For someone who can barely swim and still has traumatic memories of primary school swimming lessons, voluntarily jumping from a boat into the Caribbean Sea might not seem like the most sensible idea. Nevertheless, after two previous attempts had been thwarted by weather, the chance to snorkel with sea turtles in Akumal was simply too good to miss. What followed was terrifying, exhausting and absolutely unforgettable.
I don’t know why I’ve always wanted to try snorkelling, but I have.
I’m an awful swimmer. I don’t even think I managed to earn my bronze swimming badge at primary school, and as for retrieving a brick from the bottom of the pool while dressed in pyjamas, not a hope of a chance.
Quite why I wanted to commit myself to the depths of the Caribbean Sea, with little prospect of getting a foot onto the bottom, God only knows.
This wasn’t our first attempt, either. When we last visited the Riviera Maya in September 2024, we had planned to try snorkelling, but that idea was scuppered by the approaching Tropical Storm Helene. It strengthened into a Category 1 hurricane as it passed close to Cozumel and the Quintana Roo coast, bringing strong winds, heavy rain and some decidedly uninviting conditions at sea.
Scoot forward to our 2025 trip to Hurghada in Egypt, a snorkelling paradise apparently, and we missed out again. The weather wasn’t particularly favourable and the sea didn’t look especially inviting, so once more the snorkelling gear remained untouched.
Then came Akumal in 2026 and the opportunity to see sea turtles in their natural habitat. It was too good a chance to miss.
But it very nearly didn’t happen again.
The Sargassum Arrives
We happened to arrive on the Riviera Maya during one of its worst influxes of sargassum in recent years.
Sargassum is a floating brown seaweed which, in normal quantities, is actually an important part of the marine ecosystem. Out at sea, it provides food, shelter and breeding grounds for fish, turtles and numerous other sea creatures.
The problems begin when enormous quantities wash ashore. It can smother coral, seagrass and beaches, while the decomposing seaweed releases the unmistakable smell of rotten eggs.
During our stay, it had formed a thick, bristly and rather smelly barrier between the beach and the sea. The resort staff worked tirelessly to remove it, but more seemed to arrive with every tide.
It certainly didn’t make getting into the water particularly appealing.
Finally Saying Yes
For the previous eight days, the snorkelling guides had regularly approached us on the beach and asked whether we wanted to go out.
Our answer had always been:
“Not yet.”
Truth be told, by the time they usually caught us, we had already indulged in far too many cocktails to consider risking life and limb in the open sea.
Eventually, however, one of the guides found us early enough in the morning. We were still sober, the sea looked reasonably calm and neither of us had a convincing excuse ready.
We said a big, resounding yes.
Within moments, we had paid for a guide, a boat trip out towards the reef and hopefully the chance to see Akumal’s famous sea turtles.
That was the point at which the nerves set in.
An Unexpected Case of Nerves
Funnily enough, it wasn’t initially me who was nervous. It was Deb.
This is despite the fact that she loves swimming and had been happily completing lengths of the resort pool while I desperately doggy-paddled around the shallow end.
The sea was a different matter.
Deb had been into it once during the holiday and performed an abrupt about-turn the second a fish swam past her legs. I, meanwhile, quite enjoyed bobbing around with the fish - as long as I could just about touch the seabed and successfully ignore whatever might be lurking on it.
I don’t know whether it’s the salty water providing extra buoyancy or simply the fact that the sea isn’t surrounded by a poolside audience, but for some reason it doesn’t faze me in quite the same way as a swimming pool.
At least, it didn’t while I could still touch the bottom.
Looking Vaguely Like We Knew What We Were Doing
The time soon arrived for us to wander a few yards down the beach and meet our guide.
I’m sorry to say that I can’t remember her name, but she was excellent throughout the experience.
We were fitted with snorkelling masks and breathing tubes, along with flotation jackets, and given a quick rundown of the safety instructions and underwater hand signals.
We then posed for a photograph in which we both looked vaguely as though we knew what we were doing.
After that, it was a hop, skip and a jump through the sargassum and onto the waiting boat.
We struck lucky because we were the only two people in our party. Other guides appeared to be heading out with groups of ten or more, whereas Deb and I had our guide entirely to ourselves.
What the Bloody Hell Am I Doing?
As the boat left the shore and carried us into deeper water towards the reef, it suddenly dawned on me what I had agreed to do.
The nerves and adrenaline arrived with some force.
Eventually, the boat came to a halt and we were instructed to jump backwards over the side and away from the boat.
Deb did this perfectly. She slipped gracefully into the water like a dolphin disappearing beneath the waves.
Me?
I sort of fell and jumped at the same time, narrowly avoided banging my head on the boat, hit the water and instantly became convinced that I was drowning.
But I was in - and doggy paddling as though my life depended on it, which I was fairly certain it did.
Despite being the nervous one beforehand, Deb was soon off like a fish. I remained near the boat, bobbing around and thinking:
“What the bloody hell am I doing?”
Fortunately, our guide carried a flotation device. I have deliberately avoided calling it a rubber ring in the hope of preserving some degree of machismo.
With one hand clutching the float and the other desperately attempting to keep the mouthpiece in place, I was dragged through the Caribbean Sea by a woman approximately half my size.
It wasn’t quite how I had pictured my first snorkelling adventure.
Discovering Another World
The first time I properly put my face beneath the surface and could see clearly underwater was absolutely mind-blowing.
I only managed it for a few seconds, but I don’t think I will ever forget the greenness of the water, its surprising clarity, the strange muffled sound and the fantastically coloured fish swimming casually past us like extras from Finding Nemo.
Then I forgot how to breathe and promptly stuck my head back out of the water.
But what an amazing few seconds they had been.
As we moved farther out, I kept putting my face beneath the surface and managed a little longer each time. I can’t honestly claim that I mastered it.
Sometimes I forgot to breathe. At other times, I seemingly forgot how to breathe. Occasionally, my mask began filling with water.
I eventually discovered that clutching the breathing tube and forcing a better seal around my mouth helped for a while, but it would be fair to say that, unlike Deb, I wasn’t a natural.
Still, I was now being dragged around the Caribbean Sea, what felt like miles from the shoreline, so there wasn’t much point complaining. I simply kept trying.
Our First Sea Turtles
I’m very glad that I persevered.
By the time we found the first sea turtles, I had reached the point where I could keep my face underwater for perhaps 20 or 30 seconds at a time. maybe even a little longer.
The turtles were absolutely incredible.
Watching these beautiful reptiles glide effortlessly through the water was worth every splutter, every moment of panic and every tired muscle in my body.
They appeared completely at home, moving gracefully above the seabed and paying very little attention to the group of excited humans floating overhead.
At one point, one of the turtles needed to breathe and swam directly upwards in front of us. Had we wanted to - and I imagine it would have been neither advisable nor permitted - we could almost have reached out and patted its beak.
By this stage, quite a crowd of turtle-spotting snorkellers had gathered. To their credit, the guides did a good job of keeping everyone at a respectful distance and allowing the turtles some space.
Hopefully, they weren’t overly concerned by the multitude of human legs suddenly flapping around their neighbourhood while they attempted to get on with their usual business.
We remained with the turtles for around ten minutes, although it felt much longer. Time seemed to slow down beneath the water as we watched them swim, feed and occasionally rise to the surface.
Tropical Fish and the Journey Back
After leaving the turtles, we moved towards the reef to see more tropical fish.
By now, I was becoming marginally more comfortable with the equipment and could spend longer looking beneath the surface rather than constantly checking that oxygen still existed above it.
The reef was alive with colour and movement. Fish passed underneath and around us without the slightest concern, while plants and coral covered the seabed below.
Eventually, it was time to head back towards the shore.
Or, in my case, to be dragged back towards the shore.
The entire experience had been a mixture of terrifying and awe inspiring.
It was also exhausting. Who knew that being pulled around the Caribbean Sea could be so tiring?
Was It Worth It?
It is safe to say that I struggled at times. I’m really not a natural in the water, and there were moments when breathing, swimming and keeping water out of my mask seemed like three tasks too many.
But by heck, I’m glad I did it and I enjoyed every second.
As far as I remember, we paid around £50 each for the experience, including the equipment, boat and private guide. It was worth every penny.
Our guide also took all the photographs and videos featured on this page. I seem to remember those costing around another £10, which was also money well spent.
Among numerous photographs of my legs flailing around as though I had no control over them, and a few slightly murky underwater shots, she captured some fantastic images and videos of the turtles.
They are memories we would never have been able to record ourselves.
Would We Do It Again?
Damn right we would, and I think that answer applies to both of us.
The next time we take this kind of holiday, I may invest in my own mask and snorkel and practise in the hotel pool before venturing into the open sea.
Getting accustomed to breathing through the mouthpiece somewhere I can stand up without summoning a rescue boat would probably be sensible.
Snorkelling is certainly something I want to do again and hopefully with a little more confidence, slightly less spluttering and without needing to be towed around by a woman half my size.
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