Ngermalk (Long Island)

The start of the trail.

I parked by a limestone wall. Just a few steps away over the grass was an archway labeled "entrance." A large sign showed a map of the island with the hiking trail outlined in red. Peering through the arch, I was faced with an intimidating, steep limestone staircase. I had my sunscreen; I had my water; I was dressed to sweat and wore my thickest-soled shoes. Bring it on. 

As soon as I made it to the top of the stairs, I was in a different world. The sun was blocked by a canopy of trees. The air was incredibly still, cool, and humid. Sounds of buzzing insects and chirping birds filled my ears. I recognized the coo of a bird I had heard at our study sites before, and the deep-throated bark of the Micronesian pigeon. This jungle was their world, and I was only a guest. 

My little skink friend.

I walked on and eventually came to a clearing with benches and another sign. I was overlooking a marine lake, the sign informed me. From the top of the ridge, I'll admit the lake did not look impressive. The water was clear, but thick brown sediment blanketed the bottom, punctuated only by fallen tree trunks. If there's one thing I've learned in Palau, though, it's not to underestimate nature. The sign suggested that everything from algae and zooplankton to tube worms and crabs lived in the lake. I stayed safely on the trail so as not to disturb the ecosystem and moved on. 

I reached another intersection, and an arrow pointed toward a shortcut back to the park. Out of the corner of my eye, a bright orange and blue flash caught my attention. Smoothly, carefully, without any sudden movements, I leaned forward. It was a lizard! The little guy had a dark body with bright orange stripes running down it and a light blue tail. He seemed pretty wary of me, so I snapped a quick picture and kept my distance. I saw several other similar lizards throughout my hike. As best I can tell, they are either azure-tailed skinks (Emoia impar) or Pacific blue-tailed skinks (E. caeruleocauda).

The jungle was fascinating. I can show you pictures, but I cannot make you feel the cool, humid air on your skin or the sweat rolling down your face and back. I can record the sounds of birds and insects, but I cannot make you feel the fascination of fleeting lizards darting amongst the moss. I can describe my experience, but I cannot make you feel the jarring contrast of jagged limestone, smooth roots, and slick red mud under your feet. I was in a tropical heaven today. 

Eventually, I reached the highest point at the center of the island and started descending on the other side. I noticed a change in the air. No longer quite as humid, it had more movement and smelled like the sea. I reached another clearing with benches and realized the birdsong had changed. The insects were less deafening, and instead of pigeons, I heard the ethereal, high-pitched whistle of the Palau bush warbler (Horornis annae). I will always associate the sound of that ghostly call with Palau. 

The view from Ongellungel.

The end of the trail was supposedly on the far side of the island at a place called Ongellungel. When I arrived there, I found a group of men at work. Some of them trimmed back plants and burned the cuttings in a bonfire. Another group carved steps out of the limestone - a trail maintenance crew, for sure. They must have arrived by boat, because there was a small vessel tied off to a tree just around the corner. The leader made eye contact with me and explained that the trail actually continued. I didn't have to go back over the ridge. Fortunately, there was a sign to back him up, and I happily continued looping around the island. 

Snails clinging to a tree branch

A few minutes later, I came upon a beach area. Out over the channel, I could see PICRC. I had been warned by one of Maikani's friends that the loop around the island wasn't complete; the trail disappeared eventually. She had been forced to swim back to the trailhead a few days ago. I could actually see the final segment of the trail (she must have missed it), but I had planned to swim. I was wearing clothes that could get wet and had packed my belongings in a dry bag. Why not stick to the plan?

Trading my tennis shoes for neoprene booties, I waded out into the sea. The sand was littered with smooth rocks, and I waded at knee height. Several tree branches stretched out over the water, and one had two small snails on it. They must have been land snails, because there's no way a marine snail could survive out of the water like that. For their sake, I hoped they didn't fall in. 

As I waded further, I came across a patch of mangroves. The network of prop roots was surrounded by a ring of half-grown offshoots. The tree must be looking to expand, and it reached down to the seafloor with slowly-extending fingers. 

Mangrove prop roots

Eventually, the rocky seafloor gave way to sand spotted with seagrass, then a limestone shelf with corals. The depth exceeded the length of my legs, so I leaned forward and switched to a swim-crawl motion with my dry bag floating behind me. Careful not to hit the corals below with my feet, I pulled myself forward with my arms and legs. By the time I reached the beach at the public park where my journey began, I wasn't actually ready to get out of the water. I dunked my face under the surface, slicked my wet hair back, and soaked in the feeling of accomplishment after an adventurous hike. 

Some plants in the medicinal garden

Back on land, I noticed signs for an indigenous medicinal garden. Signs designated native and endemic plants to Palau with medicinal properties, and I wandered through the installation slowly. The uses of each plant were not specified, but I could imagine ancient Palauans chewing leaves for nausea, rubbing sap on burns, and making the most of the biodiversity on their island home. 

Palau is a land where the jungle meets the sea. I am so glad I got the chance to explore both in Ngermalk.