight and kiss in celebration. “I was going to buy you a ring but I spent <strong>the</strong> money on two new engines instead,” he jokes as I reach to top-up our fizz. (I had been wondering about <strong>the</strong> ring!) But in typical Andy style, he’d been trying to fashion me a ring out <strong>of</strong> a conch shell, which unfortunately had proven far too tricky to handle. All <strong>of</strong> a sudden <strong>the</strong> flight back home to England seemed much more appealing, now that we’d be making an unexpected stop in New York for a ring along <strong>the</strong> way! a Katie Gutteridge is a freelance writer who has been visiting TCI for almost a decade. Unfortunately, she won’t be getting married in Turks & Caicos, as she’s planning a large wedding party at home with friends and family. For more information on her business, Creative Copy Kate, visit creativecopykate.weebly.com. 52 www.timespub.tc
Visit THE CAICOS CONCH FARM WE GROW CONCH & FISH Monday - Friday: 9am - 4pm Saturday: 9am - 2.30pm Closed: Sundays Adults $12.00 Children $10.00 Leeward Highway, Leeward, Providenciales Phone: (649) 946-5330
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