Adventure Begins Where Comfort Ends: Our Rain-Soaked Snorkeling Tour to Caño Island

What I Learned from Traveling in the Rain or

Why a Plastic Cape Can Teach Humility

Our Snorkeling Tour to Caño Island

The sky was already heavy with gray clouds at 6 a.m. when we set off for our early-morning snorkeling tour to Caño Island. When my partner asked if we needed a rain cape, I casually shrugged it off. After all, tours are meant for sunshine and gentle breezes—just as Instagram photos and tour promotions promised. Disillusionment was inevitable.

Isla del Caño is only accessible by boat across the open ocean—about a two-hour ride from Sierpe. We were greeted by deep dark-blue water, its calm surface deceiving us before hurling us into three-meter-high waves. What a thrill!

Then a sudden wall of rain engulfed us in an instant. My senses shut down. I tucked my head like a turtle, shielded by a cap and sunglasses that the elements seemed to mock. A roaring wind pelted raindrops at us so forcefully that I felt my skin might peel off. Move? No. See? No. Hear? No. Feel? All at once. We braced ourselves. I switched into survival mode.

A kind neighbor on the boat seemed to pity us and lent us a simple plastic cape, which we clutched like a fortress in front of us. I don’t recall ever being more grateful for a piece of plastic. We sat in silent solidarity. And what was I thinking in that moment? Not much—I was fully engaged in the sheer act of being. Alive.

On that day, nature showed us a side we often forget in our pursuit of comfort. Nature isn’t here to please us or boost social‑media engagement. It is raw, wild, and uncomfortable—and that’s a good thing.

And then, reward. In the distance, two spouts burst from the water—not far apart: a mother humpback whale and her calf. We followed them for a while and watched them surface multiple times, the youngster needing to breathe every three to five minutes. I looked down at the dark water—and gliding past the boat was a about one-meter-long black sea snake with a yellow‑spotted tail. Highly venomous, as our guide told us.

Now brimming with euphoria and eyes scanning the ocean, we lucked out again. A pod of spotted dolphins (Stenella attenuata) joined the boat for a while. My heart leapt when a ~40 cm calf jumped beside its mother right at the bow. Leaning over the rail, I remember exclaiming, “Did you see the baby jump?!”

Before you reach the open ocean from Sierpe, you drift through a sprawling mangrove forest. As we meandered through its tidal channels, our guide shared fascinating insights: how mangroves elevate their roots above water to “breathe” oxygen, since the muddy soil lacks nutrients; how they filter salt and nutrients when tide rises up to three meters. He also revealed that before becoming a guide, like many locals, he earned his living hunting guariches (red mangrove crabs) in mosquito-infested, muddy terrain—collecting ten in one-and-a-half hours, then selling a hundred crabs for a meager twelve dollars. Hard, underappreciated labor largely unseen by visitors.

After nearly two hours on the water, we finally reached Caño Island. Rain stirs up the sea and strong currents can blur underwater visibility—but we were lucky. Once in the water with snorkel and fins, what looked murky from above revealed a bustling world below, filled with green and blue fish of all sizes. We spotted yellow and brown pufferfish with blue spots.

And suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a massive, endangered green sea turtle glided toward us and beneath us. Moving with such calm elegance, it captivated me. I squeezed my partner’s hand tightly and felt profound gratitude for sharing that moment. The turtle calmly grazed algae off the coral reef and drifted on, its shell adorned with lichens. I thought: enduring the chill was worth it.

Later, we landed on the island, strolled along its beach, and hiked to a lookout over nothing but vibrant blue and green national park—perfect for photos.

On the way back, we stopped for a hearty lunch. Just before docking, we spotted a crocodile gliding peacefully down the river. We disembarked—fulfilled and thankful.

Though I started the day resentful and grumbling about the weather, I ended it with an inner warmth I’ll never forget. And if you ask me now whether the trip was worth it? Absolutely. Travel means accepting the unpredictable and adapting to your environment. We hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

If you’re just as brave — or just as naïve — as we were, you can find this tour and many more at the link below.

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