Time is the single most-used noun in the English language. It makes sense. It has a host of meanings, and its complexities have confounded us since, well, time immemorial.
You don’t have to be Einstein, though, to know that time is as much about emotions as it is about physics. In this issue, we showcase both, including the best from the Watches and Wonders Fair in Geneva—a horological blockbuster featuring the hottest new drops and updates to revered models.
Elsewhere, we while away the minutes at Mnemba Island, a new private resort off the coast of Zanzibar, and hit the slopes in Sydneysider Chloe Simpson's chic new ski collection, Amerl, aimed at women who want high design and high performance at high altitude. It’s about time!
Subscribe here. Cover art by Grant Dudson
Time is the single most-used noun in the English language. It makes sense. It has a host of meanings, and its complexities have confounded us since, well, time immemorial.
You don’t have to be Einstein, though, to know that time is as much about emotions as it is about physics. In this issue, we showcase both, including the best from the Watches and Wonders Fair in Geneva—a horological blockbuster featuring the hottest new drops and updates to revered models.
Elsewhere, we while away the minutes at Mnemba Island, a new private resort off the coast of Zanzibar, and hit the slopes in Sydneysider Chloe Simpson’s chic new ski collection, Amerl, aimed at women who want high design and high performance at high altitude. It’s about time!
AFTER HOLDING THE WATCH world captive with its unveiling of the Cubitus in 2024, Patek Philippe went a more restrained route this year—adding new models to several of its core collections. Despite its on-paper simplicity, the next generation of Calatrava felt like the most significant of these.
In platinum, the Ref. 6196P returns the Genevan maison to the top of the dress-watch food chain. Marginally bigger and wider than the previous-gen Calatrava, this release justifies its enlarged surface area with a new double-barrel movement. The upshot? Superior chronometry and, now, a 65-hour power reserve.
That 38 mm form factor is put to even better use on the dial, which is treated in a warm rose-gilt opaline. And while that doesn’t sync with the pale ice-blue that seemed to be everywhere at Watches and Wonders, it’s a shade connoisseurs know Patek tends to reserve for rare (and largely complicated) watches. Until now.
Walk a mile in the footsteps of Otis Hope Carey: his work now sells for five figures, one of his murals takes pride of place at Chris Hemsworth’s Byron mansion, and he has already notched up a string of high-profile hook-ups with the likes of Longines and Ruinart. It’s hard to imagine that until barely a decade ago the First Nations artist had yet to handle a paintbrush.
The Gumbaynggirr-Bundjalung man, who still lives and works out of NSW’s Northern Rivers, credits painting with saving his life, presenting him with an outlet during an ongoing battle with depression. What was meant initially as a constructive escape, a simple way to calm the neurons and quieten the senses, has instead changed the former pro surfer’s life.
Carey working on the prints that form the basis of the collection
Having spent most of his childhood on the waves north of Coffs Harbour, Carey turned inward to examine his own culture and heritage, embracing his clan’s totem, the gaagal (or ocean), as a running theme throughout his work. Very quickly, his contemporary takes on these millennia-old symbols began earning him plaudits. “His work is a profound exploration of cultural identity,” says Edward Woodley of Sydney’s China Heights gallery, a long-time host of Carey’s work. “His art is deeply rooted in storytelling—connecting Country, ocean and spirit—while challenging perceptions of Indigenous art in modern contexts.”
Miss Z Booty low boots
Carey speaks to us from his studio in the surrounds of Byron Bay. The excitement in his voice is palpable, as if every twist and turn his career has taken so far is an entirely novel one for him. Since debuting in galleries, his work has found its way onto boards from cult surf-meets-design brand Haydenshapes, Ruinart Champagne bottles and, most recently, a line of wristbands for Swiss watchmaker Longines. Now, in his most conspicuous partnership yet, he’s been tasked with designing a series of footwear and accessories as part of Christian Louboutin’s Autumn/Winter 2025 campaign—the first Indigenous artist to affiliate with a luxury entity of this size and stature.
Eloïse medium calf-leather bag
The collection utilises several of Louboutin’s most iconic silhouettes as a framework for Carey’s art. He submitted around a dozen pieces from his previous works. Six made the final edit, with Carey tweaking and re-evaluating his designs along the way. Playful flourishes from the artist’s own signature tendrils further invigorate Carey’s work, lending it a distinct high-fashion edge; the gaagal prints, already reimagined by the artist in flashes of electric green and textured orange, are embellished with spikes and crystals.
“The whole process flowed organically,” Carey says. “They [Louboutin] were pretty lenient and let me have free rein on how I was going to re-interpret my work while keeping its main themes.”
Louis No Limit Gaagal sneakers
The items themselves provide an unorthodox, eye-catching tableau. Some of the most iconic stilettos and boots from Louboutin’s women’s line are featured, as are loafers, sneakers and leather goods for all genders. For Carey, already a fashion disciple who spent his formative years working in warehouses for brands like Ksubi, it was a tantalising prospect.
“The weirder the shape, the more excited I got about my art on it. I love shapes where it’s initially quite hard to imagine my artwork, for instance, shoes and bags. It was fun for me to break that down and visualise how that was going to work and what kind of artworks and colourways I needed to paint for it to sort of all sync together and flow.”
Already a trailblazer, Carey now finds himself indirectly tasked with one of his most important roles yet: introducing First Nations art to a global audience.
Gaagal, a symbol and a totem dear to Carey, will now go under a high-fashion spotlight, subject to scrutiny by commentators and customers who may not have any knowledge of the art form whatsoever.
“I’m so nervous for people to see it,” Carey admits. “People in the fashion industry are ruthless. At the same time, I’m proud that my culture can have a rippling effect. It’s so important for successful Indigenous creatives to maintain that connection to their culture and share that.”
THERE ARE A FEW CERTAINTIES in life: death, taxes and—come April in Geneva—Rolex will suck the oxygen out of the city’s watch fair. This year has been little different in this regard, save for the fact that The Crown has dominated conversation in the watch world courtesy of the Land-Dweller—the first new Rolex collection since the 1908. As ever, initial reactions to this trio of 36 mm and 40 mm releases have been divisive—as happens when you’re Switzerland’s most coveted, and impressively resourced, watch brand.
Beyond all the subjective patter around its femtosecond-laser-etched dial (in layman’s terms: the laser pulses at a rate of one quadrillionth of a second, or one followed by 15 zeros), “flat” Jubilee bracelet and Oysterquartz-inspired case shape, the technology that underpins the Land-Dweller is arguably what’s most exciting. The watch is powered by the Calibre 7135, a new movement built with groundbreaking “Dynapulse” escapement technology, at an impressively industrial scale.
Boasting a daily accuracy rate of -2/+2 seconds, the Land-Dweller is one of the most precise mechanical watches Rolex has ever manufactured. Given the brand’s power to set the agenda for the wider industry, that’s an encouraging breakthrough—and may well spell the start of a new arms race in chronometry.
The experience of arriving at Mnemba Island, a private resort two miles from Zanzibar, was exactly as I remembered. When the speedboat neared the pearly shore, a crooked line of hotel staff dressed in white and navy began to wave. As I disembarked, my bare feet sank into a soft sand, as fine as icing sugar. It sparked another memory: Here on Mnemba, shoes aren’t required. In fact, they’re discouraged.
I first visited this idyllic isle 14 years ago, during a trip around the Zanzibar Archipelago. The teardrop-shaped landmass, just over a quarter mile wide, had only 12 open-air bandas, or traditional East African cottages, ensuring guests an unparalleled level of privacy. It also struck a unique balance between luxury and low-key comfort. Yes, your suite had its own butler, but it wasn’t so precious that you couldn’t track in a little sand.
The bandas, or cottages, are tucked into the forest for privacy. Photograph: Courtesy &Beyond.
Preserving that sensibility was a key goal of its recent renovation, sparked when andBeyond—the hotel company that runs it—renewed its lease on the island for another 33 years. The challenge, according to CEO Joss Kent, was “How do we take Mnemba up a level without spoiling it?” Over the course of 10 months, the property added a shop, a yoga deck, a spa, and an expanded dive centre with ocean activities including clear-bottomed boating and tandem kayaking. The dozen ocean-facing rooms were completely rebuilt—tucked into the casuarina forest for maximum seclusion—and augmented with private beach lounges that roll onto the sand outside your room. The slick upgrades in my suite were so understated that I didn’t notice all of them until I saw the before and after pictures.
By contrast, nearby Zanzibar has transformed into a resort brimming with beach umbrellas. Tourist vessels now chug up and down the channel in between the islands, which was once so empty that Bill and Melinda Gates could land their seaplane slap-bang in the middle. Today, this would be impossible.
The increased activity meant Kent’s team took other steps to retain Mnemba’s “magic.” That included building an erosion wall along the eastern shore and extending the protected ocean area around the island from 1,312 feet to 2,296 feet.
Inconspicuous interiors mix comfort and luxury. Photograph: Courtesy &Beyond.
These efforts were felt most strikingly on the beach at dinner, when dusk made the blinking lights on the opposite shoreline more apparent. They served merely as a reminder of what Mnemba isn’t and—thanks to andBeyond—will hopefully never be.
From top: The open-air Beach Bar at the heart of Mnemba Island offers breathtaking views; looking at Mnemba from Zanzibar; the bandas, or cottages, are tucked into the forest for privacy.
While motoring eyes were trained on the racing teams at this year’s Formula 1 Australian Grand Prix, creative types at Melbourne’s Albert Park were being dazzled by an alliance of the artistic kind. With McLaren’s homegrown superstar driver Oscar Piastri by his side, internationally acclaimed contemporary artist Reko Rennie revealed his latest project, in partnership with McLaren Automotive and McLaren Racing sponsor Airwallex: a one-of-one McLaren Artura and accompanying film work, provoking ideas surrounding the close relationship Australians famously have with their high-powered machines.
Even in the close company of so much elite machinery, the Artura was a veritable head-turner, wrapped in Rennie’s signature diamond patterning and vibrant camouflage, with motifs drawn from his Kamilaroi heritage. We talk to the former Robb Report cover star about the hook-up, his fascination with cars, and why a supercar can speak as loudly as a statement of First Nations identity as its engine can roar.
The artist in the diamond-patterned McLaren Artura. Photography: Courtesy of McLaren.
Car culture is a recurring theme in your work—from films where you thrash a painted Rolls-Royce around an ex-pastoral station, to paintings of Ferraris and Porsches. Where did your love of speed and machines begin?I grew up in the Western suburbs of Melbourne, where the ability to have a quick car or a car you could work on and hot-up was a big thing. Coming from that working-class environment, cars have always been a status symbol and there was always that idea that the vehicle is an extension of yourself. I’ve owned Monaros, Porsches, motorbikes and other fast cars, but I’ve always had an appreciation for the beauty of automotive vehicles and their forms, from classics right up to the latest supercars. The Artura is such an amazing car to drive, especially in track mode, so when I get to do projects like this, which tap into that side of things for me, this is when art is really cool.
You’re celebrated for your use of subversion, often pushing against how society views Aboriginal identity. How has this shown up in the Artura project? I’ve always wanted this sort of saturated representation. When a lot of people think about contemporary Aboriginal art or First Nations art, there’s this expectation it’s going to be a dulled-down ochre kind of finish, with dots or whatever. That’s a very basic, romanticised view of what is authentic Aboriginal art. The fact is, it’s nothing like that. We represent 280 different communities, with different cultural practices, as well as art practices and matrilineal and patrilineal societies. I’ve never wanted to be part of that idea of “authenticity”. That’s why I have this really saturated colour system through my work. When you’ve got something important to say about history, politics, environment, law, justice or the future, using bright colours gets the viewer in… And then you can break it down.
As a piece of public art, there’s nowhere to hide in your McLaren. It might be the biggest conversation starter car Robb Report has ever driven.Exactly [laughs]. Artura is very sculptural and when you add some strong patterns, it becomes very dynamic. The design is my version of camouflage, which has the geometric patterning of my community, the Kamilaroi people. That represents the past, where our people weren’t allowed to declare their identity, who they were and where they came from. They were victimised, traumatised and persecuted for it. It’s not about concealing or hiding our identity anymore. This is a proud declaration of identity, that’s wrapped on the car. It’s me making a statement about where I come from, who I am in this 21st century, and how I see our people in the future.
Reko Rennie’s short film Shifted Perspectives: Airwallex x Reko Rennie can be viewed at youtube.com/@airwallex.global
Chloe Simpson has been skiing since she was old enough to walk. “Some of my earliest memories are of me learning to ski in Thredbo and being held up by the arms between my parents’ legs,” recalls the 38-year-old, who recently returned from skiing Japan-uary in Hakuba. “I’ve been smitten ever since.”
Her passion for the slopes rivals her fondness for the runway. A fashion design and textiles graduate who spent more than a decade living in New York and London, where she worked at a high-end showroom as a buyer and stylist for clients like Victoria’s Secret models Irina Shayk and Kate Upton, and later as a personal shopper for VIPs at Selfridge’s, Simpson is finally marrying her two loves.
Chloe Simpson photographed by Caitlin Taffs.
Having moved back to Sydney in 2018, last November she launched Amerl, a skiwear collection aimed at women who want high design and high performance at high altitude. “I saw a gap in the market when I was working at Selfridge’s and lots of my clients were asking for cute skiwear that didn’t really exist back then,” she says over a glass of red at Bartiga in Double Bay. “This was about eight years ago, before skiing was plastered all over social media, so there wasn’t as much competition.”
After a few fitful starts, including a name change due to trademark issues (Amerl is a portmanteau of the middle names of her and husband, Amber and Erling), Simpson has landed on a winning collection of ski suits, pants, jackets and knitwear. The label arrives at a time when fashionable skiwear is storming the trails like so many powder hounds looking for the best line down a black diamond. Independent labels like Cordova, Perfect Moment and Tony Sailer are competing against heritage brands like Moncler and Bogner as well as haute releases by high fashion brands Prada, Dior, Chanel et al.
Photograph by Ago Schenone.
Unlike many of her hypercoloured and monogrammed competitors, Simpson’s aesthetic leans more towards “if you know, you know” quiet-luxury pieces that make up her personal wardrobe. When we meet, she is in an understated Chanel jacket and slingbacks, and Agolde jeans; her only concessions to bling being the silver AP Royal Oak on her wrist and the diamonds that adorn her fingers and neck.
“I don’t really like getting too caught up in trend-driven fashion,” she says. “I’m the queen of tonal dressing, and my skiwear is also classic and restrained.”
While the chalet-ready threads are perfect for après, Simpson has been careful to include plenty of performance elements that give the rest of the collection an aura of credibility on the piste. There are magnetic closures on the front, practical seams around fleece-lined pants (no thermals needed!) so snow doesn’t get in, waterproof zippers, and high-tech 3M insulation.
Photograph by Ago Schenone.
“I’ve also worked hard at making the pieces as versatile as possible,” she explains. “As a skier, I know that the weather can turn on a dime. You can be absolutely freezing one minute, and then the next, you’re sweaty at lunch under 100 layers.”
As a result, faux fur and shearling accents can be easily detached, jackets have sleeves that be removed and turned into a full vest, and the top layer of an ingenious ski suit can be taken down and tied securely like a jumper around the waist.
Though she is wary of getting too ahead of her skis, she has recently experimented with a few pooch-friendly pieces and has plans to move into fur-lined boots and accessories. “Obviously men’s is an area I’d like to expand into, but I’m not in a rush,” she says. Besides, she continues, the one-time knee-high ski bunny wants to try her hand at skiwear for girls. “Maybe it’s just nostalgia for when I learned to ski, but I can already envision the photo of a mum and a little girl wearing the same cute outfit. For me, that’s the obvious next step.”
Professional partnerships in the wine industry are far less frequent than fashion or watch collaborations. But even if they were a dime a dozen, the oenological world would likely still be fervently excited about the just-released joint effort by Penfolds Grange and La Chapelle, which blends one of the world’s finest shiraz, grown in Australia of course, with an equally eminent European-harvested syrah—traditionally the slightly more restrained style of the grape—into a single bottle.
It helps that Penfolds chief winemaker Peter Gago and La Chapelle owner and winemaker Caroline Frey are longtime friends. They came up with the idea to fuse their products over—what else?—a glass of wine after meeting at the Vinexpo trade fair in Bordeaux many years ago. And though both prestigious businesses produce coveted vintages, the resulting bottling is somehow far greater than the sum of its parts.
Penfolds Grange was created in 1951 and is named for the original estate cottage Dr. Christopher Rawson Penfold and his wife, Mary, had built in the Adelaide suburb of Magill, in 1844. Once completed, they planted cuttings of syrah grapes believed to be transplanted from France. It is arguably the most coveted Australian wine among connoisseurs in the know. La Chapelle also takes its name from a specific structure: the Chapel of St. Christopher, which sits atop a granite hill in the Rhône Valley. It has been tempting collectors since the 1920s, and several of its vintages have scored the elusive 100-point grading from critics, placing it among the most acclaimed bottles in the world.
The finished collaboration bottle. Courtesy of Penfolds Wines
“The two wines, La Chapelle and Grange, the shiraz and the syrah, have such a connection, such a long story,” Frey says. “Even if it seems a little crazy, the idea to blend them came quite naturally.”
Because they could not legally be mixed in France, the La Chapelle 2021 had to be air-freighted to Australia in temperature-controlled tanks before being combined with an equal amount of Grange. “They were initially oak-aged separately, then blended, and then went back to oak,” Gago explains. “That helps us with the harmony, not just of the flavours, but also the tannins.” In other words, Frey adds, “you don’t identify those two wines in the blend, but for me the interesting thing is that it shows me the powerful side of La Chapelle and the elegance of Grange.”
The result, called Grange La Chapelle 2021, is violet in the glass and offers a bouquet of black cherry, pomegranate and eucalyptus, with a pleasant touch of forest floor. After an opening burst of cranberry, slightly grippy tannins and well-balanced acidity support flavours of purple plum, blackberry, milk chocolate, mint and black pepper, with a soft hint of baking spices that lingers into the persistent finish.
You won’t find it on a store shelf anywhere: The tightly limited bottling is being sold directly to customers, at $3,500 apiece. Those who miss out will be pleased to learn that the 2022 and 2023 vintages are already bottled and resting in the Penfolds museum under Gago’s watchful eye.
THE LATEST ITERATION IN Lange’s family of neoclassical watchmaking—inspired by Saxonian pocket watches—takes everything connoisseurs already love about the 1815 aesthetic and distils it into a smaller medium. Quite seamlessly, we might add.
Consisting of two variations in white or pink gold (both 34 mm), the new 1815’s size is inversely proportional to its impact in the wider Lange-verse. Seasoned collectors of the German firm have already pointed out this new design’s thematic kinship with the now discontinued 35 mm Saxonia. Such rarefied air is reinforced by the use of marine-blue on the dial—a colour the brand generally reserves for its most important releases.
Despite its discreet size and thinness, this piece outperforms its older siblings on the energy front, with a new, purpose-built movement boasting a 72-hour power reserve and all the hallmarks of Lange’s lavish three-quarter plate construction.
Slim, refined and especially beautiful in the hard-to-nail combo of dark blue on rose gold, these releases will appeal to anybody with a healthy appreciation for small but mighty craftsmanship.
UNDER THE AUSPICES of its rare (and formidably priced) Privé range, Cartier is once again revisiting a riff on the classic Tank dress watch—the quixotic, Art Deco-inspired Tank à Guichets.
A rare bird by any measure, the Guichets’ defining characteristic is its use of a “digital” time display. Hours and minutes are visualised through two tiny windows, on an otherwise sparsely decorated backdrop of a monometallic case. The new Privé releases continue this tradition: including a platinum limited edition (200 pieces worldwide) in which each time-telling aperture is placed at a jaunty angle.
Tank à Guichets have technically existed since 1928, albeit only ever in infinitesimally small numbers. In 1997, Cartier tweaked the design and began to release it on a more regular basis, but these new iterations present deep-cut collecting opportunities to those with an affinity for history and a sharp eye for detail—erring closer to the design of the 1930s with their 12 o’clock crowns and model-specific dial printing.
A sardine feeding frenzy is one of the world’s ecological wonders. It’s also one of the biggest turn-ons for obsessive anglers. “I’ve seen grown men tremble at the sight,” says Felipe Morales, my host and captain, as he guns our boat through a glassy expanse of the Pacific toward an eruption of frothy white water on the horizon.
Within minutes we’re on top of the chaos. Red- and blue-footed boobies relentlessly divebomb the surface. Spotted dolphins torpedo through the water. And hordes of massive tuna leap through the air, their hungry mouths agape. Before the boat has even slowed, my guide Jairo Zuñiga rushes toward the bow, spinning rod in hand, and catapults a popper (a topwater lure) directly into the action. The neon-pink lure barely splashes the surface before a silver flash gobbles it—yanking the line taught—and the battle begins.
It’s late March, and I’ve arrived in Bahía Solano, an under-the-radar fishing paradise on Colombia’s wild Pacific coast, just as the sardines have started to pour into the region’s warm waters on their annual spring migration south from Panama. When they cluster into a dense sphere, known as a bait ball, they become a feast for predators such as tuna, sailfish, jacks and snappers. And as those predators hit the surface to feed, they in turn become enticing targets for anglers like me. This natural phenomenon is only one reason the fishing here is so spectacular.
Black Sands owner Felipe Morales with a roosterfish. Black Sands Lodge
Another is the lack of tourists. In virtually any other fishing destination, a feeding frenzy like this would attract dozens of boats. Here, except for a local panga (a small, lightweight open boat, typically with an outboard motor), we are the sole vessel in the water. Unlike Colombia’s Caribbean coast and coffee region, the Chocó district in which Bahía Solano lies has yet to be discovered by globe-trotters. Just under a decade ago, this jungle-cloaked area was controlled by the FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) guerrillas. Even after the 2016 peace accord between the FARC and the Colombian government, only intrepid travellers ventured here, lured by the district’s black-sand beaches and extraordinary biodiversity. (Chocó is roughly half the size of Tasmania and contains an estimated 9,000 vascular plant species, 2,250 of which are found nowhere else, as well as more palm species than any other part of the world.)
In recent years, fanatical anglers like Morales, an Argentinean who has fished around the world, started to hear whispers about Bahía Solano’s potential. With its uncharted coastline and deep canyons starting just a few kilometres off the mainland, the area offers the opportunity to cast for an incredible mix of offshore species, such as mahi-mahi and marlin, and inshore varieties like roosterfish and cubera snapper. You can fish here nearly year-round: January through March brings tuna and inshore season, April through June is ideal for sailfish and fly-fishing, and October through December is deep-sea heaven, excellent for targeting blue marlin, wahoo and large mahi-mahi. And the region’s minimal infrastructure—there are no paved roads in Bahía Solano—lack of charters and absence of large marinas have kept fishing pressure incredibly low. “It’s one of the last true frontiers in saltwater fishing,” Morales had told me on the phone ahead of my arrival at Black Sands, his new fishing lodge.
Given his résumé, I trusted his boldly confident claim. Morales, 36, grew up immersed in the industry. His father, Marcelo, is a fly-fishing legend: a fly-tying connoisseur and bamboo-rod craftsman, he helped popularise the sport in Argentina in the 1970s and played a key role in the early development of some of Patagonia’s most renowned flyfishing lodges. In the ’90s, he partnered with American Jon Fisher to open an outpost of the popular New York City fly shop Urban Angler in Buenos Aires. The latter still exists today under the name Buenos Aires Anglers.
Morales started guiding at 17. He has taken clients to waters all over the planet, from the rivers of the American West to the flats of the Bahamas to the Indian Ocean off the northern coast of Madagascar. “Felipe has attracted the love of a lot of billionaires who like to fish,” a longtime American client, Hollywood entertainment lawyer Tom Hansen, told me before my departure. And if Morales suggests they go to a particular spot, they go. While he was guiding in Venezuela, another of his wealthy clients, a hedge-fund owner from New York, suggested they open a lodge together. After searching for the perfect spot in South America for six years, they finally stumbled upon Bahía Solano and started operating here in 2018 out of a rustic five-room beachfront lodge. Clients loved the fishing but subtly hinted that they’d appreciate an upgrade in the amenities.
When the humble hotel across the bay went up for sale, the partners relocated their enterprise. Last summer, they completely rebuilt the property, transforming it into the region’s first high-end lodge. Nestled on a stretch of jungle-backed beach just under a kilometre in length, Black Sands feels like a private island. Yet it’s remarkably easy to reach. From Medellín, a city that has reinvented itself as a hub of cool after years of drug wars, it’s just a one-hour flight to Bahía Solano’s ramshackle airport. (It’s too small for jets, but Morales can charter twin props from Medellín.) When I arrive, I navigate around rogue chickens to reach my luggage. A Black Sands staff member is there to meet me and ushers me to a moto tuk tuk, which whisks us along a pockmarked dirt road for 10 minutes before depositing us at a pier where Morales is waiting aboard Volantis, his Contender 39 ST powerboat. “Welcome to tuna heaven,” he says as he greets me on the deck.
The 20-minute boat ride to Black Sands offers a glimpse of the region’s trapped-in-time beauty. Hansen, who has fished here with Morales a handful of times, told me Bahía Solano feels like Costa Rica 30 years ago, and I’d agree. Misty rainforest tumbles down to the sea at every turn, and the only boats we encounter are wooden pangas helmed by locals. “It’s rare to discover a place that still feels so young,” Hansen had shared. “And one where you can get your arm pulled off by a fish, too—well, that’s special.”
Bahía Solano also offers rich diving opportunities. Black Sands Lodge
Upon my arrival, the team is abuzz with excitement, having just spotted a sloth lolling through the trees by the restaurant. A lovely staff member greets me with a cold towel then escorts me to my room. Black Sands’ 12 teak bungalows are just steps from the beach, connected by a winding wooden boardwalk. Soaring ceilings give them a luxuriously spacious feel, and each has a private deck overlooking the sea. The beds are out-of-this-world comfortable, and the huge bathrooms are decorated with native plants and stocked with artisanal toiletries from Bogotá-based skin-care line Loto del Sur. Many guests will tell you their favourite feature is the air-conditioning, an appreciated relief from the humidity.
When it comes to gear, anglers are a finicky bunch, but Black Sands’ tackle room is so well curated, most leave their rods and reels at home, happy to borrow the lodge’s top-of-the-line equipment from brands such as Sage and Scientific Anglers. During my four-day stay, I mostly stick to the lodge’s typical angling program: coffee and made-to-order breakfast at 6 am; depart on Volantis, one of the lodge’s two Contenders, around 7 am; and fish until sunset, with a short break for lunch, which is always something fresh and healthy, like a poke bowl made with tuna we’d caught the prior day.
Because the sardine run has just begun, I happen to be the sole guest, so I have the boat to myself with Morales and our two guides: Kenny Fernandez, a native of Mexico, and Jairo Zuñiga, a local whom I nickname Tom Brady for his impressive casting distance and accuracy. Each day delivers thrilling action and doubles as a marine safari, with sightings of turtles, pods of dolphins, a shiver of sharks and even a feeding whale shark. A playlist of Bob Marley, Duran Duran and The Rolling Stones sets the mood as we cruise the Pacific looking for swarms of feeding birds. We experiment with every technique—popping, jigging, trolling, fly-fishing—trying to land a variety of species, but yellowfin tuna are our prime targets, and Zuñiga seems to be able to smell them miles away.
A stack of bonitos, ready for marlin fishing. Black Sands Lodge
My father was an avid fisherman. As a young girl, I spent many Saturdays by his side glueing shimmery tinsel and bright feathers to the flies he’d tie. But I never understood his fishing obsession until I was older and he’d passed away. I am far from an expert angler, but as an adult, the sport has helped me know my dad a bit better. It is a hobby that requires patience and humility, two traits he had heaps of, and it’s fuelled by a love of nature perhaps even more than by the satisfaction of capturing a fish. I’m certain he would have considered Bahía Solano to be nirvana, just as I do.
I find the drama of the catch is equal to that of the landscape here. I had said I wanted a whopper, and Morales warned, “No, you don’t.” On day three, I learn why. Up until this point, I’ve been reeling in some nice-size tuna, averaging 14 kg. Now, when my popper thrashes like an explosion in the water, Zuñiga rushes to my side to strap me into the fighting belt. “Get ready for torture,” Morales says with a laugh as he sips what is probably his 10th Coke Zero of the day. After 30 minutes of battling the mass of muscle and speed on the end of my line, I finally have to ask Zuñiga to grab the rod so I can rest. When my forearms finally stop burning, I reclaim the rod and, after another 15 minutes, haul in a glistening 32 kg tuna.
Zuñiga hasn’t even gotten the hook out of its mouth before Morales spots more action in the water and urges me to throw out another cast, but I am done for the day. “One more,” I have quickly learned, is never really one more. I collapse contentedly in a beanbag chair on the bow of the boat and let the guys catch the grouper that will be our dinner this evening.
By day’s end, I’m so tired I can barely climb the steps to reach the lodge’s Balinese-style open-air dining room. Perched high on a hill above the bungalows, it affords guests incredible sunset views and, during the summer, a perfect vantage from which to spot migrating humpback whales. Despite my aching body, I know dinner will be worth the trek. Morales is as discerning about food as he is about fishing, and he recently hired chef Dayana Jamaica, who used to work at Medellín’s lauded Test Kitchen Lab. One evening she turns our tuna into sashimi and tuna tartare served atop avocado crema. Tonight, she makes a delicate green curry with the grouper.
The writer at work. Courtesy of Jen Murphy
Over dinner, Morales shares his larger plans for the lodge. A gym and a pool are being added, and he’s waiting for the arrival of a third boat, which will be used for whale watching. Hard-core, discriminating anglers, like Hansen, form Black Sands’ client base, but Morales wants to promote Bahía Solano’s other treasures as well. He recently hired a local guide to show off the region’s unparalleled bird watching and is partnering with the nearby PADI shop to offer diving. One day I venture to the neighbouring village of El Valle, about 40 minutes away, to see a turtle conservation project and assist in the baby-turtle release.
Morales isn’t the only one who sees Bahía Solano’s potential for tourism. Last year, a Colombian outfitter, Afloat Adventures, took over Black Sands’ original lodge across the bay and began providing both fishing and nature tours. “People are always looking for the next new place,” said Hansen. “It’s only a matter of time before the secret gets out.” Hansen, a purist fly-fisherman, estimated he has fished in at least 40 places around the world but said there’s something different—a little magical—about Bahía Solano. Yes, it’s the fish, but at least for now, it’s also the luxury of having the ocean all to yourself.
From around $780 per night for double occupancy, including meals; lodge buyout, around $9,400 per night. Fishing packages start at around $6,400 per person for three days.
ONE CAN ALWAYS TRUST Hermès to take a sledgehammer to the blanket self-seriousness of Watches and Wonders, using its trademark mixture of wit, design chops and high-concept ingenuity.
Key to this year’s strategy is the Le Temps Suspendu (“time suspended”), a modular enhancement to several of the maison’s signature timepieces, including the burgeoning Cut range launched in 2024.
True to its name, this complication makes time “disappear”. The whimsical yet mechanically elaborate system allows wearers to jump the hour and minute to a neutral 12 o’clock position at the push of a button—simply press again when you’re ready to view the current time.
Hermès has been honing the technology behind Le Temps Suspendu for over a decade, but this is the first occasion on which it has been incorporated into a line of watches other than the dressy Arceau. Wed to the soft, sensual lines of the Cut “cushion” case (the collection was first created expressly for women), the suspension of time takes on dreamy nuances—the watch is overlaid with a running seconds indicator that makes one full rotation every 24 seconds, while doing so counterclockwise.
Photo credits: Hermès Cut Le Temps Suspendu, Joel Von Allmen.
