It's impossible to write ancient history because there are too few sources. It is impossible to write modern history because we have far too many.
- Charles Pierre Péguy (1873 - 1914) -
Pitcairn Store front door
Pitcairn
I was very excited to meet face to face with a Carib Indian in Dominica and to have dinner with a Kuna indian in Panama. I imagine people who are interested in foreign cultures might be excited to meet Aboriginies, Eskimos, North American Indians or some other people representing a distinct (and sometimes more or less extinct) culture. While Pitcairn Island does not represent any particular ethnic group or tribe, it is anthropologically interesting. It is the home to a rather peculiar community: The descendants of the nine HMS Bounty mutineers and their Tahitian wives. That's what most people think, anyway.
St. Paul's. A tranquil turquoise pool lies calm behind the towering and sharp volcanic rockwalls of SW Pitcairn. In rough weather, the ocean gate-crashes into the pool party, making the "lagoon" dangerous.
Let me avoid the topic of Pitcairn for a bit and dribble around it for a while. As a tourist and a traveller I'm interested in both Carib Indians and descendants of Bounty mutineers. But there is a very important difference in what a person is and who he is. As we will see, only the latter will matter. We often seek to experience the "what" rather than the "who". We may not have figured out yet who WE are, so a short visit and a quickly formed friendship could hardly even ask the same question about another person? "What" is a lot easier than "Who". Meeting people during traveling is usually limited to "what" rather than "who".
Where's Charlie when she's needed. Rough weather and big swells always invite extra doses of flying fish. Over 40 of them having their final rest. Or should I say - as it was daybreak - waking up dead.
Every day a large number of Aborigines in Australia, Native Indians in North America and Polynesians across Pacific are putting on their costumes, painting their faces and doing their uka-puka-lulu dances. While the natives mimic the rituals of their ancient culture, the sounds of the cameras pointing at them digitally mimic the ancient motor-drive of an old 35 mm SLR camera. A pure moment of living history. Well, a re-enactment of it at least, on both sides.
The only visitor onboard from Pitcairn. Dave brought us fruit and stopped for a chat. I tried to lure him in for a coffee or tea or a cold drink. "Nah, I'd better go fishing", he said. It was later suggested that the poor fella may have gotten sea sick...
The tourist is seeking a unique experience of something exotic. He is the time-traveler, or perhaps a "tribe-traveler". After the "noble savages" and painted natives are done with their show, they go home to cook dinner and watch the evening news, do a bit of Face Booking and perhaps worry about the university fees of their kids. The tourists go home with a sense of having been a part of something special. And special it was, given that it doesn't really exist.
We like the idea of a "living museum". Like interactive history. In Robben Island some old political ex-prisoners from the apartheid era were still guiding tourists through the prison museum in 2005, telling their own stories along the way. History came alive. In Saint Helena the exile of Napoleon has been recreated in a desperate attempt to bring that bit of history alive, as dead as it might be. On Pitcairn Island you can find an old, not quite overgrown grave of John "Father" Adams, the last surviving mutineer of Bounty. A couple of cannons and the anchor is on display but don't expect locals putting up a show dressed up as mutineers, even if many of them are direct descendants. Or perhaps because of that.
"We've done us proud to come this far down through the years to where we are. May 20th 2006" (Pitcairn main street)
While all around the world Cruise Ship passengers walk ashore to watch a staged show of painted bodies and exotic theatre, the Pitcairn people don't offer such performances. While tourism is by some plans the main future of the island, some camera-happy customers who have a precious 5 hours on the island might be disappointed not to see more Bounty mutineer reenactments or 19th century costumes on tour guides talking about early days of the island. If Pitcairners want to cater for the cruise-ship visitor, they may have to think about setting up such theatre. But for those who travel in the real world, Pitcairn is perfect just the way it is.
The 1100 miles from Easter Island to Pitcairn was squally and windy. No hurry though, we let the boat take the squalls with max reefs on and stayed dry inside.
Life - to me - is one massive smorgasbord, a life-long buffet of flavours, smells and experiences. Pitcairn to me was one more dish to add in my overflowing plate. And what an extraordinary dish! For the xenophile - the one that loves to taste every corner of the world - It's like a Périgord truffle or pâté de foie gras in a sea of pea soup. Like a bottle 21-year-old Cuban Matusalem Rum in a box filled with cheap lager. Ah, how poetic! (Sorry about that. I can't help my melodramatic tendencies.)
As a curiosity, as a rarity and as a community unusual in every conceivable way, I admit that it is one of the deepest notches in any global player's guitar and one of the brightest feathers in the traveling man's hat. Yet, the best I could do was to take a sip, have a taste. At best, a 3-day visit would not even scratch the surface but barely catch a glimpse of its reflection. Given the open anchorage and ever-changing weather, trying to relax into the island's life was a bit like trying to boil an egg in 10 seconds. If anywhere, this is where the "who" in people became more obvious than "what".
Brenda Christian (island police / immigration) having a quiet moment over Adamstown.
The community consists of less than 70 people (April 2010), some of who are "outsiders" serving a fixed-term contract for government work etc. Thanks to the modern technology Pitcairn is well connected to the world. The supply ship comes every 3 months and the island shop - though open officially only for 3 hours per week - is well stocked up with everything from Tawny Port to Tim Tams. The "warehouse" (hardware store) has all the tools and building material you might need at short notice. The young man (Andrew) at the cash register has music playing from the pc and he's probably online too, updating his Face Book or planning the Friday night party at his house. As he should.
People who visit the island may easily focus on the fact that these are the direct descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty. Not all of them are. In fact this is the island where some of them live. There has been several additions over the centuries and the gene pool is not quite as small as one might think. It is of course remarkable that the community established by 9 mutineers of one ship (with 11 Tahitian women and a few Tahitian men that they brought with them) is still continuing its life 220 years later. But the people of the island are not 220-years-old. Like in any search of romance the traveler too will wake up from his dream, and enter the real world.
"The Landing", Pitcairn's only excuse for a harbour. Calm as a swimming pool at times but when the swell rolls in big, there's no traffic in or out.
Now, that's a lot of dribbling. By now I should have reached a point. I'm just not sure what it might be. I might be that the lure of Pitcairn and the motivation of sailing the 1100 Nm in unsettled weather was lying heavily on two words: "Bounty" and "Mutineer". With only 20-30 yachts visiting the island each year (many of them with only one day ashore) this stop would also score extra "points". (Wow, you went to Pitcairn?) Hmm, yeah, it's not easy to admit, but it looks like my fucking ego is following me everywhere I go. But what about the island, now that we've thrown all the Bounty stuff and other romantic shit out the window? Would you like me to write about that too?! Oh, I thought you came here just to read my dribbling. Ok, then.
Battle with the anchor in Ginger Bay after our first night at Pitcairn. The ground tackle - all 50 meters of 10mm chain plus almost the same in rope - was lying 23 meters deep. It took us two hours to get it up.
Mike is working on island business, Brenda and Annina chilling out with a cup of tea. Official check-in is done and we're left with the surprisingly difficult task of unwinding, forgetting the boat and enjoying Pitcairn.
A brief history of Pitcairn
Back in 1788 the British navy sent out a ship called "Bounty" for a voyage out to Tahiti. Captain William Bligh and his crew were to collect bread fruit seedlings and transport them to West Indies as a future source of cheap food for the black slaves working in the sugar plantations. Apparently the skipper wasn't a very likeable man and very hard on his crew.
In contrast, the bare breasted and rather easy-going Tahitian women were alright. After six months collecting seedlings and shagging young beautiful exotic women, the crew were a wee-bit pissed off about having to leave. In April 1789 a mutiny broke out which split the crew in two groups. 18 men along with Captain Bligh - continued in the ship's life boat, drifting west. (That's another amazing story but I will stay with the mutineers who now commanded the ship with their leader Fletcher Christian)
The rest of them continued back to Tahiti. Fletcher was concerned about being found by another HMS (Her/His Majesty's Ship) and after loading lots of food and a bunch of pretty women Bounty hit the road again, heading out to Tubuai, further south. Their little colony was not welcomed by the locals and eventually Bounty sailed almost 4 months around Pacific looking for an uninhabited island to hide in. Bounty reached the site of Pitcairn only to realise that the island wasn't there. Fletcher followed the latitude and found Pitcairn to be charted 200 miles west from its actual position. The island was uninhabited, had no harbour and offered plenty of water, arable land and tropical fruit.
Bounty was emptied, all supplies and equipment carried ashore. To finish the job, the boys burned the ship down and it sank in what is now Bounty Bay. Nine months after the mutiny a new colony was born by Nine Englishmen, 11 Tahitian women and 6 Tahitian men. It was 23 January 1790. The story after that contains all elements of human existance, a story too long to be told here. Particularly as its been told already in about 250 books. The community lasted 41 years before it was transferred back to Tahiti, in the name of better living conditions and more natural resources.
The transfer was disastrous. Many of the islanders died from disease and those who lived, did not adapt to the Tahitian way of life. The community had become British in their ways and morals. Only six months later Pitcairn was inhabited again, the islanders having raised the money to pay a merchant vessel to bring them back back home. Population 65. The last of the original mutineers, John Adams had died a few years earlier and the community was lacking leadership, something that old Adams had provided in a style which earned him both respect and the nick-name "Father". Various outsiders made attempts to take the island under their control with various results, usually to satisfy their own ego rather than advance the community.
In 1838, with the help of Captain Elliott of the HMS "Fly", the islanders drafted their first constitution which formally made Pitcairn a Brittish settlement. (Almost 50 years before the Brittish Settlements Act.) It also made Pitcairn Island the first part of Brittish Empire to adopt compulsory schooling for children and adopt female voting rights. The island settled into peaceful life. For a while.
25 years after re-settling from Tahiti, the islanders were to face "eviction" again. In 1856 the island's population was nearing 200, pushing the limits of what the land (and drinking water) could sustain. The entire population was thus moved (by Brittish government) to Norfolk island. Their new home was technically perfect: it had a suitable climate, it was uninhabited and the previous convict settlement had left behind both cultivated land and buildings. Perfect. Except that it wasn't home.
Only a few years later the first families made the long journey back, to find their island in a sorry state, vandalised by visitors and just about to be annexed by the French. Less than a decade after the islanders had moved to Norfolk 43 people from five families were back. Thus the descendants of the Bounty mutineers are today split between Norfolk and Pitcairn, though obviously many ex-Pitcairn islanders live in New Zealand, Australia, England and many other corners of the world.
The carvings that Len and Dave produce include beautiful wooden shark figures with real shark jaws. Here's Dave and me bringing in some more material...
On Pitcairn island a casual "hello" to someone near the front door of their house may often result an invitation for coffee or tea in the living room. This happened with Steve and Olive, after we arranged to buy some vegetables from them. Steve - the island's former mayor - echoed the sentiments of other islanders we spoke to: Pitcairn needs economy. In the "good old days" (the 80's and 90's, prior to the scrapping most of the smaller container ships) cargo carrying ships made regular stops, taking and bringing passengers, trading with souvenirs, carvings, postage stamps, honey and vegetables. "There was a ship at least once a week, sometimes more often", Steve recalled. The town square still has the bell used to inform islanders - among other things - of a approaching ship. "Getting in and out of the island was a lot cheaper and easier back then", remembered Steve.
I see no reason why Honda shouldn't sponsor Pitcairn. The Quad-bike is the standard form of transport through the island's vast network of steep gravel roads and tracks. It's a Monday, the weather is nice and half the population is relaxing at the landing or out fishing.
Today the only stop is made by Pitcairn's "own" dedicated supply ship, 4 times a year. Since late 90's container ships are built to the "Panamax" size, too big, too fast and too much in a hurry to stop their massive engines, to take passengers or to make unscheduled stops. The advance in world's shipping was hurting the advance of life on Pitcairn.
Children of the island do most of their schooling in New Zealand and all islanders have both family and close friends overseas.
"Ships landing", a high and narrow cliff above Bounty Bay, provides a nice view over the Pacific and the anchorage. Aliisa sways alone in the sandy patch below.
Steve Christian told me a story of a ferro cement yacht that was anchored with two anchors in Bounty Bay years ago. In a light squall early morning the other anchor line parted and the remaining began to drag. The couple woke up on the rocks, in a sinking ship. With the holed vessel finding deeper water again and disappearing beneath their feet, the couple started climbing up the mast. The wife fell down in the darkness and her body was found later drifting out to sea. The man managed to swim ashore, badly injured, to find help. The story did nothing to help me relax on the island while Aliisa was alone. Neither did it make me sleep very well at night. The constant rolling and pitching made it hard enough to keep the sheets on the bed while sliding back and forth in the chaotic rythm of swells.
Brenda had made some spare time and took us to see a few spots and catch some nice views.
My kinda place. My kinda "Official tour". My kinda Official. Cheers Bren!
Pitcairn posed an interesting dilemma for me. The pace of life on the rock was slow and relaxed. Some people may associate those words with cruising too, but that doesn't seem to be the case. I worry about the uninsured boat that carries everything I own together with the most precious person in my life. Things need attention, maintenance and fixing. Upcoming destinations need to be planned, weather kept at check and so on. On Pitcairn the weather can be rapidly changing too. "I put your departure stamp here too", said Brenda (Immigration) with our passports on the table, "in case you need to take off quickly. Just fill in the date when you go".
The entire island is incredibly well sign-posted.
The yachtie is hoping for at least one day ashore and a good break in the weather, knowing that he needs to get weather info as often as possible. He enters the community of about 60 people, many of whom are leisurely asking "how long are you here for?". And you are watching your boat swaying in the swell, behind the breaking seas, anchor laying in a small patch of sand. You try to relax, wanting to say: "Maybe a week", but knowing full well that the aqcuaintaince might be the first and the last. It would be awful to say someone at first meeting: "We probably won't meet ever again". I so much wanted to stay longer, to get into the pace of things. The lure of the island, the immense friendliness of its people and the constant "So, how long are you here for?" were like a knife turned inside the stab of having to leave. Salt on the wound of being just another transit, another short-lived occurance on the island that I would never get to know.
Slow Down! (Death can wait a little longer...)
I later sent a copy of Antoine Saint Exupery's book "Little Prince" to Brenda, hoping that the story of a passing friendship would somehow convey my feelings. Before I stepped ashore for the first time on Pitcairn, I knew that the island was a very special place due to its history and the population's connection with the mutiny of the Bounty. I was wrong. I now know that the island is very special due to its present and the exceptional warmth of the people and the community. I feel deep respect for the people there who have - not without difficulties, hard work and pain of all sorts (including very recently) - kept their flag flying and who continue to work together, who keep turning their backs to the past and their eyes towards the future. However uncertain the future might be.
Thank's Brenda, Mike, Dave, Lea, Ariel, Steve, Olive, Len, Kean, Daphne, Betty, Randy, Ma, Simon, Shirley, Paul and all others that made us feel welcomed. (Sorry for the names I forgot). I hate nothing more than being a 3-day tourist. I know us yachties come and go, but like Dave said during the pot-luck: "We're making memories". You made many for me. Thank you for that!
We hope to share the experience of a relationship,
but the only honest beginning or even end,
may be to share the experience of its absence.
- R.D. Laing -
Additional photos...
Pitcairn kids jumping into the swell ridden harbour with the careful supervision of parents. The island needs more people and more economy. The future of Pitcairn is in the hands of these kids. Kids that according to their parents too often do not return from their high shooling in New Zealand.
John Adams's grave (resting with his wife and daughter), the last remaining mutineer, the "father" and the man who led the community in path of peace using only the Bible of Bounty. No grave sites exist of the other mutineers who died from sources varying from madness, illness and warfare with the Tahitian men and women who came with them.
Pitcairn turned out to be a pretty good place to stock up. The shop was well stocked up and I was happy see Tim Tam's, good NZ cheddar cheese and stock powder with NO MSG! You may have noticed the liquour on the shelf. Although people are mostly non-drinkers, alcohol is no longer banned on the island and Andrew even runs a little "night club" in his house on Friday nights.
Pawl the postman stamped our cards with a smile. Pitcairn postal stamps are still a curiosity in the collector's world and was once a significant income for the island. (In addition to the delicious honey that is available by mail-order)
Getting the boat out on the slip can be tricky and is not done without a risk of injury. The swell and surge makes it impossible to leave boats tied up against the jetty. These pics were taken in a "flat calm" day, with only a one-metre swell off shore.
Two boats are waiting for their turn to come out of the water. A hook, long wire and an electric winch in the shed will do the job after the boat has been steadied at the end of the ramp.
