Panguil Bay’s new life
Perhaps the most powerful part of the program is that some of the sanctuary wardens were once the very people fishing illegally.

PANGUIL Bay is the narrow body of water that separates Lanao del Norte from Misamis Occidental, connecting Iligan Bay to the Bohol Sea. A bridge connects Tangub and Tubod towns.
PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY OF DPWH
PANGUIL BAY, Lanao del Norte — Before the sun clears the coastal hills, Junjun Capod pushes his boat into the quiet waters of Liangan Bay. His net hits the surface with a familiar splash. Minutes later, he pulls it up — heavy, wriggling, silver and blue in the morning light.
“It wasn’t always like this,” the 42-year-old fisherman says, wiping saltwater from his face. “Ten years ago, I’d spend half the day out here and come home with barely enough for one meal. The fish were gone. The water was murky. I thought Panguil Bay was dying.”
Today, Capod’s daily catch has nearly tripled. He’s not just a fisherman anymore — he’s one of the community sanctuary wardens watching over a stretch of coastline that is slowly coming back to life.
Breaking point
Panguil Bay is the narrow body of water that separates Lanao del Norte from Misamis Occidental, connecting Iligan Bay to the Bohol Sea. Often called the “cradle of coastal livelihood” in Northern Mindanao, it has fed over 300,000 people across three provinces for generations.
But by the early 2000s, the bay was in crisis. Decades of dynamite and cyanide fishing, mangrove clearing for fishponds, river siltation from upstream logging and farming, and unregulated harvest had collapsed its natural productivity. Seagrass beds withered. Coral patches died. Fishermen sailed farther, spent more fuel, and returned with less.
“We were eating our own future,” recalls 58-year-old Tatay Rosendo, a village elder in Barangay Sagadan. “We caught the small ones before they could grow. We destroyed the places where they hid. And then one day, there was nothing left to catch.”
Conflict followed. Villages argued over shrinking fishing grounds. Young people left the coast for the cities, or turned to other, riskier work. The bay — once a source of unity — became a source of survival anxiety.
Turning the tide
Recovery started when communities admitted the truth: no single barangay could save the bay alone.
In 2024, the Lanao del Norte provincial government under the leadership of the Dimaporos launched a P3-million sanctuary program across four coastal municipalities — Tubod, Kapatagan, Sultan Naga Dimaporo and Bacolod-Kauswagan. Three marine sanctuaries are being rehabilitated with protection from new buoys, markers and community patrols. The Liangan-Lipatan River Mangrove Swamp Forest Reserve serves as the flagship protected area, now under regular watch by the Lanao del Norte River-Lakeshore and Marine Forest Sustainable Forest Reserve Biodiversity Monitoring System (BMS).
The approach combines restoration with science-based planning. The Protected Area Management Board (PAMB) secretariat and technical working groups have mapped priority restoration sites in Bacolod and Kauswagan.
Quarterly monitoring reports from the BMS of the PAMB, which held its 50th board meeting recently, at Sagadan, Tubod, tell a statistical story of gradual but steady healing.
MANGROVES: Ten species recorded, dominated locally by pagatpat (Sonneratia alba). Numbers dipped slightly from 155 to 148 individuals between late 2025 and 2026 — attributed to natural mortality and seasonal changes — while all other species remained stable, indicating a healthy, resilient community.
CORALS: Thirty-two coral types recorded, with a mean hard coral cover of 32.46 percent — classified as Category C (fair) — showing the reefs are still recovering but remain biologically diverse. Branching porters are the dominant reef-building group.
SEAGRASS: Eight species found. While the dominant Thalassia hemprichii declined seasonally, other species shifted in abundance. The bay retains a diverse seagrass bed, critical as fish nurseries.
FISH: The continued existence of surgeonfish and damselfish means the reefs still support a functioning food web.
MARINE BIRDS: Seven species were recorded, mostly tikarol or black-naped terns, a sign that the ecosystem is once again providing food.
Challenges remain
Monitoring teams also identified a persistent threat: marine litter. Park protection officers and residents report trash drifting in from outside areas, accumulating along the shoreline regardless of local cleanup efforts.
In response, authorities have stepped up the LAWIN Patrol system, expanded the Dalaw-Turo environmental education program in schools and communities, and established material recovery facilities in all coastal barangays of Bacolod and Kauswagan. Regular coastal cleanups and community consultations continue to build stewardship beyond just the water’s edge.
Perhaps the most powerful part of the program is that some of the sanctuary wardens were once the very people fishing illegally.
“I used to use fine mesh nets. I knew it was wrong, but my children were hungry,” admits one warden. “When they offered me training and a small stipend to watch over the sanctuary, I thought — this is my chance to pay the bay back. Today, if I see someone doing what I used to do, I don’t arrest them. I sit with them. I tell them: I know why you’re here. But if we take everything now, what will be left for our children?”
The bay still feeds us
Two years on, the changes are small but undeniable. Water clarity has improved. Juvenile fish, crabs and prawns are returning. Catches in nearby waters are up 30 to 40 percent.
“The bay has a memory,” says a provincial environment officer. “It remembers what it was like. If we stop taking more than we give, it recovers. But it also remembers when we don’t care. That’s the harder lesson — that our work never truly ends.”
On the deck of his boat as the sun sets golden over the water, Capod looks toward the horizon where Lanao del Norte and Misamis Occidental meet across the narrow channel.
“We used to think the bay was ours to take,” he says. “Now we know — we belong to the bay. If it thrives, we thrive. If it dies, we die. It’s that simple.”
Panguil Bay is not fully restored yet. But it is breathing again — and the science confirms it. And in that breath, there is hope — not just for fish, but for the people who learned that the sea that feeds them is something worth protecting.





