Coron

Coron, a municipality nestled at the northeastern edge of Busuanga Island in the province of Palawan, Philippines, is a place woven from the dual threads of rugged history and natural grace. Its heart lies in the Poblacion barangays, numbered one through six, where the seat of local governance stands amid clusters of concrete homes and winding lanes. This main town center, though compact, exudes a quietly confident energy. Each August 28, the streets swell with procession and celebration as the community honors Saint Augustine, their patron saint, with ritual, music, and shared feasts—an annual reminder of Coron’s enduring spirit.

Long before the arrival of foreign explorers, the Tagbanuas made Coron their home. As part of a second wave of Austronesian migration some five millennia ago, they brought with them a seafaring tradition and a subsistence economy built on fishing and small-scale agriculture. Although modern life has introduced cell phones and permanent dwellings, the Tagbanua people retain much of their ancestral worldview. They continue to practice traditional weaving and basketry, use herbal remedies, and maintain a profound respect for the islands’ spirits. Their presence endures not only in local customs but also in the stewardship of Coron Island itself, where the Tagbanuas manage certain areas today, preserving both biodiversity and cultural heritage.

Spanish maps first recorded this settlement as “Penon de Coron,” but in 1902, when Coron was officially registered as a town, its name was shortened to the single syllable that now adorns signposts and ferry schedules alike. The early twentieth century brought small-scale mining operations; in 1939, a manganese boom drew laborers away from rice paddies and fish traps. For a brief period, Coron felt the pulse of industrial enterprise. That changed when World War II cast its long shadow across the Pacific.

In July 1942, Japanese forces seized the local mines, reviving the extraction of manganese under occupation. But on September 24, 1944, the harbor became a battleground. As Japanese vessels retreated from Manila Bay, American warplanes descended in a daring raid, consigning ten to twelve ships to the depths. Today, these wrecks lie at depths between ten and forty meters, their metal carcasses colonized by coral and fish. For divers, they offer both a somber lesson in history and an underwater cathedral of marine life. Among international authorities, the site ranks among the world’s premier wreck-diving destinations—a reputation fostered as much by the clarity of the water as by the haunting silhouettes of vessels now draped in reef growth.

In the wake of war, Coron turned again to the sea. By 1947, commercial deep-sea fishing vessels, outfitted with modern gear, established operations in local waters. The town expanded, drawing workers from Luzon and the Visayas to staff boats and processing plants. For four decades, fishing sustained Coron’s economy, until unsustainable practices—blast and cyanide fishing—depleted stocks and damaged coral reefs. Parallel to this decline, the rattan and basket-weaving industry, once buoyed by abundant raw materials, dwindled as forests receded.

By the 1990s, tourism emerged as the village’s most promising industry. Guidebooks and magazines began to notice Coron’s limestone cliffs, hidden lagoons, and wreck-strewn bays. Small dive operators set up shop on the pier, renting out tanks and guiding visitors through the skeletal remains of sunken freighters. Today, tourism is Coron’s lifeblood, drawing visitors eager to explore white-sand beaches, snorkel in crystalline lagoons, and test their stamina on mountain trails.

Coron’s relative remoteness once required days at sea to reach. Now, Francisco B. Reyes Airport, also known as Busuanga Airport, welcomes turboprops from Manila, Puerto Princesa, and Caticlan. Airlines such as PAL Express and Cebu Pacific offer daily flights from the capital, and Air Juan services regional routes twice weekly. From the runway, fixed-cost vans convey arrivals to town in roughly thirty minutes, weaving through coconut groves and roadside villages.

Maritime links remain vital. The 2GO Travel ferry departs Manila on Friday afternoons, docking at Coron early Saturday; a return service sails Sunday afternoon. Atienza Shipping Lines plies the Manila–Coron route twice weekly aboard M/V April Rose and M/V May Lily, though schedules require confirmation by phone. For the intrepid, pump boats—locally called motor bancas—cross from El Nido most mornings, a seven- to eight-hour voyage that includes a hot meal en route. Montenegro Shipping’s ro-ro vessel sails daily from San Jose, Occidental Mindoro, arriving by midmorning in Coron. Each of these options carries both passengers and cargo, threading Coron into the archipelago’s interlocking web.

The town itself, a grid of sunny streets, is bordered by hills crowned with a white cross. Mt. Tapyas stands just beyond the eastern edge of town; the ten- to fifteen-minute climb to its summit rewards walkers with a panoramic sweep of islands scattered across an aquamarine sea. Nearby, mangrove forests unfold behind the waterfront. Kayaking tours guide visitors through tangled roots, where fireflies flicker at dusk and mudskippers dart among pneumatophores.

Beyond the shoreline, Coron Island rises from the sea in dramatic black limestone towers. Only two of its thirteen inland lakes are open to the public—Kayangan Lake, reached by a steep stone stairway, is judged one of the country’s cleanest bodies of freshwater, its mirror surface reflecting sheer cliffs. Barracuda Lake, known for its thermocline and submerged rock formations, beckons swimmers and snorkelers willing to explore its thermal stratification. At low tide, Twin Lagoon permits passage through a small cave that divides two basins; at high tide, a narrow channel invites strong swimmers to slip between rock walls.

Island-hopping is a rite in Coron. Chartered bangkas, each accommodating up to six passengers, deliver small groups to Banol Beach, framed by tamarind trees and Calachuchi blooms; to Siete Pecados, a snorkeling enclave that local legend attributes to the spirits of seven drowned children; and to CYC Island, the only public beach in the archipelago where entrance is free. Malcapuya and Banana Islands, farther afield, boast sand so fine it rivals Boracay’s, while Bulog Beach remains so secluded that a visitor may find the shoreline entirely to themselves. For those seeking deeper solitude, Black Island and Cheron Island lie at the outer edges of Coron’s lagoon, their coves untouched by tour operators.

Culion Island, once the site of a leper colony, now hosts a museum dedicated to the history of disease treatment in the Philippines. Its orchards and coral gardens suggest life beyond tragedy, even as the faded wards recall a darker chapter in colonial medicine. Sangat Island, with its proximity to wrecks and shallow dive sites, combines tropical charm with historical resonance.

Diving in Coron is as diverse as the archipelago itself. The coral reefs around Siete Pecados teem with parrotfish, damselfish, and lionfish, while the wrecks—six large vessels and two smaller gunboats—offer habitat to barracuda, groupers, and schools of threadfin anthias. Operators such as Discovery Divers, Sea Dive, Neptune Dive Center, Rocksteady, and Coron Divers each stake a claim to the best boat, the most knowledgeable guides, or the friendliest service. While Sea Dive touts the only recompression chamber in Palawan, Coron Divers distinguishes itself as the only entirely Filipino-owned outfit. Freedivers can learn to hold their breath for minutes at a time through Just One Breath, ascending silently to view encrusted wrecks without tanks.

Despite rapid growth in visitor numbers, Coron’s residents strive to balance progress with preservation. The Coron Island Natural Biotic Area remains on UNESCO’s Tentative List, recognized for its unique limestone karst formations and endemic species. Tagbanua coastal zones enforce nightly patrols to deter illegal fishing, and the municipal government issues only limited permits for liveaboard vessels. Efforts to restore damaged reefs include coral nurseries and diver-led cleanups of sunken debris. At Kayangan and Twin Lagoons, entrance fees fund waste collection and trail maintenance, ensuring that these fragile environments remain unspoiled.

In town, daily rhythms unfold around the market pier, where fishermen unload their catches at dawn. Vendors hawk fresh cashew nuts—Coron’s signature snack—mangoes, jackfruit, and star apples. Bake shops perfume the sidewalks with warm bread, and small eateries serve noodle soups and grilled fish. Tricycles jockey for passengers, offering twenty-peso rides around town; motorcycle and van rentals provide flexibility for those wishing to explore at their own pace.

Banking facilities are limited but reliable: Metro Bank and PNB each host ATMs that accept major cards, and drugstores stock sunscreen and insect repellent. Water delivery services supply purified water in large containers for lodges and private homes. For visitors, the etiquette is simple: a respectful nod to elders, a readiness to remove shoes in private homes, and a willingness to tip guides and porters who navigate the islands’ hidden pathways.

Festivals and Cultural Touchstones
The feast of Saint Augustine remains Coron’s most elaborate celebration. Church services converge with street parades, brass band music, and colorful floats. Traditional dances reenact harvest rituals, and nightly concerts feature local talents performing folk songs that pay homage to both land and sea. These festivities underscore the community’s cohesion and the enduring presence of faith in daily life.

As tourism revenues climb, Coron faces familiar choices: how to accommodate growth without sacrificing authenticity, how to leverage its natural and historical assets without degrading them. Infrastructure improvements—better roads, expanded port facilities, upgraded lodgings—promise greater comfort but risk altering the town’s modest scale. Meanwhile, grassroots movements champion eco-friendly tours and community-based homestays. The Tagbanuas continue to negotiate access to sacred sites on Coron Island, asserting ancestral rights even as they welcome outsiders for guided visits.

In Coron’s compact streets and scattered islets, each mango-stained path and limestone cliff tells a story of endurance and renewal. Here, history lies not only in textbooks but beneath the waves, in the ghostly hulls of wartime wrecks, and in the living traditions of an ancient people. Whether arriving by seaplane or banca, the traveler to Coron encounters a place both grounded in its past and adrift on the possibilities of tomorrow—an archipelago at once intimate and vast, resilient and ever changing.