Catamaran Diaries

Aboard The Moorings’ chartered fleet of catamaran, reef dives, boat living, and remote cayes define a slower pace of life through Belize.

By Anna Constantino

I don’t know the secret to happiness, but there are a handful of things I know for certain: coconut is best enjoyed freshly cut from the tree, preferably with a splash of rum. Morning “showers” are more fun when taken in the ocean. The best naps happen sunburnt on the bow of a boat. Fish tastes better when you have to catch it. The best stories rarely begin with a plan. After all, I’m floating through the middle of the Caribbean with six total strangers. We’re on no timeline, simply at the mercy of the water and the sun. Perhaps this is how we’re always meant to live.

Rewind five days: I’m coasting through the atmosphere in a 25-foot Cessna, the rippling turquoise coastline juxtaposed against the undulating Maya Mountains. We arrive at an airport the size of a guest house, a sturdy “Belize” passport stamp and a cold Belikin beer pressed to my cheek aptly christening our arrival. A brief taxi ride upon landing brings us to the Placencia Peninsula, where we board The Moorings’ luxury charter “Calypso II,” a Leopard 45 catamaran, and our new home for the next five days.

We’re greeted by Eggy and Emerson, our boat captain and chef, respectively, two Belizean natives with an innate sense of the region. Our exact itinerary remains a mystery, but one we gladly entrust to them. The Moorings operate around the world, from the British Virgin Islands to Fethiye, Turkey, and everywhere in between. Many travelers captain their own vessels, while others opt for a skipper or fully crewed charter. Now, I’ll say this bluntly: I’m the farthest thing from a boat captain, and my sea legs are only just returning from a spring hiatus. Lucky for me, we’re free to dissolve into the experience.

We settle into the space and meet our new friends and fellow travelers for the week, enjoying the golden hour light on the bow. Formalities soon become passé as a spritz finds me in a beanbag on the hammock of our catamaran (soon to become my prime tanning locale). We drift into a sleepy haze just as easily as morning arrives, the soothing rhythm of waves lapping against the boat serving as my natural alarm clock. A tropical fruit assortment and hot black coffee await my arrival upstairs before embarking on our first sail.

We roll into the bay surrounding Moho Caye, a manatee sighting serving as our good omen for the day. The caye is lined with lush green palm trees, the ocean’s gradient pulled straight from a Pantone swatch, beyond anything the human eye could invent. The hum of solitude fills the air; it’s the type of spot you describe as having “all to yourself.” Except for, of course, a shockingly large species of iguana dwelling in the coconut trees. We jump off the boat without hesitation, the bathwater-adjacent temperature boding well for comfort. We wade among docile nurse sharks and paddleboard above the corals, a welcome adrenaline rush between sips of coconut.

Our day culminates with another indulgent meal, a coconut pineapple pie, and a passionate game of Egyptian Rat Slap to cap off the evening. We once again wake to the gentle rock of the boat, this time to Chef’s “Belizean breakfast:” fry jacks, caramelized plantains, eggs with beans, and the sweetest papaya I’ve had the pleasure of tasting. Eggy raises the sails as I lackadaisically stuff my face with fruit, read my novel, and let the UV 12 leave its mark. We drop anchor in an undisclosed reef, hardly an island in sight, our playground before us: a crystalline wonderland.

Somewhere between piña coladas, swan-dive practice, and the hum of “Boogie Woogie Reggae,” Eggy points toward the dinghy and asks, “Who wants to join?” When in Rome, do as the Romans do, no? The next thing I know, we’re ripping at 30 miles per hour, the waves sending us into hysterical laughter. The wind blows through our hair as we speed down the oceanic “highway” into nothingness. Our dinghy serves as a hop-on-hop-off vessel, stopping to snorkel the coral heads and spearfish the outskirts of the Belize Barrier Reef at our leisure. As our luck would have it, we take home a hefty yellow jack, soon to be transformed into ceviche lunch.

As the days sail on, I quickly realize how much of Belize exists beyond the version I imagined. Nothing could prepare me for the biodiversity, the cultural richness, or the jubilance of its people. It teems with wildlife: spotted eagle rays, sea turtles, jellies, pods of dolphins, to name a few. Perhaps most striking is how much of the country reveals itself only by water. The private access achievable by our yacht is heavily underestimated. From tucked-away cayes to the boundless open ocean where we are free to roam, dive, and float through, it is an environment unlike anywhere else.

Our fourth day brings us to Hideaway Caye as we wait out a rare patch of gloomy weather. We anchor in a secluded cove for the night, and set out to explore the mangrove island. While the impetus for our trip to shore was a rumored famous rum punch, what was supposed to be a quick trip unravels into an evening of storytelling in a tree-canopied tiki bar owned by a family of three.

“I found out you could buy an island, so we did.”

Sweat drips from the shaker as Dustin, the owner, hands us four vibrant cocktails, our glasses traded for refills as easily as stories are swapped. We hear about his daughter Ama’s free-diving adventures hunting barracuda, and their journey from the States to build this oasis from the ground up. Somewhere between the third round of punch and dusk settling over the mangroves, we say our farewells and head to the boat for dinner.

We enjoy another bounty prepared by Chef, and then make our way to the back of the boat to fish for tarpon. While the fish might not have been biting that evening, the sight of a stingray pair playing in the water, bioluminescent plankton coating their wings in electric blue, strikes us with awe. The cabin lights go out as the rest of the group says their “goodnights,” the sky glows brighter with every passing minute. As we lay on the top deck tracing constellations with our eyes, a streak of light shoots across the stars, and we make a wish. I don’t know the secret to happiness, but it surely can’t be far from here. 

@themooringsvacations | www.moorings.com