A nighttime arrival in Grenada denied me the lush view I’m now enjoying as I toddle from my room at True Blue Bay Resort down the stairs — so many stairs; if nothing else, my glutes will get a good workout this week — to Aquanauts Grenada dive shop. Grenada is all emerald hillsides, baby-blue skies, and hot-pink bougainvillea threatening to overtake every fence. I swear the air at True Blue smells sweet like heliotrope, though I see none around. I can’t wait to see what it looks like underwater.

Mention Grenada to people of a certain age, and they may vaguely recall the 1983 U.S. invasion, or perhaps they’ll know something of the island’s bountiful spice industry. But not if they’re divers. Mention Grenada to them, and one word springs to mind immediately: wrecks. And for good reason. This small volcanic island sitting just south of St. Vincent and the Grenadines is one of the world’s most prolific producers of nutmeg and shipwrecks. Why so many wrecks? “It’s a shipping lane,” says Peter Seupel, the lanky, sun-kissed owner of Aquanauts. “People buy old boats and run them until they sink.” How lucky for me.

The resort — a vibrant indigo blue, true to its name — hugs the hillside, spilling down to True Blue Bay. There’s no beach, but for a sandy afternoon, guests can shuttle over to Grand Anse, the island’s main strand. Maybe later, I think, as I pop into the shop to make my introductions. Peter and his wife, Gerlinde, have owned Aquanauts since 1998. At breakfast he’d advised me to (finally) finish my nitrox certification, so I’m doing it now in preparation for our first dive of the day, on the Shakem. The 180-foot barge from Trinidad sank in 2001, when its load of concrete shifted forward and dragged it straight down to around 110 feet, where it sits today perfectly on keel.

The rest of the group on the boat explored the Shakem yesterday, so Peter and I have the wreck to ourselves this morning. We drop in to visibility of around 60 feet and little to no current. The wreck appears out of the blue, and I can see the ship’s undoing — tons of concrete bags — still intact in the open hold. We make our way to the starboard hull, hugging the bottom and slowly circling counterclockwise around the ship. Propellers and railings are encrusted in bright-red sea fans and yellow whip coral, and the entire bow is enshrouded in white telesto coral, which looks like cascades of popcorn when we turn on our backs and gaze upward. We circle around and around, spiraling up to the bridge, where Peter points out a seahorse firmly attached to a green finger sponge. We watch the little guy sway in the current, which has just picked up a bit, and finally end the dive not because our air is growing short, but because I’m getting cold (I’m loving this nitrox).

From Wrecks to Reefs

I know wrecks are de rigueur on Grenada, but I’m anxious to check out the island’s reefs as well, so that afternoon divemaster Paul Ward and I drop in on Shark Reef, a long, shallow nearshore reef that runs east to west along the south coast. There’s tons of life in this busy spot, and tons of current — it runs so swiftly and predictably from east to west that the abundant barrel sponges all resemble taco shells in profile. The biggest green sea turtle I’ve ever seen, with barnacles the size of crab apples, makes an appearance at the beginning of the dive, and we fly over patchy hard coral, spotting at least three more turtles, nurse sharks, crabs, lobsters, spotted morays, juvenile drums, trunkfish, a huge school of jacks, and so many gigantic pufferfish that I’ve decided to rename this spot Pufferfish Reef. I run it by Paul when we surface, but he seems less impressed with the idea.

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The next morning, it’s time to check out the underwater sculpture park in Molinere Bay, another must-dive. Begun in 2006 by artist Jason deCaires Taylor, the park features 65 statues, the most famous of which is the Ring of Children, molded from sculptures of local Grenadian youth, and standing in about 15 feet of water. There are plentiful snorkelers in the park when we drop in, so we make our way deeper, to an area of the reef where Taylor has hidden concrete faces, equally disconcerting and fascinating as they stare out blankly from the coral.

After a relaxing morning underwater, I’ve decided to test myself with some terrestrial activity: a jog near True Blue. And a test it is — imagine hills the size of San Francisco’s combined with the humidity of the steam room at your gym, and you’ll have a good idea of my lunatic plan. I make it to the campus of St. George’s University, an international medical school, and am comforted by the fact that if I drop dead, these students can resuscitate me. Back at the resort (thank God), it’s a shower, an early dinner at Dodgy Dock, the hotel’s popular restaurant and bar, and an early sleep for a morning transfer over to Calabash Grenada Hotel Resort and Spa.

Keeping Up with the Current

“What time is it? Just kidding.”

I’m eavesdropping at Bash by Mark B, Calabash’s popular beachfront tapas restaurant. The woman one table over has nailed it: Grenada operates on island time, and I couldn’t be happier about it as my week progresses. My late lunch of tomato and goat cheese tart tatin trickles into happy hour. Calabash sits in Prickly Bay, one over from True Blue, and as I lounge in the open-air restaurant, I take in the wide, green lawn behind me and the broad, white beach before me. The vibe here is more chic than the convivial True Blue, and the Euro house music playing in the background, combined with the impossibly good-looking couple at the bar, has me wondering if I should have ordered a sauvignon blanc instead of another rum punch.

Island time might be the rule on land, but underwater currents maintain a very strict schedule, as I find out the next morning on the M/V Bianca C. This is the big one, the most famous of Grenada’s wrecks, and I’m stoked — and a little nervous — to dive it. A passenger ship known as “The Titanic of the Caribbean,” the 600-foot Bianca sank in 1961 after an explosion on board and subsequent fire. One crewman died immediately and eight others were injured, but the 700-plus passengers and remaining crew managed to make it safely ashore. The ship burned for two days before the HMS Londonderry arrived from Puerto Rico to tow it off St. George’s main anchorage; the burning hulk made it 3 miles before a squall broke the tow line, and it sank quickly to 165 feet.

I head to ScubaTech Dive Center, just across the lawn from my room, to get my gear ready. Shop owner Frédérique Pinet joins our small party of three divers and divemaster Davidson Ackie on the ride out to the Bianca, and we chat a bit more about the dive as we motor. The top of the wreck sits at around 110 feet, and the reliable current means divers usually drift from stern to bow. The ocean is taking its toll on the wreck, Frédérique tells me; the entire starboard side of the ship has collapsed in the past 2½ years.

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We’re all set to jump in when we arrive, and the captain drops us near the ship’s stern. The current here can be so strong that it’s possible to miss the wreck entirely, but luckily today’s is manageable — still swift, but manageable. As we drop down, the entire ship’s enormity looms into view. We’re right over the famed swimming pool at 130 feet, where divers like to take a quick “dip,” but we’re moving too fast for that. I decide instead to just take in the size of the wreck as we drift along. It takes us less than 10 minutes to cover the length of the ship, all the while edging shallower, as some of the divers are on air. I spot some barracuda, but mostly I’m left with just the impression of a wreck, rather than a solid experience in my mind as we finish the dive on nearby Whibbles Reef. An enormous eagle ray hovers in the current as we drift past, and I’m determined to return to dive the Bianca C again someday — I’ve got to try out that swimming pool.

Our second wreck dive of the day is the much smaller but no less fascinating M/V Veronica L. The 120-foot cargo ship suffered from poor maintenance, sprang a leak and sank. In only 45 feet of water, it makes for a long, leisurely dive. Plenty of other divers think so too, as we drop down to join multiple groups already circling the ship, checking out the intact crane on the deck, the open hold, the school of blue chromis and the sergeant majors guarding their purple eggs. One of the other divers starts gesturing for us to join him at the stern and points excitedly at patches of red coral growing there. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at when suddenly I see — there’s a pair of red frogfish so well camouflaged that I would have missed them entirely, and almost do on our second pass around the ship. The so-ugly-they’re-cute frogfish are a treat for my last wreck dive of the trip; the next morning I’m heading to Carriacou for another reef dive, and wondering what the tiny satellite island holds in store.

Away from It All

Word to the wise: You must dive in Carriacou. Word to the wiser: You must hop a 15-minute flight from Grenada and forgo the three-hour ferry, affectionately dubbed the “vomit comet.” (I say “affectionately” because I managed not to vomit on the bumpy ride.) Known as the spot where Grenadians come to get away from all the “hustle and bustle” of Grenada, tiny Carriacou lives up to its sleepy reputation. A few dogs wander the streets; a few people wander the main street’s shops; and every car honks hello to Gary Ward, owner of Deefer Diving and my host for the afternoon.

It’s a quick visit for me, so after a takeout roti lunch — and some amazing fresh-squeezed limeade — Gary and his wife, Alex, and I motor out to Sisters Rocks, home to a few of the most popular of the island’s 34 sites, which sits just beyond the sheltering confines of Hillsborough Bay. The two rocks — big and little sister — drop down to around 130 feet, lone sentinels that attract everything from turtles to sharks to eagle rays. On this day, the current carries us past two hawksbills, lobsters and a gigantic school of blue chromis. It’s over all too soon though, and it’s time for me to board the comet back to the mainland.

I’m soon back at Calabash, and reflecting on the surprise Grenada held in store. I knew the wreck diving would be amazing, and I’ve only scratched the surface on my three dives; wrecks like the Hildur, Fiona and Rum Runner will have to wait for my next visit. But Grenada was keeping a secret: Now, if a diver asks me about Grenada, I’ll tell them of the wrecks, and I won’t forget the reefs.