To savvy travelers and high-end hoteliers alike, the Turks and Caicos—a forty-island archipelago within easy reach of the United States—are a veritable pot of gold. Jennifer Finney Boylan goes prospecting

The biggest surprise, I think as I dangle from a parachute several hundred feet above the turquoise ocean, is how quiet it is up here. I'd thought that at the very least I could count on the sound of my own bloodcurdling screams. Instead, mostly what I hear is the lapping of waves against the sugar-sand beach, the cry of birds, and the distant roar of the speedboat hauling my parasail along the edge of Grace Bay.

It's not the first time since arriving in the Turks and Caicos that I've been caught off guard. A few days ago, I did something nearly as unlikely: I scuba dived for the first time in my life. From my position up here in the middle of the sky, I can see the waves crashing against the islands' famous coral reef, where I took my virgin plunge. During that dive, I saw thousands of parrot fish, as well as conch and spiny lobster on the ocean floor—two creatures that, until recently, were at the heart of the islands' economic life.

The days of conch and lobster fishing are disappearing fast, however, as is abundantly clear from this rarefied altitude. In the distance I can see Parrot Cay, home not only to Keith Richards but also to the exclusive Parrot Cay resort, the kind of place that comes with its own yoga master and a variety of New Age drinks with names like Blood of Earth. Also abundantly clear from this height is the extent of the building boom on the islands, which includes the construction of The Mandalay and Amanresorts's Amanyara on Providenciales, the St. Charles on North Caicos, the West Caicos Reserve resort, and a Carnival cruise port on Grand Turk.

If these islands were once the domain of conch fishermen and scuba divers, they're soon to be dominated by miles and miles of high-end accommodations. It'll be a few more years before the transformation is complete, but at the moment, the archipelago seems to be suspended halfway between what it once was and what it soon shall be.

Today happens to be Columbus Day, and from my vantage point I can just see the location of Molasses Reef to the south, upon which the was allegedly wrecked in 1500. As I look down at all these resorts in progress, I wonder what Columbus would say now, were he to encounter the Turks and Caicos, an archipelago he supposedly visited after making landfall on San Salvador. I think of the lyrics to "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream":

I asked the captain what his name was
And how come he didn't drive a truck
He said his name was Columbus
I just said, "Good luck."

It's at this moment, as I'm drifting through the silent sky, that, incredibly, a rainbow appears, rising above Pine Cay. If you're the kind of person who believes in pots of gold in circumstances such as these, you will not be disappointed looking for them here.

Later, after I've been reeled back in by the speedboat's crew, I find myself standing on the deck, miraculously returned to sea level. "So, pretty lady," says my captain, a good-looking islander named Conrad, "did you like what you see?"