After that first day I had the very adult realization that such intensity could not be sustained. Life just works that way. Things ebb and flow. Well, not really.

Day two started out with our setting off to make a courtesy call to one of the State offices. Just to let them know we would be searching in their area. What was to be a ten minute stop by shake hands and go merrily on our way evolved quickly into a two and a half hour meeting with five of the six Chiefs of the Ngatpang State, not to mention a Senator and a Delegate. I sat mostly with my hands under my chin. Not for support but to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. The gist of the meeting was to let Pat know that the Chiefs approve of what he is doing "It is good for Palau" and to offer him any assistance he may need.

Our original plan for the day was to follow up on a new lead our intrepid guide Joe had turned up. It seems there were stories of a plane near someone's yard. Unfortunately "near someone's yard" meant in a mangrove swamp.

Mangroves are curious trees. Their roots most resemble an upside-down umbrella skeleton. This skeleton is easily seen even in high tide. Oh but wait, one tiny detail is that the roots go down into the silt and then sprout back up to eventually become another tree. The thing is that this leaves spikes reaching up to impale. Mid-evil nasty stuff. First you sink up to your thigh (okay so you are all taller than I am, you would sink up to your knee caps) and then you struggle to find the next foot placement. Your choice is on to one of the slick mangrove roots, on to one of the mangrove spikes or back into the silt up to your...
The smells and sounds are really quite something in the swamp. There is the click click clicking of the territorial crabs that will snatch a hold of your shoes, the muffled voices of those folks smart enough to not venture into the swamp, and the acrid scent (almost taste) of rot. Have I mentioned the temperatures in Palau don't sink below 90 until well after sundown? After an hour and forty minutes in the swamps even Joe had had enough. If you want to relive this experience strap 25lb weights to each of your ankles and do leg lifts in a hot tub. We staggered to a hose to rinse off and cool down a bit. The baby fine coal black silt hangs onto clothing and skin. The tenth time you rinse you are no cleaner than the first. However if you happen to suffer from athletes foot, the silt holds a fantastic cure. Or so I am told.

After all that effort we resorted to what worked the day before, basically going door to door. Joe, slightly embarrassed because we hadn't found anything in the swamp, went in search of more information. He returned and told us we needed to go to a home a few blocks from where we stood.

The first thing striking about this home was the landscaping. Old aircraft tires lined the walkway. Goodyear makes interesting flower pots. I would never have thought of such a use for tires. There I was filming the tires when Pat wonders to the other side of the yard. All I hear is "Oh my god it is a Hamilton Standard propeller!"
Sitting there next to a garage is a no shit HAMILTON STANDARD PROPELLER! Going door to door in search of aircraft is starting to seem like a very reasonable idea.

That evening Clem Major arrived to take over the filming duties and not a moment too soon might I add. Clem was on the same flight as the four person team from CILHI (US Army Central Identification laboratory Hawaii). CILHI's primary mission for this trip was to locate the mass grave of several missionaries, their families and three crew members from a B-24. Armed with maps drawn by witnesses in the war crime tribunals, reams of testimony and an eighty year old witness, we would head to the center of Baublethaup (The largest Island in Palau) where there are no roads. Okay there is nothing you or I would call a road.

The vehicles in Palau all have one thing in common: They have no suspension. Our theory is that they remove such items as shocks upon arrival in country. The bonus is that the definition of a road varies slightly from ours. After forty minutes of riding "in the good car" my kidneys got out and walked. The only member of our expedition team unphased by the roads or the heat for that matter was Katilina. Katilina is eighty years old and when she was growing up two very different armies did battle in her country. Katilina's family worked for the Japanese, her memories of that time are crystal clear. As our caravan bounced along it's merry way, this tiny stoic woman sat stock still. Any time we would stop to suss out the route or move a fallen tree, Katilina would get out and walk. We would have to catch up to her and ask her to get back in the car. After all she was frail and we needed to watch out for her. Yeah right.

As we neared the site that once held the body of her family priest Katilina's determination to help find the sight redoubled, if that is possible. I do not write the following lightly; I have never in my life seen such determination. Katilina was desperate to show the team the grave site. She and her family lived and worked next to the site that held the bodies of the priest "Closer than a brother" the missionaries their families (wives and children) and the US Airmen. At 4am on the morning of the surrender orders were sent to the Japanese to exhume the bodies, cremate them and bury them elsewhere. Katilina was leading the group to the original burial site. In essence she led the team straight there. No if's and's or but's. The relief on her face and in her eyes upon unburdening herself of this great weight was palpable.

And here is where I must take a break and a breath and so we will end part two.