The first boom had frozen me in my tracks in the middle of a fin kick. A tentative heartbeat later, a triple peal of thunder seemed to shake the walls that loomed on either side of me.
Hearing and feeling that power from 60 feet (18 meters) underwater, it required little stretch of the imagination to believe that the zigzagging chasm through which we were swimming could have been created by similar violent blasts in the past. Tendrils of claustrophobia reached out for me. I needed to get out of there.
When I finally shook off my paralysis and resumed kicking to exit the imposing fissure in Roatán’s reef, I discovered colorful sponges glowing amid fans and sea rods on a lovely wall. Dozens of violet creole wrasses streamed by, and two queen angelfish took turns leading each other about in lazy, flirty circles. A huge green moray eel as thick as my thigh snaked its way between sea fans like a skier swooshing through a slalom course.
The diving would not be only doom and gloom. Things were beginning to look up for us on the dive site known as Calvin’s Crack. The storm still raged on, complete with sheets of rain bucketing from ominous, leaden clouds, but the mood below the waves had decidedly shifted from scary to sublime. Our liveaboard expedition through the Bay Islands of Honduras had definitely — and quite literally — started off with a bang.
Roatán’s Southern Side
We repositioned later that day under quiet, mostly clear skies; the springtime squall had disappeared. Though it was my first time at Mary’s Place, we were already acquainted. I had often read about Mary’s special spot over the past 20 years because it regularly appeared on lists of the best dives in Honduras and the must-see sites in the Caribbean. It lies near Brick Bay along Roatán’s southern flank, about 7 miles (11 kilometers) west of where we had started at Calvin’s.
From the top of the reef at Mary’s at about 30 feet (9 m), we dropped over the edge, where visibility stretched to 60 feet (18 m), and a school of chubs arced through the blue. Below them a tight grouping of schoolmasters drew me downward. They obligingly maintained a close formation while I approached for a photo.
Below them, on a shelf about 80 feet (24 m) deep, our divemaster pointed out a yellow longsnout seahorse standing proud. My wife, Melissa, had a macro lens on her camera, so we captured a portrait for posterity.
During the ascent up the wall, we discovered a fat mutton snapper lounging behind a spray of soft corals, a few black and Nassau groupers, and a yellowfin grouper with the tail of its last meal sticking out of its mouth. All these species have suffered population declines in much of the Caribbean, so it was uplifting to rub shoulders with these big, tasty, and — at least here — relatively safe fishes. Mary’s is in the Roatán Marine Park, and its marine protected area (MPA) status confers some protection for this stellar reef’s residents.
Valley of the Kings was a place name I did not know. It is due south of French Harbour, the starting (and ending) point for our weeklong cruise, and is another site with great three-dimensional reef structure. Here we found deepwater gorgonians and thickets of sea fans, giant barrel sponges, and orange, brown, and pink rope and tube sponges. Tucked into this invertebrate jungle were indigo hamlets, scrawled filefish, and stoplight parrotfish. Crevalle jacks patrolled off the wall, and clouds of sergeant majors hovered above the reef crest.
Our dive guide offered two dives at nearby Mr. Buds, where a small 75-foot (23-m) cargo ship rests at about 60 feet (18 m), close to French Cay. It was intentionally sunk in 1995 to add to Roatán’s extensive dive site portfolio. Our late-afternoon splash allowed us to survey the wreck and the surrounding reef, and it was a useful orientation primer for the night dive. I preferred the postdinner submersion from an imaging perspective.
Between the keen-eyed dive guides and our fellow guests, we spotted three seahorses. It was only two days into our trip, and Honduras had proved a bumper destination for caballitos de mar. My count was already up to six.
Flamingo tongue snails, cryptic teardrop crabs decked out in red sponge tufts, and a shapeshifting octopus on the prowl for crabs and shrimp were among the night dive highlights. Lobsters had also emerged from their shadowed daytime haunts to boldly march around under the cover of darkness.
Offshore Seamounts
Though we had seen many of these same animals before while visiting countries in the central and eastern reaches of the Caribbean Sea, the Honduran ocean neighborhood, part of the storied Mesoamerican Barrier Reef System, was new to us. We hoped to cover as much ground as possible in the short time available to us for our first visit.
Consequently, we chose a liveaboard to island-hop between Roatán, Cayos Cochinos, and Utila rather than booking three different land-based resorts and the required connecting flights and ferries. Our mobile scuba platform was undoubtedly the right way to easily and efficiently tour the Bay Islands with the added convenience of not having to pack, unpack, and repack our luggage time and again.
In the wee hours of day three, we cast off the mooring line and pointed south toward mainland Honduras. We awoke in the middle of nowhere, ready to submerge again. Coco Grande seamount was below us. Its shallowest point is about 40 feet (12 m); its deepest is many times that.
Far offshore, in open water between Roatán and Cayos Cochinos, the site is known for clear water, lush soft coral growth, schooling fish, and occasional pelagic passersby. The crew topped off our tanks with 32% enriched air nitrox (EANx), and I prepared my camera for wide-angle shots.
Once underwater, we were gifted with 80-foot (24-m) visibility, 80°F (27°C) temperature, and pretty much all the marine life mentioned in the briefing. Sun-dappled sea fans, sea rods, and sea plumes on the seamount’s crest swayed in the gentle surge, painting a mental picture of harvest-ready, golden Kansas wheatfields. A great barracuda swimming into view promptly recalibrated my mental image.
We slipped deeper toward Coco Grande’s western slope, kicking into a light current while the bottom dropped away below us. The current hits and splits here, so it makes sense that it is where the fish like to be.
Our ship’s captain was leading the dive, and he signaled us to stop and wait at a point nicknamed Fish Market. Sure enough, a moment later a couple hundred horse-eye jacks streamed onto the scene at about 90 feet (27 m) deep, mirror-bright silversides flashing in the dark blue. The school broke into smaller groups that cycloned around us for a moment before speedily finning away, off to who knows where.
Next up was a wahoo, and then king mackerels a few breaths later. A squadron of spadefish visited after that. I squinted into the distance the whole time, wondering what else was out there. I could not forget that the captain had mentioned he once saw a tiger shark here.
Utila: Scuba Spoken Here
Continuing our Bay Islands tour in a clockwise loop, we steamed west for a few hours. When the island of Utila came into view, the crew announced we would celebrate happy hour with a dusk dive at Jack Neil Point. Contrasting with the offshore seamount’s clean, blue water and panoramic subsea vistas, this would be a muck dive to slow down and poke our heads around near the seafloor to admire the little beasties living on the sloping sandy bottom and in reef crevices to either side.
I forgot to ask who Jack Neil was and why this site bears his name, but this was a fun, 75-minute dive with sightings of sailfin blennies, pipefish, garden eels, strange burrowing mouse urchins, and spider crabs cunningly camouflaged with algal debris. A bearded toadfish — undeniably ugly and inexplicably charismatic — stared belligerently at me from its lair.
Competition was fierce, but the 6- to 8-inch (15- to 20-centimeter) Caribbean reef squids hovering over the sand were the stars of the show. They paired up briefly as couples and threesomes, performing some beautiful, alien cephalopodan courtship ritual with curling arms, pulsating colors, and dramatic changes in skin patterning.
As usual, we also had a night dive scheduled. It is easy to log four dives per day on this liveaboard itinerary. Spanish Bay delivered more squids, a yellow stingray, flounders, lionfish, and heaps of arrow crabs. We had to watch our buoyancy there, as stirring up the fine, powdery silt substrate results in whiteout conditions.
Utila is the smallest, flattest, and westernmost of the Bay Islands of Honduras. Even with an estimated population of 4,000 to 7,000 people, the island is big on scuba. Utila’s casual, affordable, and social beach-lifestyle vibe has long attracted divers, both holidayers and (mostly) young dive professionals looking to level up.
Stroll down a sandy street or pop into a watering hole, and you will likely meet people from around the globe working in paradise on their divemaster and instructor courses. Reliable, year-round whale shark sightings were another strong lure to Utila in decades past, but the planet’s largest fish have mostly moved on now.
Thankfully, nurse sharks are still snuffling around. Cannery Bank off Utila’s western side is a perennial favorite. Bright sun, excellent water clarity, and three nurse sharks greeted us on the first morning dive. I spent most of my hour of bottom time happily snapping away, following the sharks around the seamount between 30 and 80 feet (9 and 24 m) deep.
It was not difficult to get close to the blunt-nosed, brown sharks. People on day boat charters sometimes feed lionfish to the sharks, so they often boldly approach divers. The challenge was in creating pleasing images with divers and properly illuminating the surrounding soft corals adorning the reef. When you are too close, a fisheye lens’ distortion can morph the animal’s svelte profile into something comical, resembling a pudgy tadpole.
Reviewing photos during the surface interval and then adjusting my shooting strategy improved my keeper rate on the second dive. The second splash also afforded me time to appreciate Cannery Bank’s clusters of bluebell tunicates and its river of creole wrasses.
We likewise logged two dives at El Pinnacle, a primo spot dubbed for the pointed pillar of rock rising dramatically next to the main reef’s edge. We followed the divemaster for the first tank to get the lay of the land and then repeated on our own for the second, retracing the same path but moving more slowly and stopping frequently to fish-watch and fiddle with cameras.
The day’s schedule allowed our vessel to remain on the mooring and keep the dive deck open for almost four hours, so we could have stepped off the stern platform once more to squeeze in a third tank, but two long dives proved perfect.
The dives gave us ample time along the sheer wall at 70 feet (21 m) to take pictures of a shy-at-first pink seahorse clinging with its prehensile tail to a pink sponge. Exquisitely colored purple and yellow royal grammas zipped around upside down in dark crevices on the site’s namesake spire 50 feet (15 m) down, and pouty-lipped smooth trunkfish puttered among the sea fans on the reef flat above in only 20 feet (6 m) of water.
We also enjoyed observing the ubiquitous sharpnose puffers with their electric-blue face tattoos, a faceoff between two jaw-wrestling grunts, parrotfish waiting patiently at a cleaning station, and a surprise flyby from an ancient loggerhead sea turtle.
Return to Roatán
We endured a bumpy, sloshy, overnight crossing back to Roatán to finish our cruise by exploring the island’s northern side. The fringing reef there primarily features classic spur-and-groove architecture, with a shallow reef flat that falls seaward down a plunging wall. We had many sites completely to ourselves on the offshore seamounts and around Utila, but we expected — and indeed met — company on Roatán’s northern coast.
Half a dozen day boats whisked divers to and from different dive sites as we approached Half Moon Bay Wall. Turtle encounters elevated our dive at this popular spot. Although two hawksbills had their own agendas and kept on moving, a green turtle spent at least five minutes rubbing its shell against a reef outcropping and was oblivious to our presence. After finishing the massage, it posed and eyed us sleepily before nodding off.
Vibrant sponge and fan arrangements further down the wall also caught my eye. Tavianna’s Wall was home to spiny lobsters, channel clinging crabs, neon gobies, yellowhead jawfish, and many more cool characters.
Early birds get worms. Early divers avoid crowds and get first dibs on the mooring ball. A 6 a.m. splash on our liveaboard’s last day paid off for us at the El Aguila wreck near Sandy Bay. We had the entire 230-foot (70-m) freighter to ourselves.
Sunk by Anthony’s Key Resort in 1997, this often-requested dive is one of Roatán’s signature sites. The vessel is now broken into three parts thanks to Hurricane Mitch. The top deck of the intact and upright bow section is about 80 feet (24 m) below the surface, and the depth to the sand is 110 feet (34 m).
Regaining Our Land Legs
One week is never enough. Thankfully, we had planned a short but sweet extension after the liveaboard. Three days at a top dive resort provided additional, much-needed aqua therapy in Roatán’s welcome waters before the inevitable return to our landlocked home in eastern Washington.
Two friendly, photogenic groupers had us smiling at Melissa’s Reef, named not for my spouse but some mermaid adventurer of yore. Our guide showed his critter-finding chops by introducing us to neck crabs, spotted drums, lizardfish, scorpionfish, and lettuce sea slugs at Peter’s Place.
Gibson’s Bight entertained us with twisty-turny gullies and swim-throughs and the blue tang gang — a school of color-changing, algae-eating surgeonfish that rolled hungrily along the reef’s shallow plateau. The last, and perhaps best, of our seven bonus dives occurred at Marco’s Place, where at least 10 Caribbean reef sharks calmly, confidently swam around us. I had not expected such a great shark dive in Honduras.
While chatting during dinner on our last night with folks who have been coming to Honduras almost annually for more than 15 years, I realized that the Bay Islands are not a one-and-done dive destination. We had only just begun to experience what this corner of the Caribbean has to offer. Ten days is never enough. We simply have to return.
Cómo bucear en este lugar
Cómo llegar: American, Delta, and United have direct flights from the U.S. to Juan Manuel Galvez International Airport (RTB) on Roatán. Various airlines also serve RTB from mainland Honduras and elsewhere in Central America and the Caribbean. One liveaboard currently cruises the Bay Islands of Honduras and departs from French Harbour on Roatán.
Condiciones: Diving is possible year-round. Ocean temperatures are usually 80°F to 86°F (27°C to 30°C) insummer and 77°F to 79°F (25°C to 26°C) in winter. Underwater visibility is normally 50 to 80 feet (15 to 23 m) but can reach more than 100 feet (30 m) depending on season, location, site profile, and weather. Current can be present at some sites, but in general Honduras is known for relaxing diving. The rainy season runs from October to January or February; November and December are the heaviest months.
Otra información: A passport is mandatory to visit Honduras. U.S. citizens do not require a visa to enter for tourism purposes. The Honduran lempira is the country’s official currency, but U.S. dollars and credit cards are widely accepted. Spanish is the official language. Type A and B electrical outlets (the same as in the U.S.) are standard. Besides diving and snorkeling, Roatán offers many outdoor and adventure activities, including wildlife parks, horseback riding, ziplining, and more.
Explore Más
See more of the Bay Islands of Honduras in a bonus photo gallery and these videos.
© Alert Diver – Q1 2026