Kingdom of Fire

“Fire coral will be the last remaining living coral on earth.”

I remember writing those words once, in a bluster of prophetic arrogance. That’s not exactly the most positive Earth Day message to consider as I dive this week on a shallow reef in the French West Indies at Île Fourchue, Saint Barthélemy.

First of all, fire coral is not even a true coral. Instead, it is more closely related to hydra, a very small predatory animal similar to jellyfish and other stinging anemones. But, for the sake of consistency, I will still refer to it as fire coral.

Fire coral can be either blade-like or encrusting. It is colored a mustard-yellow to dark orange, often with white edges. It has strong stinging cells that on contact cause intense pain lasting from two days to two weeks. Relapses of inflammation, itching, and welts are common. Fire coral releases venom through tiny hairs called cilia. It is their only defense mechanism against predators, including thoughtless human beings. Do not touch it, or any coral.

Microscopic venomous hair–cilium–inflicts intense pain that can last from two days to two weeks. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Because fire coral has the unusual ability to grow in two different forms, some marine biologists believe it has a survival edge over other Caribbean corals. It can grow like a bush with a stem and branches sprouting upward, or in sheets that appear as a flat coating across rocks and other surfaces.

“Fire corals have been around for millions of years and what they are doing is pretty darn successful,” says California State University marine biologist Peter Edmunds. For the past 30 years, he has been traveling to the Caribbean to document the life history of fire coral on inshore reefs.

“They are now poised to be… the inheritors of the reef, while other corals, particularly stony corals, die back,” he said. ”When it’s not stormy, they can produce branches and exploit the light and plankton in the water. When it’s storming and everybody gets beaten up, it loses its branches but it still has its sheets, which it can use to spread out and claim more territory.”

A sunken granite boulder near shore is slowly becoming encased in a sheathing of fire coral while fire coral branches take root and sprout from the surface of the dead rock. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Researchers believe this adaptation may help save Caribbean reefs, which have been plagued by hurricanes, global warming, disease, and an overabundance of algae. Because fire corals are thriving as other corals die off, they are creating structures for fish and other organisms. Fire corals “are going to be very important habitat providers because they are able to survive under these stresses,” says Colleen Bove, a marine ecologist at Boston University.

But fire coral is not bulletproof. Some species have brittle skeletons that can easily be broken during storms, by anchors, or by careless divers and collectors who are taking fish for the aquarium trade. I watched blueheaded wrasse spawn over fire coral. Rock beauties, butterfly fish, yellow tangs, and the aggressive beau gregory retreat into branches of fire coral when threatened. In Brazil, fire coral colonies are extensively damaged by divers harvesting yellowtail damselfish. The fire coral is deliberately smashed and the fish hiding among the branches are captured in plastic bags.

Bluehead wrasse spawn at midday on a full moon over a pinnacle of fire coral at Île Fourchue, Saint Barthélemy in the French West Indies Video © Jeffrey Cardenas

Reproduction in fire corals is more complex than in other reef-building corals. The polyps reproduce asexually, producing the jellyfish-like medusae. These contain the reproductive organs that release eggs and sperm into the water. Fertilized eggs develop into free-swimming larvae that will eventually settle on the substrate and form new colonies. 

Most divers wouldn’t mind seeing less fire coral on the reef, but I like to think of fire coral as a tactile warning to tread more carefully underwater. When the alternative may be a reef of dead rock, the sting of fire coral is a potent reminder that there is still life on that reef. And, it is one of the few ways the habitat has of fighting back.

Blue runners feed amid clusters of sargasso being swept over a West Indian reef of fire coral. Photograph © Jeffrey Cardenas

As always, sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; the places, the flora, fauna, and people encountered along the way are equally important.

Please click “Follow” so that you don’t miss a new update,- and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage. I welcome your comments and will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.

Instagram: StellaMarisSailing / Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text, Photography, and Videos © Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives – Rev. John C. Baker

A Reunion with an Old Friend

A close encounter with a permit on a shallow reef in the Virgin Islands brings back memories of decades spent fishing for them. Photograph © Jeffrey Cardenas

It seems like another lifetime ago that I was obsessed with this fish.

This fish is a permit, for those who may not know. For those of you who do know permit, you probably understand my obsession. It is regarded as the most challenging fish to catch on a fly rod. Some saltwater fly fishermen consider catching a permit in shallow water a lifetime achievement. Just look at that eye; it sees everything and quickly senses danger. It’s spooky; it perceives movement above and below the surface of the water. A permit often vanishes before an angler even sees it.

I was a fly fishing guide for several decades in my youth. Serious saltwater anglers made pilgrimages to my home waters of Key West each year for an opportunity to catch a permit. I hunted these fish all day, nearly every day, for years. Some days the results were heroic. Other days ended in humiliation. Many anglers fished for a week, never made contact, and went home in despair.

A few years ago, I traded my skiff for a sailboat, I migrated from shallow water to blue water, and I exchanged my fly boxes for a locker full of charts to navigate around the world. I don’t fish for permit anymore–it’s another story for another time–but I dearly miss my encounters with this great fish. I loved seeing them feed on the flats, their tails quivering with excitement as they discovered a crab, shrimp, or other crustacean on the ocean bottom. But, it has been years since I have even seen a permit.

These two worlds united serendipitously yesterday on a shallow reef off the Caribbean island of St. John. I was underwater photographing a living stand of elkhorn coral in the Virgin Islands National Park when I sensed movement behind me. I swirled around, saw the shadow of a fin, and found myself face-to-face with the lucid eye and the goofy rubber lips of a mature permit. My heart was apparently beating faster than this fish’s heart because while I hyperventilated, the permit merely looked on in curiosity. In all my years of fishing for permit, I have never seen one not flee from contact with a human being. This permit allowed me to photograph it for 30 minutes while it foraged and actively fed in front of me.

A remarkable coexistence with one of the most wary and sought-after sport fish among anglers. Video © Jeffrey Cardenas

Sometimes wild fish, especially those in a protected environment, acclimate to human contact. They hang out with snorkelers in tourist locations because they are being fed junk food. The location of this reef, however, is not a marked dive spot where tourists swim and chum fish for photographs. I never saw another person in the water during the three days I swam on that reef. What is also unique is that this encounter was in national park waters where sport fishing and the taking of fish is allowed. This permit should have been wary of being caught, like every other permit I have seen.

Instead, this was truly a rare moment of coexistence with a wild creature. I’ll mark this day in the logbook of Stella Maris as a reunion with an old friend.

Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

As always, sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; the places, the flora, fauna, and people encountered along the way are equally important.

Please click “Follow” so that you don’t miss a new update,- and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage. I welcome your comments and will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.

Instagram: StellaMarisSailing / Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text, Photography, and Videos © Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives – Rev. John C. Baker

Hispaniola

Feeling the life force of the indigenous Taíno among the ancient mangroves roots of Los Haitises
© Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

A thin red line bisects the island of Hispaniola. On one side of the line, there is a world of chaos and rage this week as 4,000 of Haiti’s most notorious inmates escaped prison in a machete-wielding bloody rampage. They are terrorizing the countryside and remain loose in the shadows of the island as Haiti declares a state of emergency.

On the same island, but on the other side of this geopolitical line, is the Dominican Republic. This is a pastoral environment of natural beauty where nature thrives and men and women work peacefully with their hands to feed their families.

Several weeks ago, Stella Maris ghosted up to an isolated shoreline of Hispaniola–on the Dominican side. Los Haitises National Park is the Dominican Republic’s most important natural and cultural preserve. Amid the quiet pockets of dense mangrove and subtropical forest, spectacular limestone walls rise from the sea. It is difficult to comprehend why one-half of this island is literally and figuratively on fire, while on this half of Hispaniola, there is an undisturbed natural world of calm and tranquility.

One of the reasons I sail to isolated parts of the world is to try to understand this disparity. Sailing is not always just a simple escape from reality; I recognize the hardship, hate, and despair that is consuming so much of the world around us. Sailing helps me find a balance. As I travel, I choose to be a collector of moments that bring joy and hope. I found those moments in the nature of Los Haitises.

Along this wild shoreline, it is also possible to feel the ancient life force of the Taíno inhabitants who settled the entire island of Hispaniola 2,000 years ago. Christopher Columbus colonized the island of Hispaniola during his first voyage to the Americas in 1492. That voyage was the beginning of the end for the indigenous people. The native Taínos quickly suffered a steep population decline due to brutal enslavement, warfare, and intermixing with the Spanish colonizers.

Two hundred and fifty years later, a political division of Hispaniola occurred as France and Spain each struggled to control the island. They resolved their dispute in 1697 by splitting the island into two colonies, France holding what would be Haiti to the west and Spain taking control of the Dominican Republic to the east. Those colonial chains were finally severed on both sides of the island after two bloody wars of independence in 1804 and 1865. Haiti would eventually become the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, while the Dominican Republic developed into one of the largest economies in the region.

The Taíno indigenous people, meanwhile, were the ultimate losers in this struggle. Some 90% of Taíno civilization was lost to a European genocide of slavery and sickness. Remnants of the lost Taíno culture can still be found in the 618-square-mile Los Haitises National Park.

Click on a picture in this gallery for a high-resolution version of the image

We anchor the Stella Maris to explore the massive caves emerging from the limestone karsts on the rugged southern shore of the Dominican Republic’s Golfo del Samaná. Deep inside the more remote caves there are authenticated petroglyphs and pictographs dating back a thousand years. The images depict birds, whales, and, on one wall, the fading image of an ancient shaman. Sadly, where tour groups have frequented the caves, there is also graffiti and empty soda bottles.

Ginny and I hike an overgrown trail up a steep conical hillside to the ruins of a cacao, ginger, and breadfruit plantation. Nothing remains of the overgrown settlement except a lone, untethered donkey standing in a rare patch of sunlight nibbling at the subtropical understory. A critically endangered Ridgway’s Hawk watches our movement from a high branch. A tiny Vervain Hummingbird hovers near a patch of ginger. Later, I find a rock-polished donkey shoe buried in the mud of the trail.

Author Jared Diamond, Professor of Geography and Physiology at the University of California, writes that there is no simple answer to the conundrum of Hispaniola. In an interview with NPR, he said, “It’s a complex mix of history and environment, plus social and political policy.”

Flying from Miami to Santo Domingo, the border is well defined: On the Haitian side, the earth is a scorched brown with two centuries of deforestation and erosion. The Dominican side, where conservation initiatives are apparent, is a verdant green. Six months ago, the Dominican Republic and Haiti closed the land, sea, and air borders between the two countries. 

Today, gangs in Haiti surround the country’s main airport in the capital of Port-au-Prince, making it impossible for Prime Minister Ariel Henry to return to Haiti after an international trip abroad. Haiti’s most prominent gang leader, Jimmy “Barbeque” Chérizier, issued an ultimatum, warning that “if Ariel Henry does not resign … we’ll be heading straight for a civil war that will lead to genocide.”

And the moments of joy and hope? Magnificent frigatebirds spiral above the islands of Los Haitises, the chittering of black-crowned tanagers can be heard deep within the forest, and on the water, humpback whales migrating from the Arctic arrive in the spring to give birth and nurture their young in the whale sanctuary of Golfo del Samaná.

In turbulent times like these, Los Haitises can also be a sanctuary for human beings.


As always, sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; the places, the flora, fauna, and people encountered along the way are equally important.

Please click “Follow” so that you don’t miss a new update,- and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage. I welcome your comments and will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.

Instagram: StellaMarisSailing / Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text, Photography, and Videos © Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives – Rev. John C. Baker

The Lighthouse Keepers of Bird Rock

Now an abandoned and historic relic, Bird Rock was said to have been the scene of murder, mayhem, and madness among lighthouse keepers in the 1880s. Click the play button and turn up the sound. Photos and video © Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

There are no lighthouse keepers today at Bird Rock in the southern Bahamas. However, a story still circulates of murder, mayhem, and madness at this isolated island outpost.

Constructed in 1876, the Bird Rock Lighthouse was an architectural marvel designed with a wide veranda supported by columns around the entire base of the structure. The lighthouse rises from a mass of rock offshore of Crooked and Acklins islands. In its heyday, the light and its keepers guided ships from the Americas to the Caribbean Sea and beyond. 

Still photography images by Jeffrey Cardenas photographed in 2006, video images above in 2024

According to Timothy Harrison, author and publisher of Lighthouse Digest Magazine, two British couples sailed to Bird Rock in the late 1800s to become custodians of the lighthouse. They were unprepared for the hardship and isolation of living on a rock the size of a football field. Supply vessels called on Bird Rock only twice a year. 

One of the wives, Mabel Brock, soon became ill on the island and died. No grave could be dug for Mabel because the rock was impenetrable. Her body was lowered into the sea next to the lighthouse.

Mabel’s husband, Stephen, was said to have gone crazy with grief. He accused the other couple–his cousin John and Mabel’s childhood friend Annie–of conspiring in Mabel’s death. The two men could no longer live peacefully together in the tight quarters of the lighthouse. One cousin had a machete, the other had a gun, and during a physical fight, according to this grisly yarn, the two lighthouse keepers went over the railing at the top of the lighthouse and fell 115 feet to their deaths.

Annie Bock, pregnant at the time, was the only remaining lighthouse keeper of Bird Rock. A relief ship eventually took her off the island and returned her to her home in England.

As sea stories go, this is a pretty tall tale. Author Tim Harrison writes that the initial account was based on an interview with Anna Randall Diehl, a late 1800s writer, who met Annie Bock and recorded the events. According to Harrison, the story appeared in the March 1898 edition of The Half Hour magazine published by George Munro’s Sons.

 Unfortunately (but unsurprisingly), no additional accounts of the murder, mayhem, and madness of the lighthouse keepers of Bird Rock can be found.

I want to marry a lighthouse keeper
And keep him company.
I want to marry a lighthouse keeper
And live by the side of the sea.
I’ll polish his lamp by the light of day,
So ships at night can find their way.
I want to marry a lighthouse keeper,
Won’t that be okay?

We’ll take walks along the moonlit bay,
Maybe find a treasure, too.
I’d love living in a lighthouse:
How about you?

I dream of living in a lighthouse, baby,
Every single day.
I dream of living in a lighthouse,
A white one by the bay.
So if you want to make my dreams come true,
Go be a lighthouse keeper, do!
We could live in a lighthouse,
A white one by the bay-ay-hay.

Won’t that be okay?
Ya-da ta-da-da.

“I Want to Marry a Lighthouse Keeper”–ERIKA EIGEN


As always, sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; the places, the flora, fauna, and people encountered along the way are equally important.

Please click “Follow” so that you don’t miss a new update,- and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage. I welcome your comments and will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.

Instagram: StellaMarisSailing

Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text, Photography, and Videos © Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives – Rev. John C. Baker

Sailing Stella Maris 2023

The joy of a sail filling with wind is inexpressible. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Christening Stella Maris–Star of the Sea–February 2023

It is essential to know the genesis of a boat. Ginny and I went to the Lagoon Catamaran production facility in Belleville, France, to watch the final build of Stella Maris. She was then shipped from La Rochelle, France, to Florida. The only thing missing was a case of fine French wine that had been stashed onboard. No problem. A bottle of that wine ultimately appeared in a gift basket, and we christened Stella Maris with Mom and Dad onboard. We miss you, Pop, but we are happy that you were able to help christen the new boat.


Sea Trial West of Key West–March 2023

The catamaran, I quickly learned, is a different animal from the monohull that carried me around the world. Stella Maris is like a mobile beach cabin with a sail attached. It is a great platform to explore the islands west of Key West, where I spent so many years working as a charter fishing captain. The difference is that instead of pursuing the fish in these waters, the fish now–out of curiosity, and if I am quiet enough–come out to meet me. I can go to sleep and wake up in the islands, and a new day begins.

Click on individual gallery photos to see a high-resolution image


Shakedown Cruise to Bimini, the Berry Islands, and Abaco–May 2023

Ginny and Amiga were a welcomed crew on the first significant passage aboard Stella Maris from Key West to the Northern Bahamas. We revisited Bimini, where Ginny and I spent so many glorious days in our youth (she proposed to me there 44 years ago!) Gunkholing through the Berry Islands, we found secluded anchorages and nature trails. There is still some out-island tradition at Man-O-War and Green Turtle Cay in the Abacos. The highlight was a rendezvous with our daughter Lilly, who joined Stella Maris for several days, sharing her local knowledge of the Northern Bahamas.


Dry Tortugas–August 2023

The summer heat of 2023 was frightening. I sailed to the historic Dry Tortugas National Park in light air and torrential rain squalls 70 miles west of Key West. I found some refuge from the heat under the water, but I was dismayed to see the damage done by global warming on the pristine reefs here. Immense brain coral heads and vast stands of staghorn coral, alive only a few months earlier, were now bleached white. The reefs at Dry Tortugas were severely stressed. Still, some indications of hope remained as moon jellyfish began to appear in cooler currents of water. The reef is resilient, but it cannot tolerate many more seasons of abnormally hot water temperatures.


Florida Keys Backcountry–September 2023

I have always loved the Florida Keys backcountry for its pristine habitat and dramatic flow of tides. Wading birds, lobster, and shallow-water gamefish thrive here. Conservationists recognized the importance of protecting this habitat decades ago. They established the Great White Heron and Key West National Wildlife Refuges. We sailed Stella Maris on the full moon into the rich heart of Jewfish Basin, along the extensive sand flats of Snipe Point and Marvin Key, and into Cudjoe Basin and Sawyer Key, where nature has been allowed to reclaim an island that was once developed. 


End-of-Year Cruise to the Central Bahama Islands–November / December 2023

Trimming the sails again for the out islands of the Bahamas, we headed east and south toward Eleuthera and the Exumas Cays. My brother Bob joined me for the crossing from Key West to Nassau. Ginny and two dear friends, Carol and Gerald, joined Stella Maris from Nassau to Exuma. Highlights were food gathering with Bob, an accomplished free diver, standing watch with Gerald, who is focused and enthusiastic, and watching Ginny and Carol sing and dance through the islands like schoolgirls. As principally a solo sailor, I had forgotten the joy of sailing with a good crew. Stella Maris is now moored in Exuma while I spend the holidays with family in Key West. The year 2024 will find us heading south once again. Please join us here to continue the voyage in the new year.


As always, sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; the places, the flora, fauna, and people encountered along the way are equally important.

Please click “Follow” so that you don’t miss a new update,- and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage. I welcome your comments and will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.

Instagram: StellaMarisSailing

Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text, Photography, and Videos © Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives – Rev. John C. Baker