Palau: Exploring the Rock Islands

Rock Islands, Palau

(Warning: this kind of turned into a novel... read on, brave one.)

For nearly two weeks since arriving in Palau,  Field Trip has been tied to a mooring at Sam’s Tours Dive Shop and Yacht Club.  It had been a productive two weeks - meeting people, finishing videos and blogs, and getting back into the school routine - but we were all ready to untie the lines and set off again.  Only hours away lie the protected Rock Islands, a maze of gumdrop-shaped emerald islets floating in turquoise waters.  We secured our required permits, paid our cruising and entrance fees, stocked the fridge, and finally set off.

Soft Coral Arch

A mere hour motor from the yacht club, we find ourselves carefully navigating between two islets and over a shallow reef to enter a secluded lagoon.  Once the anchor is set in the center, Mark and the kids tie a stern line to the shore to ensure we won’t swing into any of the limestone cliffs around us.  I’m at the helm, keeping us in position and then backing up towards the stern tie so that Mark can hop on board and secure it to the cleat onboard.  He uses the rear winch to tighten the line, making the anchor and the stern lines taut.  

The kids hop on the paddle board to explore our new surroundings.  Elizabeth returns with a collection of flowers and leaves to show us - orchids, pitcher plants, and the branch of an evergreen.  Behind us is the arch for which this place is named, but we won’t get in the water to check it out until tomorrow.  The sun is beginning to set, tide is rising, and we settle in for the night.  

What was a peaceful anchorage in the afternoon, quickly fills with a cacaphony of noise.  Quarreling cockatoos squawk loudly in the trees.  Ricocheting waves slap under the rock ledges.  The winds happen to be coming directly through the only open passageway, wreaking havoc on our quiet solitude.  

After dinner, the kids use the foredeck shade to construct a makeshift tent with plans to spend the night outside.  They haul an assundry of ‘necessities’ from inside to create a cozy ambience - a lantern, pillows, blankets, foam seat cushions, a cooler filled with drinks and snacks (just in case), their kindles for nightime reading, and an ipad for music.  They are certainly not roughing it!  

Around midnight, however, their cozy tent is no match for a rain squall.  The canvas begins to flap in the building breeze and they are forced to pull it down and secure it.  They gather the items that can’t get wet and retreat inside for the night.  

In the morning, I head out on my own for a quick dive through the soft coral arch that happens to be right behind the boat.  It’s a shallow dive, only 3 meters, and within moments of me being underwater, I look up to see a crowd of snorkelers flailing in the waters overhead.  One displays the peace sign, posing as I snap a picture of the chaos from below.  It is obvious why so many tourists are brought to this spot - every inch of the channel is covered in vibrantly colored soft corals - yellow, orange, magenta, and deep red.  It is almost too much beauty to take in.  I hold myself in place and marvel at the extravagance of it all.

Cemetery Point

Turns out, Mark needs to pay some online bills.  The stern line is untied and brought on deck, the dinghy raised, then the anchor, and we are off again.  At the helm, I motor out to the open water and head towards town just until we are close enough to get a signal on my phone.  The engines are pulled into idle, and we drift as Mark tap-tap-taps away on his computer.  Oh, the ever-present shackle of connectivity.

Bills get paid, and our journey continues onto a spot just a half hour away - Cemetery Point.  Again, we meander between islets and settle into an isolated lagoon, this one not open to the wind, and much larger than the last.  Mark had pinpointed the center of the lagoon on the satellite images, and portrayed it now on the chart plotters.  This is where we’d drop the hook.  Then, pull back to the nearest limestone wall, to ensure the anchor was set well with ample swing room.  

Needing a bit of ‘me’ time, I lower the dinghy and motor around to check out the place.  Just beyond our lagoon, I see an area surrounded by bouys, a marked boundary to protect the reef jutting out from Cemetery Point.  I circumnavigate the site, planning for the dive I’ll do the next day.  Even from the surface, I see huge beds of various hard corals and large snapper perusing their turf.  

The following morning, the kids discover a juvenile Roseate Tern (long-tailed sea bird) who has fallen into the water, causing its downy wings to get too wet for flight.  At the dive shop, we had met a dive guide who regularly rescues these young birds and cares for them until they are dry enough to fly again.  The kids immediately take action.  They paddle out, and Michael leans over to scoop the bird up.  It flaps and squawks, but settles down by the time Elizabeth paddles them back to Field Trip.  Now the project really begins.

On board, a towel is placed inside a big bucket and our new patient is carefully tucked inside.  

The kids minds turn to overdrive.  

“We need some fish.  Do we have any fish?  Dad, we need to go catch a fish.”

All the fishing tackle is brought out from its storage and sifted through to find the right gear.  The line is rigged up and we all pile in the dinghy - me with my dive gear and them with their tackle.  While I dive around Cemetery Point, they’ll be trying to catch a fish to cut up for the bird’s dinner.  They drop me in the water, and I descend into the blue.  Huge snapper and one token Napolean Wrasse slowly swim by to welcome me.  This is only my second time diving alone  (the first was at the coral arch just the day before).  Since Mark’s eardrum is still broken, though, I don’t have much choice.  I quiet the nagging fears and calm my breathing into a steady rhythm as I sink deeper.  

Above water, the dinghy has moved away from the dive site to a cove nearby.  The bait is lowered down and Elizabeth watches from the side of the dinghy, leaning her face into the water to see how the fish are responding.  When a small fish nibbles, she jigs the bait up, enacting the fish’s natural instinct to chase it, and boom - he strikes!  They haul him up quickly and Mark runs them back to the boat to prep the bird’s fresh catch.    

Meanwhile, I am enjoying my solitude underwater, oblivious to all the fishing action going on.    Schools of fish dart by as I glide along the wall of coral.  In front of me, a giant table coral sits on its side.  It must be 7 feet across!  I pause to take a selfie, but realize my camera battery is dead.  Guess this dive will only be seen by me!  A titan triggerfish grabs my attention and I watch him cautiously.  When these guys are nesting, they can get very territorial and pack a nasty bite.  This one is docile, though, so I swim on.  Eventually, I decide its time to turn around and head back the way I came.  I put a bit of air in my BC and rise up to see a different level of the coral on my return trip.  This way I can do my decompression stop and see new things all at the same time.  A tourist boat engine rumbles above my head and I check my depth gauge again to ensure I’m deep enough to avoid its propeller.  I pass the tipped table coral, wave goodbye to the huge snappers and Napolean Wrasse, and ascend to the surface.  Mark has the dinghy tied to one of the boundary bouys, and I hail him to come pick me up.  

The kids caught their bird dinner and I got to enjoy a quiet dive alone.  Everyone’s happy.

Ulong Island/Channel

The bird rides with us on our passage to Ulong, still not able to fly off the deck.  We spot Jim’s boat, Cardea, in the anchorage so we motor around until we can find a place that gives us each plenty of room to swing.  In these lagoons, surrounded by tall cliffs and lush green hills, the wind whips around from all directions.  Since we aren’t stern tying, we need to make sure we’ve got room to swing 360 degrees.  

Mark puts up the sunshade to cover the entire foredeck and cool the boat down.  It stretches from the port sidestay, around the mast, to the starboard rigging and up to the bow seats.  On hot, calm days, this is a godsend, but when the winds pick up and storms come through, it can catch the wind and cause problems.  Twice, while in this lagoon, right after sunset, storms pop up and it becomes a quick all-hands-on-deck drill to untie and stow the massive canvas shade.  Each time, I imagine the material acting as a sail and pushing the boat with enough force to free our anchor and drag us to our doom.  (I know, I’m always the worst-case scenario drama queen in these situations).  Thankfully, we survive unscathed and the storm passes.  

During our stay here, we make a few trips out to dive Ulong Channel, 3.6 miles away, the top dive in all of Palau.  Once we’re underwater, Elizabeth and I understand why this dive is so popular.  Sharks circle above the sandy bottom and vast coral reefs.  Schools of massive Bumphead parrotfish, the size of a beach towel, loudly bite chunks from the coral.  Marbled grouper hover above their homes, teeth bared.  Octopus poke their heads out of holes, watching the activity.   The inbound current brings in clear water and carries us through the channel.  We both spread our arms in the Superman pose as we zoom effortlessly along.  What a thrilling dive!

Bird rearing wasn’t going quite as well as diving, however.  He wouldn’t eat the fish (perhaps it wasn’t the right brand), but he did drink some water when dripped from a straw.  We all wondered how long a bird could live without eating.  Certainly, we were not bird experts, and perhaps we’d bitten off more than we could chew.  Undeterred by our lack of expertise, we pressed on.  Surely the wings were dry by now, right?  Elizabeth lifted the bird from his makeshift nest and set him out on the trampoline.  We all were encouraged with his every flit and flutter.  Just watching him preen his feathers and pump his wings enamours us.  It is such a delight to be able to see his features in minute detail!  

Finally, the moment of truth.  Time to set him aflight.

Elizabeth holds him in her cupped palms, lowering and lifting him in a fluid motion.  He spreads his wings and prepares for flight.  Then, at the apex of the movement, he takes off, rising up, then swooping down so close to the sea that we think he’ll surely fall in again.  We gasp as his wings flap, providing him just enough lift to pull himself back up into the air.  Our cheers rise with him as he soars up, up, and out of sight.  There is a sigh of relief, a swell of pride, and a twinge of sadness as we watch him go.

Eleven Islands      

After two nights at Ulong, we lift anchor and head out to an anchorage that had been recommended to us by Sam, the owner of the dive shop and yacht club.  The biggest decision that needs to be made here is which beach to visit first!  Michael is my paddleboard chauffeur and he decides on the beach downwind of the boat.  Two huge rocks stand next to each other, connected by a strip of sand.  Hermit crabs seem have taken over and are moving along the beach en mass, making it look like a parade of seashells along the shore.  The wind is howling, so we stay out of the water and instead begin construction of a hermit crab ninja warrior course.  

Once the pit is dug and more sand scooped out from the lower edge to create an unclimbable ledge, a stick is twisted down into the center of the arena.  More sticks are leaned up against this center stick, creating a tepee-style climbing gym.  Elizabeth comes to help us once her Algebra homework is done.  She takes the role of Crab Collector.  As soon as she plops the hermit crabs into the hole, the game of King-of-the-Hill commences.  The opponents grip the twigs and haul themselves up, shell and all, with amazing agility!  We can’t believe the strength of these little crustaceans!  Small ones climb onto the backs of larger ones, using them as step stools to attempt escape.  Meanwhile, a crab with a spiral white shell clings to the very tip of the tepee, and I imagine him hollering, “I’m the King of the Hill!” in his squeaky little hermit crab voice while he scans his newly conquered domain.  

Elizabeth changes roles.  Now she is the design architect - figuring out a new way to stump the competitors.  She adds bridges and moats as part of a challenge course, but it proves too challenging in the end, and we watch crab after crab fall in defeat.  

Crab warriors are freed and attentions are suddenly switch gears to beach gymnastics.  Somehow I decide that showing the kids how to do a cartwheel (which I haven’t attempted in years) would be a good idea.  Once my hands hit the sand and my legs are splayed apart haphazardly in the air, I realize that I’m no longer the lanky, flexible 12-year-old I once was.  I manage to land with both feet on the ground, but I’m certain I have pulled no less than 28 muscles in my inner thighs.  Ouch.  Such are the joys of growing older.  Cartwheels morph into wheelbarrow races, which result in far fewer aches and pains, but are still not as easy as they once were.  Oh well, the kids delight in seeing their old mom attempt such feats, and I would gladly sacrifice myself over and over to hear the giggles that ensue.  

German Channel

This is one of my favorite stops on our Rock Islands cruise.  We anchor near Long Beach, a sliver of a sand spit that only shows up at low tide.  In the evening, tourists are brought here to take photos, and I figure they must be onto something.  I watch all the silly poses the photographers place their subjects in, and decide it’s time for a family photo shoot.  Long gone are the yearly studio family photos or even school pictures for the kids.  This is an opportunity I can’t pass up.  I announce my spontaneous decision, and require everyone to put on some ‘nice’ clothes for our sudden photo session.  Mark grabs the drone, too, already imagining possible shots to take. 

It’s far from perfection.  Shirts are wrinkled.  Eyes are squinting in the sunlight.  Kids are whining.  But it gets done and those tour guides are right, this is a fantastic backdrop.

The following day, we decide to anchor closer to the channel so we’ll have a shorter dinghy drive.  The German Channel is a man-made channel, dug out by - you guessed it - the Germans 100 years ago.  This turns out to be the most epic dive for Elizabeth and I.  The water on the inbound tide is crystal clear.  Sharks cruise along in the deep blue.  Massive schools of all types of fish zip here and there.  An enormous manta ray swoops right behind me, giving Elizabeth and I quite a fright!  It circles around us for a while, seeming to enjoy giving us the thrill of such a close encounter, and then gracefully glides away.  Magical.

Moving On

The ten days we spend in Palau’s Rock Islands are wonderful.  We love the quiet anchorages and the pristine scenery, untouched by man.  Many evenings I sit out on the foredeck, in awe of the raw beauty surrounding us.  I imagine that this is how the earth looked long ago, and I marvel at the simplicity and balance it brings back to me.  The productivity that seemed so vital while we were tied to the mooring ball in town now seems so trivial.  The agendas don’t press in so urgently, and we find a different kind of connectivity - not to devices or internet or email - but to each other and only the world we can see from right where we are.