I haven't heard of this site before, <a href="http://www.everettpotter.com/blog/2007/04/a_dining_advent.html"><b>Everett Potter's Travel Report</b></a>, but this story seems a little more in depth than your average run of the mill travel fodder:
"I was walking on the island of Anguilla, about half a mile from Johnno's bar in the hamlet of Sandy Ground, when I was stopped in my tracks by what looked like a whale-sized pile of skulls. I was looking for Ivor Carty, a conch diver, and those "skulls" were actually thousands of discarded conch shells, bleached white by the strong Anguillan sun.
As I picked my way to Carty's small cement house next to that pile, I stepped over discarded rum bottles, fish heads and engine parts. Memo to self: this is not the Anguilla most tourists see. And there, wrapped in nothing more than a green towel, was Carty, shaving on his front porch. It was five in the afternoon.
"How's your day going do far" he asked, looking at nothing in particular as he shaved.
Carty is deeply handsome, with skin the color of Honduran mahogany, and he has been diving for conch longer than he cares to remember.
"I can go about 60 feet deep," he told me. "When I don't have to go so far, its like 40 feet. That's my boat."
He was pointing to a seriously battered 12- foot wooden rowboat that should have been turned into a planter years ago. Or an altar, since the best local chefs make pilgrimages here to get buy conch.
"Where are your tanks?" I asked.
"I free dive, I don't scuba dive," he said, a tad indignant. That explained his taut body, one that a 25 year old destined for the cover of Men's Fitness would be proud of. But Carty's unruly mane of white hair signaled that he was closer to 70."
Much more <a href="http://www.everettpotter.com/blog/2007/04/a_dining_advent.html"><b>here</b></a>.