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Snorkeling Key Largo's John Pennekamp State Park isn't just spectacular fun. It's fitness-enhancing.

By Bill Beuttler (Unpublished, written on assignment for March/April 1999 issue of Weight Watchers magazine.)

My first time snorkeling John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park, the underwater sightseeing mecca off Key Largo, Florida, I found Jesus. Or rather, I dived 10 feet or so to a statue of Him, the famous “Christ of the Abyss,” its arms upstretched beseechingly toward the water’s surface from a depth of 22 feet at its base. Donated to the Underwater Society of America by an Italian diving group in the early 1960s, the 11-foot-tall statue was one of two particularly memorable moments on my virgin snorkel trip — the other being the five-foot-long nurse shark that glided into my field of vision, hovered there briefly as it looked me over, then turned and disappeared.

These two moments only stood out, however, because the plethora of brilliantly colored tropical fish I saw that day — angelfish, yellow snapper, sergeant major, parrotfish, grunt, and the like — all blurred together too much to get a lasting fix on any single one of them in particular. Together, the extraordinary beauty and foreignness of the fish and the reef dwarfed the shark and the statue in memorability.

Little wonder, then, that I jumped at the chance to return to Pennekamp this past March. This time El Nino was kicking up bigger-than-usual waves and chilly water, forcing our Keys Diver charter captain to skip his usual afternoon “Christ of the Abyss” run in favor of a pair of reef sites more protected and closer to shore — Grecian Rocks and Key Largo Dry Rocks. On the 50-minute boat ride out to the first of these, divemaster Billy — a shaggy-haired, deeply tanned 20-something-year-old who looked like he lived for the water — instructed the nine passengers (two young couples, a middle-aged husband and wife from Minnesota, a 40-year-old man traveling alone from somewhere on mainland Florida, and my father and me) on the fundamentals of snorkeling: the proper way to put on a mask and see if it fits, the necessity of staying within sight of a snorkeling partner, how to signal for help if you need it (wave your arms back and forth over your head), how to tell when the group’s time on the reef is up (when the captain blows the boat horn), and what to do in the event of seasickness (what comes naturally, alas, but preferably over the ship’s side and away from where your shipmates are getting into and out of the water). Captain Steve had already announced the most important rule of snorkeling before we’d even set sail: Under no circumstances is anyone ever to touch the reef, a delicate living organism that is easily damaged and without which there would be no tropical fish here to see.

The basics concluded, Billy passed out wet suits to everyone — at $5 a crack; masks, fins, and soft drinks are included as part of Keys Diver’s regular $30 afternoon fee, but wet suits are optional, usually unnecessary (though not with conditions like we had that day), and therefore cost extra — and people set about awkwardly tugging them on over their swim suits. When we reached Grecian Rocks, the skipper dropped anchor, and people began climbing over the back of the boat for the short swim to the reef.

The only sound you hear snorkeling is your own rhythmic breathing, a fact that adds considerably to the dreamlike quality of the experience. That day we novice snorkelers drifted over our two reef sites in what was usually five to 10 feet of ultra-clear Keys water, spotting all the usual local suspects with their bizarre colorings and shapes as we paddled above them, including a couple of threatening-looking and sometimes motionless barracuda. The barracudas’ method of observing fish works well for snorkelers, too — one good way to watch the reef is to stay still in one place above it and watch its inhabitants parade below you.

One nice thing about snorkeling is that virtually anyone can do it. “It’s just so easy to get into,” says Bob Morris, editor-in-chief of the diving and snorkeling magazine Aqua. “Scuba diving can be daunting to people — you’ve got to get certified and there’s a lot of gear. Snorkeling, you don’t have to get in water over your head; you can walk right off a beach and do it.”

Another big plus for snorkeling is that it is, though not generally very strenuous, a sort of stealth-exercise — one that works its effects without you really noticing. Everyone knows that swimming is one of the best all-around workouts: It’s aerobic, it tones muscles and burns off fat, and the buoyancy of the water helps prevent injury. Trouble is, swimming laps back and forth at the local pool all winter eventually gets dull. That’s when a spring snorkeling trip becomes helpful. The swimming isn’t as vigorous as lap-swimming, but that’s offset quite a bit by the lure of all those spectacular sights. “People sort of exercise without knowing that they’re doing it,” says Morris. “It’s like running a race where there’s a cup of Gatorade every half-lap — you don’t know what’s around the next reef or coral outcrop, so that keeps you going. Once you start snorkeling, you go and you go and you go and you go, and you don’t want to stop. And then when you’re finished, your back is sunburned.” He laughs. “But it’s not boring, and it keeps those legs moving.”

Whatever the physical benefits of a day spent observing the reefs, though, they pale beside the psychological ones. You may or may not see Jesus, but your first real snorkeling trip forever sticks with you. “The first time anybody sees a coral reef and a mass of fish, it just changes everything,” says Morris. “I know how it was for me. I grew up in Florida, so I was used to snorkeling the local springs. But the first time I went to Jamaica it just blew me away. I mean, it was almost a religious experience, seeing the edge of a coral reef that drops off hundreds and hundreds of feet. It’s both frightening and awesome at the same time.”

Bill Beuttler has written about sports, travel, and food for Men’s Journal, Sports Illustrated, National Geographic Traveler, and Cooking Light magazines.

© Bill Beuttler