IN THE WAKE OF THE BOUNTY - The WORLD DISCOVERER

A Visit to Pitcairn Island, October 10, 1996

by Bob & Connie Wood

The day dawned bright and clear as we approached Pitcairn Island. A large portion of the 110 passengers and crew were on deck at 5:30 AM as we silently approached the rugged, hostile shore surrounding Bounty Bay, and dropped our ship's anchor several hundred yards from shore in surprisingly deep azure blue water.

Anticipation was running high; this is why many of us had signed on for this aptly-named luxury cruise. The wind was light and the seas had calmed, with only a gentle rolling swell.

We were really going to be able to make the landing after all!

Not every ship has been so lucky. Fletcher Christian had chosen their refuge well; there is no natural landing spot on the island. Only a man-made jetty and a tiny wave-guarded inlet welcomed us as we disembarked into our ship's Zodiac inflatables in groups of 10-12 for the landing. As we landed, it was not hard to visualize the Bounty, driven by onshore winds, aground on those same jagged rocks we passed by just outside the jetty...in her final resting place.

The Pitcairn flag waved proudly in the breeze high up on the bluff at the entrance to Adamstown as we disembarked behind the jetty, welcomed by a throng of about twenty Pitcairners of all ages. Nearly half of the island's population had come down to greet us. We saw the jetty's freight boom, so important in unloading cargo from ships anchoring infrequently just offshore, and headed up past the longboat sheds at the foot of a long hill, aptly named the "Hill of Difficulty", which wound at a distressingly steep angle up the hill to the only town on the island.

Pitcairn's four-wheeled ATV buggy fleet was waiting to transport those preferring a stately ride up to Adamstown, but a brave few of us, including my wife Connie and I, Dick and Peggy Krementz, our New Jersey traveling companions, and some other hardy souls, elected to take the strenuous, twenty minute walk to the town on foot.

Somewhat winded...and destined to be a bit stiff the next day...we labored up the "Hill of Difficulty", past the flag staff affording a closer view of the Pitcairn flag, the two throbbing generators which supply Pitcairn with electricity, the satellite link, an anchor off the 1881 wreck of the British ship "Acadia", donated to Pitcairn by a group from an earlier World Discoverer voyage from the wreck off Ducie Island, and, finally, with tired leg muscles crying for rest, into the town square at Adamstown.

We were not disappointed! We were there, not only in the midst of 200 years of history, but with an incredibly friendly group of Pitcairners who talked freely with us like old friends, sold us their unique wood carvings, woven baskets, shell jewelry and offered to guide us around their lush, ruggedly beautiful island.

The quaint church, originally the Church of England, but now a Seventh Day Adventist congregation for over 100 years, charmed us all. The ancient Bounty ship's Bible which John Adams had used during his tenure following that tragic spell of genocide early in the island's history, has been lovingly preserved. The wooden altar proudly proclaims "HOLINESS UNTO THE LORD" in neatly carved wood inlays and a handsome painting of the rugged Pitcairn shore reminds all that: "THE LORD IS MY ROCK AND MY FORTRESS"

Although beset by the gradual but inevitable encroachment of the outside world's secularism, religion is still very much alive on Pitcairn...witness this sign in the Sunday school room off the main church, written on brown wrapping paper:

Most of us milled around the town square during our all-too-short five hours ashore, with occasional forays into the surrounding town, the graveyard, the school and up to John Adams' grave. A brave few even made it to Fletcher Christian's cave, a hazardous climb up a steep rocky trail. Fortunately, everyone survived the trek, with only mild scratches and a barked shinbone or two to trade for the breathtaking view and the boast that one had made it up there.

The school, with its adjacent museum, is both a proud and a sad place. Barrie Baronian, a teacher from New Zealand is about to complete his 2 year tour and will leave the island next year, in part so that his 13 year old son, who acted as a friendly guide for many of us, can complete his education. Pitcairn schooling, understandably, extends only through age 14. Enrollment is presently thirteen, but there is only one youngster, aged 5, following them...a rather daunting set of demographics which portend ill or the island's long term future... unless new colonists of childbearing age can be induced to settle here soon.

We learned that the school's only computer, an ancient Commodore 64, had just died. As luck would have it, we are in the process of replacing our PC, a still serviceable IBM 486 clone, and we are trying to work out a way to send it to Pitcairn.

With a current population of barely 55, the law of small numbers is staring starkly into Pitcairn's face. If only a few more able-bodied islanders decide to move elsewhere, fall ill, or become otherwise incapacitated, it could become difficult...if not impossible to man the motorized longboats which carry the goods, so needed for survival, off the supply ships.

The museum, replete with artifacts from Pitcairn Island's very early history and, of course, from the Bounty itself, is fascinating. A large quilt, depicting key events in their history, including the burning of the Bounty to hide all evidence of life from passing ships during the early days, was a gift from a distant congregation, and is prominently displayed.

John Adams' grave site is a beautiful, special place, situated on a small hillside outside of town. Overlooking the mountains, it is quiet, peaceful, flower bedecked, and tangibly spiritual. Obviously well cared for, it stands as evidence that, while Fletcher Christian may have been the leader who got them to Pitcairn, it was John Adams, the last original mutineer alive after the massacres, who really won their hearts. Fletcher Christian's grave was never marked.

The town graveyard, down the hill from John Adams' grave, overlooks the sea and is lovely in its own right, even if it is not quite the magical resting place of Pitcairn's longtime leader. Headstones inscribed with Christian, Adams, Young , McCoy and other names right out of Nordhoff & Hall rest silently, bearing mute testimony to the 200 year Pitcairn story.

In an old field next to the graveyard, I found the neck of an antique, hand-blown glass bottle. Well over 100 years old, was it simply garbage from the original Pitcairn community? Surely not...it MUST have come right from the Bounty herself, no doubt from Captain Bligh's private brandy stock !! (Accordingly, it is NOT for sale)

Back in Adamstown square, we swarmed about the town meeting hall, where social events take place and official business is transacted. Yes, and the Post Office, too!! Most of us bought stamps and sent cards with that now famous Pitcairn postmark. Why not? Pitcairn is arguably the most remote inhabited island in the entire world, so its stamps have tangible value for both stamp collectors and memory collectors. Time was growing short, and we prepared to leave, taking those obligatory snapshots and video scenes of each other and our new-found friends, in front of the Bounty's anchor, under the PITCAIRN POSTOFFICE sign , beside the vendors' stalls...or anywhere else that might keep our memories of these courageous, independent people alive when we inevitably returned not only to our comfortable homes, but to a modern day civilization that many of them will probably never see.

Stamps and a strong work ethic keep Pitcairn Island alive financially. Of the $1 million needed to run the island each year, the sale of stamps provides roughly half. Most of the remainder comes from income on investments. And where did that investment portfolio come from ? Why, from the accumulated budget SURPLUS generated in past years! Yes, this remote island, in the middle of nowhere, virtually devoid of any economically salable natural resources, save what they can grow or draw from the sea itself, runs a surplus...with virtually no taxes or handouts. Public works are done on a shared basis by all able-bodied men, as needed, typically without pay.

Perhaps we should make it MANDATORY for ALL newly-elected (or incumbent ?) politicians to spend some time on Pitcairn BEFORE we send them to Washington, ostensibly to govern us...but really to bribe us with OUR OWN tax dollars every two to six years to insure THEIR reelection ?? There is much to learn here.

Now it was really time to go. Many of us trudged down the "Hill of Difficulty", but the ATV fleet was there to carry the rest of us down to the landing jetty, where our faithful Zodiac inflatables and yet another adventure awaited us. During the half day we were on Pitcairn, the tide had turned and was rising, along with the wind. Sizeable waves now blocked the mouth of the small inlet and occasionally broke over the jetty, showering us, our clicking cameras and whirring video cameras with a salty spray.

One by one the Zodiacs were loaded and with one of our expedition leaders skillfully acting as harbormaster, our boat drivers carefully monitored each incoming wave, looking for just the right moment for each inflatable craft to "gun" its outboards and work its way out to the World Discoverer, bouncing through incoming waves in the landing's tiny opening. I'm still not sure how we all made it, but we did.

Imagine our surprise to find a sizable contingent from Pitcairn on board the ship when we returned. They had set up shop in our cocktail lounge (sorry about that to the Seventh Day Adventists reading this!) to give us one last chance to talk with them, and, yes, to buy some final T-shirts for our grandchildren, wood carvings, or whatever.

Eventually, all good things must come to an end. All too soon, the islanders were headed back to Pitcairn in the last Zodiac. Soon, it was hoisted back aboard, and we raised anchor, headed for new adventures on Ducie with all its glorious birds, and eventually ending our voyage amid Easter Island's mysterious moai stone statues.

As Pitcairn faded into the distance, finally setting into the sea off our stern, we felt as if we had been genuinely blessed to get even a brief glimpse of what is certainly one of the world's few remaining, self-contained civilizations. What will become of the Pitcairn community ? Will these courageous, fiercely independent people be able to overcome the dismal, dark demographic shadows that hang over them or will they gradually, grudgingly, die out ? It would be a mistake, I think, to completely write them off. After all, the odds have been so very heavily against them for over two centuries, yet their faith and courage have persevered.

We hope and pray they can make it.

As we go on to other things and new adventures as occasional respites from our comfortable, high tech lives, it is easy to feel sorry for those brave souls on Pitcairn, blessed with so few modern conveniences, and facing such an uncertain future. We really are so much better off... aren't we? There are times we really wonder about that.