For the Thrill of It - adventure vacations in the Caribbean

Four sisters get physical on vacation--and live to tell the tale!

Off the Deep End Schools of large silver, yellow and blue fish. Fragile coral reef. Bits of a ship's wreckage resting in a sandy, watery grave. To be honest, I still can't cite a specific fish or fauna I saw underwater in the Caribbean waters off Curacao, but I can say this: I will never, ever forget the wonder I felt on my first dive. And I will never, ever forget the triumph I felt, either. Scuba diving ... me!

Sure, it was only an introductory dive and we descended a mere 30 feet, but hey, just try to convince me that I'm not Jacqueline Cousteau! Historically, I tried diving twice before, but inevitably panic set in. See, I just couldn't get the breathing thing right--and the breathing thing is everything when you're underwater. And I couldn't shake the thought of drowning, of gallons of water filling my lungs and the remains of my bloated body (which had already been nibbled on by sharks) being discovered months later, miles from shore. It was not a pretty picture. So my earlier dive attempts always ended in failure.

But this third time was the charm. CuraCao, which is located about 25 miles off the northern coast of Venezuela, likes to advertise itself as having the world's best drinking water, but I think its real claim to fame is Eric Wederfoort. He is a short, ebullient brother who has owned and operated the Wederfoort Diving School since 1966 and has dived with the real Jacques Cousteau. He and his wife, Yolanda, run their dive center from St. Michiel Bay (or Boka Sami, as the locals call it), midway down the western coast of the 38-mile-long island.

Wederfoort was even more hardheaded than I was, refusing to accept my protestations that I really, truly couldn't dive. "Everyone can dive," he said as two other novices and I practiced in the clear shallow water near shore. "You're not listening." I had an oxygen tank on my back, a mouthpiece in my mouth, a mask on my face, instructions to remember and two gauges to watch. Of course I wasn't listening: I was going to die!!!!

Then, miraculously, something clicked. And within minutes, the four of us were 30 feet below, viewing colors and textures and incredible creatures that seemed to come straight out of a National Geographic special. It was deep. Truly deep.

The secret to diving, as Wederfoort finally beat into my head, is to relax. Breathe in through the mouth, out through the nose. Relax. Swallow to open your ears. Relax. Don't fight it. Relax. It's like the secret to life, isn't it?

Should you find yourself on the lovely island of Curacao and you want to have the experience of a lifetime, run don't walk--to the Wederfoort Diving School. You'll see just how great going off the deep end can be! --JOY DUCKETT CAIN

Call the Wederfoort Diving School at ([011] 599-9) 888-4414 for diving information. Contact the Curacao Tourist Board at (800) 3-CURACAO for visitor information.

Cycling Higher Six miles in a car go by in two songs and a lane change. But six miles on a mountain bike--up hills, across rugged terrain and (sploosh!) through the occasional mud puddle--can feel like an eternity. But what's there to complain about when your path is through a national park on the charming pristine isle of Bonaire, about 50 miles north of Venezuela and 38 miles east of Curacao?

Around every turn of the tiny country's Washington-Slagbaii National Park is something new to discover. Towering "candie" cacti are everywhere. Often they're lined up single file like giant asparagus and strung together, creating unique living fences. Ahead are layers of craggy rock as tall as apartment buildings. Stripes on their upper reaches show where, millions of years ago, ocean water once lapped them. Is it a mirage or am I really seeing pink flamingos? Are those chalk white "lakes" salt fish? Are these fat blue-green iguanas really rushing up to eat grapes out of my hand? And are those slave huts over there and Indian cave paintings just beyond? Well, not all on this particular stretch of trail, but Bonaire does have 'em all.

Huffing and puffing up yet another hill, however, I am pulled back to the crunching gravel below me and the fiery star above. The group I'm traveling with dawdled at breakfast and got a late start; now it's rolling up on the noon hour. It's hot, hot, hot, and the rugged trail has had its way with me. My leg muscles are muttering. Suddenly the Caribbean Sea appears before me. It's not a mirage. I coast to a stop on a plateau just above the water, which curls into the rock on which I stand and then turns back into itself. I take a swig from my water bottle. There's nothing as tasty as this icy liquid when it's earned by the sweat of my labor. We stand there for a while, enjoying the sweet breeze and the hard strides that brought us this far. Then we mount our bikes and cruise toward home.--PAMELA JOHNSON

Cycle Bonaire ([011] 599-7-7558) rents mountain bicycles and conducts tours for about $15--$65 for half-or full-day service, which includes lunch. For visitor information, contact Tourism Corporation Bonaire at (800) BONAIRE. Visit the island's Web site: www.bonaire.org.

I Believe I Can Fly "You go first,"I nudged my girlfriend Sherri. as we motored out into Cruz Bay in St. John just before sunset for our first try at parasailing. This exciting sport is a lot like flying a kite. The flier is strapped to a harness and a chute and launched from the back of a boat. The wind does the rest.

It wasn't the heights that concerned me, it was the splash landing. I do love water. I'll shower. I'll bathe. I'll wade. But I'm a nonswimmer, and a dip into the deep I can do without. I waved to Sherri from the boat as our two-person crew hoisted her 600 feet into the air, let her glide there for several minutes and then reeled her back toward the boat like a fish. When she was just a few yards away, the lines were spooled in first, then she bobbed in the water before two laughing crewmen tightened the line and pulled her on deck for a pillow-soft landing. "You gotta get your feet wet," one of the crewmen said. "It's part of the ride."

I needn't have worried. Parasailing, it turns out, is a breeze. What looks to the uninitiated like a daredevil sport is actually a ride so safe and gentle it's the perfect family activity. (Young children can fly tandem with an older child or a parent.)

When it was my turn, a crew member helped me into a nylon harness (it looks kinda like a seatbelt crossed with a swing) while his partner straightened the chute. I sat on the stern's launch platform with my back toward the water, and they fastened me to the chute with metal fittings. The motor started, the lines unfurled, and faster than I could say "Remember, don't let me get w-e-e-e..." I was gently airborne and out of earshot. In fact, I could hardly hear a thing as the boat shrank beneath me to the size of my dangling feet. Save for the gentle trade winds that sweep the Virgin Islands, it was peacefully silent.

From my lofty vantage point, I could see tiny sailboats on crystal-blue water, the verdant hills of neighboring isles Jost Van Dyke and St. Thomas, and the retiled roofs that dotted the waterfront. Directly below was The Westin Resort, with its pristine beach and lush landscape gardens. It was my island post and it offered so many glorious ways to spend the day--a game of tennis, a pina colada by the quarter-acre pool, lobster at the Beach Cafe and the island rhythms of Mighty Whitey. I decided to have that drink--and to pick up some postcards on my way to the pool. I couldn't wait to toast (and boast about) my flying adventure! --CLAIRE McINTOSH

Caribbean Parasail & Watersports offers individual and group rides for $50 per flier. Call (340) 775-9360 for information. For Westin Resort information, call (800) 808-5020.

Pulling My Own Weight Aah, the Bahamas. Nothing like sand, sun and--kayaking? That's right. While most beach bums were sunning on Grand Bahama Island, I was testing my strength in a 16-foot two-seater kayak and loving every minute.

As part of a nature trip with lunch promised at the end, I kayaked from one end of Gold Rock Creek to the other. I had never done water sports before, so after psyching myself up, I was ready for this adventure. The crew from Kayak Nature Tours provided paddling and safety instructions, then I squeezed into the kayak, secured my belongings and was off. It took awhile to get started. After I crashed into the trees five times, Phil, my able-bodied instructor, rode with me to keep me on track

I had no idea of how strenuous--and fun--kayaking could be. My upper body was getting a workout that no Nautilus machine could offer. There's a rhythm to its success: I learned how to switch the paddle from side to side, how to turn, when to paddle and how to maintain a steady flow so the craft didn't overturn. Once I got the hang of it, I could relax and look at the beautiful scenery. No beach babes here, just birds, fish and the sounds of nature. We rode through dense mangrove tunnels, where schools of barracuda, mullets, parrot fish and other marine life busily went about their day. And what vibrant colors: from the rich greens of the trees to the oranges and blues of the birds and sea life. This is definitely not an activity many vacationers take advantage of. Beginning and experienced kayakers have their choice of two tours, each showcasing the best of Bahamian underwater life.

By the end, my arms felt like sandbags, my clothes were soaking wet from a downpour, and I was smiling as if I had just won a gold medal--proud that I had finished. The most enjoyable part of the ride was pretending that I was the captain of a huge vessel and the safety of the crew was in my hands. Hey, a girl can dream! --CARLA M. TYLER

Tours are available for $75. To make an appointment, contact Kayak Nature Tours at (242) 373-2485 or via E-mail at kayaknat@batelnet.bs. For visitor information, call the Grand Bahama Island Tourism Board at (800) 448-3386.