See Previous 2005 Voyage Logs

Easter Island to Pitcairn May 2005 ;
the view from on deck - and aloft..

Ship's crew, Nate Stone tells of the life aboard Soren Larsen on the voyage to landfall at Pitcairn.

"The nine day voyage out from Easter Island passed in no time. Once settled into the rhythm of the ship, the new Voyage Crew, and some old, fell into routine at sea quickly. Between hourly rounds, time at the helm, and pop quizzes of the spider web of lines that seem so unorganised to the new faces, everyone became familiar with the ship. When lying in the sun gets too stressful, Marita and I organize the 12-4 watch’s ”Let’s Not Be Afraid to Go Aloft Day”. Rod, Paul, and Kristian pushed a little farther every day as we went up a little higher, or while the wind was blowing a little harder. Before too long most realized that climbing aloft isn't’t as scary as it seems. The feeling of standing on a thin footrope as the ocean passes beneath, is one that can’t be found elsewhere. Each new voyage brings new people to drape their arms around a yard and look out to see nothing but blue horizon for the first time.

”Whales astern!” was the cry from the stern. A pod of 20 or so Pilot Whales approached while Paul, Kristian, and I were aloft. As the off duty hands scurried on deck from below with cameras blazing, we enjoyed the best view from 50 feet up. The small whales laboriously worked their way up to Søren as they bounded out of the waves like torpedoes. For a half hour they were in our company, the only other thing to be seen for hundreds of miles. Just as quickly as they were raised, the pod sounded below our keel as all waited in vain for their return.

Time from 12-4 in the afternoon and evening passes without notice for our watch. As Søren moves along under moonlit sails, we do our best not to butcher the bread we bake for the cooks. But as we get better at baking and sail handling, tiny Pitcairn Island looms just over the horizon, we hope. The infamous Captain Jim Cottier has chosen to do this leg of our voyage without the aid of modern technology. The GPS is covered up as the quaterdeck becomes crowded with navigation students and their sextants. While there is the official ship’s chart with our position, the rest of us are free to draw our lines and arrows on a different chart. Walking through the chart room, the most common sight is the palm of a hand set on a confused forehead as yet another student strains to find the reason they have us 100 miles from the Captain’s position. Just as we expect though, we raise Pitcairn at first light.

Pitcairn’s steep cliffs became home to the mutinous crew of the HMS Bounty in 1790. After setting Captain Bligh adrift in a longboat, the mutineers took their new Tahitian wives, and some men, set up residence on Pitcairn. Set some 1,200 west of Easter Island and measuring only one by three miles, Pitcairn was the ideal place to evade the Royal Navy due to it’s size and isolation. Having no bays or inlets, the Bounty was stripped off all her useful items then burnt down in what is now called Bounty Bay. With a current population of only 47, most islanders trace their lineage back to the originals mutineers. Names such as Christian and Brown have been handed down from generations.

The southern coast of the island appears as a lush green wall as we approach. Faces that normally sleep through the morning now grace the foredeck. All are about as we see land for the first time in over a week. As our bow pushes the deep blue waters out of our way, we circle around the island to the small settlement of Adamstown. The northern coast is not quite as fierce, where the vegetation slopes down from the steep peaks to the black and rocky volcanic shores. Scattered across the island a few rooftops poke out from the canopy that covers the island like a blanket. We are lucky to find ourselves in the lee of the island as the Captain calls to let go the anchor.

Due to the rough nature of the seas around the island, passage ashore is normally done by the experienced boat handlers on the island’s own aluminium longboat. But with the men busy with construction on the wharf and the relatively calm seas, I myself get the honour of taking our crew ashore. Though somewhat wet in the lumpy seas, Søren’s inflatable tender handled well as we judged the swells breaking at the entrance to the wharf and quickly slid in behind the jetty before the next wave broke. Under the watchful eyes of the local men everyone granted shore leave landed safely, though inwardly I know they hoped for a more dramatic showing.

There are no hotels on Pitcairn, upon arrival a family, waiting at the wharf, simply takes you home with them. So few visitors are received on the island that the islanders take every chance to showcase their hospitality. Along with a bed, we all were toured around by the locals, fed on local fruit and fresh fish, and were told endless stories of what life is like living on such and isolated and unique island. The children led their house guests to the frightening Ship’s Landing lookout. Those who were brave enough to make it to the small point that looked out over Bounty Bay, slid and crawled their way back with the blue horizon curving with the shape of the earth set in the background. Walks through the verdant bush showed that just about anything grows on the island. Bananas and passionfriut grew along the dirt trails and the paths dipped through Banyan glens and thickets of Bamboo as the wind rustled through the fronds of coconut palms.

The highlight for many was Saint Paul’s, the natural pool at the southeastern tip of the island. Pinnacles and spires of jagged cooled lava guarded this tranquil poole from the deep ocean beyond. Then with a blast that would shake the rocks, massive waves exploded against the wall sending foaming spray 15 meters into the air. The once calm and azure pool turning into a churning white fury as the water rushed to lower ground. Quickly there after the lure of escaping the heat in the refreshing waters disappeared for many.

The Pacific sun set again behind the masts and yards of the Søren Larsen. All knowing that when it rose again the command to weigh anchor would be heard. Goodbyes were said and email addresses exchanged as the wind freshened through the swaying palms. At 10:00 the purr of the island’s generator slowed into a silence reminiscent of nights at sea, reminding all that tomorrow we move on. "

Nate.

[See 2004 picture gallery of Pitcairn]