The Shipwrecks of Palawan

It’s the 6th of February 2025, and I’m scuba diving in the Sulu Sea in the western Philippines off an island called Busuanga.

The country is named for a Spanish king from the 1500s and the name of the island, which means “burst”, comes from a little-known indigenous language. I’m here to explore Japanese shipwrecks sunk by flying American bombers during World War 2. This is literally a collision of history and cultures.

I dive three different wrecks: The Olympia, Kogyo and Morazan Maru.. bombed through, crumbling, dark. A floating buoy above the surface marks each spot and we descend along a fixed line. Coral grows on the sides exposed to natural light. But mostly, ocean detritus, like dust, settles on every surface inside and out. The careless flip of a fin is enough to turn the water murky around you. That’s not counting that sunlight is already subdued to a deep blue glow at this depth of 60 feet.

Our group of 4 enters with flashlights through rips in the iron hull. In some places we float down narrow, dark corridors; in others, we glide through cavernous empty holds carefully dodging rusty crossbeams sharp-edged with barnacles.

In two ships, we see coal blackened boiler rooms. In one, it’s a couple of stories high. Our flashlights point out iron grills as we swim at a crazy angle along it. Another turn, another dark passage before we approach the hold. This ship seems to have almost gothic arches. In the Morazan Maru, there are negative spaces of light against the dark where bombs ripped through. Black corridors end in eerie blue light if you’re brave enough to flick off your light. Otherwise, our beams search the darkness, highlighting tiny worms, flagellates and ocean dust.

In corners that were once “down” but are now up, nestle gorgonian sea fans – soft, branching coral, spreading out like cobwebs in the dark. Fish swim upside down in places, orienting themselves to tilted surfaces. Stuff grows on the murky walls – clams with jagged mouths; seawhips like loose wires; and orange lung-shaped invertebrates riddled with blue veins... life on a dead ship with us as ghosts floating through.

Air bubbles from my mask float upward. The stream gets trapped on the “ceiling”. The pools of air reflect the torchlight… like mercury in the dark, or liquid mirrors with soft amoebic edges. One poor clam has been hit by too many bubbles. It’s shell is open, and three patches grin distinctly at me, like a tiny screaming skull.

In one cavernous room, we surface into an airtight space. Trappings of the atmosphere dated the 24th of September, 1944. It’s not safe to breathe here - we’ve been pre-warned, but I wonder what would happen. I hope my ears don’t pop - they don’t – the pressure is probably similar to what we’ve been swimming through.

Air is not the only history trapped in the deep. In one wreck, there are bags of rice at the bottom of the ship preserved by salt and sea, crumbling gently with time. The guide puts his hand into a bag – voila, rice dust. Why have fish not eaten this rice yet?

On another ship there are bricks for construction, imprinted with names in English… strange that this is a Japanese vessel. Whose bricks might these have been?

All the ships have gun ports minus their salvaged guns of war. There’s a bandolier for very large bullets still attached in one place.

How much does one feel for a war from not so long ago? For now I’m just a ghost from the future - here to observe and imagine, somewhat detatched from anything but curiosity.

We wiggle out of the ships through apertures – doors, rips, breaks in the deck, it’s hard to tell what these portals are. It’s significantly less dark outside, but still gloomy enough to let the imagination wander.

Around the mast of the Morazan there’s a shoal of black and white striped jackfish with bright yellow fins. They cast about like a windswept banner.

On the sea floor near the Kogyo is a field of huge, brown cabbage shaped corals over which we float, Alice-like in some size-warped wonderland.

We see a cuttlefish the size of a cat just in front of the Olympia. It’s shaped like the floating head of an alien being. This one’s maw is full, and there’s a tail sticking out of it. One of the jackfish was not very lucky. Our dive guide, curious as ever, decides to play tug-of-war. It’s hilarious, but I feel for that cuttlefish! Out comes just half a jack, but the poor cuttle has scuttled. We take one last look around. I remember blue and green tulip-shaped corals seeming oddly out of place as we rise slowly with our bubbles.

On our boat, the others chat, and I quickly jot down what I saw. I don’t want to lose this to time. They’re talking about something mundane now, like living costs or driving distances. I’m annoyed. I ask them if they saw the tiny skull? The amoebic air pockets? The organs growing out of the walls? At least the torn mast-sail made entirely out of fish? No? Well, I guess my adventures just hit different... I'm glad I wrote it all down.

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