Unsettled TCK Visits with an Unsettled TCK

Sunk in Coron

There comes a moment, at a certain depth, when direction loses meaning. Above, below, on all sides, a vague, muted blue fills with swirling white flakes. My lifeline is a rusted cable that stretches into nothingness on both ends. My facemask restricts my vision and the gurgling regulator rhythmically interrupts the distant roaring that fills my ears. As I descend, the indistinct outlines of a monstrous being emerge. The pooled darkness glimmers into the metal rails of a ship. Giant, blurred towers erupt from the deck and the hull curves into obscure shadow.

Bulbous anemones with squiggly tentacles sprout from every surface. Schools of shimmering fish stream by, indifferent to my presence. Multi-faceted fish like jewels coyly hide behind arching fans of blood red coral. There is a dark slit in the side of the hull. I enter a caged space that constricts to a narrow tunnel. Jutting metallic edges, punctuated with hard swirls of coral, accentuate the vague unease I feel with the growing restraints on my movement. Mindful of the oxygen tank, I navigate a vertical obstacle course. Weaving and threading through grate openings, I work my way deeper into the ship. Only a little light creeps in from behind me, providing just enough glow to show various spongy, riotous strings of yellow and red tendrils reaching out to caress me. Suddenly, I am startled to find that I seem unable to move forward.

Beginning to panic, I realize that I had misjudged the distance between my dull silver oxygen tank and the encroaching grate above, and had gotten caught. I use my hands to back away from the grate, move lower to dislodge my tank, and continue on my way. After what feels like an interminable time, I see a wide opening beyond which is pure black. I plunge forward and am immediately swept into a stream of light that filters through a massive hole in the side of a chamber. The edges of the hole are warped and contorted into craggy points blown inward.

The light provided from this cyclopean opening illuminates the giant boilers in front of me. The room extends so far down that for the first time since entering the ship, I feel dwarfed by its size. So much unobstructed space is exhilarating. All of the squat tubes, and what look to be the blades of very large fans, are encrusted with a mossy, writhing mass of life. I see a striped scorpion fish drift by with its tell-tale poisonous spines aloft and extended, rather like an elaborate headdress. Reveling in this spectacular view, I reluctantly make my way back to the lifeline. I gently ascend, watching as the preserved ship disappears again into the haze of blue. After I break the surface, I am assaulted with the sounds of the ocean crashing against our boat. Unseen through the wall of water below, patiently waiting, lays the Olympia Maru, a Japanese ship sunk in the Philippines during World War II.