The last Japanese tank on Guam

I followed a guy I met on the Internet through a labyrinthine golf course on an expansive patch of jungle to a World War II-era Japanese tank yesterday.

Supposedly the only Japanese tank in Guam -- and by that I mean it's the only one I've seen so far -- the tank was lying only a few dozen feet off a conveniently mowed grass access road splitting off from a private golf course on a large and mostly empty resort confusingly located in the island's interior.

Rusted and crumbling, the surprisingly small artifact more closely resembled a flower pot -- with weeds and plants growing up through its body -- than something that once held multiple (?) people.

We got there after meandering our way through a small paved road along the course's driving ranges, which were literally cut through jungle.

Despite having hiked in the vicinity of LeoPalace, and having enjoyed its always empty bowling alley, I was surprised to see that the actual extent of the grounds was huge. The area seemed to be its very own artificial community, complete with villas and bathroom facilities, located in what is otherwise an isolated expanse of wild land.

We had started early, so luckily there were few people on the course to yell at us.

Once we left the golf course, the "hike" was actually a fairly comfortable stroll along a muddy back road.

Surrounding the course, large concrete bridges connected dirt roads rimmed by head-high sword grass.

I sort of assumed we were just kind of wandering, but being a crewman on a Navy nuclear submarine who routinely bikes around the island discovering new and interesting things, my new friend came prepared with a GPS tracker and a Google Earth print out of our target.

And within minutes, we found the tank, sitting along the side of the road, mostly shrouded by sword grass. What was left of the vehicle was decomposing. Metal and rubber and the insides of the thing all seemed to be disappearing.

On the way back, we saw delighted golfers pitch balls across river gullies and steep waterfalls, which had been littered with the white round fallout of holes missed.

As they made their way along the road in carts toward the next hole, several golfers passed us along the way, and seemed none too happy to have their pristine recreational experienced sullied by the presence of sweaty hikers.

Moon rising

One day late for the "super moon," but still, close enough.

What I see when I look up

I don't remember exactly when I started looking up.

It's the kind of thing that everybody does; no one really thinks about.

It was probably in New York -- when the frantic columns of civilization and crowding of psychic white noise heaved inward daily -- that I began truly looking at the sky through the trees.

In Union Square, where corporate chain stores and an obstacle course of shoppers, commuters and irate drivers ringed a stalwart patch of green, the trees gave me a glimpse of something unexpected.

In between the swaying leaves and the sky, there was something I couldn't explain.

Escape, sometimes euphoria, other times a sort of sublime tranquility -- these are things that are not exactly typical emotions on my part.

But at some point I found myself looking up at trees, through trees, day and night, whenever I could find them.

And when I looked up leaves always seemed so many different shades of green, blossoms brighter, stark branches more severe. On windy days, the air always seemed to kick my stomach and provide a kind of temporary high. And through the trees the sunlight, or moonlight, or fast- and slow-moving clouds always seemed to suggest a greatness that I can't explain, a whole that cannot be contemplated beyond its most basic parts.

There are many more kinds of trees here, or at least, different kinds of trees -- wide and low, with expansive criss-crossed branches, bare and intricate with colored flowers, tall and straight, or bent, with a pompom at the top.

But look up at them is one of my favorite things to do, and not entirely because there isn't much else to do.

There seems to be something primal about them, something sacred.

If I were ever to look for god, this is probably where I'd go first.

The jumping is easy; the falling is fun...

Actually it took me about 10 tries hovering at the edge of this to take off, but you get the idea.

Things on Guam that are totally normal and every day experiences

like two dogs riding a carabao.

I actually see this guy all the time walking the carabao and dogs on the side of the road.

But I've never gotten a picture.

Hooray!