Belize by Canoe
An aquamarine sea hissed and foamed around our canoes, its color changing to emerald and jade as we looked toward the reef. Sunlight sparkled off the waves like diamond fire. The distant roar of surf pounding on rock reached our ears as the wind filled our sails and pushed our boats toward Tobacco Caye, a tiny speck of land lying atop the longest coral reef in the Americas.
Along the coast of Belize, idyllic islands and spectacular submarine scenery dominate a landscape drenched in sunshine. Using a canoe-sailing rig as a water vehicle, my friends and I had come here to explore along the Belizean reef, snorkeling, fishing, and relaxing. We wished only to savor life as the Belizeans do.
Our trip began on the docks of Belize City. Caye Caulker was reached after a 40-minute boat ride across open bays and through narrow passages in mangrove islands. “Go Slow,” street signs told us.
We stayed in the Miramar Hotel for two nights while we organized our gear and assembled our boats, adjusting to the differences in culture and getting ready to sail to St. George’s Caye. We were a crew of four. Ken Shannon, trip leader, a mechanical engineer, had designed and built the catamaran sailing rig for the two canoes. Bill Cleveland, a veterinarian, was our “physician.” I was photographer and cook. Jay Shannon, Ken’s brother, assisted everyone.
Finally the boats were ready for testing. Ken and Bill boarded the craft under an overcast sky for the great experiment. Jay and I watched while they sailed toward the reef. The rig reminded me of a Hobie Cat, and was almost as fast! They came back exhilarated, and we made ready to sail the next morning.
The boats were much slower with their heavy loads than they had been the previous afternoon but even so, the voyage to St. George’s Caye took only four hours. St. George’s has a prominent place in Belizean history, being the site of two battles in the 1700s between the English inhabitants and the Spanish, who had claims on the territory. The Spaniards lost the fight.
We left in the morning with a stiffening breeze, headed for English Caye. Between St. George’s Caye and English Caye lies the main shipping lane into Belize City, known as the Eastern Channel. A clearly visible color change, from green to blue, marks the location of the channel.
We usually trolled two fishing lines while under way, hoping to catch a fat grouper or snapper for supper. As we crossed the color change, both of our lines had tremendous strikes. Bill’s line tangled. While Bill worked at it, Jay began pulling the fish in by hand. Ken brought a barracuda alongside and gaffed it. As he was lifting it into the canoe, the fish thrashed violently and fell off of the gaff. It lay still in the water, stunned, as the other canoe passed over it. Jay, thinking quickly, reached down and grabbed the ‘cuda by the tail while he continued battling the second fish with his other hand. Ken leaped overboard and recovered his fish from Jay, who then pulled in a second barracuda. This later proved fortunate.
Landing at English Caye, we were met by the lighthouse keeper who didn’t really understand what we wanted there. We wanted to camp! It was getting late and the weather was getting nasty. We offered him one of our freshly caught barracuda. His smile shone almost more brightly than his lighthouse, and he invited us to stay as long as we liked. It was a good thing he did, too, for high winds and rain held us on English for three nights.
Finally the weather broke, and down came our damp camp. The canoes sailed south, the reef to the east, and various mangrove islands to the west. Caye after caye passed, none of which offered any dry land to the potential camper. Thevariety of shades of blue and green in the water was astounding. The color varied by depth and bottom cover, and then changed even more as the clouds came and went, covering and uncovering the warm tropical sun.
Onward we went, pushed by the wind, looking for a dry piece of land, watching the cloud shadows race across the sea. The sun was getting low in the west as we passed more mangroves at South Long Caye. A few miles past was Columbus Caye.
On the shore was a fishing shack. We headed in. A weather-beaten man came out to meet us, waving and slapping at himself. Then the hungry hordes also descended on us. We did a quick 180-degree turn and paddled out a bit, then took stock of the situation while liberally dousing ourselves with insect repellant. Tired and hungry from being in the boats all day, no one wanted to deal with these insects.
We decided to paddle in, set up the tents, jump in, and the heck with supper. Our plan made, in we went. The tents went up like clockwork as the fisherman tried to converse with us. He spoke only Spanish, we only English, so dialogue was difficult. In spite of this we learned that his name was Gomez and that he lived in Honduras. He was fishing the waters of Belize and was alone tonight as the rest of the crew had gone to Dangriga to drop off their catch and resupply. Would we like to come into the cabin and cook on the stove?
We hesitated because of the bugs, but hunger won out. In we went. Although dark and dingy, the shack was remarkably insect-free. We cooked fish and rice, and ate as Gomez helped himself liberally to a cache of rum he had hidden away. After our repast, we blew the lamp out and left Gomez in the cabin alone, snoring in the corner. Like Gomez, we were up early the following morning. The insects were hungrier than ever, and we wanted off of Columbus Caye as soon as possible. We said goodbye and hopped into the boats, headed south again. Our goal: Tobacco Caye.
If ever I had to be shipwrecked on a tropical isle, Tobacco Caye would be a nice way to go. Perhaps 20 houses sit atop this tiny island, inhabited by friendly, smiling people, shaded by swaying coconut palms. The caye is protected from the sometimes furious sea by a natural coral barrier. The coral supports myriad forms of life, from the microscopic algae that live symbiotically within the polyps themselves, giving them their hue and supplying them with both food and oxygen, to the giant tarpon, grouper, and sharks that can be seen while snorkeling along the outside of the reef. What makes swimming with mask and fins even more spectacular here is the profound change in depth, from awash atop the reef to almost 1,000 feet deep within one mile offshore.
A boat came out during our second day there. The captain’s name was Maurice Stanley, from Dangriga. We spoke to him at length about our plans for the rest of the trip.
We wanted to do some fishing for bonefish, tarpon, and snook. Maurice told us that we should find bonefish at Coco Plum Caye, a small uninhabited caye to the southwest of our present position, and snook and tarpon in a lagoon behind Commerce Bight, almost due west of Coco Plum. He said we could probably stay at the property of Carl McCoy. We should just go there, because he, Maurice, would visit McCoy and arrange it all for us.
Coco Plum turned out to actually be two cayes in close proximity, both uninhabited, separated by a shallow cut. On the south side of the cut was an abandoned fishing camp, shaded by coconut palms, with fishing net hammocks already in place. How could we refuse? There was plenty of scrap wood around, so we could actually make wood fires, too. Coco Plum offered us the best eating we’d had yet. We feasted on snapper, barracuda, lobster, and crabs. Green coconuts, once carved open with a machete, slaked our thirst. We quickly fell into a pleasant routine of breakfast, then fishing, then lunch, then swimming, then supper, then campfire, then sleep.
Although we enjoyed the wonderful fishing Coco Plum offered, and loved the solitude, time pressed on us and we packed again. This time our destination was the mainland, Commerce Bight. We had our final sail, heading due west until we spotted a neat white cottage with red trim, the homestead of Carl McCoy. Carl was a gracious host. We had some wonderful conversations under the shimmering stars, sharing a bottle of rum.
We stayed at his place for three nights, using the canoes, now without the sailing rig, to investigate and fish for tarpon and snook in the lagoons. Doves sang to us as we fished and explored, and put the final touches on our suntans. One morning shortly after sunrise, Maurice Stanley came roaring down the coast in his boat to pick us up and transport us back to the bus station in Dangriga. Our idyllic trip had too soon come to an end.
John Kumiski had this piece published in a magazine called Belize First back in 1994. Copyright John Kumiski 2026.