Into the Drink

It’s the sad irony of being a citizen of the greatest nation on the third planet from the sun:  with all the advantages, affluence and opportunities available here, I’m still conditioned to believe that paradise requires a passport.  Sure, we have the mystic Polynesian beauty of the Hawaiian islands, the bare-flesh dazzle of south Florida and I’ve even had a glimpse at what “pristine” might really look like in the wilds of the satellite islands of Puerto Rico.  With all that in mind, though, 95% of my diving adventures were to places flying different flags that spoke different languages and had weird critters indigenous to their respective lands on their paper money.  I was spoiled.  I had the luxury of being flown around the globe to far-off exotica.  But as Blind Willie Dixon once sang, it was nobody’s fault but mine.  I had programmed myself to believe that the United States of America wasn’t the caretaker of big-ass chunks of island paradise that also boasted world-class diving.  I had convinced myself that it was the exception to the rule.

And then I landed in St. Croix.  And all that went out the window.

Now before we go any further, let me make it very clear that I didn’t have some massive epiphany while I was there.  Since I haven’t been to any of the other U.S. Virgin Islands, I can’t speak for how they look and feel above or below the water.  All I can tell you is that I assumed St. Croix was going to be only an average episode.  I’m not going to sell you a Tony Robbins-esque pitch about spiritual transformation while on island time but I will go on record as saying that until we touched down and got settled in, I viewed St. Croix as simply a stopgap between the mind-melt of Costa Rica this past June and the anticipated high adrenaline of California and Guadalupe, Mexico in September.  It takes a big man to admit his mistakes; I, however, am not a big man.  So rather than formally apologize and count the ways I was wrong, let’s take a look at several very important reasons it would be, ahem, right of you and I to go back to St. Croix.

Number one reason St. Croix kicks ass:  the diving.  Every place I go in the world has been – and will be – judged by its underwater coefficient.  It’s just the way I am.  I’m quite pleased to announce to everyone that the marine environment in St. Croix is on par with or far better than any other island or destination in the Caribbean.  The reefs are vibrant, healthy, and just swarming with life.  The coral is in great shape and architecturally speaking, I have never been to another intersection of latitude and longitude in the tropical Atlantic that is home to such incredible diversity.  It was baffling – you’d be tied up to a mooring, and you could see the mooring buoy for your next dive site about 100 yards away and every single time, that subsequent dive site was completely different from the last.  It is rare to have such variety in such a compact location.  I highly doubt you’ll find a place like it anywhere else in the region.  To date, I haven’t.

Number two reason I fell in love with St. Croix – I became a rum drinker.  Before I got a private tour of the factory (you can, too) I wasn’t the kind of guy who kicked back at home with a cocktail.  All that changed after I sampled a few of the two-dozen or so different rums that are made here.  No matter what you do, what will impress me most in a human being is the level of integrity you aspire to in that process.  Cruzan Rum is a family-owned empire that is now three-generations deep and is still adhering to a very strict and very high standard of excellence in their manufacturing process that you really have to see firsthand to appreciate in all its splendor.  And when was the last time you went to a place of business – on that scale or smaller – where every single person working there was stoked about their job?  For those of you that don’t really care how its made or how cool the people are who make it, let me break it down for you in the simplest terms – this shit is really, really, really good.  Like, walk-into-a-bar-and-bitch-slap-the-smile-off-that-Captain-Morgan-idiot-good.  Smoothest rum on the planet, and there’s a ton of different flavors to choose from, light to dark.  The Nelthropp family knows what they’re doing.  They know it better than anyone, and they made me an enthusiastic casual rum drinker.  When you see how it’s made, when you spend time with people like Gary or Karen Nelthropp or any of the employees distilling, barreling or working in the warehouses, it becomes more than about how it tastes.  Maybe it’s just the punk rock kid in me, but even if I’d never sampled the Pineapple, Vanilla, Coconut or Dark at the bar I’d still want to give my money to support an organization that stays that true to their vision through generations of family and millions of bottles of rum.  It’s win-win – I discovered the secret to the perfect after-dinner cocktail and they gladly take my money.

Number three reason St. Croix is like nowhere else – beer-drinking pigs.  Seriously.  You can’t make this stuff up.  You haven’t lived until you’ve been to the Domino Club and seen 1200-pound swine shotgun a few O’Doul’s.  Talk about good TV.  The garbage bags full of cans near the pig’s living quarters confirmed that these guys could wipe out entire fraternities in a keg stand contest.  They no longer rock the alcoholic beverages (thanks for ruining the fun, ASPCA), but it’s no less impressive to watch.  I’ve seen arena concerts that were 8 times longer and 8 times less entertaining.
While I was there I enjoyed a brand-new drink that, again, is unique to the island:  the legendary Mama Wanna.  I don’t know what was in it but I do know that if you have a touch of bronchitis when you step on the premises, it’ll be gone after one shot of this stuff.  Imagine if Jager and Sambuca had a baby, and then that baby grew up and did tons of steroids.  Yeah.
I want to thank Norma for letting me slow-dance with her for a while, whisper a few naughty things in her ear and make me some of the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.  When you go down and visit, let her know that Aaron says hi.  And wants her to call him back.

Number four reason – off-road jeep tours.  In the spirit of full disclosure, this was the first thing we did the morning after we arrived and as you will all most likely learn, we got good and hammered the night before.  When I woke up naked in my hotel bathroom the next morning I can’t say I was in any mood to get thrown around the countryside in a wrangler, but Wave and his brother made it a ton of fun and were awesome dues to hang with for the afternoon.  Wave spent a good portion of his youth just outside Boston, so I knew he and I were gonna get on just fine regardless but when I heard about how he came back to St. Croix as a young man and started his business from nothing and grew it into a fleet of 9 jeeps and several employees just a few years later, I have to say I was not only impressed but inspired.  These are the kind of men I want my son to meet someday; men that didn’t let anything get in the way of their success, that didn’t say, “I can’t.”  They follow a dream to an unconventional but totally rewarding job and they are the envy of all around them.  Tan Tan Jeep Tours.  Consider it yet another formal endorsement from your host.  I did it with a hangover and I still had the time of my life.

I could go on and on about how I had my expectations readjusted about this little slice of U.S. Territory Heaven but rather than spell it all out for you I’ll simply say that if you don’t check it out for yourself you’re missing an opportunity to take even more pride in the United States of America.  It’s not terribly expensive, it’s not a long flight and if you can’t go a week without exploring the sporting goods section of K-Mart, they’ve got you covered.  It doesn’t feel like we should claim this place as our own, but I’m not going to complain.  I’m going to enjoy.  You should too.

I’d like to personally and publicly thank Hal and Suzanne and the entire staff of Cane Bay Dive Shop for everything they did for the crew while we were there.  Whether it was hunting down 5 Hour Energy bottles or keeping a very close and watchful eye on me as I descended to my greatest depth ever to get the best shot, I cannot say enough about the care and attention I got from these people.  In the same way Bill Beard is synonymous with Costa Rica in my mind, so now will Cane Bay and St. Croix be connected.  I wouldn’t dive with anyone else.  To the Carambola and Divi resorts, thank you for treating me like a rock star.  Most people would just be satisfied with your level of service and your beautiful accommodations but I’m a bit more difficult; so it is with great joy that I can formally announce both hotels have bomb-ass chicken fingers, as well.  It was a pleasure to stay as your guest.  Sorry about the loud music.  Van Halen just doesn’t sound as good at low volume.

To everyone on St. Croix and everyone reading here – thank you for giving me a great life.  I know how good I have it, and I have it because of you.   I owe you my best work.  Accept this as a prayer and a promise that I will give it to you.

Thanks for being my friend.

-A