Tour Culebra's hottest -- and most hidden -- beaches

CULEBRA—Captain Taz delivers the instructions nonchalantly.

"I'll get as close to the shore as possible and then you jump out," he says.

I had asked Taz Hamrick to take me to Culebrita, an island off an island off an island. Culebrita is a tiny cay off the northeast corner of Culebra, itself a small island off the northeast corner of Puerto Rico. Culebrita is a nature reserve and completely undeveloped. There are no restaurants, no bathrooms, and, I've just learned, no dock.

I am on a tour of Culebra's beaches. For an island just 7 miles by 4 miles, there are many, and each has its own distinct characteristics. Some are better for snorkeling than others. Some are better for surfing. Some are easy to get to, and some require long hikes. Be prepared to ask for directions, and don't be surprised when those directions involve phrases like "make a left at the yellow house."

It's hard work to get to some of Culebra's beaches, but when you do, you'll find some of the most beautiful -- and secluded -- beaches you'll ever encounter.

Culebra has a storied past. Christopher Columbus is said to have landed there in the late 15th century. Later, it became a refuge for pirates. At the beginning of the 20th century, the U.S. Navy took over the island and turned it into a bombing site and military training ground. After protests from residents, the Navy agreed to leave the island in 1975.

Only in recent years have people discovered how pristine the beaches are. You can fly to Puerto Rico's capital San Juan then drive east to the town of Fajardo and hop on a ferry. Or you can take a short plane ride straight from San Juan.

I opt for the plane ride. On my 20-minute flight there, I'm the only person on the eight-seat plane. Fitting, as I am often the only person—or one of the only people--exploring Culebra's beautiful beaches.

CULEBRITA

On a Sunday morning, I enlist Captain Taz to give me a ride to Culebrita on his boat. A water taxi or motorboat is the only way to get to Culebrita, and Hamrick lets me tag along as he takes a few scuba divers out to a reef there.

We are descending upon Tortuga Beach, or Turtle Beach, named for the turtles that nest there. Usually, the water there is calm but on this particular day, there are waves crashing against the shore. I worry about jumping out into the ocean by myself.

One of the scuba divers is kind enough to jump in to escort me to shore safely.

Once he returns to the boat, Captain Taz steers it away to take the scuba divers to their reef. The plan is to pick me up on the other side of the island in three hours.

I look around and see a breathtakingly beautiful beach. The sand is white, the water is completely clear. A collection of rocks at the end of the beach breaks the waves and forms tidal pools of warm water--a natural Jacuzzi.

And I have it all to myself--which could be good or bad.

Panic sets in. What am I going to do for the next three hours? What if Captain Taz never returns? I do an inventory of all the contents of my backpack: sunscreen, bugspray, a half eaten tin of Pringles, trail mix, and a couple bottles of water. Clearly, I was never a Girl Scout.

Captain Taz's wife had drawn me a map of the island on a piece of paper. I head into the brush and follow her directions to a trail to another beach. At a fork in the road, I veer left, pushing branches and cobwebs out of my way to get to Trash Beach. It earned that name because trash from St. Thomas, which is just about 12 miles across, often finds its way to the shore. The beach is pretty despite the rubbish.

I retrace my steps and try to find the trail to the 128-year-old lighthouse towering above the island. It's been out of commission since 1975, but still offers magnificent views of the ocean.

Just as I'm starting to feel like I'll never find anyone, I reach the other side of the island and run into Andie and Ross Auna, a couple from Wisconsin.

They invite me onto their boat, captained by Dave Gonzales. As I wait for Captain Taz to return for me—which he does—Gonzalez teaches me how to snorkel. The water is calmer on this side of the island. There are three other boats filled with weekend revelers. A dog surfs to the shore.

"I could get used to this," Ross Auna says. Despite my initial fear, I could too.

THE BIG ISLAND

Back on the main island of Culebra, I rent a jeep and beach-hop.

On the east side of the island is Flamenco Beach, which has made many lists of top beaches in the world.

"If you have one day in Culebra, go to this beach," says Susan Moran, the owner of Palmetto Guest House, where I am staying.

Flamenco is the most developed beach on Culebra. Several kiosks serve octopus, conch salad, pork chops, pizza, burgers, empanadas, smoothies and beer. Reggaeton and salsa tunes blast from radios.

"Don't make unnecessary noise, relax, do not honk the horn," a sign warns people.

The beach is long. The water is green. The sand is white. There are palm trees all around.

But the most interesting sight of all is at the far end of the beach: two old military tanks now completely covered in graffiti. At high tide, they are inundated by water.

The beach seems peaceful despite that reminder of the island's bellicose past.

"After you see this beach, every other beach will seem ugly," says Elvin Moralez, an employee at one of the kiosks.

While I admire his commitment to Flamenco, I am able to prove him wrong.

BEHIND THE GATE

Yamil Jaskille and Jennifer Rock are the only people at Tamarindo Beach when I arrive. They're snorkeling with equipment they had brought with them--a must because there are no facilities or vendors on this beach.

Our isolation ends when a boat filled with people attending a wedding approaches. Some of them swim to shore.

"This is a little deserted," says Donna Ordonez, visiting from Bridgeport, Conn.

Ordonez and I walk a little farther down the trail and stumble upon Carlos Rosario Beach. It's small and gorgeous.

"It hasn't been touched and spoiled by resorts. I like that," Ordonez says.

Later that night, I watch the sunset at Melones Beach, a short drive away on the southern coast of Culebra. It takes a while—and a lot of asking—to find the beach.

When I finally arrive, locals are there, some fishing, some lounging on hammocks.

The sky turns a spectacular shade of pink and purple.

Punta Soldado is the southernmost point of the island and another great place for watching the sun go down.

The jeep comes in handy to get to Punta Soldado. You have to traverse unpaved roads to get there, and if it's rained, be prepared to maneuver around big ditches of water.

There's a handy map of Culebra that you can find at the airport, hotels and restaurants, but road signs are inconsistent and there are no streetlights. So you often have to ask for directions.

That's why I feel so triumphant once I reach Zoni Beach on the northeast coast of the island. Getting there requires a hilly drive that offers wonderful views of St. Thomas and Culebrita.

The sand is as white and the water as clear as Flamenco. But it starts raining soon after I arrive and I head for refuge.

The next day, I search for Brava Beach on the northern coast of the island.

This is one of the most unspoiled beaches on the island, partly because it is so difficult to get to. When I ask for directions, I'm told to make a left after the history museum. I drive straight down a long road until the very end. There's no parking lot, so I leave my car on the side of the road against the trees.

The sign for Brava Beach is handwritten. The hike to the beach takes about 25 minutes through a dense forest with what appears to be Spanish moss. Along the way I see hen, deer, butterflies, iguanas, and other vegetation.

The long, sweaty hike proves to be worth it once I arrive at a deserted beach surrounded by giant boulders.

A cloud is forming above me and the waves are getting angrier. But as I watch the beautiful landscape before me, I'm anything but angry.