By Jim Scheiner

Don't misunderstand me. I love diving the wreck of the Rhone, the Indians or the Dogs as much as anyone. They're all certainly worthy of their popularity. But after 30 years and thousands of dives, these sites can get a little too predictable, a little too routine. For instance, I know there will be a school of squirrelfish under the propeller shaft on the stern section of the Rhone — it's been there for more than three decades!

So what's a diver to do when he yearns for a little excitement to clean the cobwebs out of his scuba regulator? Most any site has the potential for an adventure dive. Certain established sites, such as the wreck of the Chikuzen or Dry Rocks East (between Cooper and Ginger Islands), are pretty good at delivering on that potential. I've been buzzed by eagle rays, swarmed by schools of amberjack, lost in swirling mists of snappers and almost landed on giant stingrays — all in the first five minutes of entering the water at the Chikuzen. That counts as an adventure dive in my book.

Also, it's hard to beat a night dive on the Rhone. There was that time that I did almost the entire dive without ever turning on my dive light. I followed a group (with their lights on) down to the bow section. Hanging back, I was treated to one of the spookiest sights I've ever seen. As the divers entered the 130-year-old wreck, their lights illuminated it from within. The portholes were glowing and stray beams of light were dancing about. It was as if I had stumbled upon some sort of otherworldly celebration by the ghosts of the ship's long-dead passengers and crew. There I was, 70 feet underwater, in the dark, at night, alone. It didn't help my nerves any when Abraham, the then-resident 300-pound goliath grouper, suddenly appeared at my side. That's when I turned my light on.

But what if you want to really get off the beaten path, to dive where there isn't a mooring ball to advertise the site's location to all? Well, fortunately the waters of the BVI abound in such sites. It just takes a little local knowledge. I have a good friend who happens to own a rather large live-aboard charter dive boat. Whilst he does offer his charter guests the opportunity to get beyond the reach of the day-trippers, there's nothing he himself enjoys more than grabbing a few tanks along with a few friends and heading off to the great unknown. If there's a rocky outcropping anywhere on the charts, we've been there. Remote places like Heave Rock, a pinnacle that rises up from the depths but never gets any shallower than 60 feet, are so hard to find that even the fishermen don't know where they are. Untouched by humans, Heave Rock is covered by cascading schools of grunts and snappers, with lobster and eels under most every ledge. It's a glorious reminder of the bounty of a pristine environment.

And then there are the adventures that I don't recommend. Like the time I got in the water just before dusk (alone again — just don't tell my mother) to check out the tiger sharks feeding on a rotting whale carcass that had drifted in from the open ocean. But that's another story.

Whilst the words "adventure" and "snorkelling" don't often go together, there are a few safe, fun and easy treats out there. Recently, another friend pulled me away from my desk with the promise of "more and bigger" tarpon than I had ever seen — a boast I had to challenge. But she was right! We took a dinghy over to the calm and protected waters of Monkey Point on the southern tip of Guana Island. Along with a few honeymooners, gangly kids and a group from Germany, we spent the next hour snorkelling with more and bigger tarpon than I had ever seen. Though the water was less than 10 feet deep, we couldn't see the bottom. No, not because of the tarpon, but because of the myriad bait fish upon which the tarpon were feeding. The water was literally alive with the ebb and flow of clouds of these tiny silver fish. Then, bam! They'd explode out of the way as a 4-foot metallic-silver torpedo would slice through the school looking for stragglers. By this time the tarpon had eaten their fill and were just going through the motions. But the opportunity to witness close-up this mesmerising ballet between predator and prey, synchronised to some ageless rhythm of survival, was an adventure fit for all ages.

So even if you don't get out to the farthest reaches of the Virgin Islands archipelago or explore sunken shipwrecks at night, there are still many adventures waiting for you. Just make your own — and be safe, be gentle.

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