By Eric Salamanca, Scientific Officer, DECR

Photo By Brian Riggs, Curator, National Environmental Centre

The world was shocked when a tsunami struck the coasts of southeast Asia in December 2004. More than 200,000 people were believed to have died as a result of the sea surge and a great deal of property was destroyed, but those who lived along  wooded mangrove coastlines were a little bit luckier because the mangrove forests slowed down the velocity of the rampaging water. This observation affirmed that healthy and well established mature mangrove forests protect coastal communities from surging seas.

In a worldwide estimate, about 50% of the original mangrove forests have been destroyed by man in recent decades. This irresponsible destruction is attributed to ignorance of the forests’ ecological and economic importance. When the mangrove forest is destroyed, the natural sheltering belt against storms, flood waves, flooding and coastal erosion is also gone.

Mangrove ecosystems are comprised of plants, animals and micro-organisms that have adapted to life in the dynamic environment of the tropical inter-tidal zone. The complex and dense root systems encourage sedimentation and development of a mud substrate that enables more mangroves to spread and expand their range.

Mangrove forests develop in areas where high energy waves are absent and sediments accumulate. Tidal flooding largely influences the structure and appearance of mangrove forests. Although most mangrove forests are found submerged in water along the coastline, they can also extend to the flood plain’s outer limits, which are often dry and only occasionally flooded when the water reaches its highest point. Mangroves are adapted for the salty conditions and frequent flooding in the ocean’s tidal range and have ways of dealing with excessive salt.

The flourishing tourism industry in the Turks & Caicos Islands is an indicator of the beginning of an era that can permanently change the environmental and socio-economic landscape. For the construction of new road networks, widening of old access trails and the building of condominiums, hotels, marinas and other amenities for a luxurious life do not come without costs. One of those costs is an environmental one, and the mangrove ecosystem is one of the areas most highly affected. Mangroves, big and small, are indiscriminately damaged by bulldozers and backhoes in the name of progress.

The importance of mangroves

Mangroves offer many benefits to both natural systems and humans, and their removal has several economic consequences.

• Mangroves provide shoreline protection and sediment accretion. They buffer the shoreline from the destructive impact of storms and waves.
• Mangroves trap and bind sediments, thereby reducing coastal turbidity, and help clean the water.
• Mangroves support important trophic pathways by providing a major source of materials for food chains that support many terrestrial and marine organisms.
• Mangroves provide habitat for both marine and terrestrial organisms; homes for both plants and animals.
• Mangroves are nurseries for commercially important fish stocks, replenishing estuarine and coastal fisheries.
• Mangroves are a sink for atmospheric carbon, helping to reduce global CO2 levels and global warming.
• Mangroves capture effluents from terrestrial runoff, providing a buffer for nutrients, heavy metals and other toxicants entering coastal waters.
• Mangroves are an important ecosystem that promotes sustainable eco-tourism.
• More recently, changes in mangroves have been proposed as a means to monitor change in coastal environments as indicators of global warming, climate change, storm effects, sea level change, pollution and sedimentation rates.

Mangrove restoration project

The primary goal of the project is to rehabilitate the degraded mangrove forests in the coastal areas. Although mangrove forest could be restored naturally, this project aims to expedite that natural regeneration. It is not the goal to restore the area to a pristine pre-development condition, but rather to replicate as close as possible the natural conditions that existed before certain areas were disturbed for development projects. Another important component of this project is to increase public awareness about mangrove forests and their role in coastal development and management.

Mangrove habitats

In the Turks & Caicos Islands (TCI), mangrove forests occur as narrow fringes along the most sheltered coasts or in small stands at protected creek mouths. The area of true mangrove forests throughout our Islands is relatively small compared to the total area of wetlands. They occur in areas where they are particularly important for water quality control, shoreline stabilization and as aquatic nurseries.

There are three important species of mangrove in the Turks & Caicos Islands. White Mangrove (Laguncularia racemosa) are found nearest to the dry land and have salt glands at the base of their leaves that exude salt they intake from the water. Black Mangroves (Avicencia germinans), found between the drier land and in the water, have pneumatophores that stick up out of the water like little snorkels. These pneumatophores aid in obtaining oxygen. Black Mangroves exude salt from  the undersides of their leaves. Red Mangroves (Rhizophora mangle) are found directly in the coastal waters. Their unique prop root system stabilizes the tree from wave action — these prop roots extend from the trunk and heavy branches, drop into the water and eventually become part of the trunk system.

Assisted natural regeneration

The restoration strategy is called Assisted Natural Regeneration. Existing mangrove trees are allowed to grow while sparsely growing mangroves and/or totally destroyed/denuded areas will be planted with suitable species of mangroves. There are two basic methods for replanting Red Mangroves along a shoreline.

The encasement method is used to establish mangroves along high-energy shorelines where natural regeneration is difficult or where conventional planting methods are ineffective. The concept of this method is based on individual seedling isolation and a spontaneous adaptation process. By isolating individual propagules (seeds) from the external environment within tubular encasements at the planting site, an artificial environment is created favorable to early plant development: plants are protected from wrack, debris, wind, wave activity and unintentional damage from human interaction. If no protective gadget (like PVC pipes) is installed, the mangrove seedlings will be carried away by the sea waves.

The other, much easier and less expensive method, is to simply insert the propagules into a hole punched in the sand. This works well for very protected shorelines that seldom receive high winds or waves.

Propagation of seedlings in the nursery

To ensure higher percentage survival rate, propagules are raised in a nursery. A mangrove nursery is a place where the environmental conditions are artificially improved to suit the requirements of young seedlings. The best sources of planting materials (propagules) are trees that are already growing in the neighbourhood where the new plantings will take place. In this way, acclimatization of exotic species and/or the introduction of obnoxious pests and diseases are minimized.

Newly planted propagules need protective shade to minimize dehydration due to excessive heat from the sun. Seedlings are watered every other day using fresh water alone or an equal mixture of sea water and fresh water.

It is envisioned that mangrove nurseries will be established on all of the TCI’s inhabited islands, to be managed by the local residents. It is also possible that schools can maintain a nursery in their schoolyard, to enhance children’s awareness. Land developers are also encouraged to embrace this project. It is worth  mentioning that the Turks & Caicos Sporting Club on Ambergris Cay has already approached the DECR for advice on mangrove planting.  We expect other groups to follow and enjoy the benefits of having healthy mangrove forests.

Mangrove restoration is everyone’s responsibility. Widespread participation is welcome and needed, including all important stakeholders: government officials and employees, schoolchildren/students, businesses and private citizens.

How the project will work

The following procedures will be followed:

1. Reconnaissance survey. A team from the DECR and other stakeholders will visit prospective areas for mangrove restoration. The identified site will be prioritized based on importance and urgency for restoration/rehabilitation.
2. Selection of area. The area should be certified by the DECR as a critical site for mangrove restoration and the Planning Department and other stakeholders will be consulted concerning the identification and classification of the area for a mangrove restoration project.
3. Determination of former habitat and/or species. This requires the review of literature (project reports, journals and the like) or interviewing people who are aware of the former vegetation of the proposed planting site.
4. Determination of species to plant. The indigenous mangrove species which can withstand various environmental catastrophes such as flooding, storms and hurricanes will be selected for planting.
5. Production of mangrove seedlings. A mangrove nursery will be established. Seeds (propagules) will be collected and seedlings raised in the nursery. The DECR, in cooperation with some private individuals, has already set up a small demonstration mangrove nursery in order to ascertain the right conditions and methods for local nursery management.
6. Planting of mangroves. Before actual planting will be conducted, the planting sites will be prepared with layout and staking.
7. Monitoring and evaluation. The planted mangrove seedlings/sapling will be monitored regularly to determine their survival rates, growth rate, incidence of pests and diseases, etc. This activity will be spearheaded by the DECR.

The mangroves we will plant

The Red Mangrove is the most abundant species of mangrove in the Turks & Caicos Islands. It is considered the most ecologically significant plant species for marine environments. It is found along sheltered shorelines throughout the Islands. The large, structural reddish roots known as “prop roots” elevate the tree out of the water, giving it the appearance of being on stilts.

This unusual configuration allows Red Mangroves to grow directly in the sea. Stilt roots support the plant above the water, and other roots extend up toward the surface and aid in aeration. The roots and stems of the plant can grow immediately on contact with soil. Red Mangrove is a folk remedy for angina, asthma, boils, diarrhea, dysentery, eye ailments, fever, hemorrhage, inflammation, jaundice, leprosy, sores, sore throat and wounds.

The Black Mangrove has pale, gray-green leaves, shiny above, which are often encrusted with salt. It thrives where Red Mangroves also grow. Its root system consists of long, underground cable roots which produce hundreds of thin, upright pneumatophores on the ground around the tree. These structures have numerous pores which are thought to conduct oxygen to the underground portion of the root system.

A balancing act between infrastructure development and ecological stability is necessary. One of the ways to offset the environmental effects of coastal development is to plant or replant trees like mangroves. Trees make a better environment for humans and animals alike. And it behooves us to look after these important resources for future generations.  Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt, one of North America’s first true conservationists, put it this way: “The nation behaves well if it treats the natural resources as assets which it must turn over to the next generation increased, and not impaired, in value.”

Story & Photos By Michele Belanger-McNair

Most residents of Salt Cay tend to be somehow related through several hundred years of marriages and births. There aren’t many different surnames:  Simmons, Smith, Simons, Talbot, Robinson, Dickenson, Been, Wilson, Kennedy, Lightbourne, Selver, Landy, Hamilton, Glinton and Garland cover most everyone born and raised here. With the passing of time, many members of these families have left Salt Cay to make a living. Some of the young undertook professions only found in cities, not tiny islands. Others have left only to come back to live out their days. A few have stayed their entire lives.

Like most Turks Islands families, those on Salt Cay were big. They easily spanned 7 to 12 children, all born in the small homes in which they would grow up, and perhaps still live.

On Salt Cay, there are several families of brothers and sisters still residing there after many years, with the largest among them the children of Roderick Robinson and Eliza Kennedy Robinson. Ten children in all, the Robinsons bore eight girls and two boys. Today, Leonie Been, the eldest of the Robinson children at 93, lives in Grand Turk. The remainder of the surviving brothers and sisters can be found on Salt Cay.

Melvina Simmons

Melvina “Mellie” Estelle Robinson Simmons is 82 years old. She lived with her husband William Stanley Simmons in their South District home until his death on July 31, 2007. Mellie and Will raised seven children in 56 years of marriage. One child, a son, died at five months.

When they became engaged, Will worked in the salt industry and was learning the trade of a mason. During their engagement, with the help of his future father-in-law, Will built the home they share today. What started as a one bedroom has grown, in salt-raker fashion, to three. They married in August, 1956 at St. John’s Anglican Church, in, as Miss Mellie describes, “a big church wedding.” Mellie then moved to the South District, having spent her entire life “North.”

As they raised their growing family, Will labored by day in the salt pans, then worked into the evenings as sexton at St. John’s, taking care of the church, including cleaning 25 oil lamp shades after every evening service. Mellie baked bread and Queen cakes for sale, and made the 17 shillings Will earned each week go as far as possible, after he helped his own mother. “I stretched those 17 shillings. I was an ‘up and down wife.’ Between Will and me, we could do anything,” says Miss Mellie. “I sewed all the clothes we wore on my machine.” I stood in Miss Mellie’s kitchen, transfixed, as she effortlessly prepared her bread for baking pans. (For me, this same effort takes concentration and all my manual skills. Millie does it with her eyes closed.)

Will earned his mason rating. He made many of the walls still standing to this day at the cricket field and government and school buildings, as well as his own home. Life became a little easier for the Simmons’ with Will as a mason. Their seven children all went to school on Grand Turk when they turned 11. Their eldest daughter is a teacher. The other children work as a shipboard chef, musician, minister, airline manager and as government employees. Mellie says, “We have the respect of our children and the payback for our hard times is returned daily.” She talks with them by phone nearly every day.

Now Will suffers from “nerves” and is dependent upon his wife for much of his needs. Miss Mellie gently cares for him and has no desire to leave Salt Cay, ever. Nor does Will. The children suggest they come live with them in Grand Turk or Provo, but as she tells them, “My house is my home. Your house is yours. I’m staying home.” Miss Mellie still bakes her bread on Saturday, and her cookie cakes, for a few lucky people. Each year she paints a part of her house herself, loving and caring for the home she has known for so long. Sitting on the arm of the easy chair occupied by Will while we talked, Miss Mellie affectionately stroked his hair and leaned on her man’s shoulder with a smiling and practiced ease. And Will, despite his frailties, reveled in the love bestowed upon him by his bride, smiling and beaming at her touch.

NOTE: On July 31, 2007, on the first anniversary of his daughter’s passing, William Simmons passed away peacefully in the home he built, with his wife Melvina at his side.

Ella Hamilton

Emily Eliza Robinson Hamilton, now 80 years old, still lives in the North District near the home where she and her family were raised. Widowed since 1982, Miss Ella (as she is affectionately known) continues to maintain the home where she birthed and raised 10 children. Ella married George Stanley Hamilton of Salt Cay. George passed away on his 60th birthday in 1982. Ella’s regret is that she has no photographs of her late husband. “People didn’t take pictures then like today. There were no cameras and even if we had one, we could not have gotten the film they used or even afforded it. No one could,” says Miss Ella. “Those who did take pictures weren’t interested in pictures of us,” she adds — meaning the working class of Salt Cay.  The occasional traveler or salt proprietor’s visitor had other pictures to take.

George Hamilton did not have the luxuries of the similarly named Hollywood actor. George was the preacher in the Methodist Church of Salt Cay, one of the oldest churches in the Islands. He worked in the salt ponds, on the Harriott Company boats and the Harriott stable’s horse carts. He was a jack of all trades and could fix anything. But money was hard to earn. Eventually he went to Freeport to work in construction, but stayed for a relatively short time. His home was Salt Cay. Living on two shillings, six pence a day meant tough decisions on how to spend your earnings, especially with ten children. “It was so little,” says Miss Ella, “you did not know where to begin to spend it.”

Life on Salt Cay meant that Miss Ella — and any of her children old and strong enough — took a five gallon can or bucket and got water for the day. They walked to the town tank or the mile to the White House water tank. They filled their containers and walked home balancing them on their heads. Miss Ella bears the brunt of so many years of carrying water, as she can barely raise her hands above her shoulders now. A cistern (or “tank”) to provide water at home was far too expensive to build. Laundry meant carrying the wash to either the Front or Back Wells on the north end, where fresh water was to be had. The wells were regularly cleaned by the Islanders and were a primary source of fresh water for all. (Now, livestock use them and nobody bothers to clean them.) Ella, and other island ladies, would haul up their clothes and wash them, bring them home to dry and then iron them as well. It took days, not hours, to do the laundry. Each child had two sets of clothes: one clean suit and one dirty suit, one for school and one for church. With 10 children, that was a lot of clothes.

Giving birth to 10 children on Salt Cay meant giving birth at home. One day George left for the salt ponds only to return and find he had a new son to hold while Ella cleaned up after the day’s singular effort. Keeping that many children in line and raising them to accomplish something was no easy feat either. Miss Ella says she “brought my children up hard.” If they got out of line in church they got their ear pulled or tightly pinched.

It must have worked, for Ella and George Hamilton’s children, all products of Salt Cay’s Primary School, are: a bishop on Grand Turk, a minister, a local preacher and teacher, an “on trial” Methodist minister, a carpenter, an artist, a water treatment specialist, a sales person and a fire department official in Provo. Ella herself should have been a civil rights attorney as she fought many battles for her children’s educations and never backed down. Getting to high school on Grand Turk was not a “given” for anyone, even if you passed your exams with distinction. Like Miss Mellie, Ella helped support the family by baking bread. And although Ella doesn’t bake much anymore, she still makes the most delicious Queen cakes. If you are lucky enough to be somewhere on Salt Cay where they sell them, you’ll never forget them.

Today, Ella spends her time tending her extensive plant garden and caring for plants at neighboring houses where expatriates live part of the year. Though her yard looks like a nursery, it isn’t. If you need a plant, she will cut some off and tell you how to get it started and thrive. (I take plants to her so they can escape my brown thumb of disaster.) You’ll most likely see her at Nettie’s store down the way as well, helping when the Dominican boat arrives and goods need to be handed out and accounted for. For certain she will be in the front pew of the Methodist Church on Sunday mornings, listening to her son Noyle, a minister-in-training, preach the gospel and day’s sermon. Make no mistake about it, Mrs. Ella Hamilton is one proud woman.

Rosalie Glinton

Rosalie Albertina Robinson Glinton lives in the South District in one of the few, distinctive, two story homes left on Salt Cay. She is 77 years of age. She married Clifford Glinton, a widower whose wife “died in a straw bed” (while giving birth). This child, Edward, was the only one Mr. Glinton had, as he and Rosalie did not bear children of their own. Rosalie raised Edward. Sadly, Edward Glinton died in 2005 in Freeport. But while he lived on Salt Cay, he lived in a home filled with music, as his father played guitar and accordion and his stepmother the organ and piano.

The Glintons loved to dress up in their finest clothes, Edward included, and Rosalie was more than happy to oblige. When Rosalie Glinton arrives at a social function, everyone notices her hat. Though all three of the Robinson sisters have a love for hats, Rosalie’s collection is amazing and most match the dress she is wearing. Clifford Glinton was chief deacon of Mt. Zion Baptist Church on Salt Cay. Rosalie, though a member of St. John’s Anglican Church next door, played organ for the Baptists . . . and the Methodists . . . and the Anglicans. Much in demand, Rosalie played the church organ — and still does to this day — at whichever church is hosting their minister on Sunday. Rosalie brings her electric keyboard to every island function and can play anything anyone can hum.

Her graciousness in donating her time and talent has resulted in a wall of plaques and awards, including recognition by the Turks & Caicos Tourist Board Gospel Awards. Most important is her recognition by Queen Elizabeth II with a gold medal and Certificate of Achievement for her service. If not playing the music, then Rosie is dancing to it. When the Turks & Caicos Police Band come for the annual Christmas Carol dance, Rosie is the first up swinging, teaching the kids to dance properly and getting all the ladies, tourists and most of the men in the swing as well. She is irrepressible. Her smile is broad and deep as the ocean off Salt Cay.

Though Rosalie has traveled a little in life, she would never leave Salt Cay. “You can lay down in your bed, comfortable. And sleep with your doors open on Salt Cay,” says Rosalie. “We’ve all known each other all our lives.” But the night, as is the custom, means closing your door at sunset. Not locking it, but closing it, to keep the night away. Evil spirits can come out, not burglars. Nothing good can come at night. “As kids,” says Rosalie “you ran for the door not to let sunset beat you, for fear of a whipping. You didn’t want your daddy to come looking for you. Girls did not walk up to boys then either.”

Back in “the days,” there was no electricity and no indoor plumbing. Cooking was in a brick oven, wood fire and coal stove. Dinner was at 4:00 PM with a biscuit and tea served after dark. With time, Clifford took out the brick oven and put a gas stove in its place; indoor plumbing arrived as well. Upstairs in the old house, the tradewinds blow through, cooling the bedrooms. Multiple rooms have been carved out of the large downstairs living areas. Rosalie’s cow grazes in a side yard and her yard abuts that of Mrs. Amy Smith, a friend since childhood. Life down South can’t be beat.

Lew Robinson

Lewis Roderick Robinson is 72 years old. The youngest of the Robinson children still surviving, he is, as Lew says, “the end of the line.” He is known by all as “Uncle Lew” and is regularly seen riding his old blue bicycle the length of Salt Cay’s two mile Victoria Street. He plans his trips with the wind at his back. He spends his time both at his sister Rosalie’s house, as she hates to be alone at night, and the family’s home in the North District, having inherited it as the only living son.

Lew lived on Salt Cay until 1967, working as a salt raker. He worked in the few pans his father had, as well as for the Harriott salt business. The salt pan bottoms could cut your feet to shreds so he wore “whompers.” These were sandals made from old truck tires, cut to fit and then tied with rope or leather onto the feet of the rakers. The brine, or “pickle” as it is called, was hard on the skin but when you had a wound or bite, it was the best healing ointment made. Getting a job as an Ordinary Seaman, Lew went to work for National Bulk and sailed until the late 1980s, when he retired to Salt Cay. He sailed all over the world, visiting ports in Ireland, England, France, Italy, Sicily, South America, western Africa, Japan, California, western Canada and the Caribbean. His favorite places were Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Baltimore, Maryland; Mobile, Alabama and Trinidad. Though he married for a time, he has no children. Living the life of a merchant marine made being married difficult.

After all these places, why return to Salt Cay? “Salt Cay is my home. There are no problems here and the people are always friendly. Grand Turk is too busy. This is the best,” says Lew. But even Salt Cay has its distinctions. Lew prefers the North District to the South. There are more things to do, places to spend time, the dock to visit and cafés to stop at. Despite a stroke several years ago, and an arthritic knee that affects his gait, Lew keeps riding his bike. “I have to ride or I would never go anywhere,” says Lew. Plus, it seems to keep him young. He also walks the island’s beaches, looking for treasures, finding glass buoys and floats as well as good hardwoods to work with.

Each Sunday will find Lew in the front pew of St. John’s in his Sunday best, singing his heart out as Rosalie plays the organ. He never misses a church or social function.

Conclusion

As darkness falls on Salt Cay, families still shut their doors to the night, each child home and accounted for. The doors are still not locked and street lights help turn back the night, though they diminish the stars somewhat. The lights from the Grand Turk’s cruise ship port now glare on the horizon as if the sun rises in the North. When Salt Cay had hundreds of residents, everyone knew each other and trusted everyone else. Crime did not exist (and still doesn’t for that matter.) But with winds of change looming on the horizon and unknown people arriving under the guise of “development,” those virtues could go the way of gas lanterns, coal stoves and clothes lines — all obsolete.

Yet the Robinson Family, as other longtime Island dynasties, will continue on, ensuring Salt Cay a rich legacy that cannot be lost to a bulldozer’s blade.

Story & Photos By Christopher Guglielmo

Imagine yourself snorkeling off the beach in the perfect turquoise waters of Providenciales’ Grace Bay. You pass a patch of turtle grass where conch and sand dollars line the bottom. You get a bit further out, past several stands of brain coral and sea fans and find a hawksbill turtle chomping away at a sponge. Schooling parrotfish and juvenile angelfish fight for your attention. And then out of the corner of your eye you spy . . . something resting on the bottom. Is it trash? Part of a kid’s playground perhaps? An ancient turtle shell? Something left over from a construction site? And wow! Look at all those fish living in it! That is exactly what the creators of the Turks & Caicos ReefBall Project want you to experience.

Karma. Sense of duty. Love of the ocean. Whatever it is, it’s driving a small group of Turks & Caicos residents including the Turks & Caicos Junior Park Wardens, to literally save the reef, one coral head at a time. Unknown, and all too often underappreciated, this small band of reef heroes is participating in a new coral relocation project, with efforts on minimizing the environmental impact of the exponential growth that Providenciales has seen in the past few years. It’s dirty, backbreaking work, but the results will benefit us down the road in ways you may have never considered.

In recent years, much of the attention owed to the Turks & Caicos — Providenciales in particular — has shifted from the beautiful beaches, reefs, sunsets and people to a focus on real estate, new stores and new roads. While the rapid progress is great for everyone and is often the talk of the town, it’s too easy to lose sight of the fact that these Islands are composed of and dependant on trillions, or perhaps quadrillions of tiny animals clumped together. Generation upon generation, tiny coral polyps have grown on top of each other, forming the underwater paradise that we so cherish. These little buggers deserve our respect, and from time to time, need a helping hand.

The focus of the coral relocation project’s recent activities has been a small section of beachfront on the north side of Providenciales, where the future plans for a beach renourishment project will bring about a potential change in the ecosystem. To help preserve the biodiversity of Grace Bay’s coastal waters, the upcoming Third Turtle Club had requested an impact assessment to minimize or negate potential damage to the surrounding ecosystem. It was recommended that a portion of the marine life be relocated to avoid the stressing factors due to this change in beach topography. The development managers wanted to help minimize any damage in the most responsible manner, but where to put all of these soon-to-be homeless corals, anemones and sponges? Enter, the ReefBall.

ReefBalls are nothing more than a specially designed concrete dome that rests on the ocean bottom and serves as a home for marine life. Over the course of several years, they will become naturally populated with native species, and after several generations of coral growth, they will become virtually indistinguishable from the real reef. But since there is a collection of imperiled corals that need a new home, why not give the ReefBalls a kick start with hundreds of specimens of hard and soft corals, gorgonians and other sedentary marine life?

To get the project moving more quickly, the project manager called upon the help of the Turks & Caicos Junior Park Wardens. Over several days, they transplanted corals from the future construction site to the ReefBalls at the Reef Discovery Site, which lies in Grace Bay, about a half mile from their prior home. This new site was selected partly because of its similarity to the coral’s previous environment with regards to depth, water movement and chemical composition, but also because of its accessibility to snorkelers and the people monitoring the progress of the coral. Now you can reach this new reef by swimming 1–2 minutes from your car!

The process of transplanting coral involves some hard work. The first step is to remove the coral from its home with crude tools like a chisel and hammer. This usually means taking a large chunk of the substrate as well, which makes many of the pieces quite heavy. In this case, the removal site was shallow enough for the workers to just use a mask and snorkel. This must be done very carefully by trained workers to minimize damage to the specimens. Next, the corals are hoisted onto a boat and driven to the Reef Discovery Site to be dropped into their new home. The merry band of nine reef heroes, including four of Provo’s Junior Park Wardens, can now begin the task of selecting a location to place the corals within the ReefBall zone. The water here ranges from 10 to 20 feet deep, so scuba gear was used to do much of the rest of the work.

While the surface support team is mixing bags of quick-setting concrete called “Water Plug,” the scuba team drops the coral heads into place. Meanwhile, the snorkel team relays back and forth, and prepares to bring down the bags of concrete. Once the action begins, it races along at a frantic pace. Several factors are time-sensitive. First, the concrete will harden in as little as eight minutes, so time is of the essence. Second are the limitations of people underwater. Even in the warm 85º waters of Grace Bay, four to five hours of exposure will chill anyone. And while a scuba tank may last 50 to 60 minutes on a casual dive, the hard work of lifting 30 pound coral heads can use up air at a frantic pace. But perhaps the most important time-sensitive issue is getting the corals out of the boat and into the ocean as quickly as possible. Coral, anemones and sponges do not tolerate exposure to air very well, and to avoid damaging the very creatures they are trying to save, this stage of the relocation must go off like clockwork.

Once all three teams are in place (surface, snorkel and scuba), the game begins in a flurry of action. The scuba team indicates their readiness to the snorkel team, who then receives a bag of concrete mixed by the surface team. A snorkeler dives down with the delivery, and the scuba team goes to work. At first, the water plug is a grey-brown cloudy mess as it is squeezed into the cracks where the coral lies. The mess matters not to the scuba team, who use their fingers to push the toothpaste-consistency substance around the base of the corals in what is now three-inch visibility water. But the cloud quickly clears and just as you can make out the shape of the divers, another bag is delivered by the snorkeling team. This process is repeated over and over until all of the nearly 200 animals have been safely glued onto the ReefBalls.

Over the next few months, the progress of the transplanted corals was closely monitored, and with the help of the Junior Park Wardens and the National Environmental Center, the odds of success were extremely high (95% survival). Even before the corals were transplanted to their new homes, there was already an abundance of life in and around the ReefBalls. Almost immediately, a pair of juvenile grey angelfish began to investigate the new structures, and a small nurse shark took up residence inside one of the balls. Upon diving on the site one week later, the variety of marine life in the ReefBalls was through the roof, with dozens of damsels, four-eye and banded butterflyfish, a spotted moray eel and even a young hawksbill turtle swimming just a few feet away. Project successful!

Christopher Guglielmo has lived in the Turks & Caicos Islands since 2002, where he spends 2–3 hours underwater nearly every day pursuing his great passion of underwater photography.  During his time off as a yacht captain for the Turks & Caicos Aggressor II, Christopher travels the globe in search of the next great photographic opportunity, both underwater and topside. To view his photos, visit www.aquaexposure.com.

By Bill Keegan and Betsy Carlson

“Here the fishes are so unlike ours that it is amazing; there are some like dorados, of the brightest colors in the world — blue, yellow, red, multi-colored, colored in a thousand ways; and the colors so bright that anyone would marvel and take a great delight in seeing them.”

Christopher Columbus, 17 October 1492

The Turks & Caicos are truly blessed. The crystal clear waters surrounding the Islands contain an abundance of marine life. As Columbus noted, many of these are marvelous to see, while others are marvelous to eat. The Spanish recorded more than 60 Taino names for fishes, sharks and marine mammals. Several of the names such as manatee (manati) and barracuda (baracutey) are in common use today.

There is a tendency to think that peoples in the past consumed foods simply to satisfy their hunger. Yet every culture in the world has developed its own unique cuisine. Unfortunately, the Spanish did not record any Taino recipes. Nevertheless, we know that the Tainos grilled, barbecued, smoked, salted (“corned”) and stewed fish in a pepper pot (with chili peppers and vegetables). They may also have baked fish in stone lined pits (much like the modern “clam bake”) and fried fish on flat clay griddles. Fish was the mainstay of the Taino diet. In fact, one might wonder how many children complained to their mothers: “Grouper for dinner, again?”

Taino meals were not as one-dimensional as we might expect. One of our most surprising discoveries occurred at the Coralie site on the north end of Grand Turk. At this site, some meals were prepared in an overturned carapace of a sea turtle and included fishes and iguanas in addition to turtle meat.

The Spanish noted that the most common Taino fishing techniques used hook and line, basket traps, nets and weirs (barriers used to prevent fishes from escaping enclosed areas at low tide). With regard to weirs, older residents of Middle Caicos told us that Farm Creek Pond (near Bambarra) once had a natural barrier (sandbar) across its mouth, and that during periods of extreme low tide you could walk out on the dry lake bed and pick up fish by hand. Today, this pond is entirely landlocked. In similar ponds and shallow bays, the Tainos kept fish in corrals of interwoven branches or canes. In this way, the fishes were kept alive until they were needed as food.

Archaeologists are able to identify many of the fishes consumed in pre-Columbian sites using a comparative method that is known as zooarchaeology. Zooarchaeologists carefully collect samples of animal bones from archaeological sites and then identify them by comparing the bones to known species. Using this approach, we now know that the most common fishes in West Indian archaeological deposits were grunts, parrotfishes, groupers, snappers and jacks. The Spanish recorded Taino names for many different species within these common fish families.

The most common food fish at the site of MC-6 on Middle Caicos was bonefish. This is partially due to the location of this site, which is on the southern bank-side shore of the island. Flats fishes were readily available close by the site, unlike reef fishes. Today, catching bonefish is a popular activity among sportfishermen, yet very few people consider eating them. However, their flesh is firm and flaky between all those small bones. Unlike today, “boniness” was not a criterion in prehistoric times for determining the palatability of various fish species.

Flesh preferences are often culturally defined.  Looking at archaeological sites throughout the Bahamas and Turks & Caicos Islands, the Lucayan Tainos’ favorite fish appears to be parrotfish and grunts. Is this because they couldn’t as easily capture the “better tasting” snappers or groupers? Were these high quality resources overfished? Is it possible they really preferred these fish species? Parrotfish are a soft fleshed but flavorful fish that are not esteemed in modern fish markets primarily because the flesh tends to spoil quickly. This would not have been a factor in prehistoric times. Grunts have tasty, firm white flesh but they contain a lot of bones and produce small fillets. However, these fishes are perfect for smoking and may explain why their head bones are so common in archaeological sites. It is also true that grunts and parrotfish are the most common fishes on the nearshore reefs.

One deterrent to fish edibility that affects both prehistoric and modern peoples is the possibility of ciguatera poisoning. This occurs most famously in barracuda but is also very common in jacks, groupers and snappers, as these are all high trophic level carnivores. Contrary to another popular belief, this poison is not always correlated to body size. Jacks can be very common in archaeological sites, but by modern standards they are considered barely edible. Snappers and groupers have the gold standard of fish flesh — firm, mild, “meaty” flesh that is low in fat and contains few bones. The Taino diet always included these carnivore fishes but they were never the dominant fish that they are in today’s modern diet.

When Taino men came home from the sea, they knew exactly what types of fish they were eating, and their wives would prepare the fish in appropriate dishes. Today, zooarchaeologists usually know which fish they are eating based on years of studying bones (and years of enjoying Caribbean seafood). In recent years, the demand for seafood has resulted in the importation of foreign species that mimic, but fail to meet, the qualities of the most popular fishes. In fact, it recently was reported that 80% of the seafood consumed in the United States was imported from a foreign country. You can no longer be certain what you are served, which raises the question: Do you know which fish you are eating?

Following Columbus’ first voyage, there was a huge exchange of foods between the Americas and Europe. This “Columbian Exchange” sent mostly plant foods such as corn, beans, squash, tomatoes, potatoes, vanilla and chocolate to Europe; with cattle, goats, sheep, pigs, wheat, olives and various other domesticates to the Americas. We are now in the midst of what might be called the “Asian Exchange.” In order to meet increasing demand for certain fishes, in the face of declining stocks due to overfishing, tons of fish are imported from Asia every year. The problem that has developed is that these fish often are mislabeled as grouper or other prized food fishes. In some ways this situation is reminiscent of the shift from American lobster (Homarus americanus) to the less expensive Caribbean spiny lobster (Panulirus argus) in U.S. restaurants over the past three decades. The two are not the same; they taste different and have different flesh textures, yet both are marketed as “lobster.”

The present situation is more extreme. The Florida Attorney General’s office recently tested 24 grouper samples from Florida restaurants and only 7 of the 24 were confirmed grouper. A common substitute is Asian catfish. Their suppliers either duped the restaurateurs or the restaurants were complicit in turning a blind eye to what they must have known was not really grouper. To counter this trend of misrepresentation, the Florida Department of Agriculture recently posted a web page to help consumers distinguish Florida grouper from Asian catfish:

www.fl-seafood.com/consumers/grouper_substitution.htm.

So how do you know if the fish that you were served is the same as advertised? First, if you are in the Turks & Caicos and if you are eating at a local restaurant you can relax (although the cruise ships are provisioned in Florida so there could be some problems there).  Second, you could ask your waiter if the grouper is from the genus Epinephelus or if the red snapper is Lutjanus, and then watch their startled response. Third, you can send a portion of your meal for DNA testing, but this will add considerably to the cost of the meal. Actually, if you order a grouper sandwich smothered in tartar sauce or a grouper filet covered in Creole or pepper sauce (a more Taino way of dining), then it doesn’t really matter what kind of fish you are eating, and it is virtually impossible to tell.

We can offer you another solution, but it requires ordering the whole fish and then checking its teeth. Groupers have hundreds of tiny pointed teeth that curve up the inside of the mouth. Snappers’ teeth lie only on one plane and they have very large canines at the front. Parrotfish teeth can’t be mistaken for any other fish as they have plates with multiple rows of diamond shaped teeth (they tend to lose a lot of teeth biting coral heads). Grunts and jacks both have a single row of small teeth. Barracuda have razor sharp flat teeth with sharp points that are similar to the teeth of large tunas. These differences in anatomy reflect different fish diets, with the carnivorous fish having the sharp pointed teeth and the herbivores having teeth for crushing and grinding.

To us, the best solution is to eat like a Taino. You can go fishing and capture your dinner with total confidence in the species you are eating. You can go to the priciest of restaurants and trust their honesty. Or you can avoid grouper and snapper and order fish like parrotfish, grunt and porgy. You won’t find these at upscale restaurants, but there are many local establishments that know how to prepare these in delicious dishes. While recently dining in Port Royal, Jamaica, a group of us ordered the “steamed fish.” When you inquire about what kind of fish you will be served in these small fishing villages the answer is often “reef fish.” Each person at the table that night got a different species of reef fish, among them grunts, parrotfish and juvenile groupers. Each was tasty and prepared well and we definitely knew what we were eating. Now add a little pepper sauce and you will recognize immediately the fabulous flavor of Taino dining.

Dr. Bill Keegan is Curator of Caribbean Archaeology at the Florida Museum of Natural History, University of Florida, Gainesville, Florida. Dr. Betsy Carlson is an Archaeologist at Southeastern

Archaeological Research, Inc., Jonesville, Florida.

By Katya Brightwell

“Everybody think it’s artificial, think it’s paint on the bottom there, but it’s not. It’s different from other places. It’s unique, it’s just unique.”

“Impossibly iridescent. It’s a magical place.”

Ask anyone to describe the colour of the water in Chalk Sound National Park in Providenciales and there follows a long pause, a little exclamation and then another pause . . . a concentrated search for the exact words to convey the sense of a colour that is so . . . so . . . indescribable.

Officially designated a National Park almost 20 years ago, this beautiful expanse of water, peppered with little cays and bordered by undulating ridges and valleys of untouched green bush, is certainly one of the most stunning natural areas on Providenciales. Spanning over 5 1/2 square miles, the park is a haven of tranquillity and nature in an island whose main arteries now bustle with the hum of commercialism and development.

This national park is home to hundreds of species of marine life, birds and plants. The shallow lagoon is linked to the ocean via narrow inlets at its southwestern edge and, with its fine white sandy bottom and red, black and white mangrove fringes, it provides a safe nursery ground for — amongst other marine species — barracuda, bonefish and nurse sharks. Hawksbill and green turtles have also been spotted amongst the cays. And, on land, two of the many native plants that flourish are the rare summer orchid Encyclia inaguensis and prime examples of the “dildo” or “old man” cactus. Although many houses and villas do now line some of its once barren shores, the architecture is low-lying and the land not overdeveloped. Real estate is sought after because of the beautiful location and proximity to the ocean and, after almost 20 years, building is booming. The area, says ambassador of the Turks & Caicos Real Estate Association Kathryn Brown, is a high-end location. As well as being popular amongst residents, Chalk Sound is especially prized amongst families visiting the island for short term villa rentals. “People like that it’s a distance away from the centre of town, a little remote,” she says.

A drive through Chalk Sound does feel like visiting an outlying village in Providenciales. But it is a “village” with a rich history and over the centuries it has served, in many different ways, as a hub of activity and played an important role in the survival of island residents. There is evidence that the shores of Chalk Sound were well-populated by the earliest human inhabitants of the Turks & Caicos Islands — the Lucayan Indians. On the northeastern side of the park, there is a small triangle of land, bordering the water, which holds as yet undocumented secrets of these transitory people. Brian Riggs, curator of the National Environmental Centre, discovered this historical site a few years ago along with a colleague. The area, which would have been inhabited as a temporary fishing village sometime between 1100 and 1500 AD, has been noted but no surveys or excavations have yet taken place. “I was just walking and I suppose I know what to look for,” says Riggs. “The most important clue that tells you that it was a habitation site is the remains of bits and pieces made by people, like pieces of pottery and broken up shell material. You can also spot charcoal remains, dark soil, that kind of thing.” To the west of the sound there is another, larger, patch of land where the sound, creek and ocean converge, that, he adds, would also have been an ideal location for the Lucayans to set up home. He suspects that once investigated, this area may actually turn out to be one of the largest Lucayan sites in the country, with possibly several hundred inhabitants.

Current residents who would be able to reveal more about the Lucayans’ presence are some of the sound’s longest-standing populace — the Turks & Caicos Rock Iguanas. Visiting biologists indicated in a comprehensive study of this national park last year that there are over 50 endangered or threatened species in its midst.  One of these is the rock iguana and Chalk Sound is unique in providing a home to the only surviving population on Providenciales. The ironshore cays in the middle of the lagoon are these ancient reptiles’ last safe habitats on Providenciales and one of the reasons why the sound is a protected area. Dr. Glenn Gerber, an iguana specialist based at San Diego Zoo in California, visits the Turks & Caicos Islands regularly to monitor iguana populations around the archipelago. He states that historically, Turks & Caicos Rock Iguanas were found on all of the islands on the Caicos Bank and the Turks Bank but, in the last 30 years alone, at least 15 island populations have gone extinct. “Today they occupy less than 5% of their former range,” Dr. Gerber laments. “The reason iguanas still survive on these tiny islands in Chalk Sound and not on Provo is very simple,” he explains. “Provo has introduced cats and dogs that kill and eat iguanas.” So, although dogs have managed to swim to some of the cays located nearer to the shores of Chalk Sound and destroy any resident populations there, the natural populations on the more remote cays have remained safe. He stresses that the populations in Chalk Sound must remain protected if the species is to escape extinction.

Although the iguana did feature in the diet of Islanders for many years, it never, as far as we know, became a tradable product. But fast-forward to the early 1900s and some of the other creatures of Chalk Sound did feature in a sudden surge of industrial activity on the island. George Silly, a Greek who moved to the Turks & Caicos Islands from Florida, saw potential in Chalk Sound and leased the area in 1910 to establish a number of businesses there. He lived, according to historian H.E. Sadler, “on a barren bluff between the two entrances to Chalk Sound where he had his thatched roofed cottage, a small store and cannery.” The entrepreneur took advantage of the rich marine life in the lagoon to set up export industries involving the raising and canning of spiny lobsters (or crawfish as they are often referred to here), turtles and other fish products, all of which proved successful in trade for the next few years.

Goldray Ewing remembers hearing about the lobster canning industry at Chalk Sound from his late grandfather Hamilton Ewing, who was the foreman there prior to the outbreak of the first World War. He estimates that about 1/5 of the island’s population (standing then at around 300) were involved in the business. “The sound was so full of lobsters, that it was like a holding pen for them,” Ewing says. Groups of men would catch the lobsters with ease and ferry them in hand-built canoes to the purpose-built processing plant up on the ridge. “They’d use a wooden furnace to boil the crawfish and they used every part. The tail and stuff would be canned as tails, the legs would be canned as legs, the whips (antennae) would be canned as whips. Some they’d just boil and some they’d season too.” The industry was a success, with Sadler writing that annual shipments reached values of almost $4,000 in these early days. “It was an advanced thing for those times,” says Ewing, proudly. “People don’t usually think that would have been happening here at that time. It was very sophisticated.”

With a ban on any boat travel, World War I disrupted these industries (as it did many avenues of survival for the island), says Ewing, and they were never revived. George Silly died in Providenciales in 1917. The processing plant, built on a ridge at an area called Capron Bight to the east of where the airport is now, still stands, a reminder of these significant times. A couple of years before his death, George Silly also began sponging in Chalk Sound. Sponging was a leading industry in the neighbouring Bahamas and, in the late 1800s, was also set up in various parts of the Turks & Caicos Islands, notably Parrot Cay, Dellis Cay and South Caicos. According to Sadler, Chalk Sound was used by George Silly for the artificial propagation of the animal, with a quarter of a million cuttings of the “reef” type of sponge sown. Although this industry also suffered its demise, the sponges sown and natural ones also present provided a source of income, however small, for many residents of the island for years to come.

James Oswald Rigby was born in Providenciales in December 1916. “Old Zarre,” as he is known to old friends, has lived all of his 90 years in Five Cays. The closest settlement to Chalk Sound, in his youth he and other residents would walk the narrow foot road (whose route followed present-day South Dock Road) or take a boat around through the narrow inlets to the lagoon to make a living “fishinin’ and farmin’.” Mr. Rigby would keep a small sculling boat in the sound and, as well as catching lobster and fish, he remembers doing the sponging there too, although he can’t recall when he started. “That’s a mystery you see, because I start that when I was very young. I start it first with my father. I’d say maybe 30 odd to 40 years all that sponging — from my father’s time to my time and the two put together, I’d say about 40 years. And after that I cut off of that and just tend to the fish and conch.”

Mr. Rigby describes how he would easily spot the sponges through a waterglass and then dive down to tear them or cut them off with a knife. Having loaded the boat, he would scull to the rock and lay the sponges out to dry. “The drying depends on the type of sponge. Chalk Sound sponge would take about four days time before you could place it back in the water when it drained good. You gotta let it die good before you put it back.” The potent smell of the sponge dying, he says, stays with him to this day. A rock crawl, maybe six foot square, would keep the sponges from washing away while they soaked for another day or so, and then they would be carried or transported on the boat back to Five Cays, where the last bits of mud would be beaten out before they were sold. The sponges would be grouped into a “strand” which consisted of 30 normal size or 15 large pieces, says Mr. Rigby. He and other Five Cays residents would sell these on to middle men in the community or, if they had time and transport, would take them direct to South Caicos to sell, where they would be baled and shaped before being shipped to the “big man” in the Bahamas.

For the amount of time and work involved, the benefits were small. Mr. Rigby remembers selling a strand for the equivalent of 8 to 10 cents, depending on the type of sponge (grass, hardhead, reef, velvet, yellow or wool). For this he could buy two quarts of flour. “Everybody just trying to make a living and everyone just getting a bit,” says Mr. Rigby, remembering those hard times. Chalk Sound was also a popular farming area and Mr. Rigby had two fields up on the ridge which he “worked” to raise corn, potatoes, cane, peas and more. Although some people would sell their produce, he says that most would just use and share. “Everybody’s farmin’ here. Everybody. So I’d come up to you and say, ‘You been to field today? You get any okra or beans?’  ‘Yes, I got some, you take what you want.’ Everybody got enough, we don’t have to buy it. There was plenty.”

The iguanas also provided a source of food back in the day and Mr. Rigby remembers them fondly. “It taste like chicken. First time I ate it I was very glad and I liked it and after I get to know what it was I used to go down and get some too,” he recalls, describing how he would catch a dozing reptile. “You can take food, put it on the rock — like bread or rice or anything like cooked food — you get a little bit of that and you cut a noose from some wire on a piece of stick and you stand off and they go enjoying themselves eatin’ and like they’re going to sleep and then they see a shadow around their neck and that’s how you catch them,” he laughs. People would also come from Northside to fish and sponge in Chalk Sound, and continued to do so until recently. Despite a blight that reportedly killed off most of the sponges in the Turks & Caicos Islands in 1938, Kevin “Babar” Harvey remembers sponging continuing in Chalk Sound well into the 1980s, until other sources of income became more readily available on the island. He would accompany his grandfather, an old hand at the business, on the hour-long trek there before he started his studies at high school. “You had no car back then, so you had to wake up at four o’clock in the morning, eat some fried cake and get yourself a big jug of sweet water, if there was sugar on the island, and then you’d walk down to Chalk Sound.”

The work involved for such small rewards amazes Babar now. The cutting, drying and rehydrating process would mean multiple trips back and forth. “The amount of walking you’d have to do for that one boat of sponge!” he exclaims. “The sponge people (from Nassau), they only used to come in twice a year. So you’d be waiting a whole six months just to get paid for that stuff too. And when the guy come you was getting only 50 cents the most for one of those sponge. A dollar was the top price. So like the big big sponge (maybe three foot long), we used to cut them into pieces, tell them it was too big to cut off the bottom like that. So there’d be six pieces and we’d get three dollars for that!” For the last 25 years or so, in comparison to the years before, Chalk Sound has seen little human activity. As a protected area, any forms of fishing and sponging are no longer permitted, although that does not mean, of course, that prohibited activities do not take place there. The lagoon and surrounding bush are open to use for non-polluting recreational activities and residents sometimes spot the odd windsurfer out on the water or a few kayakers venturing out to explore the hundreds small cays. In the last couple of years, the Turks & Caicos Maritime Heritage Federation has brought sailing to the area, using the safe, shallow waters for familiarisation sails for primary schoolchildren to learn about their country’s traditional wooden sloops, which for many years served as the lifeblood of the island by trading with neighbouring nations.

Deputy Director of the Department of Environment and Coastal Resources, Michelle Fulford-Gardiner, would like to see Chalk Sound sensitively and carefully developed into an eco-tourism centre. Apart from the odd tourist seen stopping off in a rental car to admire the colour of the water and the view, the area is relatively unknown amongst the majority of visitors. “There have been ideas to use it as a place for rental of the Caicos sloops, with some sort of visitor centre guiding sailing trips, maybe maps for walking trails, that kind of thing,” she says. “A lot of people that come here want to sail and, for not so experienced sailors, Chalk Sound provides a really good area to sail about. I mean it’s so beautiful. You can just grab a picnic basket, go sailing and you have a full day’s activity.” If these ideas were to be realised, they would be taking Chalk Sound back to the mid to late-1970s when, for a while, regattas featured there. Babar and Goldray Ewing remember sailing in Chalk Sound “with a whole day of festivities and the greasy pole too.” There would sometimes be 10 or 12 boats racing, 13 or 14-footers handmade especially for the shallow water of the sound. “Some of them you had to take the wooden keel off, just to get them in the creek,” remembers Babar.

Babar says he would like to build a boat himself for Chalk Sound. He would name it after his daughter: Vana. “To have regattas again there would be great. ’Cos now you’ve got somebody to perform in front of too. Before there was no houses there, no one to watch!” H.E. Ross, Programmes Manager for the Turks & Caicos Maritime Heritage Federation, thinks Chalk Sound and this non-profit preservationist organisation would be a perfect match, especially in this, the Year of the Environment. “That type of ecotourism is what we are encouraging, to use Chalk Sound as an example of how to have an environmentally conscious recreational area. It’s too beautiful to not enjoy as a real treasure, but we have to be so careful that we don’t damage anything about it. That we don’t disturb its delicate balance and beauty.”

And asked what really makes it that amazing colour, even the person responsible for its protection has to admit defeat. “I don’t really know,” says Ms. Fulford-Gardiner. “But possibily . . . it’s an enclosed water body, that connects to the ocean only with small channels, which means there are very little nutrients getting to that area. There is no proliferation of algae in that area and usually it’s the algae that adds the green to the water. Maybe that’s it.” To be lost for words in describing a natural phenomenon, or to be at a loss to explain its natural beauty scientifically must be sacred. Any development of Chalk Sound has to ensure that this remains the case.

Source material from: Turks Islands Landfall – A History of the Turks & Caicos Islands. H.E. Sadler, United Cooperative Printers Ltd., Jamaica, 1997.

By Mila Schukin ~ Photos By Patricia Duff

Despite being known as “the birthplace” of modern-day Providenciales, Turtle Cove is very underappreciated, in my view. Although Princess Radziwill and friends hung out here in the 1960s and 140-foot yachts are frequent visitors, Turtle Cove has a calm, lazy mood that would soothe the soul of the most frenzied “Type A” personality. In and around its meandering byways you’ll find pale bridges over canals, upside-down bronze mermaids floating in air, tipsy crewmen tossing wahoo entrails to sharks and the Tiki Hut, one of Provo’s oldest restaurants. At dusk everything turns silver and mauve (a moment before it was turquoise and gold). Little marketing of Turtle Cove takes place and, to my knowledge, little has been written about its history. Considering the well-heeled, enterprising renegades these Islands attract, I’m sure there’s much to know.

In the 1980s, an event called “Sunday Brunch” took place every week at the Tiki Hut. It was attended by Turtle Cove’s early developers and a man named Russell DeCoudres was one of the habitués. He was a former U.S. Air Force pilot and realtor from Florida who came to Providenciales in 1975 and spent the rest of his life around Turtle Cove Marina. Another man might have bought a condo in Nassau and taken things easy. Russell, instead, journeyed to a remote, little-developed island, where it was arduous to get supplies, with few prospects for generating income — an obstinate, restless romantic in search of a dream.

Russ DeCoudres didn’t want much. Just a place close to a nice fishing area. With a great view. A view of an other-worldly harbor, plus Grace Bay. Also very private, in the middle of thick virgin “bush”. And a good location wind-wise and access-wise. Better a bit elevated in case of weather. Plus room to grow peppers and tomatoes maybe, and lots of handy firewood for cooking fish, if propane ran out. Sun, of course. He wanted space, freedom and total self-sufficiency, with hummingbirds and geckoes at his doorstep.

In 1982 he built Breezy House for his family. Halfway up Suzy Turn from Turtle Cove Marina, right below the top of the ridge, it’s probably the geographical centerpoint of Provo, a short walk to the harbor and Leeward Highway both. But because the cove is still relatively undeveloped, the view is of low, 113 hillside stretching away in all directions. A few white Caribbean-style roofs nestle in the green distance. At night the long arc of Grace Bay’s lights is both close enough and far enough for total enchantment. From a mariner’s perspective, the site Russell chose is the still-water part of a wave, just down from the crest, where you avoid the rough conditions of peaks and troughs but still see 360º around.

Rumour has it that there was already a concrete, two-room house on the one-acre lot, with power connected. It probably sparked Russ’s imagination: I can see him getting up on the roof, and his mind starting to work. Essentially, he merely added another storey, but how he did it is important. He built the second floor of wood, entirely open-plan, with a cathedral ceiling and jalousie windows and doors on all sides. (For the uninitiated, jalousies are horizontal glass louvers that you crank open for the desired amount of ventilation; they make the indoors feel like outside, but are not manufactured any longer. They are rare even on Provo). The bedrooms downstairs thus stay shady and cool longer, while the upstairs living area is open to tradewinds, light and the great open sky all day long.
Everyone knows wood construction is subject to termite and hurricane hazards in the tropics, but there’s no question the “feel” of a wooden structure is natural, airy, weightless. If you care to take chances it’s worth it, for the sake of feeling that you’re shaded and dry, but still in communication with the living world around. (And of course, it would have been difficult to add on a concrete second story, but that’s another matter.)

He built a deck at the back, looking down on the cove, partially screened for sleeping and partially open for sunning. Two sets of French doors lead from the living area to this deck, and when the doors and windows are all open, the house is a high restful aerie nestled in a soft private forest. Standing on the deck you look over billowing ironwood trees and gumbo-limbos to the reef beyond, and if you’re lucky, glimpse sails moving slowly out to sea.

His next concern was clever planning for efficiency and comfort. The house already had a 20,000 gallon cistern, and Russ installed a large solar panel near the water heater. He constructed what was probably the first sunken tub on Provo. By the kitchen, a small pantry and adjoining powder room create a flange that breaks up the interior space just enough; the window over the kitchen sink has a view of the water, while to the side a larger window shows who’s coming up the drive. Lots of fans hang from high white rafters. He laid floors of ordinary light coral tile, unifying the space and adding cool subtle color throughout. Shuttered storage nooks and cabinets were tucked in discrete corners. A central, nautical-type stairwell descends to the “hold” from the main floor. Best of all, the handrail of the steps that lead up to the entrance is a 12-foot high stone buttress. It is a single powerful note of distinction on an otherwise plain structure, but it also made it possible to place a full utility room underneath its arch.

Lastly, to the simple 20 x 40-foot rectangle Russell added a few low-key gracious touches. Flanking the front door are flowery stained-glass sidelights, rustic but bright. Getting such things to Provo in the early 1980s could not have been easy. Glass block with a wave pattern separates the master bath from the utility room, and the original powder room cabinet top was mottled resin with an integral scallop shell sink. He put crown moldings in the bedrooms and made all the windowsills of white marble.

Outdoors, low native-stone walls encircle the front garden and drive. He trucked in soil and planted aloes and a single Royal Poinciana — the most glorious of tropical trees, imported God knows how — beneath his front door.

The house is well-organized and uncluttered in the way a well-made boat is, and as perfectly proportioned, with a few suitable ornaments to gladden the heart. One can only marvel at the controlled creative effort that went into achieving something modest, graceful and complete.

How I bought the house

Shopping for a house on Provo with my realtor Rex was a lot of fun, but I didn’t find anything I liked for a long time. Breezy House was a small old listing in the back of the TCREA Real Estate magazine and seemed like a last resort, but it did say Turtle Cove, so we went to look. Later I learned it was Russ DeCoudre’s house and that after his death, his children had rented it out for some years and finally put it on the market in 2002.

I was privileged to have Wendel Ewing as the contractor for restoring Breezy House. His father had worked for Pastor James Williams, foreman on the Kempe projects featured in a previous issue of Times of the Islands. Patiently, tenaciously, Wendel devoted endless hours working out solutions that provided modern luxuries without violating the integrity of the place. It was so easy to work with someone who didn’t miss a date, who was always one step ahead and whose main ambition was to accomplish what was necessary, get it done in good time and done right, in spite of delays and complications getting suitable replacement parts and fixtures. It is due to him that Breezy House is what it is today.

We made only essential alterations. Besotted as I was with the exotic yet homey character of the house, I wanted to preserve it all; thankfully Wendel had the wisdom to understand what was salvageable and what required fundamental reconstruction. There were no errors of judgment on his part. The cracked tiled tub in the master bath really had to go, so it was scrapped and replaced by a Jacuzzi I think Russ would have enjoyed. The second bath was also rebuilt into a clean cool refuge.

The kitchen required tricky reconfiguration in order to accommodate bigger appliances, but remains basically the same compact space. The partitioned deck was merged into one huge mosquito-free area. We lounge, read, surf the Web, eat, drink, entertain and sleep there — only bathing and cooking facilities are absent. Following Russ’s lead, we tried to buy all we needed on-island, and made use of local products, such as ground conch-shell countertops made by Phil Thompson, where possible.

I haven’t mentioned the one element that did introduce vibrant change — color! Recently arrived artists from Haiti painted the house in shades they selected themselves, with splashes of pomegranate, aqua, squash, marine blue and purest white. Like one of those old children’s novelties where crystals grow and bloom in water, each color seems to have been born to ornament its space and flatter its neighbor. I think Russell would have appreciated his pink-and-beige Breezy House transformed into a sparkling little sloop anchored on a West Indies hillside.

Life in the Turks & Caicos was very different for everybody in 1980. Living on Provo, Russ kept body and soul together by selling real estate lots when there were not many people here to buy them. He worked with developer Ford Carter, a connection of his from Hialeah and Delray Beach in Florida, sold land for Provident Ltd. and built the very first home in Long Bay.

But Russ was much more than a real estate agent. Often impolitic, frugal to a fault and a bit cantankerous at times, he was nonetheless in many ways the happy spirit of Provo. Warm and interested, welcoming and helpful, gentle in nature, Russ befriended people who needed a friend, reeled in stray expatriates for sumptuous Thanksgiving dinners, and made his home a haven filled with food and good company for visitors to the island. He would go out of his way to assist newcomers, provided a roof overhead and a bed when they were needed, and gave many an Islander and ex-pat a helping hand. Because he kept his ear to the ground and generally knew what was going on, he took on the task of writing a community newsletter to tell about local happenings, who had visited and why, social events, the latest real estate items and general gossip. In many people both on the island and abroad, Russ DeCoudres and his cheerful Breezy House kindled a real and lasting affection. Sadly, Russ’s sojourn here ended in 1993 when he was forced to return to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina with his ailing wife Liz. He died in Florida not long after she did, at age 86.

The life-loving artistic streak in the DeCoudres family is alive today in Russ’s grandson — artist Graham Weinroth, who lives in Florida but depicts the people and places of the Turks & Caicos Islands in his sensitive, color-saturated canvases. He names his grandfather Russell as having been his chief inspiration. Russ’s oldest son Frank, who helped him build Breezy House, now lives back in Florida too, as does his second son. Russ’s nephew Graham recently sold Jumbie House, Russ’s second property on the lot below and now resides in Grand Turk.

Russ DeCoudre’s home probably won’t remain here forever — its tenuous historical significance won’t override the commercial value of the land it’s on. Suzy Turn is already much noisier than it was in Russ’s day. Anyway, its meaning would be lost in the coming crowd of townhouses and apartments. I don’t care too much, and I think neither would Russ — it’s enough for a while to be part of a place that gives so much back in return.

I’d like extend special thanks to Alan Duff for supplying photos and recollections of Russ and to Hugh O’Neill, who provided background information about Providenciales in the early days.

Flitting about the reef for food and courtship, butterflyfish swap wings for fins.

Story By Suzanne Gerber ~ Photos By Barbara Shively

English speakers call this colorful, delicate and playful species of fish by a poetic name — butterflyfish — but its scientific name tells a different story. Chaetodontidae, pronounced key-toe-DON-ti-day, comes from the Greek words chaite (“hair”) and odontos (“tooth”). This far more prosaic appellation derives from the fish’s rows of bristly teeth. Even if this thin, colorful fish didn’t flit around underwater landscapes in his search for food, Barbara and I would stick to the name butterfly.

Worldwide, there are some 114 different families of butterflyfish (scores of them in certain Pacific regions), but here in the Caribbean we usually encounter just half a dozen, four of which Barbara has captured on film (and now digital memory cards). But don’t ask her how long it can take. One elusive type, the longsnout, managed to avoid her lens for three years!

With their impressive array of colors and patterns, butterflyfish are among the most common sights on any reef. They have thin, laterally compressed bodies that resemble their handsome cousins, the angelfish. Like their winged namesakes, butterflyfish spend their days hunting with their needlelike snouts in search of coral polyps, worms and other tasty treats.

There are few drab varieties, but most butterflyfish display striking patterns with backgrounds of blue, red, orange or yellow. A commonality among them is a dark band across their eyes and round, eye-like dots. Both of these markings are camouflage. The eyeband hides their real eye while the “false eye,” near the tail, confuses predators, who consequently don’t know which end to attack. And when they do chomp down on the rear end, the damage is far less severe than a blow to the head would be.

Butterflyfish, like their close relatives the angelfish, have laterally compressed bodies (extremely thin when viewed from the front). This body style gives them great maneuverability to negotiate the coral reefs and sea grass beds they inhabit. If you are looking at one directly from the front, top or back, it is so thin it almost disappears from view.

Juveniles are usually solitary swimmers (occasionally taking on the reef role of “cleaner fish”), though as they age they sometimes travel in small schools. Most frequently, however, adults are observed in pairs. Given that the average lifespan is about three years and the fact that researchers have tracked the same stable pairs for at least that length of time, it’s fair to say these little guys mate for life. A sweet behavioral characteristic: since butterflyfish use vision to find their prey, couples’ communication is visual too. If a pair becomes separated, one may swim upwards so they can find each other.

Research is limited, but the common wisdom is that butterflyfish reproduce through seasonal spawning, usually at dusk. Depending on where they are, that could mean winter and early spring, midsummer, or at random times throughout the year. It’s quite the scene, if you’re lucky enough to catch it. Females look visibly pregnant until they are ready to drop the eggs, at which time the male swims behind and below her, putting his snout to good use nudging her belly. All this is happening as the parents rise up in the water column, but  the moment the female releases a white cloud into the ocean, the adults descend to the bottom. (In one species it’s more of a cartoon-fish scene, with the male chasing his bride around a large sponge.)

Banded butterflyfish

You don’t have to be a marine biologist to figure out how this variety got its name. Banded butterflies sport two dark midbody bands, including one that paints a stripe along the eye line. Like most butterflyfish, the bandeds are usually solitary or in pairs, found in shallow waters around coral reefs, active by day and at night heading for shelter since they are particularly vulnerable to night predators like sharks and moray eels. Babies are adorable, with a large, ringed black spot at the base of the dorsal fin. Even as juveniles they have four vertical bars, but their coloring is brownish-yellow rather than white.

If threatened, banded butterflyfish will turn and face its aggressor, lower its head and raise its doral spines fully erect. This is to intimidate the aggressor and to remind it that the butterflyfish is much too spiny to make an easy meal.

Spotfin butterflyfish

Though not uncommon in the Caribbean, this species is a more frequent sighting on the shallow reefs around Florida. They, too, are usually seen in pairs or small groups (maybe four or five but rarely in schools). One of the spotfins’ main distinctions among butterflyfish is that it swims and feeds over bare, sandy bottoms. (They also fancy dining on anemones, which their kith and kin don’t.)

The way to recognize the spotfin is from, well, the spot on its (dorsal) fin. Look for a white body featuring a black bar that runs vertically through the eye and across the head as well as a thin yellow bar stretching from the gill opening to the base of the pectoral fin. (In juveniles, a second black bar runs from the base of the dorsal fin to the base of the anal fin, with an additional spot there.)

Foureye butterflyfish

This variety exhibits typical butterflyfish behavior and differs mainly in appearance, which as with its compadres, is what gives the foureye its name. It’s the large, dark spot on the rear portion of the body, surrounded by a brilliant white ring (the spot serving as a false eye). A black vertical bar on the head runs down the actual eye, obscuring it from predators. The adult foureye is handsomely patterned: a white body with dark, thin lines radiating diagonally from the middle of his body to the top and the bottom. It is the only butterfly species with these converging lines. While foureyes usually mate for life, sometimes they can be seen in groups of up to 15.

The isopod pictured on the foureye butterflyfish on the previous page can be found on most of the Caribbean butterflyfish types. According to Marilyn Schotte at the Smithsonian Institution’s Natural History Museum, isopods are parasites and each type of isopod has a favorite host species to which it will attach. As juveniles they are not discriminating but will grab onto pretty much any handy fish. As they mature they will switch to their preferred species, usually attaching to  the mouth or around the gills. Isopods all start out as juveniles, become males next and then, if there are few or no females around, some of them turn into females.  In some species the female is non-feeding, living off its reserves long enough to reproduce. The juvenile and male isopods suck the blood of the host fish — but do not kill their hosts.

Longsnout butterflyfish

The fish that so long eluded Barbara tends to inhabit deeper parts of the reef (and walls) than its peers, which may explain why its image is so hard to capture. The longsnout is more of a loner, usually pairing up only to breed, and never deigns to take on the role of cleaner fish. And, the longsnout looks totally different from its brethren. It’s a good bit smaller (two to three inches, whereas most others are six), with a tall and narrow body, not disc-shaped. The upper half is yellow-orange, darkening into a blackish dorsal fin. The lower half is white, it sports orange bands on its head, and the snout is longer than others’, relative to the rest of its body. Favorite snacks are sea urchins’ tubelike feet and the tentacles of tubeworms.

New York-based Suzanne Gerber writes about scuba, travel and health for a variety of publications. Book your next dive trip by contacting Suzanne at suzanne@worldofdiving.com.

Avid underwater photographer Barbara Shively discovered Grand Turk diving in 1997 and has returned every year. It is her passion to share the coral reefs’ beauty through her photographs. A variety of her prints are on sale at Art Provo, located in The Regent Village, Providenciales.