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National Geographic : 2002 Jul
Contents
A living reef inhales and exhales with sucking, grasping, filtering animals. Periwinkles, brittle stars, and black long-spined sea urchins, like evil sprites, bristle in the shallows. Translucent wands of anemones wave in the current. Corals parade down the slope-whip corals, mush room corals, brain corals, fan corals as intricate as lace mantillas. Above the corals are the free swimmers gaudy sea worms flapping like magic carpets, a feather star crinoid mincing like a duster brought to life by a wizard. A crab carrying an upside-down jellyfish on its back as defense or camouflage. Lizard fish, pufferfish, parrotfish, angelfish, butterfly fish, fake clownfish, real clownfish. Shy schools of yellow-tail trevally. Batfish, nearly twice as tall as they are long. The gleefully named spotted harlequin sweetlips. But there was no escaping the damage. We found reefs as anemic as burned forests and others where leafy cabbage coral lay in frag ments, coleslawed by dynamite or carelessly tossed anchors. Once destroyed, coral reefs take 20 to 30 years to heal and recover. "When you look at the percentage of dam aged reef, it seems hopeless," said Rannie Dulay, a Coron wilderness guide and conserva tionist, "but when you look at the diversity of life there, you feel a strength." Dulay smiled and brandished his fist. A slight man of 34, he has organized a program to help fishermen rebuild their reefs. Already six communities have taken matters into their own newly educated hands. They've stopped spreading cyanide. They're allowing damaged reefs a recuperation period, then they plan to transplant coral fragments raised in shallow-water farms, much as rice seedlings are transplanted. Recovered reefs mean healthy fish populations and increased tourism in this gorgeous corner of the Philippines. WHEN WE DIVED the next day close to Coron Island, we were confronted by an outrigger of Tagbanuas, a tribe of aborigi nal Filipinos, wanting 75 pesos a head (about $2) for using their waters. The Tagbanuas of Coron are the first indigenous group in the Philippines to be granted both land and water rights in their ancestral domain. They have divided Coron, 86 square miles of rain forest, lakes, and coral reefs, into two parts-one a sacred area, the other open to a limited number of visitors. Visas are required, those 75 pesos each, to the consternation of resort operators who once made money taking guests to fresh water Kayangan Lake on Coron Island, a site both sacred and vital to the Tagbanuas. We sailed toward the Tagbanuan village of Cabugao one morning, plodding through a hundred yards of muddy tidal flats to reach the coastline of mangroves. An elder, Solomon Aguilar, sent a man up a palm tree in his front yard and offered us its cool coconut water. The Tagbanuas live mostly off their sur roundings. They fish only by hook and line or with a spear. They grow cashew nuts and gather the nests of swiftlets in cliffside caves. As they have done since the 15th century, they sell the nests, made of bird saliva, to Singapore, Hong Kong, and Japan as the main ingredient of bird's nest soup. The birds are very finicky. They like to drink the clean water from Kayangan Lake. The Tag banuas need to restrict visitors because the lake will become polluted by suntan lotion and insect repellent. The Tagbanuas have little access to modern medicine but gather herbs and roots in the for est when they are sick. They use guava leaves for upset stomach and know how to prepare korot, an otherwise poisonous sweet potato. They have discovered a substance that stuns reef fish without cyanide. The possibility that other critical medicines or drugs may be locked in reefs or rain forests has always been one compelling reason to safe guard diversity. A key chemical in AZT, a drug used to treat patients with AIDS, was found in a coral reef; rosy periwinkle from a Madagascar forest has been highly effective in fighting childhood leukemia. Scientists can only guess at the potions and ointments that could emerge from the lush environment of Coron. We sailed back from Cabugao at dusk in a cool breeze. The outrigger sliced through waves that glowed with the phosphorescence of small plankton. A into the dark water. Perhaps, just perhaps, this paradise has a chance. For this night, at least, a sweet equi librium hung over the islands. O crescent moon seeped Are hotspots an effective way of preserving biodiversity? Share your thoughts on our forum board at nationalgeo graphic.com/ngm/0207. THE PHILIPPINES
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