When I left work in Bar Harbor in mid-February to head for the Caribbean, Frenchman Bay wasn’t exactly dotted with icebergs, but the sweep of the sea looking out from the College of the Atlantic looked mighty chilly. No sailboats this time of year, no Cat, just whitecaps, an icy shoreline and dark islands in the distance.

I feel a little cheap trading in on that buzz adjective “extreme,” but that’s what going to the Caribbean in midwinter is. Leaving the airport in Manchester, N.H., at 6 a.m. with the temperature below zero and arriving in sunshine and a temperature of 80 on Beef Island, Tortola, at 4 p.m. – well, it’s the stuff of contrasts.

I also should confess that we didn’t choose to stay at Frenchman’s Cay because it rhymes with Frenchman Bay. In fact, it doesn’t: “cay” is pronounced “key” in the British Virgin Islands. No, what drew us to this part of paradise were photographs on the World Wide Web: a hammock strung between palm trees, a freshwater pool, a private beach, bougainvillea blossoms.

Frenchman’s Cay Resort Hotel consists of nine villas perched on 12 acres of hillside facing Sir Francis Drake Passage, a Caribbean thoroughfare navigated by thousands of sailboats each year. There wasn’t a moment during our holiday when the blue-green reaches of this vista were not accented by sails. When the wind was right, you had the impression of actually being on board, by way of that marvelous sound of canvas catching the trade winds that pour through the West Indies at this time of year.

With a full kitchen and a superette just beyond the front entrance to the hotel, we could do all our own cooking, but our pledge to save on food soon faded after a visit to the Clubhouse Restaurant at the hotel, located in an open-air pavilion near the water. Breakfasts and two dinners and lunches were included in our package. Talk about spoiled: while the menu satisfied 13-year-old son James’ every pleasure, from French toast to burgers to baby back ribs, my wife and I and daughter Emily partook of the more local fare, from fresh mango to crab cakes to Caribbean corn chowder. Desserts included a hot apple tart de Normandie that was to die for.

The hotel opened 15 years ago; for the past 10 years Terry and Pat Kennedy and their able staff have managed it. The Kennedys often ate dinner at the hotel restaurant and took turns serving tables and speaking with the guests. Background music at night included a CD of folk songs by Quito Rymer, a local entertainer.

While the exclusiveness of resorts can sometimes cut a visitor off from the rest of the world like the gated communities one reads about in certain posh suburbs, Frenchman’s Cay on the island’s West End seemed open to the world around it. At times, a few of the small goats that one sees all over Tortola would wander onto the grounds. If you wanted a taste of boating society, a 10-minute walk took you to Soper’s Hole, a large marina with a suite of services, including an upscale grocery called the Ample Hamper, gift shops and Pusser’s restaurant and company store.

One of the high points of the visit was watching four islanders haul in a large fishing net near the hotel. While two men pulled from shore, a third tended the net from a dory, making sure it didn’t catch on any coral, and a fourth man swam around the perimeter with a mask checking on the fish. They remained focused on their travail while I shot away, lost in a reverie of hand seining with my father when I was young.

Our hotel package included a car rental. A small Japanese-made jeep proved ideal for the precipitous island roads. A word of caution: for anyone who doesn’t enjoy a combination of sometimes-poor road conditions and steep switchbacks, you will have to hire a chauffeur and buy a blindfold. There are flat sections of roadway that follow the edge of the sea, but there are just as many stretches that twist and turn at torturous angles. And remember, you’ll be driving on the left side. And don’t forget to slow down for the speed bumps: believe me, there’s no getting around these obstacles, even if you’re driving a Hummer.

One of the steepest roads leads to Sage Mountain National Park, at 1,780 feet the highest point in the Virgin Islands. This rain forest preserve was created in 1964 by Laurence Rockefeller, of the same family that helped create the park on nearby St. John’s and our own Acadia National Park. Circling the top of the mountain, we enjoyed stunning views of the Virgin Islands. Staked markers provide scientific and common names of a wide variety of tropical plants and trees, from myrtle to mahogany. Make sure to read the map at the entrance: James and I took a trail that proved to be the long way back to the parking lot.

A main reason for the Little family’s return visits to the Virgin Islands has been the snorkeling. Over the years we have seen just about everything except a shark: moray eels, rays, turtles and the multitude of colorful fish that frequent the coral. Tortola has some fine spots for snorkel sightseeing, including Smuggler’s Cove and Brewer’s Bay, but we found the best viewing to be right off the point of the hotel where, among other creatures, we spied the granddaddy of all barracuda. I know there will probably never be a Hollywood movie titled “Cuda” – the fish is just not big enough, although perhaps a nuclear power plant could be part of the plot – but I never get used to coming face to face with one of these grinning monsters.

This time around we expanded on our underwater adventures by going on a dive with Baskin in the Sun, located in Soper’s Hole. Not certified, we took what is called a resort course, a kind of intro to diving. It took some of us a bit of time to get the hang of certain procedures (the water level in the Caribbean must have dropped an inch or two that day, thanks to the gallons inhaled through my mouth and nose), but once we were accustomed to the apparatus, we had a fine tour. The dive site off Great Thatch Island was full of fish, including what the guide considered a rare treat, a school of tuna that went whisking by.

Tortola offers an excellent home base for explorations of the rest of the Virgin Islands. One day we took Speedy’s ferry from Road Town to Virgin Gorda for the day. The $30 round-trip fair included boat ticket, cab fare to and from the Baths, lunch (entrees under $10) and a free fruit punch. It turned out to be a great deal, from the open-air taxi ride across the island to an excellent feed at the Bath and the Turtle Restaurant by the marina.

The Baths could be one of the seven wonders of the geologic world, a great stack of huge – I mean humungous – volcanic boulders, which offer amateur spelunkers several hours of exploring fun. Since I last visited 20 or so years ago, they have added stairs and ropes to help you find your way through the rocks (there’s a beautiful little beach at the far end). The best fun, however, is going off the beaten track to find your own spot where the surging water comes sweeping in to cool your sunburned body.

I could’ve wiggled my way into a lot more hard-to-get spots if my midriff wasn’t so swollen by Caribbean cuisine. I tried to work it off on the hotel tennis court, letting my son push me around every evening (The best time to play, we found, was after the sun had set behind the island). The court was funky, artificial grass on packed sand – very easy on my vintage knees.

When we weren’t out and about exploring a new beach, most of our time was spent poolside, a fresh fruit drink and book close at hand. The hotel has a small on-your-honor library where my son discovered a collection of baseball stories by W.S. Kinsella. I had brought my own vacation reads, including Peter Matthiessen’s novel “Far Tortuga,” which increased my appreciation of the fishermen I had watched on the shore.

Even as we wail “I’m peeling” in the tone of voice akin to that of the Wicked Witch in the “Wizard of Oz” after she was doused with water, we recognize the benefits of a mid-February getaway to the Virgin Islands. To play on the title of another Hollywood movie, we got our groove back: the solar energy pulsing through our beings should last us through mud season. The bay to cay journey was extremely, extremely enjoyable.

Helpful hints for visitors to the British Virgin Islands:

. Currency is American. There are cash machines in the main towns, but be prepared to find them on the blink (as you would at home). Also, the credit card machines weren’t working one night. Fortunate for us, the restaurant accepted a personal check.

. Don’t forget your passports and birth certificates. You’re in British territory.

. Pack lightly. In addition to warm weather clothes, it’s a good idea to bring along something warmer – a light sweater or windbreaker – for apres snorkeling or the rare rain.

. Frenchman’s Cay Resort Hotel: P.O. Box 1054 West End, Tortola, British Virgin Islands. Phone: 800-234-4077. Internet: http://frenchmans.com.

. Baskin-in-the-Sun diving: phone: 284-494-2858; internet: http://www.Dive-Baskin.com

. The Welcome Tourist Guide to the British Virgin islands is published six times a year and contains a good deal of helpful information.