downthesandytrail tothebeach.Themoon isdown
andthenight isdark. I liebackonthewarmsand
andwatchtheMilkyWayarcabovesobrightand
sharp, IswearIcanhearthestarstwinkling. Is itmy
imagination,oraremysensesgettingsharper?Are
thecreaks inmy jointsquieting?
ThatnightI leave theFrenchdoorswideopenso
Icanhear thesurfand therustleof thepalm fronds.
The longcurtainsbillow in thenightwinds. Isleep
likeababy.
But time, Iremindmyselfone lazymorning,
waits fornoone. If I’mgoing tofind theFountainof
Youth, Ihave togethelp.Theconciergehasan idea.
Kamalamehas itsowndiveshop,but theresortalso
partnersupwithnearbySmallHopeBayLodge.
“Theowner,JeffBirch, is theoneyouwant to talk
to,”hesays. “Jeffandhis familygrewupdiving the
blueholes.He’sdived themall.He’sa legend.”
Which ishow, aday later, Iwindupperched in
adiveboat, skippingalong thecoastwithJeff, a
slenderandfitman inhis40s?His50s?Ican’treally
tell.Likesomanyother localsImeet, age isdifficult
to judge.
“PoncedeLéonandhismenwereexcitedtofind
Andros,”hesaysasweshoulderourtankson.“Can
youimagine?You’resailingaroundtheBahamas,all
thesedryislands.You’rebittenupbymosquitoesand
bugs;you’redyingofthirst.Thenyou landonAndros.
Youfindover150blueholeswithwatersopureyoucan
drinkit.Youswiminitandyourskinhealsupbeauti-
fully.Ibettheyfeltadecadeyounger.”
Whilethesnorkelersdriftaroundthecraterrim,I
followJeffinascubafreefalldownthesteepwallsinto
thesapphireblue.Ourbubblesriseinsilvercurtains.
Ifeellikeanastronautindeepspace.Shoalsofsilver-
sidessparklepastlikeshootingstars,andmyflashlight
glowsonthemeteoric-lookingboulders.Weexplore
theprimevalgrottosforhalfanhouruntilthetide
beginstoturnandmyairthins.
“There’sone lastplaceI thoughtof thatyouneed
toseebeforeyou leaveAndros,”Jeffsaysasweclimb
into theboat. “AndI’ll tellyouhow toget there.”
A thindustingofsalt from thedivehasdriedon
myskinwhen,hours later, Ihikedown the faint trail
through theheartofAndros. I’mmiles from the
sea, surroundedbyacoolpine forest.Jeff’s treasure
hunt is leadingmedeeperanddeeper into the forest,
and the trailsare fadingandbraiding, andbecoming
trickier to follow.
JustasI’mabout togiveup, the trees fallaway
and theskyopensupaboveaperfectlyroundpool
guardedbysheer limestonecliffs.Someonehas
builtaricketyplatformon theedgeandIcanseea
knottedrope forclimbingout. “The localssay the
waterkeepsyouyoung,”Jeffhadsaid. “There isa
specialkindofcalciferousalgae in there thatchang-
es thepHof thewater. Itseems tocleanyourskinso
you feel silkyand freshwhenyougetout.”
Ipeer20 feetdown into thebottomlessspring.
Maybe it’senough to juststandhereand look,my
middle-agedbrainsays. Ifyou jump in, youmight
notbeable togetout, itadds.
“Don’t thinkabout it,don’tanalyze,”Jeffhad
said. “Just letyour innerkid launchyou.”
Idropmypack, tearoffmyshirt. I’mshoutingand
running,mybare feetslapping thesmoothstone
rim.ThenI leapuntil there’snothingbelowmebut
airand thedeepcoolabyssof theFountainofYouth.
JADDAVENPORT ISADENVER-BASEDWRITER/PHOTOGRAPHER
WHOHASTRAVELEDTOMORETHAN 150COUNTRIESONALL
SEVENCONTINENTS.
CELEBRATED LIVING • SPRING 2015
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