Diving with Paul - Palau

We each see the world through our own lenses…

Palau, Micronesia

10-12-07 Houston, Texas Travel to Palau from Houston involves a lengthy series of flight segments commencing with an 8-hour leg from Houston to Honolulu. We delay in Honolulu for an hour while the aircraft, a Continental Airlines 767, refuels and re-provisions prior to a 7-hour flight to Guam. From the air, Guam appears an intriguingly long and very narrow island where we wait another hour before flying our final two hours to Koror, the capital of the Republic of Palau and our final destination.

10-13-07 Koror, Palau My internal clock is completely disoriented after nearly twenty hours in transit and, counting time zones, we should be ten hours ahead of Houston. Crossing the International Date Line also requires a bit of temporal gymnastics that adds one day before we finally land around 8:00 PM on Saturday, October 13th. I calculate that our internal clocks are fourteen hours ahead of home by virtue of adjusting for various Daylight Saving Times along the way.

We transfer to the West Plaza Hotel where I check into our room at 10:00 PM local time with my roommate and soon-to-be dive buddy on the Palau Aggressor, David McCloskey. I must make an effort to be still after the constant motion imparted by lengthy travel and observe that David must be feeling the same. He looks out the window of our modest but comfortable room and peers closely toward street level one floor below us before announcing “There’s a chick down there wearing a cowboy hat.” “She’s one of ours” is my reply. I noticed Erin Jefferys at our departure gate just before take off though I haven’t yet had an opportunity to visit with her.

Rounding out our group of sixteen divers we count trip leader Sheila Shelton plus Burch Downman, Chuck Mason, Doug Caddell, Bob Cunningham, Cyndy Powell, and Terry Chambliss all from the Houston area. We also have Angie and Wayne O’Haver from Dallas, Sara Cowles as a recent transfer from Houston to Denver and Bryan Johnston, who flew in a day earlier from England to join our adventure.

Many of us meet downstairs in the Red Rooster Café, a purveyor of local beers and other refreshments. Feeling wired from the lengthy series of flights we begin to unwind over drinks in the Red Rooster bar while remaining awake as long as possible to adjust favorably to local time. I’d previously been diving with Sheila, Burch, Chuck, Doug and Cyndy last April while on Utila of the Honduran Bay Islands. Our sense of comfortable reunion facilitates warming the others into our midst and, by about midnight local time, most of us finally retire to our rooms for earnest sleep.

10-14-07 Sleeping soundly until 8:30 the next morning I feel refreshed, check with David to let him know I’m heading downstairs for breakfast and there find half our group already awake and ready for the day. A rich sense of anticipation swells into excitement over our newest dive adventure. Burch and Bob have clearly been up for a while and earnestly planning to use our pre-dive free time by hiring a driver for a guided tour of those parts of the island group reachable by car.

I appreciate the lag between our arrival on Palau and embarkation for our week-long Aggressor cruise as a wise strategy for ensuring that our gear and luggage catch up to us in the unfortunate event of an airline-related disruption. I’m ever ready to explore new and exotic locales and our self-arranged land tour provides an opportunity to visit places with fascinating names that include Ulebsechel, Ngerekebesang and the largest, Babeldoab.

When two drivers are hired I eagerly join Burch, Bob and Cyndy in the first car. Our intentions include a visit to the former Japanese military headquarters and other World War II era emplacements, which Burch anticipates with undisguised enthusiasm. I look forward to exploring the native storyboard art form about which I have read with interest while the ever-inquisitive Cyndy beams happy over joining us. More practically, she seeks a local shop for acquiring an eyeglass repair kit.

Our own local driver, Nan, invites us into an aged and well-used Nissan, his pride and joy that he affectionately pats on the dash while calling it “My baby.” And so our tour begins. The shock absorbers of his car have long ago passed their prime and from my rear seat vantage I quickly understand why he eases ever so slowly over each speed bump or other raised obstruction. I can actually feel the road bumps grate through the soles of my shoes as they pass along the floorboards underneath. From the beginning of our tour I appreciate that street level Palau appears just as lush and clean as depicted in any travel guide.

For our first stop Nan transports us to a Shinto shrine rising meditatively near the home of a local political dignitary as a well-maintained spiritual relic from the time of Japanese control. From there we drive to the former Japanese Imperial Command headquarters, now a blasted concrete derelict scarred along the walls by numerous bullets and chipped craters of heavy gunfire. A destroyed tank and ruined anti-aircraft gun rusting amid weeds stand nearby in silent memorial to the ravages of a battle-plagued time.

An enthusiast of Pacific military history, Burch poses reverently with a hand on the long-dead equipment of war and shares fascinating insights into the ghosts of our surroundings. He offers a distilled perspective on the attitudes of Japanese soldiers facing an overwhelming U.S. attack, “Can you imagine how they must’ve felt knowing that their fleet has been destroyed, leaving them with no hope for victory or chance for retreat?” The present day serenity permeating this island paradise offers stark contrast to the violence of 1944 that, without Burch’s narrative, would seem a fictional world lost to time or an alternate reality.

We leave the site of the command headquarters bound for our next stop, the local Cultural Museum. As we proceed, intrigue overwhelms his sense of social propriety causing Burch to ask Nan about the redness clearly evident inside and around his mouth, the mark of a habitual chewer of Betel nut. As a very pleasant, highly affable fellow Nan eagerly withdraws a hugely wrapped leafy bundle from between his lips and gums and offers us a demonstration reminiscent of an American cowboy dipping snuff.

The Cultural Museum lacks much detailed or documented history due to lengthy Spanish control when native Palauan culture was ignored or suppressed. In 1899 Germany bought Palau from Spain for around seventeen million Marks, a sizable sum then. Over the next fifteen years the ever-industrious Germans attempted to instill order among locals clinging to a laid back lifestyle. Now known as German Channel, they also created a passage approximately 1,200 ft long and only 10 ft deep at low tide. Designed to improve shipping efficiency through the continuous, fringing reef system the channel cuts an opening between Ngemelis and Macharchar Islands along the southern reaches of the archipelago. The inward opening of this channel will provide our first mooring aboard the Aggressor.

In 1914 Japan declared war on Germany as justification for invading Palau while also taking the Philippines and many other island states fringing what is now Micronesia. Since Palauans enjoy a rich cultural history without the benefit of a written language, their Japanese overlords suggested they produce carved storyboards. Gleaned from our verbal lessons with Nan and Cultural Museum observations we learn that a Japanese ‘suggestion’ translates literally as ‘do it’. Depicting traditional Palauan myths and cultural values, storyboard production evolved as an interesting and valuable export commodity providing an economic staple for local craftsmen. Concluding our museum visit with panels describing the liberation of Palau by U.S forces over 1944-45 we fast forward to 1994 when Palau became an independent republic.

Upon returning to our car and driver, Burch astutely observes that Nan becomes virtually incomprehensible after tucking a fresh plug of Betel nut in his mouth. Whether due to the sheer volume of the plug or to it’s addictive affect I can only guess, but understandable communication through fresh Betel nut will challenge even the most astute linguists.

Consistently accommodating, Nan chauffeurs us to an authentic communal lodge or spirit house known locally as a Bai as the next stop on our tour. Visiting the Bai requires a brief walk through verdant tropical foliage along a stone road long since overgrown with soft, lush grass. We soon find ourselves standing before a steeply peaked A-frame structure perhaps 16 to 18 ft wide and 60 ft long. Bearing a traditional thatched roof this Bai stands on numerous support posts that elevate the entire structure about 2 ft off the ground.

Images painted on the face of the Bai intrigue me with virile suggestions and an earthy frankness depicting conception, love won or lost, hunter-gatherers and epic journeys. The Palauan mythos of storytelling through art reveals women as the womb of creation, symbolic fish as life-giving sustenance, animated sharks representing inherent risk and danger. Each horizontal row of representational art endures with animated yellow or orange pastel figures wrapped in yellow and blue trim overlaid with decorative black highlights on a whitewash background. The entire frieze elicits playfulness to the casual observer, yet grows wholly profound when taken in the context of Palauan origins.

A small square opening at the end of the Bai forces us to stoop with a reverent bow upon entering the symbolic communal womb where traditional gatherings revere their sacred traditions. The beautiful paint and artistry ornamenting each inside rafter further characterizes Palauan tribal stories and I feel privileged to glimpse this aspect of their exotic culture.

For our next stop Nan drives us to a small seaside cove where a thatch-covered dry dock stands astride calm water. To our delight we discover within the sheltering thatch a traditional war canoe perched high on blocks while in safe storage. We clamber aboard the ornately-painted dugout canoe and each take turns posing in the canoe while holding long wooden oars, briefly pretending to be fierce warriors from another time. Ready smiles somehow undermine the ferocious effect and we soon proceed to our next venues of military bunkers and the local police station.

After a brief ride Nan parks his Nissan near a baseball park and guides us just beyond the playing field. Behind the ballpark in an area overgrown with heavily canopied trees and thick underbrush we hear the sounds of men shouting and cheering nearby. Growing louder as we approach, the noise emanates from beyond our sight behind pervasive green curtains of foliage. Seeing the question in our eyes Nan explains that an afternoon cockfight is in progress. Ignoring the vocal commotion he parts some branches to reveal an opening perhaps 5 ft across centering the bottom of an earthen depression. He explains that, as a boy, he would light palm branches as makeshift torches for use in exploring the many tunnels that connected this ancient bunker with a network of others.

Several yards away another low-slung opening still framed in old concrete forms a military pill box from which soldiers or snipers were likely deployed. In a moment of exploratory wistfulness we yearn for our dive lights and a better look into the dank recesses before shrugging an “Oh, well”. Better to leave some things, whether spiritual or material, lie in peaceful slumber.

Adjacent to the ballpark stands the police headquarters and local jail, our next stop famed for the storyboards carved and sold by resident prisoners. According to Nan these storyboards are “the best available for the most reasonable prices” and I must quell my uneasiness over the prospect of walking willfully into a prison compound. We deliberately approach a set of tan steel double doors where a blue overhead sign advertises this as the Department of Correction. Another small sign crudely hung as if an afterthought announces ‘Subelek Gift Shop’ and includes an arrow pointing directly to the jailhouse entrance. As if insufficient for advertising, a second crude sign in the shape of an arrow hung on the opposite wall simply states ‘Prisoner’s Gift Shop.’ And last, taped inside the small window of the right-hand door also hangs a notice advising us that visiting hours are Saturday, Sunday and Holidays between 1 and 3 pm.

Our driver smiles his crimson smile as we bravely walk inside to be greeted and quickly granted admittance by two stern (or bored?) policemen sitting behind a bare wooden desk. Passing through their stark anteroom I must further resist the urge to bolt for freedom and must force myself to overcome an irrational dread over willfully entering prison. We soon gain access to a smallish display area that seems quite small due to innumerable carvings of all shapes and sizes thickly packing each wall or table. The sheer number of storyboard carvings overwhelms me and I make several circuits around the room while attempting to appreciate and savor each individual piece of art.

Nan introduces the fellow handling the display area as his brother, also very friendly and who offers to tell the story of any carving that interests us. If a particular story is unknown he will fetch the carver for his first-hand version and, in any event, the negotiated price is between the carver and purchaser. Behind the further set of steel doors I imagine prisoners taking bets on which boards the tourists will select while each of us settles on a choice.

After much scrutiny I select a medium-sized storyboard uniquely carved in the outline of a jellyfish and ornamented with a tale of prosperity. When Nan’s brother brings my artist into the room for direct negotiation I quickly realize that I must bargain with a man sporting the bulging redness of fresh Betel nut that renders him even more incomprehensible than Nan. A tag affixed to this jellyfish carving indicates $175 and, taking the direct approach, I simply ask him for his best price. Hearing $150 as his reply I quickly agree and, though I feel sure that I could have negotiated a lower amount, believe it jurisprudent not to antagonize a convicted prisoner whom I can barely understand. Considering this act a worthy, hopefully productive aspect of prisoner reform and that my purchase will go toward facilitating a better future for the man I depart satisfied. We later learn that some of the inmates don’t want to leave jail due to the lucrative business of selling authentic prisoner storyboards to tourists.

After securing Cyndy’s sunglass repair kit and a bit more shopping we return to our hotel where we rejoin our group. There we enjoy a few Red Rooster beers while awaiting the Aggressor van and equipment truck for our 4:30 transfer that will officially start the dive portion of our trip.

When we’re delivered to the dock we find that the Palau Aggressor has an easy, comfortable layout with nine diver berths each accommodating two occupants all situated on the lower dive deck. The relatively roomy cabins each offer a sink, private toilet with shower and bunks arranged more narrow on top and wider below. Because our dive shop has booked the week for exclusive use by our 16 divers when 18 would constitute a full complement, one of the cabins remains unoccupied and we enjoy an expansive run of the ship in familiar company.

One level up from the cabins, the main salon, galley and dining area offer a wet bar, sitting area with sofas, computer station, and video center. An ample selection of movies is available along with the promise of a video presentation by the crew at the end of our week. Within the salon shutters adjacent to the wet bar can be opened to create an open-air environment while permitting outside seating. A hot tub on the rear outside portion of this deck supplements the overall package.

On the top deck, shaded open air seating with hammocks, tables, chairs and loungers provides a fine viewing platform for our cruise through the Palauan system. An sudden reality check prompts awareness that I am somewhere within a vast coral lagoon harboring numerous and intriguingly lush mushroom-shaped islands, fronting the Philippine Sea to the northwest and the Pacific Ocean to the southeast.

Sheila deliberately claims a top deck hammock while the rest of us find our assigned cabins and, after unpacking, we place the empty luggage in the central walkway for the crew to collect and stow out of the way. The rumble of our engines signals the beginning of a slow and easy cruise to our first mooring near the inner entrance to German Channel.

The leisurely cruise gives each of us ample time for setting up gear while alternately providing certification and Nitrox cards, which permit the bearer to breathe a higher concentration of oxygen. A personal GPS unit, or Global Positioning System, attaches to each BCD or Buoyancy Control Device, an inflatable vest used by our divers for achieving optimal buoyancy and which we otherwise abbreviate more simply as ‘BC’. The GPS unit provides satellite monitoring capability in the unfortunate event any of us become swept away by current or other whim of the sea. It affords an excellent precaution to supplement my inflatable safety sausage and whistle. Last, a new piece of equipment piques my curiosity regarding deployment and use. Unique to my previous diving experiences, the reef hook conjures images both strange and ungainly.

Captain Mike Farmer handles the crew introductions and at 6:30 PM we enjoy an ample meal prepared by a legitimate chef, Scott Juza, who consistently serves a splendid culinary fare suitable to a wide range of tastes and appetites. Over the next week we will enjoy worldly dishes from Thai cabbage to sashimi and more to titillate the tongue.

Other members of our crew include Scott Arni with whom I had previously sailed in 2003 on the Belize Aggressor II and who, amazingly, remembers me from that time before I became a journaling diver. Amanda van Weert serves as first officer while Bhoyet Etpison and Ike Mingoa function as dive masters for the trip, each routinely alternating with Captain Mike for the joy of diving and identifying interesting features. Lita Manalo handles our primary housekeeping needs or domestic comforts in a quietly friendly, thorough manner. Ours comprises an international crew naturally friendly, always playful and highly competent.

After dinner and feeling completely relaxed on a couch in the main salon I struggle to remain awake and alert while Captain Mike provides his initial ship’s briefing. As my head begins to nod from sleepiness and a full belly I notice Burch sitting next to me doing the same. By now it is 8:30 in the evening local time and feels more like 6:30 in the morning after pulling an all-nighter. Retiring to bed and privately happy that David had chosen the upper bunk I quickly fall asleep while my book lies untouched beside me, an unnecessary strategy for quelling my excitement. In fact, so quickly does slumber come that I am unaware David has gone to the upper deck to claim a sleeping hammock in the open-air breeze under a beautifully clear, starry night. And so I drift into a deep sleep while our vessel calmly sways at anchor near the mouth of German Channel. Our Palauan adventure truly begins.

10-15-07 At 1:30 in the morning David’s voice emerges from the darkness of our open doorway and interrupts my sleep. Softly he says, “Paul you really ought to come up and see this, there are mantas circling the boat.” I quickly dress and moments later stand along the rear rail of the upper deck with Sheila, her cabin mate Sara, and David. Bright lights continuously illuminate the aft portion of the vessel as a nightly precaution in this remote expanse of sea. Shining directly upon the water’s surface, the lights attract plankton, fry and other wriggling organisms to the illuminated surface. My eyes widen in astonishment as I witness the spectacle of up to eight great manta rays gliding together in formation just beneath and occasionally breaching the surface of the water.

I watch transfixed as the mantas perform full body rolls and figure eights while sweeping the illuminated water in an underwater ballet choreographed for opportunistic feeding on the smaller light-drawn creatures. David explained that their splashing had wakened him and, as soon as he discovered the source of the splashing, he woke Sheila. Making a quick decision to share this nocturnal marvel they graciously agreed to wake their fortunate roommates.

From our perspective the mantas appear as shadowy specters in the rippling, shimmering water made iridescent by the floodlights. White striations provide contrast behind their broad dark heads and, with their acrobatics affording us a clear three-dimensional view, I observe their milky white undersides with each rolling traverse. The fantastic elegance and mesmerizing grace of the manta dance performed under a quiet Palauan night wholly filled with radiant stars hush our tones.

Though unsure who woke them I soon greet Cyndy, Erin, Terry and Bryan as they join us with cameras engaged. Unhappily, I experience a mild sense of frustration over my attempts to capture images correctly focused and exposed. The reflection of my flash upon the already illuminated surface causes me to disable that feature, but this provides no advantage and my efforts yield consistently dark, indistinct photographs. A profound desire to record this marvelous encounter catalyzes me to begin writing this as the first of my travel journals. Returning to my bunk I hurriedly scribble notes until 3:40 when my thoughts begin to stray due to waning energy and the need for more sleep. Our first dive awaits us in just a few more hours.

A 45-minute briefing on the dive deck follows our breakfast of eggs cooked to order plus bacon, toast, muffins, hot or cold cereals, fresh fruit and a choice of juices. Our briefing describes the intricacies of the motorized launch, attached aft and hydraulically raised or lowered with all divers and gear aboard. Assigned seats on the launch sport convenient storage bins underneath and mine appropriately adjoins that of my dive buddy, David. Double-checking gear readiness becomes a repetitive mantra since, once the launch is under way, it would be inopportune to return for a forgotten mask or other necessary piece of equipment.

Dive 1 Lion Fish Rock [deepest descent 78 ft, total dive time 27 min]

Using the back roll technique we enter the water from the port side gangway at the front of the skiff. Those divers nearest enter first and are followed in rapid succession until all have entered the sea. Ten pounds of lead in my vest pockets and a 3/2mm mixed thickness wetsuit provides good buoyancy and thermal comfort for me in these warm 82F to 84F waters.

Despite having been certified in the use of Nitrox a few months earlier I was unhappy with the effect after breathing it for the first time while diving on Texas’ Stetson Bank in July. Even so, I elected to start my Palau diving with the available 32% mix in order to know whether a similar response would occur in a different environment. Within moments of entering the water at 8:30 am over Lion Fish Rock I feel anxious, somewhat hyper and begin to inhale gas from my tank at an accelerated rate. I’m not enjoying myself and am dismayed to see the needle on my submersible pressure gauge visibly falling to the point that I must signal David my need to commence a safety stop.

Attention to a safety stop is taught during entry level dive certification courses as a means for off-gassing excess nitrogen our tissues absorb at depth. Topside, nitrogen comprises approximately 79% of the air we breathe and serves as an inert gas we normally inhale and exhale without issues. When we breathe during activities associated with typical scuba, the accepted acronym for self-contained underwater breathing device, nitrogen accumulates in proportion to depth. Topside, excessive nitrogen build-up can lead to DCS, decompression sickness, commonly referred to as ‘the bends’ and, in extreme cases, can be lethal unless allowed to dissipate. Dissipation of nitrogen begins when divers begin ascending to shallower depths, hence safety stops become standard procedure by hovering at 15 ft for a 3-minute final interval before returning to the surface. Good practice for recreational divers also dictates a one minute mid-level stop, typically at the half-way depth of a deepest dive. I normally enjoy safety stops as a relaxed interlude between the dive and surfacing, but on this dive I simply wait it out in agitation before returning to the boat.

Upon returning to the Aggressor I ask to be switched to normal, 21% air and to the credit of this crew they do not charge extra for the one tank of Nitrox I have consumed. I don’t really understand my reaction to Nitrox when other divers use it beneficially and without issues. What I am sure about is the desire to get the most out of my trip rather than suffer through abbreviated dives while feeling anxious in a locale where many sites are rated for experienced or advanced divers. As a side note, the solution to my use of Nitrox will reveal itself during a future dive trip a few months from now.

Dive 2 Ngedebus Corner [69 ft, 58 min] Our skiff heads outbound through German Channel and emerges beyond the system of fringing reefs. Once outside the broad Palauan lagoon we veer a short distance due south to arrive along Ngedebus Island for our 11 am dive. When my turn comes I back roll into blue water and, breathing straight air again, feel completely relaxed and comfortable like my normal diving self.

Ngedebus Corner offers a look at my first local Nudibranch, a large green slug flamboyantly displaying fleshy pennants and spotted by our guide almost as an after-thought as we soar past its coral perch. Palau harbors an abundance of the always beautiful yet sometimes hard-to-spot little slugs as evidenced by the quick sighting of this specimen. A chart in the main salon of the Aggressor displays a colorful assortment of two dozen or more local varieties for easy reference, though I neglect to identify this fellow despite my appreciation for the find.

Continuing our underwater cruise I sight my first giant clam. Perhaps 3 ft across overall, the open maw spreads a gap 5 or 6 inches wide to display fleshy blue lips covered in iridescent blotches of a darker blue. Unable to resist giving it a gentle poke with my finger I am surprised at the realization that it cannot completely close its shell. Perhaps because of the size of the wonderfully colored musculature overflowing the rim of the shell or because it requires unobstructed access to the open sea for bivalve efficiency, either way, these clams do not completely close. Fascinated by the colors and function of the creature I feel some reluctance to part, yet continue with our designated dive plan. Many angels, triggerfish, a lone meandering turtle and several cruising black tip reef sharks follow in quick succession to the end of my wide-eyed dive.

Dive 3 Ferns Wall [63 ft, 56 min] Our first afternoon dive offers heavy surge and wave action that yields for me an ugly back roll entry reminiscent of a common cannon ball in any backyard swimming pool. My ungainliness costs me a DS51 substrobe, the light source for my camera, plus my secondary dive light when the first detaches from my camera housing and the other simply falls out of the pocket of my BC. Making a mental note to myself, I decide to always have the dive master hand my camera to me after I’ve entered the water.

Ferns Wall begins at a depth of 20 ft with most of the action in the 40- to 50 ft range where sea fans, soft coral and red gorgonians proliferate. For the patient eye, nudibranchs and other small creatures abound along this thickly occupied wall that appears specially created for macro loving divers.

Returned to the Aggressor upon completion of the dive, toweled and enjoying the late afternoon sun on the top deck I relax with several others. Burch asks me why I had switched from Nitrox to air and I openly describe my feelings of anxiousness, hyperactive sensations and general clumsiness while the others look on without comment. What response can there really be? After a moment or two of contemplative silence Burch suggests, “It must be physiological” to which I offer no reply. It is simply curious, if not a bid odd, that Nitrox seems to work smoothly for others and not for me.

Dive 4 German Channel [61 ft, 57 min] As a precaution against feeling chilled for our fourth dive I elect to wear my backup suit, a two-piece farmer john with 3ml upper and lower halves that work best with 16 lbs of weight. Hard as it is to imagine becoming chilled in water when my dive computer consistently measures temperatures in the low- to mid-80’s, dive frequency and the psychological effect of impending darkness can evoke a cumulative chill dampening one’s relative comfort.

Upon descent we must furiously kick into a swift current toward a sandy patch where we settle and wait for 10 or 12 minutes before four black manta silhouettes emerge from the growing dusk. Because we did not commence our dive until 5:30 this quickly becomes a night dive. The mantas continue feeding in fantastic loop-de-loops while we watch transfixed, enjoying a rerun of the nighttime ballet, though from a perspective beneath rather than above them.

Our dive leader for this foray, Captain Mike, beckons us nearer the mantas, which seem oblivious to our presence. They exude a single-minded feeding intent to thoroughly vacuum this end of the channel with great mouths open wide.

Sheila later tells me that the spiraling dance of the feeding mantas caused her to feel a bit dizzy, requiring her to periodically look down toward the calmness of the sandy bottom for re-orientation. As dusk gathers with a darkening momentum I congratulate myself for bringing my primary dive light when other shadowy, yet distinctively sharkish, silouettes ease in and out of our visual range. With my light in play my position remains known by the others and I retain navigational bearings in the rapidly growing gloom of our underwater passage.

10-16-07 Arising at 5:30 am intent upon adding a few more notes to this journal, I greet Sheila and Bob near the coffee urn before they politely succumb to having a few passages read aloud. Meanwhile, the emerging sunrise inexorably brightens the Eastern horizon with many layers of blue upon gray. Hints of tangerine imbued with reddish veins soon tinge the low puffy clouds. Unable to pass up an irresistible photo op I go topside to snap a few pictures. There I find David, Chuck and Bryan harboring similar intentions and they serve as compliant models against a glowing backdrop.

A bit later in the main salon and awaiting the start of breakfast, I show Captain Mike my August 2007 issue of Sport Diver magazine, which I had brought along for its article on Palau. With a smile, he tells me that the swimmer in the photo of Jellyfish Lake is Amanda. Within moments I plunk the magazine and a pen directly in front of Amanda and simply grin at her. She smiles in kind and modestly contributes an autograph to her photo.

After breakfast Scott attempts to retrofit one of the spare Aggressor strobes onto my camera housing and even manages to make it work. My photos prove dissatisfying, however, due to shadows caused by uneven lighting on a well intentioned, albeit jury-rigged apparatus. A good effort, but I decide to forego the use of an external strobe and take my chances with natural light aided by the camera’s built in flash.

Dive 5 Blue Corner [87 ft, 39 min] Due west from the northern tip of the Ngemelis island group and across the flats of the fringing reef, Blue Corner awaits our first dive requiring the use of reef hooks. Scheduled to commence at 8:30, we require a pre-dive briefing in the specialized use of these hooks. Mine is a blunt, open-ended aparatus secured to a 12ft length of yellow nylon cord culminating in an eyehook fastener for attaching to my BC.

We have the option of looping the hook fastener through the uppermost stainless steel rings built into our BC straps or using those rings lower down along the vest belt. I opt to use the belt rings for better center of gravity, reasoning that I should enjoy more freedom of movement if looped more closely to my waist. Once laced through attaching rings the eyehook simply clips cinch-style back onto its own securing nylon line. When not in use the reef hook serves as a bobbin for rolling the trailing line into a twined ball before tucking it inside the front center of my wetsuit for compact storage. Captain Mike offers assurance that deployment of the reef hook is not a difficult skill to master once we experience the opportunity firsthand.

We board the skiff and, once through German Channel, speed 15 minutes across a glassy sea. Captain Mike leads our descent along an amazing wall adorned with giant sea fans growing outward from the vertical face, which drops approximately two miles down. He leads us more or less in single file to a depth of at least 80 ft as we glide along the sheer wall where varieties of schooling fish, cruising black tip reef sharks and huge wrasse seem to return my interested gaze.

Mike signals us to be ready in five more minutes by showing us his extended palm with fingers splayed wide. Next, he deliberately removes his reef hook from inside the front of his wetsuit. I find myself suddenly uplifted as if my BC has autonomously inflated itself and must kick vigorously down in order to return to the desired depth. I realize more clearly the degree to which this dive requires management of depth, timing and use of the upwelling current for successfully deploying my hook along the top of the swiftly approaching ridge.

As the current grows with perceptive strength I see ahead the first of our group securing their hooks to the upper ridge of the wall. Following their example I spot a likely patch and carefully attach my hook to bare rock while trusting that the snapring secured to my BC will effectively hold me in place. The onrush of water caused by the accelerating tidal current thrills me with a buffeting turbulence as it races in from the outer Philippine Sea and veers sharply up the face of the wall.

We become human kites underwater. I look over at my dive buddy, David, and see him emulating a man in flight, airborne but for the tether of his reef hook. Following suit, I stretch my arms outward while holding my palms flat and extended as if I were Superman and am instantly lifted by the upwelling current. Alternately, I curve my palms downward and my flight trajectory immediately lowers. At times the current accelerates like liquid wind, a fierce gale that shivers my mask and could hurtle me easily away were it not for the hook and tether.

Within moments a parade of reef sharks appears, seeming to amble on a track outward and along the top of the wall to which we are secured. These sharks deign not to approach more closely than about 20-25 feet of our hooked-in position, appearing to troll opportunistically for any edible morsel swept across the wall or else culled from among the many reef fish atop Blue Corner.

After 20 or 25 minutes we comply with the signal to detach and immediately sweep inbound toward the greater reef system. Thrilled with flying like a tethered kite, my adrenaline meter reaches overdrive while I soar across a pristine reef toward our rendezvous with the waiting skiff.

Dive 6 New Drop-Off [67 ft, 50 min] Captain Mike cautions us during the dive briefing that “this is when divers begin forgetting things,” advice certainly borne from the wisdom of experience. I suspect that the forgetfulness he cautions against likely develops through routine mingled with sensory overload. Our regimen of eating, sleeping and diving in a new and exotic realm threatens to blur normal equipment details when grand anticipation lies at the forefront of our thoughts.

Southeast of Blue Corner along the reef system adjacent to the Ngemelis Island group our dive at the New Drop-Off site begins at 10:30. Provided with another opportunity for practicing the art of reef hook diving we enjoy a late morning down-welling current along a wall resplendent in Black Coral.

Dive 7 Big Drop-Off [74 ft, 44 min] Motoring around a corner from New Drop-Off we ride the launch along a different length of the vast, nearly continuous reef to Big Drop-Off. As suggested by the names of these sites, the outer walls in this stretch consistently plummet with a vertical efficiency toward abysmal depths.

Scott Arni leads our 2:00 pm outing and takes us up current according to recommended scuba procedure. Because kicking into this current proves barely sufficient for much more than holding us in place, not unlike finning on a treadmill, we eventually abandon procedure and soar with the flow.

Dive 8 German Channel [60 ft, 63 min] Our dive commences at 4:45 with 13 of our 16 divers returning to the site of the feeding mantas before growing darkness spoils our ability to easily view them. After hanging tightly to the sandy bottom for perhaps 15 or 20 minutes without a single manta appearance we simply elevate to drift with the fast current.

I enjoy fly-by observations and, for closer looks, must either cling to the bottom or shield myself from the rushing flow behind a convenient coral head. Employing these strategies, I observe a pack of feeding mackerels, fantastically psychedelic giant clams as well as my first sighting of a pennant-bearing lionfish, colorful with plumes fully extended. Another first glimpse thanks to David’s keen watch as we soar along our watery course, a camouflaged crocodile fish rests on a flat coral outcropping. It appears like a chimera sporting the strange physiological mixture of crocodilian head and tail of a fish, prehistoric or other-worldly at best.

On a patch of sandy bottom I also witness the unique partnership between a blind shrimp and a goby. The shrimp diligently excavates a shared nest, working comfortably while the goby stands alert as a sentinel for predatory intruders. When alarmed by a potential threat the goby quickly retreats into the burrow alerting the blind shrimp to stop digging and follow suit.

When we finally surface with smiles and a delightfully glowing sunset I hear Sara describe this as our best dive yet. Marvelous, yes, but Blue Corner had me from the moment I hooked in and pretended to be an aquatic caped crusader.

Back on the Aggressor Erin openly shares her thorough enjoyment of the flat-topped coral formations. They remind her of the mushroom upon which sat Alice’s hookah smoking caterpillar and she had grown expectant that he would appear with the next set of formations beyond each underwater ridge.

Dive 9 German Channel Coral Gardens [57 ft, 52 min] Our 7:30 night dive seems to start slowly with a pair of lionfish, one puffer and a sleeping turtle. Still adjusting to these waters, I have no clue or indication that the current would escalate into a rushing torrent across an undulating aquatic landscape filled with boulders, upright coral formations and teasingly fun obstructions that require quick reactions when flying with dive lights.

It becomes a night dive like none I have previously experienced when, with Chuck, David, Sheila, Sara, Terry, Bryan and our guide Ike as companions we quickly find ourselves on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Weaving in and around coral heads, dodging obstacles living or otherwise we become human pin balls that somehow manage to remain within eyesight of each other while avoiding collisions along our water swept trajectories. The small luminous eyes of banded shrimp glow with the reflections of our dive lights offering twinkling punctuations as we sweep across their coral enshrouded nesting places. Happily, the relatively shallow depth turns our water borne dash into a free flowing safety stop to be managed, prolonged and enjoyed.

After our return to the Aggressor, Chuck confides to me that he had been laughing into his regulator throughout the thrilling ride. Were it not for the personal sound effects associated with scuba, somewhat akin to Darth Vader breathing through a regulator, I might have heard his muffled joy.

Later that night, while under a proliferation of brilliant stars seen from the top viewing deck, Sheila aptly compares the star-specked heavenly lights with those of the shining eyes of banded shrimp while on our nocturnal sojourn through German Channel. With lights twinkling from above as well as below, the sense of enchantment I feel holds sleepiness briefly at bay.

10-17-07 The engines of the Palau Aggressor rumble to life at 5:45 am and our vessel begins to move northward in search of one or more of the many wrecks that litter this otherwise pristine locale. Likewise, the vibration of the engines stirs me to action as I quickly roll out of my bunk and head for the top deck to better observe our northerly passage away from German Channel.

Exchanging topside greetings with Burch, Chuck, Bob, Bryan and Cyndy I encounter an arsenal of cameras with most aimed toward the sunrise. In the vicinity of the equator the sun seems to rise much earlier with the promise of ample daily sunshine intermixed with puffy, moisture-laden clouds. With nine dives already under our weight belts I share with Chuck my intention to do every dive offered. He readily concurs. After all, we may never come this way again.

Monitoring our forward progress from the observation deck I watch with great interest as we approach one of the many groupings of lushly covered rock islands for which Palau is famous. These rocky outposts fill our view as they stand upright like green bouquets on bases narrowed by the erosion of incessant tidal flow. Bryan joins us and we wonder whether our captain will attempt to go between the two smallish islands bracketing our forward path. Though the gap appears very narrow, the depth of the water within becomes evident by the discernable tidal flow that conveys us through. On the other side of the passage an abundance of similar rock islands await us like a navigational maze.

Maintaining our northerly heading we traverse one limestone island after another, each a lushly covered mushroom formation. Continuous tidal action erodes the bases to abruptly narrowing pedestals that lend to their distinctive appearance. As if returned to a mythical age we encounter no boats, vessels or any other craft while cruising over a calm sea that belies the notion of fierce battles once fought here. More than six decades removed from action, the abandoned military hardware, derelict fortifications and sunken wrecks are all that appear to remain from that turbulent time.

Today we anticipate exploring a selection of those shipwrecks for the sake of diving variety and as a welcome appeasement to Burch, our resident history buff grown impatient for a taste of sunken wartime ships. In passing I briefly pause to hear Burch elaborate on another wartime factoid for Bob’s benefit. He describes how each of the innumerable rock islands were individually and painstakingly searched by U.S. soldiers in order to locate any hiding Japanese nationals. Burch smiles and says, “Man, this is like being in Oz.” Here, Burch embodies the thrill of a kid in a candy store.

Most of the Japanese vessels were tucked into protective coves during the U.S. onslaught dubbed ‘Operation Desecrate 1’ that primarily occurred over a two-day period in 1944. Much of the Japanese fleet located around Palau was destroyed and, because of their tucked placement in preparation for the attack, those wrecks typically rest within relatively safe recreational diving limits. They are also liberally covered in silt that will ruin viz if disturbed by an errant kick of the fin.

Dive 10 Iro [92 ft, 50 min] A 470 ft long supply ship assigned to fleet replenishment, Iro lies in the western lagoon astride Ngeruktabel Island between Koror and Macharchar. Exiting the skiff shortly after 7:30 we descend along the mooring line to the bow of the Iro where the deck is approximately 70 ft deep. The Iro sits upright on a mixture of silt and sand that diminishes our viz to about 50-60 ft at best. Because our previous Palauan dives yielded consistently wonderful viz ranging from 80- to 120 ft, the sense of contrast afforded by this murky inner cove heightens the feeling of visiting a crypt, dark and eerie within our submerged silence.

According to our pre-dive briefing the bow had been torn open by a U.S. torpedo at its original waterline, now at a depth of 110 ft. Upon reaching the bow of the Iro I find every exposed surface resplendent with life that includes flat corals, numerous anemones and many clams. Due to the silt coating that overlays everything my buddy, David, and I proceed carefully along the deck in order to preserve our available viz. Moving toward the ship’s mid-section we pass one of the masts, a superstructure that rises to within 35 ft of the surface and will later guide us along our planned ascent and eventual safety stop.

Cruising first over the main deck and then toward the darkly foreboding cargo hold we see an assortment of relics intended to contribute to the campaign of war. Mysterious artifacts, oddly shaped containers and mysterious metal drums from another age reveal themselves. After about 20 minutes of gliding the deck area we ascend along the middle mast where clarity, richness of color and proliferate sea life improves as we near the surface. Approaching the top of the mast I note that the tower once used for hoisting cargo into and out of the holds has been overwhelmed with coral growth. Extending horizontally outward, the coral hosts a supporting cast of sponges and small fish hovering in close proximity.

We proceed toward the mast-like superstructure nearest the bow and see a very large open-mouthed clam, one of many residents among a crowded marine cast that grows more abundant as we ascend nearer the surface. After our pushing our safety stop to five minutes for the sake of extending our dive we finally ascend for our return to the skiff.

Dive 11 Chuyo Maru [98 ft, 53 min] Just a short distance north and within the perimeter of Malakal Harbor the Chuyo Maru was also sunk during Operation Desecrate 1, but had not been discovered until 1987. A 272 ft long Japanese Army cargo ship entombed in extremely murky water, it lies somewhat level and upright with the bow at 70 ft and the stern deck in 95 ft of water. Slightly worse than on the Iro dive, our viz diminishes to no better than 30 or 40 ft. At 10:30 we descend along a mooring line attached to the center-most mast, the top of which rises to within 40 ft of the surface. From there we continue our descent to the base of the primary superstructure where David and I begin finning toward the stern.

The scene is redolent with brown upon brown hues due to the heavy accumulation of fine silt over a soft, sandy bottom. Every exposed inch of the vessel is otherwise covered in low-profile encrustations, colorful sponges and the odd specimen of razor coral housing tiny shrimp. The extreme murkiness forces us to focus on the minutia wherein small wonders might reveal themselves to the patient or practiced eye. By adjusting my range of focus I discover a proliferation of life in miniature enshrouding every line from bow to stern. It takes me a moment to pick out the lionfish on the upper deck as it turns slowly and gracefully with feathery pennants fully extended.

Captain Mike joins us as we begin our mid-level stop along the top-most mast where he enthusiastically points out interesting creatures. Some, such as active anemone fish preening their homes appear familiar to me while many other small exotics new to my scuba experiences hide or flit among the coral and sponge crannies. Having no idea of the identities of most nor sharing Cyndy’s passion for identification I simply enjoy the moment.

Dive 12 Helmet Wreck [64 ft, 60 min] Also identified on our maps as the Depth Charge Wreck, this otherwise nameless vessel rests within broad Malakal Harbor a short distance east of the Chuyo Maru. The stern borders a fine coral garden at a depth of 45 ft and, while the bow projects downward into deeper water at around 95 ft, the ship sits mostly upright and offers easy accessibility. Our pre-dive briefing includes a request to refrain from touching, handling or otherwise playing catch with the live ordinance plainly visible on the deck and in the main cargo hold.

We descend at 2 pm into water less murky than around the Chuyo Maru, yet a similar to our 50-60 ft viz encountered on the Iro. Dropping along the mooring line to the stern deck we find a lionfish hovering resplendently above the promised crates of ammunition. With colorful plumes extended it seems to stand guard over encrusted relics as a mute and imposing sentinel for wartime artifacts littering this famous Palauan wreck.

A large deck gun more aptly described as a small cannon stands upright and idle appearing ready to be loaded and fired, ever vigilant despite the fatal blow served up by a U.S. warplane. Nearby lies a coral encased Japanese rifle that, according to Burch, is an M-99. Spent shell casings and Sake bottles further litter the lionfish patrol while Burch sports his red, white and blue stars and stripes do-rag with patriotic respect for his wartime ancestors.

As with our prior wreck dives all exposed surfaces appear inundated with the colored scales and multi-hued patchwork of clinging coral. Along the starboard edge of the deck I spot a tiny Nudibranch so small that, at first, I thought it was a piece of white string until I spy antennae sprouting from its head and midsection. Also in residence are medium-sized clams with open fleshy maws and an uncanny ability to detect my interest and proximity as they shyly retreat behind closed shells.

At my suggestion, David and I had agreed beforehand to remain shallower on this dive since I had exceeded 90 ft on each of the two previous wrecks and choose caution over excessive nitrogen accumulation. Given the diminished viz relative to the exceptional clarity enjoyed on our prior open water dives I again narrow my field of view as we continue our slow descent toward the aft cargo hold. There we find intact depth charges resembling 30-gallon drums haphazardly scattered near Japanese stacked helmets now fused together by decades of immersion in the sea.

After 35 or 40 minutes David and I exchange the signal to return to shallower water where we begin exploring the coral gardens between the stern and shore of the adjacent island. He quickly finds a giant clam and, nearby, a dive knife that must have been errantly dropped and I marvel at his laser-like focus. Looking up I see that our position is immediately under the mooring where divers are most likely to lose equipment or gear during entries and exits. After a brief coral tour I commence my safety stop in preparation for returning to the skiff.

Dive 13 Mandarinfish Lake [13 ft, 54 min] Not a true lake, but a secluded marine cove nestled among the rocky trestles of a serpentine island, Mandarinfish Lake opens expansively beyond a narrow and shallow inlet. Because the skiff cannot navigate or easily enter we must perform a brief surface swim to gain access to the lake. Along the way I spot three squid warily translucent before joining our group and we circle a large, craggy coral head laced with hidden alcoves and a labyrinthine network of crevasses. In this shallow and secluded cove, the coral head seems a perfect sanctuary for our quarry, the reclusive Mandarinfish.

Our dive begins at 4:30 in order to use the approaching dusk to its fullest advantage. Mandarinfish will emerge from their coral hiding places for courtship and play during the last light of day. Spectacular little fish, the males are much larger than the females and have an ample dorsal fin used for display during courtship. Depending on interpretation, Mandarinfish possess a green (or orange) base color overlaid in undulating orange (or green) spots and stripes. Blue, purple and yellow highlights fringe their heads and fins resulting in a wildly colorful presentation.

Dive 14 St. Cardinals Garden [45 ft, 45 min] This night dive starts at 7:30 and, in any other context, would be highly enjoyable. Given the richness and diversity of the Palauan system over ten prior, non-wreck dives St. Cardinals Garden seems a trifle bland by contrast. In fairness, I realize that I am growing spoiled as a diver.

Slowly cruising over the occasional giant clam and lumbering sea cucumber I begin to reflect upon our experiences so far. With a smile into my regulator, I recall Burch having given sage dive advice: “You always want to have the same number of ascents as descents.” Ascending and happy, sleep will again come easily tonight.

10-18-07 After three consecutive days of participating in every dive I arise anew with the prospect for another five dives, yet my ears complain mildly over a touch of pressurized congestion. Having never experienced any discomfort with my ears I mention it to Sheila and she generously loans me her eardrops, which provide immediate relief.

In fact, a group condition appears to develop. Comparable to having conversations with hard-of-hearing old folks the condition seems to affect most of us. Mindful of shouting yet endeavoring to be heard many of our conversations are punctuated politely with “What?”, “Excuse me?” or “Say again?” and I make a mental note to pack my own eardrops on the next trip.

We’ve also reached that point of our journey about which Captain Mike warned us that guests will begin to forget things like masks, weight belts or fins. His advice seems even more pragmatic now than might have been previously understood or appreciated as the rubber chicken award of forgetfulness changes hands with each dive.

Dive 15 Ulong Channel [109 ft, 51 min] Upon waking, any cumulative weariness that might cause sluggishness quickly dissolves with anticipation of another hook dive along the outer reef system. Fronting the open sea, Ulong Channel forms a natural wedge-shaped trough that allows onrushing currents to gain significant velocity while passing through. Our briefing describes an immediate drop-down entry outside the fringing reef where depths plummet well beyond the coral shallows with amazing abruptness into a visually bottomless blue. Of all the dives scheduled in Palau, only Saies Corner and Saies Tunnel lie further west.

With Bhoyet as our guide we descend at 7:30 to a prescribed desired depth range of 100- to 110 ft. From there we expect to be in the best position for riding the upwelling current to our target, a promontory straddling Ulong Channel and the open sea.

Bhoyet signals us to ready our hooks for deployment as we approach the designated area. With camera in my right hand and hook in my left I follow his lead and find a suitable anchor point reminiscent of an aerie or, perhaps, a premium spot at a drive-in movie theater. Hooked and ready I inflate my BC and hover suspended above rocks interspersed with meager coral. As before, I become a human kite buffeted by an aquatic breeze. Sharks emerge from beyond my peripheral view to glide effortlessly past with a curiosity that seems to match my return gaze.

I don’t know how many pictures I take before remembering that my digital camera will also shoot video clips and I alternate between both options to better capture the experience. To my right I see Bob in a curious pose and realize he has lost one of his fins, a mishap that prompts Bhoyet to attach a rubber chicken to his first stage close to the connection with his tank. That Bhoyet managed to conceal his rubber chicken impresses me and I make a mental note to be wary of Bhoyet’s pranks.

In point of fact, the rubber chicken represents a dubious award bestowed by the dive staff of the Palau Aggressor while functioning as a humorous reminder to pay attention. Most of us will eventually earn the rubber chicken through demonstrable diver error, whether by forgetting a piece of equipment or some other mishap that results in any mild delay or inconvenience to our diving. I earned my first award as we were departing for the St. Cardinals Garden night dive and had called for my mask, which was still lying on top of my gear bin aboard the mother ship. I discovered that pretending to enjoy the rubber chicken by repetitively and vigorously squeezing it, thus evoking noisome squawking when dry, will cause your fellow divers to regret your ignominious distinction. David swore an oath that he’d never let me forget my mask or any other piece of equipment for the duration of our trip.

After we spend perhaps 30 or 35 minutes hooked to the ridge atop Ulong Channel the signal to detach issues forth. We immediately soar inward along the gushing trough past massive lettuce coral formations overlooking a sandy river-course bottom. As if borne by swift rapids we fly along our watery chute until diminishing air prompts us to ascend to safety stop depth and retrieval by our launch.

Dive 16 Saies Tunnel and Corner [102 ft, 55 min] A wonderfully diverse dive, Siaes thrills from the beginning with a cavern entry 90 ft below the face of a vertical wall and crystalline viz exceeding 120 ft.

At around 10:30 we descend straight down the side of a pristine wall to the tunnel portion of Saies and enter a large shadowy cavern housing huge sea fans. Black Coral bushes also grow down from the ceiling in elegantly suspended clusters. On the sandy bottom sleeps a small shark and to our left are windowed openings that grant us views into a deeper oceanic blue. We traverse Siaes Tunnel in a duskiness of secondary light caste by sporadic openings and I enjoy the numerous silhouettes of large pelagics –most likely sharks– ominously cruising the open water beyond.

During our pre-dive briefing we had agreed to segment our dive time into approximate thirds. After 18 minutes following our entry we emerge from the end of the tunnel into sapphire blue along a vertical wall and ascend to our next segment, which also serves as a mid-level stop at 45 ft.

Cruising along this portion of the wall provides opportunities to examine the cracks and crevasses for shy or unusual creatures normally wary of intruders. Small nudibranchs and varieties of coral play host to an assortment of Angelfish, riotously-colored triggerfish and clouds of exotic Butterflyfish. They hover and flit along the wall in virtually every color and pattern while we spend a leisurely 20 minutes gliding along the vertical plain before ascending to a depth of 25 ft or about 8- to 10 ft above the uppermost ledge of the wall.

Barracuda, turtles and a mob of Butterflyfish greet us along the top of the wall, which levels into gentle rolls thickly filled with coral and all manner of interesting inhabitants. A bonafide 3-for-1 package, Saies provides thrills through its tunnel and along the wall before suspending me over verdant gardens of coral. Unable or unwilling to narrow my focus for the sake of observing things small I continue in a state of wide-eyed wonder at the clarity and bounty of this corner of the Philippine Sea.

After surfacing I find that the increasingly strong tropical breeze has created a pronounced surge that causes our skiff to toss spray with every swell. Many of us simply don our masks as eye protection in order to comfortably enjoy our return ride to the awaiting Aggressor and lunch. As usual, Scotty the Chef has prepared for us another tasty and varied meal including a batch of his Korean cabbage salad. He is deliciously consistent with each culinary offering.

Resisting the urge to take a nap I ascend to the top viewing deck and begin entering details of our most recent diving into this journal. Saies challenges me for appropriately descriptive language, vividly accurate for conveying its essence as a picture painted with words. Gazing absently around while my topside awareness sharpens, I reacquire my sense of awe for these marvelous surroundings. About 150 yards to my right, toward the southeast, the sheer rock wall of an island protrudes directly from the aquamarine sea with such steepness that the face of the wall cannot support any but the most clinging and persistent plant life.

White winged sea birds swoop along that face with hypnotic effect as they intermittently overlap the established green of thick vegetation and gray-white stone of the cliff. Coincidentally, the music of Jimmy Cliff plays through the ship’s speaker system in melodic harmony with our setting. As a curious side-note, that sheer wall marks the backside of the same island upon which the television series Survivor busily enacts their current episode. The contrast between our deliberate full immersion adventure and their isolation in squalid competition intrigues me, but I wholly prefer my own reality episode of exotic diving blended with floating luxury.

Dive 17 Ulong Channel [64 ft, 68 min] Our return to Ulong Channel for this 2:00 pm afternoon dive reverses our previous profile by allowing us to experience the outgoing tidal current. Because it now originates from within the inner lagoon, the headlong rush of current toward the open sea loads the water with particulates of silt and sand that reduces our viz to 50-60 ft. As Captain Mike had advised us, the sea around Palau rests only four times per day and for six minute intervals according to the regular changes of tidal flow.

Soaring downstream through the channel we sight a moray eel protruding from under a boulder and then find two resting crocodile fish appearing very much like prehistoric throwbacks. The crocodile fish seem unaware or unconcerned as we arrive with tumbling, handhold stops for a better look and photographs. With their odd mix of crocodilian head and fish tail these apparent throwbacks to a prehistoric age use superb coloration that closely matches the sandy, patchwork bottom.

Dive 18 Wonder Channel [45 ft, 67 min] Along the inside of a gently curving Rock Island that offers protection from vigorous tidal action, Wonder Channel hosts unfolding crinoids, pipefish, flatworm, sea fans and soft coral. By entering the dive site at 4:45 we have an opportunity to prepare for our next, a night dive with a familiar, easily recognized and straightforward profile.

Situated on a limestone slope roughly angling 45 degrees from top to bottom, Wonder Channel provides a sense of contrast with over-the-top soaring and vertical walls. We gently fin along the rocks while visually probing for small, exotic creatures. There are moments in diving experience when simply Being in a submerged state, suspended in the here and now, justifies the cost of the trip. This dive offers many moments like those, of Being in a state of harmony with my surroundings wherever they occur.

Dive 19 Wonder Channel [45 ft, 63 min] Soon after commencing our 7:45 night dive I find an enormous Crown of Thorns sprouting 16 thorny legs extended from an equally thorny body. The largest starfish on the planet, it lacks predation and often suffers vilification for consuming coral polyps and resultant damage to reef systems.

Memories of a prior outing to California’s Channel Islands come to mind where I sighted many protected Crown of Thorns. Their movement across the bottom had scattered densely populated Brittlestars in retreat from the slow, methodical advance of the Crown as it slid across the bottom.

Diving along Wonder Channel at night embodies for me a sense of personal flow, a continuation of Self in which one dive leads to another and one act leads to more. As our outing progresses, time feels suspended as a result of repetitive submersion and all of it appeals to my personal sense of kinesthetic vitality. As before, sleep will come easily tonight.

10-19-07 Waking soon after 5:00 with the first light of day shining through our cabin window I make a valiant attempt to return to sleep. Awareness of the prospect for fresh diving inescapably blooms with growing persistence and I soon surrender my bunk to a fresh new day. When the ship’s engines rumble alive moments later I quickly dress and ascend to the viewing deck, unwilling to miss any part of our passage as we depart our mooring along Wonder Channel.

On the top deck I succumb easily to the contagious anticipation evident among my early rising dive mates, eager for our next plunge into a dynamic, three-dimensional realm of aquatic sensations. In fact, with the momentum of nineteen dives in four days I can easily envision the rhythmic sounds of my own inhalation and exhalation inducing and enhancing a contemplative, meditative state.

“Heaven only holds a sense of wonder”, lyrics to the song “Silence” by the performing group Delerium succinctly express my feelings on another day of diving as the Aggressor continues its westward voyage toward Blue Corner.

Dive 20 Blue Corner [93 ft, 54 min] During our briefing Captain Mike advises us to perform a ‘live drop’ in which our BC’s must be completely devoid of residual air before attempting descent. This strategy allows us to drop as a group for a tightly planned dive while minimizing the risk of straying in a strong current. Mike also reminds us “to take in the small things” along the way, an intriguing suggestion that may require years to fully accomplish here.

Shortly after 7:30 I drop quickly and easily through blue upon blue water toward the 75- to 85 ft target depth and our return to one of the best dives in Palau. Through tide and around turtles, rays, jacks, snappers and sharks, bountiful coral and a wonderful assortment of sponges and sea fans I glide toward Blue Corner with the wall on my left. The visual input borders on overwhelming and I shoot photos for later reference, freeing my mind to more fully focus on the present. So much for the small things but, with a bit of luck, I may capture unexpected details within this exquisite panorama.

Cruising behind Captain Mike I see him signal us to ready our reef hooks as we approach the intended landing zone, an underwater promontory just above the wall. Following his lead I take my prepared hook in my left hand, camera held firmly in my right and ease into a deliberate ascent. By coming in deep and then allowing the upwelling current to lift us to our objective momentum works to our advantage for securing our hooks to a likely rock. Were we to approach too high in the water column the upwelling current would easily sweep us across and beyond our landing zone directly through schooling barracuda and shark patrols.

Once hooked, we inflate our BC’s to fly again like human kites. A resident Napoleon Wrasse suddenly appears, scrutinizing us with unusual curiosity. The size of an overgrown Bassett Hound, this large fish has been previously encouraged with hard-boiled eggs and nuzzles Bhoyet expectantly for his treat. With widely spread eyes that swivel in independent scrutiny it freely examines each of us for the prospect of eggs before returning to Bhoyet for more. Bhoyet hugs and strokes the wrasse while attempting to pass him off to David, who also pats the great humped head with a sense of wary reluctance that enhances his excitement.

Following the given signal, a mild clanging of metal on tank, we detach to fly toward and through the expected school of barracuda hovering above the sandy course beyond the edge of the precipice. There we also encounter several unicorn fish, one of which, intrigued with Bob’s intermittent stream of bubbles, noses in and twirls with probing interest. Concluding the dive by ascending to safety stop depth I begin to imagine how the small things will come more easily with practice. Lots of practice in a place like Palau.

Returned to our vessel and relaxing, David describes his experience with the wrasse as an episode of “Napoleons Gone Wild” and Mike also tells us the story of a group of Christmastime divers who wore Santa Claus hats. The egg-eating wrasse mistook the white tassel of one diver’s hat for an egg and snatched it directly off the tip. Knowing that he had been spoofed the wrasse went for the ornament attached to the next diver while each of the others quickly stuffed their hats into their BCs.

Dive 21 Turtle Cove [97 ft, 60 min] Our launch heads south through German Channel toward a small, idyllic island between Ngedebus and Ngemelis. We moor perhaps 40 yards away from its stony shore and I immediately notice a well-defined dark blue patch amid the aquamarine shallows. The distinct patch identifies deeper water and the entry point for our intended descent through a vertical shaft in the reef. Dropping tank-first with our practiced back roll David and I have agreed to simply follow Amanda, our dive guide on this foray.

Together we surface swim several yards to a point centered over the hole to begin our descent. Adjusting into an upright posture I fall slowly into the void while marveling at the play of light manifesting as heavenly shafts slanting across our path. Dropping almost to the bottom I encounter a lateral opening where I pause to look around, enjoying a submerged cathedral exuding an essence of spiritual playfulness.

I follow the lateral opening into a sandy grotto that opens onto another nearly vertical wall where the viz easily exceeds 100 ft. Taking a right turn I encounter a sensory riot of piscine images on one side and the blue upon blue of open sea on the other. We traverse a wall abundant with coral and sea fans where a multitude of colorful characters including Butterflyfish, Squirrelfish and snappers seem to frolic. Fittingly, a turtle gropes into a small crevasse for a meal of sponge, apparently oblivious to the divers touring past.

We pass the underwater cove at a depth of about 60 ft before ascending along the wall another 15 ft where the myriad colors become better defined. Finning around a bend we ascend yet another 15 ft to be greeted by a host of aptly named Pyramid Butterflyfish atop a verdant reef as resplendent as any I’ve ever experienced. Another turtle loiters ahead while Moorish Idols, other varieties of Butterflyfish and an abundance of Sergeant Majors seem to jostle each other for position in a plentiful aquatic garden. Unwilling to commence the safety stop while ample air remains in my tank I hover with the others and simply enjoy the show.

Dive 22 Blue Holes [91 ft, 57 min] Four holes or shafts project downward into a limestone wall not far from Blue Corner in the Ngemelis Island group. According to our guide, Ike, the smallest of these shafts is known as “Tit of the Dog.” Bemused expressions cause him to elaborate succinctly with “It is too dangerous and too dark. Don’t go in there.”

At 2:00 pm our descent to the bottom of the primary shaft yields an exit onto the same wall that harbors Blue Corner. Here we briefly enjoy more play with the huge, egg-hungry Napoleon Wrasse, whose behavior on our previous dive I had considered. Inserting my hand into my BC I pretend to have a hidden egg in hopes of enticing him closer and the ploy succeeds until I am unable to produce the actual treat. Following the swivel of his eyes as they rove opportunistically from my hand to my BC, to the other divers and back again to me, I wish for a real hard boiled egg in my vest.

Dive 23 Matt’s Wall [57 ft, 61 min] Our 4:45 dive entails a relaxed drift with Chuck as my buddy. We amble along a near-vertical wall while thoroughly inspecting the surface for nudibranchs and other diminutive critters. With mild frustration producing plans to invest in a prescription dive mask I abandon the close up hunt for things too small for me to easily see and hang suspended away from the wall. As dusk settles above us, I enjoy watching the other divers working their lights with arcing beams like a forensic team searching for clues along the facing surfaces and crannies.

After drifting toward the end of our dive and a leisurely ascent that takes us to within 20 ft of the surface, Bhoyet leads us into a fissure along the upper wall. Just inside the opening he shows us a pair of green Ghost pipefish dancing tandem in the shallows of a seaweed bed. Remarkable for their camouflage they prove extremely hard to spot among the flotsam they mimic with such exceptional grace. Once my eyes become trained to the pair I watch them swirl with perfect synchronicity of position and motion, each in relation to the other among the natural debris of the sandy bottom

10-20-07 The post-breakfast briefing describes the origin and details of Jellyfish Lake while laying out the potential pitfalls of the requisite overland hike. Our intended snorkel time will be about thirty minutes in the most famous of the Palauan marine lakes. Locked within an interior depression of one of the Rock Islands and directly linked to the sea by subterranean faults in the underlying limestone, Jellyfish Lake contains true seawater.

The use of full scuba gear is prohibited in order to protect the jellies from inadvertent damage that might result from contact with bulky equipment and streams of bubbles. Offering further discouragement, the short yet steep up and down hike necessary to access the marine lake becomes strenuous and slippery with or without bulky scuba equipment. And last, the lake also contains poisonous concentrations of hydrogen sulfide below a 5-foot thick layer of red algae that lies at a depth of about 50 ft. Scuba diving at depth would be foolish and free diving unadvisable.

Advised to be cautious with the slippery arrival dock we must also avoid poisonous trees along the steep path. With toxic leaves and dripping black sap capable of causing ugly rashes these trees present a formidable reason for remaining securely on the path. Given slippery, steep and poisonous obstacles expected on the path to a seawater lake in which we plan to snorkel with allegedly stingless jellyfish thriving over a toxic layer of acid… Sign me up!

Snorkel Jellyfish Lake After rounding yet another of the innumerable Rock Islands our launch quickly arrives at a wooden dock projecting into the still waters of a small cove. We carefully disembark with our backpacks containing a meager assortment of gear limited to fins, mask, snorkel and towel with optional camera. I pause for only a moment before proceeding up the path, making liberal use of the hand lines while studiously following the well-worn track. It proves a relatively short but steep climb before I crest the ridge and ease down the other side. While navigating slippery rocks and thickly protruding plants the moist smell of decaying vegetation within a naturally lush environment accompanies me like a humid vapor.

Before long I arrive at a fairly new wooden dock constructed at the edge of the lake. Designed to minimize the clouds of silt that would surely stir from trudging through the shallows, the dock improves accessibility and makes a perfect platform for donning my fins, mask and snorkel. Without further delay I drop into the warm water and gently kick toward the center of the lake. Because I was expecting an immediate encounter with jellies I feel surprise when none are immediately evident so I continue toward the middle of the lake until one and then many are within view.

Continuing, I soon find myself immersed in a swarm of pulsing globules roughly the size of large grapefruit heralding my arrival in the domain of the Golden Mastigia. Far more prevalent than the lacily transparent Moon Jellyfish, the Golden Mastigia throb most thickly near the surface and to a depth of about 8- to 10 ft. With my camera in hand I take many images before switching to video clip mode and capture jellies in motion from numerous angles. Swimming easily among them I grow mesmerized and lose track of time.

Surfacing briefly I notice a group of other divers several yards away and, by their presence, assume I have more time until one of them asks me if I am with the Aggressor. Slightly confused, because he has a British accent and I had assumed those other divers were part of my group, I answer “Yes” and the kind fellow then informs me that I have been repeatedly called.

Somewhat sheepishly I look toward the distant dock and see that only Cyndy and Chuck remain from our group. Careful not to harm the jellies, I plod deliberately toward the dock where I forgo drying off, repack my gear and commence the return trek. Upon returning to the launch I receive my second rubber chicken award, this time for innocent obliviousness to the call that had long since ended our 30-minute immersion in Jellyfish Lake.

Snorkel Clam City A clam farm in the shallows of a rock island lagoon situated a short distance from Jellyfish Lake, Clam City adjoins a private island. Numerous giant clams, some as transplants and others grown here, populate softly sloping depths between 20- to 30 ft in clear water. As with many of the clams encountered on our earlier dives, these psychedelic monsters grow up to 5 feet across. Speckled and striated with iridescent blues, their blue-green mantles seem to glow as if under an ultraviolet light.

Free swimming under the surface I hold my hand near their open valves to test the forcefulness of the water jetting out. The pressure astonishes me, but should come as no surprise considering the musculature evident in each specimen. My odd sense of the scientific process leads me to gently touch each clam to verify their inability to completely close their shells. Nearly as fascinating as those denizens of Jellyfish Lake, the giant clams merit this outing yet I suffer no risk of earning another rubber chicken award. With my sense of time consciousness intact I look forward to our next and final dive.

Dive 24 Chandelier Cave [repetitive through four chambers] In the vicinity of the Helmet Wreck and Chuyo Maru, Chandelier Cave opens as a limestone fissure within the base of an overhang on Ngarol Island. Our launch moors nearby and we benefit from an easy surface swim toward the entrance, enticing us at a depth of 15 ft beneath a calm sea. By following a consistently shallow profile we expect to surface within each successive air pocket inside the accessible inner chambers.

Divided into two small groups comprised of five and six divers, I join the first group and together we enter the cave system through an opening that spreads, perhaps, 10 ft wide. A nether world roughly filled with two-thirds seawater and one-third breathable air abruptly embraces us. Overhead, large stalactites suspend from the chamber ceiling and plunge directly into the watery depths. Our guide, Bhoyet, cautions us to mind our heads before surfacing in the airy portion of each chamber to avoid colliding with the hard, draping rock. He also rides his semi-inflated BC saddled cowboy-style in an impressive and innovative demonstration of scuba technique while surfacing inside the chamber.

Deeper and deeper we penetrate the cave system until finally reaching the fourth chamber. Here Bhoyet encourages us to douse our dive lights to fully appreciate the experience of total darkness. As a pre-dive provision I had attached my blue LED night beacon to my first stage and, essentially disregarded until this moment, I experience surprise as it casts an unearthly glow throughout the chamber. Reaching over, David offers a dousing twist to my beacon and utter blackness immediately ensues. Bhoyet tells us about a fifth chamber, but advises that it is too small, muddy and not worth the effort.

Upon returning through the inner chambers we encounter the second group entering and drop a bit deeper to pass underneath while they bob in a pocket of air. As if contrived (emphatic post-dive accusations pronounce our guilt), all five of us simultaneously exhale bubbles that merge to create a great gushing eruption that vigorously tosses the second dive group around the chamber. With the benefit of hindsight I suspect Bhoyet’s duplicity and believe he deliberately purged his second stage to achieve the precise effect for which we are blamed. My greatest regret, however, involves failing to dream up this delightfully impish ploy.

Continuing past the semi-dazed second group we gradually encounter more and more light until finally emerging outside. Chandelier Cave serves as a perfect conclusion to our Palauan land and diving experiences, smoothly supplementing tidal currents, reef hooks, holes, walls and a great living array.

Returned to the Palau Aggressor we hang our gear to dry in anticipation of departure and the top deck looks frighteningly similar to a tropical yard sale about to commence. While still early in the evening our crew hosts a farewell reception that includes video presentations and special awards.

Erin receives recognition as ‘Most Improved Diver’ while Cyndy earns the ‘Fish I.D. diver of the Week’ award. Sara distinguishes for earning her Night Diver certification and, inexplicably, I win the “Most Polite Diver” award. While I suspect they created my award as a spur of the moment category, I also feel it should have gone to Terry, even more polite and simply bashful about sharing it.

After the ceremony most depart the ship for town and dinner while Sara and I remain on board to relax, download photographs onto the main salon computer and enjoy the retelling of our experiences. By nightfall we ascend to the viewing deck where we find Captain Mike and Amanda enjoying a quiet moment over a glass of wine. With the Most Polite Award freshly adorning my resume, I ask permission to join them and we talk about life on the sea, diving in other places past and those yet to be.

10-20-07 After breakfast we transfer to the Palau Pacific Resort where we pass the day awaiting our overnight flight to Houston. The resort sprawls comfortably along a sandy beach and I spend much of this interval sharing prolonged poolside service in the company of my diver friends.

We share two rooms for stowing our gear, napping and refreshing before our midnight airport shuttle. By 5 pm local time I nap for an hour or so while Burch watches a television documentary on WW I era machine guns designed to shoot between moving propellers. A student of life, Burch also carries on as our resident history buff.

At dinnertime we gather haphazardly to enjoy the ample buffet offered by the Palau Pacific. The fare consists of a few recognizable dishes and many more for which I have no culinary clue. I choose to load up on sushi before a troop of young Polynesian dancers begins their entertainment spectacle.

By the time our airport transfer arrives, the Palau Pacific torches have long been extinguished and our group begins the first leg of an arduous journey home. Despite blending our passage as a lengthened whirl of transfers and aircraft cabins I try to wrap my mind and perspective around the appropriate sense of time. Re-crossing the international dateline and the concept of witnessing the sun rise over Guam and Houston on the same calendar day ultimately drains me. I force myself to stop thinking and just Be.

Replete with visual wonders, kinesthetic diving and camaraderie earned with richly shared experiences, a Palauan journey delivers an enduring lifetime memory far greater than I expected when first we set out.