I knew nothing about South Caicos, the smallest island in the Turks and Caicos archipelago. I had no idea that flocks of rosé-hued flamingos lined the island’s salt flats, or that wild donkeys — descendants of the mules once brought to work the Morton salt plant here in the 1960s and ‘70s — now roamed freely.
But after hopping a tiny prop plane from Providenciales (there’s also a twice-weekly direct flight from Miami) and bumping along the island’s still-unpaved roads, I acclimated quickly to its stunning natural beauty. Turquoise and aquamarine waters blend into deep cobalt blues; inky night skies illuminate with stars — the kind I haven’t seen since childhood. There is no light pollution.
Bouncing up the steep hill to Sailrock South Caicos — water views in every direction — I imagine how the island must have looked to Colin Kihnke, now president of Sailrock Development Limited, when he first arrived in 2009. Serendipitously finding his way here from Anguilla, the Chicago real estate developer fell in love with South Caicos’ sandy roads and untouched topography. After purchasing 700 acres of oceanfront land, he went to work designing — and ultimately building — a low-impact, elegantly luxe, sea-facing resort set between the Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea. Sailrock opened quietly to an in-the-know set in 2017, only to be pummeled by Hurricane Irma and, months later Maria, before its official rebirth in 2020.
Now, nearly two decades since Kihnke first landed on South Caicos, there are still only two hotels and 1,200 residents — 70 percent of whom work in the fishing industry (the rest in hospitality).
Ocean Blue
“For you.” Harvey — Sailrock’s resident welcoming committee — presses a luminous aquamarine cocktail into my hand. “It’s our signature Blue Ocean,” he says. “Bambara coconut rum, coconut water, lime juice, and blue curaçao. You’ll find that everything here is tied to the ocean.”
My eyes immediately pivot to the backdrop — a shimmering sea and, directly opposite, an exquisite wall lined with pinkish-white conch shells, each painstakingly placed by a commissioned artist.
“Isn’t it amazing,” Harvey says, following my gaze to the art wall. “And be sure to eat conch while you’re here, the conch ceviche is out of this world. So is the spiny lobster, the fresh snapper, the mahi-mahi. He pauses, smiles theatrically, “You will eat — and drink — well, I promise.”
And with that he ushers us into a waiting golf cart for the ride to our beachfront villa set high on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic — the water so calm and so aqua I momentarily mistake it for the Caribbean side of the island. “You’ve come at the perfect time,” our driver tells us, as we move past indigenous trees, thatch palms, seagrapes, and bougainvillea — all natural vegetation. The humpbacks [whales] are migrating right now. Keep watch from your terrace, you will see them.”
And we do.
Barely finished with our exploratory walk-through of the villa — a king-size bed facing the ocean, outdoor deep-soaking tub, in- and outdoor rain showers, elegant driftwood and shell decor, and a spacious deck with private plunge pool and steps leading straight to the beach — we see them. A pod of four whales arching their backs out of the water.
Over the next hour, as we settle onto the pool deck to watch the sunset — a menagerie of tangerine and pink swirls — more of the magnificent creatures appear, their silvery plumes catching the light as they glide through the sea.
Bone Fishing and Thalassotherapy
Our one-with-the-ocean immersion continues the next morning as we bump along the resort’s dirt roads, past newly constructed residences and the occasional donkey, to a private cove on the northern part of the island. Waiting for us in his 16-foot Carolina skiff boat, captain G-Man. One of the allures of our journey to South Caicos was (for my partner), bone fishing. An avid angler, he trout fishes (spring); deep-sea fishes (summer through fall). But bone fishing is new. And G-Man, we are told, is the most affable teacher on the island.
Christened Edward Lockhart at birth, G-Man was given the nickname by one of his sisters, who labeled him, “a good one — a good man, a good captain” — and the name invariably stuck. Wearing a long-sleeved, sun-protective shirt, neck gaiter, and the exact same Costa sunglasses as my fisherman — his humor is instantly infectious. G-Man grew up on South Caicos in a family of 12 siblings and a mid century-plus later can navigate the waterways here with his eyes closed. We glide through the glass-clear waters to a remote spot framed by mangroves where he swiftly drops anchor. Slipping into our water shoes, we move from the skiff into the bath-warm water.
I am not fishing, but rather observing the masters at work, while spontaneously practicing thalassotherapy — the ancient art of quietly wading (back and forth) through knee- and hip-deep saltwater. The setting is beautiful, cinematic in its pale blues and whites, cobalts, and varying shades of green. Aside from myself and the two fishermen, there are no other humans (or even boats) in sight, just water and sky, mangroves and seagrapes.
“We call them gray ghosts,” G-Man says of the hard-to-see bone fish that perfectly match the sea. “Sometimes you may see hundreds, other times only a few.”
As if on cue, he motions for us to stop; his well-trained eye easily spotting the silver-hued fish (though we see nothing) just a few yards ahead. “Bone fishing is like hunting,” he explains. “You have to go slowly, creep up on them, or they will disappear like ghosts in the water.”
Side by side, the fishermen creep, inching in slow motion toward their prey, then quickly casting their fly rods. BAM, fish on. Like an excited school boy, my fisherman reels in his catch (20-plus inches I’m told) — G-Man cheering in glee: “and that’s how it’s done” — before gently releasing it back into the sea and continuing their hunt. I follow suit — continuing my own thalassotherapy ritual — spotting colorful red, blue, pinkish starfish, giant conch, and more than one (thankfully, harmless) lemon shark.
The Stay
A quiet, oceanic rhythm develops to our days. I rise early each morning to watch the sunrise, practice yoga on the wooden sky deck set high above the sea, then join my fisherman for a beautifully presented floating breakfast in our pool, or alternatively, on the open-air terrace at the Great House restaurant. Lunches are fresh ceviche (the conch, delicious as promised) or spiny lobster rolls served on the beach, followed by refreshing swims in the sea, kayaking to a shallow sandbar dotted with starfish, and snorkeling the expansive reef — the Turks & Caicos barrier reef system is among the largest on earth.
Days end, pre-sunset, with side-by-side massages in the sweet (just two treatment huts) Balinese-inspired spa. Every afternoon, our therapists, both from Bali, greet us by the doorway of the couples’ spa suite where, for the next 90 minutes — windows wide open to the sea — we are transported. Our muscles relax under the long, gentle strokes, signature of Balinese massage.
Afterward, we forgo the golf-cart transport and walk past braying donkeys to our beachfront villa to watch the sky change from blue to pink. And every sunset (sunrise, too), we see them — the whales — their black backs arching through the foamy white surf.
One afternoon, we drive the dirt roads into town, spotting flocks of pink flamingos — standing on one leg, beaks tucked into their feathers — in the salt flats and salinas around Cockburn Harbour, their main roosting spot. With only a handful of tiny shops and even fewer restaurants, we return to Sailrock for dinner. Lobster thermidor (him) and grilled snapper (me) at The Great House; another night, we savor local island favorites (more lobster and grilled fish, callaloo, pigeon peas and rice, and rib-eyes) hand-prepared by the resident chef. The dinner takes place in one of the resort’s lavish new residences, ranging from two to six bedrooms — because, yes, you actually live here.
Home ownership — whether in condo-like suites, the one-to-four-bedroom beachfront villas where we stayed, or the new ultra-private residences quietly rising along the bluffs — represents Sailrock’s next evolution. But even with these new residential offerings, Sailrock maintains its laidback, low-density mantra. Meticulously planned, the resort and community will never become too large or overcrowded; it is highly unlikely the sandy dirt roads will ever be paved; and the donkeys… they’re here to stay.
It’s old-school Caribbean, just elevated.
