Ocean Watch

Last fall, when I announced my decision to sail to Palmyra to work for several months, people warned me of the atoll's evils. I heard about the cruising couple murdered in 1972. I heard that sharks in the lagoons were abundant and aggressive. I heard WWII soldiers stationed here often had an eerie feeling that something was wrong.

I've lived in Palmyra for nearly two months now, and find the place about as evil as the clown fish Nemo. But even though I've tangled with no pirates, ghosts or monster fish, the atoll does have a bugaboo: its trees.

Palmyra's dominant tree is the non-native coconut palm, planted decades ago for a copra plantation. These trees-gone-wild now define Palmyra's skyline and lean over her lagoons like those in picture postcards.

But there's a downside to these icons of paradise: Coconut palms get cranky when neglected and start chucking their fruit.

Crashing coconuts are a common sound around here, and everyone who walks in the forests takes heed. During my first week here, a coconut fell so close to me I felt the whoosh of it on my shoulder.

We have hard hats, but still. It's silly to worry about the little black-tipped reef sharks, which skitter away with the stomp of a foot, when 10-pound coconuts dangle precariously from thousands of towering palms. When it comes to safety here, forget shark sticks. Think headgear.

The majestic Pisonia trees that Alex and I are working to save also have a dark side. When these native trees grow old or get diseased, their trunks become hollow. One day while Alex and I counted ants and tracked crabs, a nearby Pisonia tree gave up the ghost and crashed to the beach.

This tree was standing
last ant check!

This was no small occurrence. We stared at the fallen giant, jaws agape. "I wondered what that crackling noise was," Alex said, finally. Next time, we'll pay attention.

I can forgive these big trees for their occasional downfalls. The grounded coconuts are food for Palmyra's thousands of charming crabs, and the Pisonia suffer from scale and ants that we humans introduced.

One tree here, however, is so irritating it's hard not to hold a grudge. These atypical trees are remarkable to behold, especially in groves, but just when I'm starting to forgive and forget, a tripod root trips me, thorns puncture my legs and steak-knife leaves scratch my arms.

These well-armed trees are pandanus, also called hala or screw pines. Hala leaves make fine mats, but thickets of these spiky trees can turn an enjoyable search for tagged crabs into a trying obstacle course.

I've come to love Palmyra's rascally forests, and look forward to my daily treks in them. Trees are the essence of this atoll, supporting thousands of crabs, providing shade havens for humans and creating a unique environment that deserves its refuge status.

But the big guys have attitude. There might be no murderers, monsters or marauding spirits here, but watch out for those trees. In Palmyra, forests rule.