The Wrecks of Ogasawara

by Charles T. Whipple

The sun kisses the horizon, a deep orange ball that floats slowly out of sight. No coral colors adorn the skies, because out here — some 1,000 kilometers from the Japanese mainland — there is no pollution, no airborne dust, no microscopic particles to reflect the sun's parting rays. In the east, puffball clouds take on a pinkish glow. In the dusk, the bright blue of the sea, the shadowy mountains, and the black silhouettes of nearby palms could well be a scene painted on a music box. Lift the lid, and you'd hear the music of wavelets lapping at the beach.

You're on subtropical Chichijima, the main island of the Ogasawaras. The address on the dive shop's sign reads Tokyo — yet you could hardly be farther from the chaos and confusion of Japan's capital.

Two weeks off, and a 24-hour voyage south

My summer had been filled with overtime and weekend work that kept me out of the water. As one particularly big project wound down, my boss said, "Take a couple of weeks off. Go diving or something." A month later I was aboard the Ogasawara Maru, the sole passenger vessel plying between Takeshiba Pier in Tokyo and Futami Harbor on Chichijima.

Three hours out, the helmsman adjusts the ship's course and she drives almost due south down the Ogasawara trough, nearly 10,000 feet of water beneath her keel. A day later she slips quietly alongside the quay at Futami, where the islanders have gathered to meet the ship. I hoist my camera bag and dive gear onto my back and stagger down the gangplank. A tall man in aviator sunglasses awaits me. For the next ten days I am at his mercy — Yamada-san runs one of Chichijima's handful of diving operations.

The Ogasawaras, also known as the Bonin Islands, are a chain of more than thirty specks of land that have never been linked to any continent. They fall into four groups: the Mukojima, the Chichijima, the Hahajima, and the Volcano Islands — the last best known for Iwo To (Iwo Jima), where some of the fiercest fighting of the Pacific War took place. In 2011 the whole archipelago was inscribed as a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site, prized as a kind of "Galapagos of the East" for the species found nowhere else on Earth. Chichijima is the largest island, just over eight square miles, with around two thousand residents. Even so, its town of Omura is unmistakably part of Tokyo — meticulously paved streets, broad sidewalks, traffic lights.

Yamada-san loads my paraphernalia into his van and drives me around the mountain to a small island inn, recommended by friends in Tokyo as the best on Chichijima. The rooms have TVs, air-conditioning, and Western-style beds, and the food almost defies description. "Someone will pick you up at 8:30 tomorrow morning," he says. "We'll go diving." And diving in the Ogasawaras is spectacular — especially the wrecks. This is, in fact, about the only place in Japan where you can dive genuine wartime wrecks.

Diving the deep plateau

The underwater plateau beneath the Chichijima group sits 300 to 500 feet down. The islands themselves are peaks of basalt, sand, and cinder that have shoved their heads above the water. A hundred yards off the cliff line can put you in 150 feet of water, so most of the wreck dives run 95 to 120 feet — advanced territory, with the visibility (often 20 to 30 meters) to make the depth worth it.

Takinoura and the Yayoi Maru

The first day's diving was at Takinoura, a large bay and roadstead on Anijima, the island just north of Chichijima. The Yayoi Maru lies bow to the beach, sunk by American dive bombers. Decades on, her plating has all but vanished beneath a skin of coral.

We enter with a giant stride off the stern of Island Queen, the operation's stout dive boat. The captain has thrown a buoy to mark the wreck. Because of the current, we each submerge the moment we hit the water, then group around the buoy anchor. I go in next to last, hook my camera lanyard to my BC, and start checking settings as I drift toward the bottom. The ship sits akimbo, its radio tower broken off and lying in the sand on the far side. Schools of amberjack and striped jack streak by. Near the bottom, a skate shrugs off its sand camouflage, moves a little farther away, then settles and shuffles another load of sand over itself.

My buddy and I drift toward the bow. Gaggles of striped fusiliers dart through the ironwork. There are keyhole angelfish, butterflyfish, and the lovely yuzen angelfish, a species at home in these warmer Japanese waters. Spotted sweetlips hover just above the plating; butterflyfish flit among the coral. Light from the low sun filters through eighty feet of clear blue water, lending the scene an otherworldliness that reminds me I am an alien here — present only for fleeting moments to marvel and observe before I reach the limits of my life support. It is awesome.

After a stop at five meters, the guide fills his marker and lets a two-meter orange rod pop above the surface, warning everyone — including the occasional inattentive fishing boat — that divers are coming up. We bob about as Island Queen backs toward us. Exit is a cinch up a broad stainless-steel ladder that spans the whole stern.

The Fuju Maru: a freighter that smells of war

Day two brings a single, deep dive. The Fuju Maru sits upright on the sand, 145 feet down, her forecastle deck at 90 feet and the cargo deck around 100. Aft of the second cargo hatch, little remains but mangled steel and a scatter of old beer bottles. A dive master is my buddy for this one.

We hang above a cable reel atop the forecastle as a school of striped jacks swirls past. Ladders lead down to the cargo deck, where the huge hatches gape open. The whole surface is clothed in brain coral, ryumon coral, the stinging fire coral the locals warn you off, and other species I can't name. Yuzen butterflyfish and angels peck at the polyps. My buddy points over the side: a truck lies upside down, thrown from the deck, surely, by the explosion that sank her. We drop into the hold. Thousands of rounds of rifle and machine-gun ammunition litter the floor, looking as deadly now as they did half a century ago. There are tins of rations, unexploded bombs, drums of gunpowder. The old freighter smells of war — a grim reminder of darker days.

These are war graves as much as dive sites. Look, photograph, and leave everything exactly as you found it — the live ordnance here is not a souvenir.

Too soon my computer tells me it is time to ascend. We float gently upward, and the grizzled shape of the old cargo vessel slips out of sight.

Snorkeling distance: the Hinko Maru

Island Queen's diesel puts us up on the plane and we run for Futami at speed. I spend the rest of the day exploring the caves that honeycomb the island, then walk to Sakaiura Inlet, where the Hinko Maru lies stranded on the reef. The story goes that she was torpedoed at the mouth of the bay, and her captain deliberately ran her onto the reef so the crew could escape. Today she rusts in the shallows, the rust and the brilliant tropical fish working at the plating from opposite directions — a fine snorkeling spot, only fifty yards off the beach.

The Daimi Maru and the resident sharks

In early 1945 the Daimi Maru swung at anchor deep in Futami Bay, near Kaname Rock. Allied aircraft sank her, and she settled on her side in the fine coral sand, 33 meters down. We dove on her after two days of brisk westerly winds that had pushed waves into the bay and stirred up the silty bottom; visibility was down to about fifteen meters. The dive had a purpose. Two big sand tiger sharks — the locals call them gray nurses — had taken up residence in her cargo hold, and we were going to call on them.

We float down the weighted buoy line toward the dark shape below. Daimi's encrusted side comes into view, the buoy anchor resting in the sand beside it. We move to the far side and drop over the edge. The cargo holds gape like great maws, their interiors black, their contents invisible. Eyes searching the shadows, we hug the superstructure and edge closer. No sharks.

We approach the holds from the bow through the murk. Yamada-san starts into the forward hold, then suddenly backs out and points upward. There they are: two big sand tigers. They look three meters long, though probably closer to two and a half. It is my first close encounter — and wouldn't you know, my new camera is on the wrong setting and I can't fire off a single frame. For all their fearsome, snaggle-toothed faces, sand tigers are docile creatures, and these two simply hold station, unbothered.

That afternoon I dive the Daimi again with the camera finally behaving, but the water is so murky the shots don't come out as I'd hoped. A third dive next morning finds the sharks gone. "The sharks are taking the day off, too," the guide writes on his magnetic slate. It is, after all, a national holiday in Japan.

Between dives: dolphins, whales, and a teeming cove

The boat always drops its lunch hook in a good snorkeling spot. One sits over the scattered bones of a freighter near Anijima; another is at Minamijima, where in the right season you may meet whitetip and sand sharks. The Mukojima group to the north is a favorite, too. Most people go for the dolphins, but the cove there teems with fish that have learned to expect the remains of everyone's lunch — let a boat slip in and they swarm in anticipation. Spinner and bottlenose dolphins are regulars around Chichijima and Minamijima for much of the year.

From roughly February through April, humpback whales migrate past the Ogasawaras, and dive boats will often take you out for in-water sessions. While I was there, the humpbacks had yet to arrive, and it wasn't the season for dolphins either, so I swam with neither. Another time.

And there will be another time.

Plan your dive

• Best season: Diving runs year-round. Humpback whales pass roughly February–April; spring and summer are best for swimming with dolphins; winter brings big Pacific swells that can keep you off the more exposed outer islands, but with so many sites around Chichijima there's always a sheltered choice.
• Water temperature: Warm and stable — around 25–26°C (about 77–78°F) even in mid-winter, when the air sits near 18–20°C (low-to-mid 60s°F).
• Visibility: Among the clearest in Japan, commonly 20–30 meters; expect less after a few days of strong wind that stirs the fine coral sand.
• Level: Advanced for the wrecks, which sit deep (most dives 30–37 meters / 95–120 ft) and may have current. There is gentler, shallower diving and excellent snorkeling — the Hinko Maru lies just off the beach — for less experienced visitors.
• Getting there: There is no airport. The Ogasawara Maru sails from Takeshiba Pier in Tokyo to Futami Port on Chichijima in about 24 hours, roughly every three to six days depending on the season. Plan to stay for one full sailing cycle, since the same ship carries you home. Check the operator's current schedule and fares before you commit.
• Good to know: The islands are a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site — the wrecks and reefs are protected, so take only photographs. There are no chain hotels; book island inns well ahead for year-end, Golden Week, and the July–August summer holidays.

For more on the islands and how to dive them, see our Ogasawara diving guide, and find the archipelago on our dive maps. You can read more about the islands' natural heritage on the Japan National Tourism Organization site.

Charles T. Whipple was a writer who lived in Japan for more than twenty years. An avid diver, he contributed diving articles to Australian, New Zealand, Japanese, and American magazines, was fluent in Japanese, and was always glad to help a fellow diver find their feet in Japan. Mr. Whipple passed away in 2019; this article is republished here in his memory, with thanks. Copyright in the original article and photographs belongs to his estate.