Photo Journalism > Journal Excerpts > Coron Expedition

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The night gave way to dawn and I was awakened by the sounds of my bed being bailed out. I had spent the night on a wonderful floating cottage bobbing around in the bay of our private Coron Island beach. Dozing off whilst looking at the tapestry of stars in a clear night sky, listening to the rustling of bats in the fruit tree and being rocked by the waves had led to a very deep night’s sleep. Unfortunately my bed had sprang a leak and, though I remained oblivious, almost sunk.

A banca turned up to move camp and it was packed whilst Greg went off to town, muttering dark thoughts about sabotage, to arrange for repairs. We steamed off round to the far side of the island - a parade of scenic buttress-like cliffs interspersed with dents in which collections of Tagbanua huts huddled together as if in an attempt to appear slightly less insignificant against the dominance of their ancestral homeland’s seascape.

The morning was spent kayaking around the mangrove fringed bay that apparently marks the entrance to the all but invisible settlement of Cabugao. Many people had talked to us about the desire of the Tagbanua to be largely left alone but only now, paddling amongst the tiny dugouts from which they sow seaweed strands, does the full realization of the intrusion became apparent. There cannot be many places on Earth where such a feeling of not belonging can be felt. Somehow the combination of the lost world primeval mystery of the towering impenetrable island, and the way the Tagbanua shyly overt their eyes from our glaring presence whilst getting on with their basic existence, makes for a feeling of intrusion that I for one was not ready for.

Back at the banca Greg brought Mr. Aguilar aboard, brother of the Chairman of the Tagbanua council. He was to give us permission to camp on a local beach. Unfortunately there were none free and in checking them out it became even more apparent that the outside world in general, and Filipinos in particular, were not about to leave the Tagbanua alone. Visayan fishermen camped on the beaches with no regard for the protocol of requesting permission and leaving behind unsightly scatterings of decidedly non-biodegradable rubbish. Snorkelling revealed fishing practices that even more destructive. Evidence of dynamite is commonplace and the levels and size distribution of fish is sure sign of overfishing. What with El Niño bleaching and typhoon damage this is, regrettably, no aquarium.

We were forced to head on round the island away from the Tagbanua settlements to find a camping beach. In doing so we saw even more impressive lagoon and cliff scenery dotted with impossibly rickety bamboo scaffolding of the bird-nesters. The day ended with another practice session for our new dance, the mosquito two step. A desperate attempt to keep every part of your body shaking whilst setting up camp in the tranquil light of the best sunset to date.

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