Diving into Palau on a Pacific Island adventure

Visitors arriving in the tiny pristine paradise must pledge to respect its environment and culture

Koror is one of the world's most laid-back capitals. Photo: Norimoto / istockphoto

A bubble the colour of mercury rolls across my dive mask and, as I begin my descent, the rumble of expelled air flows past my ears. I follow the rope down and fin around a large shoulder of coral to be confronted by a Japanese warplane that looks like it came to rest here a day or two ago.

History does not record how this Aichi E13A naval reconnaissance float plane got here – 15 metres below the surface and about 500 metres west of a seaplane ramp constructed by the Japanese during their 1914 to 1945 colonial rule of Palau – but it is one of hundreds of sunken aircraft and ships that dot the seabed off these Pacific islands, serving as a reminder of some of the most vicious fighting of the Pacific war.

Better known by its Allied identification name, Jake, the aircraft was only discovered by a local fisherman in 1994. Since then, it has become one of the most popular dive sites in Palau. Leaning to starboard by a few degrees, the jets’ wings are intact and the port pontoon rests on a sandy ocean bottom. Coral has begun to encroach on the starboard wing and the single engine leans forward, partly detached from the fuselage. Remarkably, much of the glass for the aircraft’s three-man crew compartment remains intact, although the tail section has been torn off near the rear gunner’s position and lies a short distance to its north.

The seaplane’s gun has been removed, but the rest of the aircraft is untouched by the looters and scavengers who have picked other historic sites across the Pacific clean for a quick profit. And that is a testament to how the people of these islands see the assets – natural and man-made, in the ocean, the jungles, the mangrove swamps, the traditional villages – that they have inherited.

The message that the pristine beauty of the 340 islands that make up Palau must be preserved is fully on display to travellers at the only international airport in the country. One entire wall of the arrivals hall is covered with a stunning image of black-on-blue silhouettes of sharks, rays and other marine life accompanied by a message, in several languages, that reads: “You’re free to explore, never to exploit".

The message is reinforced in the Palau Pledge, which makes up the immigration stamp that goes inside every foreign passport and states, in part, “I take this pledge, as your guest, to preserve and protect your beautiful and unique island home".

About 1,000km due east of the Philippines, and with a land area of only 466 square km, Palau is tiny – it’s the 16th smallest nation in the world. As a low-lying archipelago, it’s at risk of rising global temperatures and sea levels, meaning the need to protect its limited resources is keenly felt.

As I shrug off my air tank and weight belt back at the ocean surface, Swing Aguon, my irrepressible dive captain, says he wants to show me something. He guns the powerful twin engines of the boat and we surge across waters that incorporate myriad shades of blue.

Eil Malk is one of the several hundred limestone outcrops that make up Palau’s famous Rock Islands, but this one conceals a natural wonder. I show my pass to the local authorities – visitors to the Rock Islands need to purchase a $100 pass before access is permitted – and ascend a steep set of steps cut into the limestone. Cresting the ridge, jellyfish lake is visible through the jungle. In a deep bowl, the lake is only connected to the outside lagoon via small tunnels, and its isolation has permitted two species to evolve in these waters, the translucent moon jellyfish and the deeper coloured golden jellyfish.

Scuba diving is not permitted in the lake to prevent human activity damaging these delicate life forms, so visitors have to snorkel its brackish waters. And while I have been reassured that the jellyfish have evolved and, as there are no predators in the lake, no longer have the ability to sting, I still find it hard to trust them and find myself navigating carefully to avoid their trailing tentacles out of a surfeit of caution. My guide, however, swims straight through the congregations and emerges none the worse. He admits, however, that there are far fewer jellyfish in the lake than in past years thanks to rising temperatures. And while numbers have always bounced back after periodic die-offs, there is concern that one day the population will not recover.

There is slightly better news after we have slalomed between a few more of the rock islands, where an expansive coral garden that suffered widespread bleaching due to rising sea temperatures is showing clear signs of recovery. The patches of skeletal white are being covered by new growth and reef fish are in constant motion. A turtle has also chosen to make this recovering reef its home. As I surface, another boat has pulled up and a tall man is throwing scraps to the fish while several uniformed men stand alert, scanning the surrounding area. It’s not every day of the week that one shares a reef with the leader of the nation. Palau’s President – Surangel Whipps Jr – smiles and waves to me as he speeds off into the blue.

Swing shows me a couple of his other favourite underwater spots – a sandbar where visitors can swim with docile black-tipped sharks and a nearby nursery for giant clams – before the light begins to fade and we sadly accept it’s time to turn back towards Palau’s laid-back capital city of Koror.

For many years, this island nation has played on its marine strengths to appeal to travellers, but a shift is now under way to highlight the traditional lives of the islands’ inhabitants. A short drive north of Koror is Ordomel village, home to one of the last three original chief’s meeting houses on the islands. Long and with a steeply pitched roof made out of banana thatch, the gabled end is painted with depictions of men fishing from long canoes, sharks that are the defenders of the village, the clams whose shells are turned into the local currency and butterfly fish that in Palau culture, are symbolic of humbleness and respect.

This 200-year-old building is where the leaders come together to make decisions about the well-being of their community. It holds the scent of the smoke of countless fires, lit in two pits dug into the floor. Custom dictates that it is forbidden for women to enter.

Down a nearby flight of steps – where the original stone was laid by German colonisers and still shows in places through the concrete that was later poured by the Japanese – is a 15-metre war canoe carved from a single tall tree and painted a deep red. An ominous eye is at the bow and a depiction of a sharp-toothed moray eel at the helmsman’s position. A coconut adorned with a face is suspended from the outrigger; in the past, this would have been a real human head after a successful raid on a neighbouring tribe.

A local family has prepared a meal served in a traditional round basket, containing fish, chicken, grilled tapioca wrapped in a banana leaf and taro. The top is lopped off a large coconut for refreshment. This, say the villagers, is what they want to share with the people who make the effort to come to this tiny and remote island. They are proud of their way of life and the values that they still hold, their respect for the land and the ocean.

“I vow to tread lightly, act kindly and explore mindfully,” the Palau Pledge adds. “I shall not take what is not given. I shall not harm what does not harm me. The only footprints that I shall leave are those that will wash away.”

Words to live by.