Now, some two centuries later, we, after completing our very own epic passage of the Pacific under sail, would finally set our own weary eyes on the very same isolated and beautiful island that those that came before us did all those years ago. Unlike our predecessors, however, who would go on to confront a completely new and formidable quest in the island’s disconnected unknown, we would instead be greeted with the warmest of welcomes from the very people descended from the island’s pioneering settlers, who awaited our own impending arrival on the banks of Bounty Bay.
Only a few hours after hitting the hay sleepy from my usual 12-4 night watch, an early all hands wake-up would draw me from my bunk and realert me to the fact that today was the day we had all looked forward to for so long. We had sailed almost three thousand miles from the Galapagos alone and the reward for our efforts was plain to see on the horizon as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes in the glorious morning sunshine and grabbed my camera to capture the moment that would remain with me for a lifetime. Pitcairn Island looked beautiful, its cliffs rising defiantly from the waves that crashed relentlessly against its shores. The lush vegetation spanning its length, and craggy black volcanic rock slopes that enveloped almost its entire coastline contrasted heavily against the curious Uluru red sands covering its raised southern plateaued edge. It looked and felt somehow different to any island I was yet to see and as signs of habitation became visible, I became excited at the prospect of meeting the people that occupied them. I felt invigorated to be somewhere so uniquely cut off from civilisation that all the madness of the rest of the world dissolved away into miles of ocean. Only sailing had ever brought me this sensation and I felt humbled to experience it yet more strongly than ever before. Ahead of me lay an island paradise of pure escapement that only a handful of people in the world would ever have the privilege to explore. Although not a sovereign nation, with its population of only fifty people, Pitcairn is the smallest and most remote jurisdiction in the world.
Not only is there no airport or harbour on the island, but the limited anchorages nearby can prove extremely hazardous in poorer weather conditions. The time we would spend ashore would, therefore, be governed by what the heavens threw at us, but thankfully our luck was in, as we would bask the following days in almost relentless glorious sunshine in contrast to, as the islanders subsequently informed us, the previous weeks of unforgiving rain and wind. Unrecognisably to a Brit close to the Tropics, we were in the midst of the southern hemisphere’s cooler winter months. God only knows how hot it gets there in the summer time.
The only way to actually get onto the island after setting down anchor or heaving to is by being collected by the residents themselves. The waters surrounding Pitcairn are treacherous at best, and the islanders, knowing their home so well, are the most suitable people to navigate their way through the waves into the tiny sanctuary of Bounty Bay and the jetty. The islanders’ sailing vessels are known as long boats, owing to their shape and size, and talk was extensive on the Picton many weeks before, of the resounding clunk these boats reverberate against the side of ships as first contact is made in the unyielding waves. Indeed bets had been placed as to the exact time this clunk would resound announcing our official arrival on the island. The islanders’ perfect handling of the long boats, however, in spite of the waves was evident, for it came almost silently alongside bobbing up and down next to us before it was made fast starboard amidships. The absence of the clunk was almost a disappointment as a part of me was secretly looking forward to the long boat unashamedly and paint strippingly smashing against us, even though I half expected to find myself, in subsequent weeks, repainting the external damage incurred.
As I took a first glimpse at the occupants of the longboats, numbering perhaps something in the teens, an all hands call to stow sail was cast. The islanders, a curious mix of Polynesian and European heritage, immediately embarked the ship, greeting the Captain and crew, and started unloading the hold of its Pitcairn bound deliveries.
A few days before our arrival, I had finally deciding to do away with footwear while at sea, in spite of the risk of slipping, a risk brought back to my attention a couple of weeks earlier on night watch when my shipmate, Dave, suddenly skidded in the most hysterically funny but disconcertingly painful to watch kind of way, while standing perfectly still at muster. My feet were therefore pretty sore adjusting to the new no shoes policy when I finally returned to deck after a good twenty minutes of standing on foot ropes heaving and busting up sail. I immediately joined a chain of people unloading items from the hold. Next to me in the chain was Pawl, a Pitcairn character I immediately recognised from the TV show, Tall Ship Chronicles, journaling one of the ship’s previous voyages around the world. Pawl is, to coin a phrase, built like a brick shithouse and watching him on the TV show some time earlier had made me laugh out loud, as I remember him deafeningly booming out “come on, ladies!” in his reverberatingly deep voice on a few occasions to male shipmates faffing around on the ship, in the exact way my games teacher used to foghorn the lads putting in little effort during bleak, wet and windswept football matches. In reality, Pawl’s heart is even bigger than his build and along with his partner, Sue, they are two of the most genuine, fun loving, open and welcoming people I had the opportunity to spend time with on the island, going out of their way to make sure we all enjoyed ourselves to the utmost. Indeed this mentality would ring true of all the islanders I encountered, keen to share their unique way of life with us as best they could, and in the days that followed I found myself feeling increasingly humbled by their boundless hospitality. I even felt a little star struck after meeting Pawl having recognised him from the telly!
For the stay on Pitcairn, the crew was split into two halves meaning that one of the already existing three watch groups had to be broken up and divided amongst the other two. This, of course, was my own 12-4 watch which caused some upset in our Thriller plans. These eventually were cleared up as best we could, with me managing to a secure a swap to the other watch containing the more core of the Thriller group. With the island’s population numbering that of the ship, having two thirds of the crew descending upon its shores as we did in other ports, would swell their resources and homes to thronging point, and reducing this to half the crew would work best. After successfully swapping, I formed part of the port watch and would be the first to go ashore for a couple of days. So as not to disappoint starboard watch, however, they would first be taken onto the island for an hour or so to be given a flavour of things to come.
As we waited on the ship, there still remained a few deliveries to be unloaded with which port watch busied themselves. This included a hefty supply of cement. Back in Lunenburg, I had played a pretty central role in loading the 50lb bags of cement we had already bagged up into the hold. These were, in part, packed beneath the steps at the entrance of the hold and had to be jammed in cunningly so there were no gaps whatsoever. As if I was in some kind of heavy duty live action game of Tetris, I wrestled for ages with bags and bags of this cement to pack it perfectly in the limited space available, hoping like hell that I would never have the misfortune of confronting it ever again. Sure enough however, a few months later, here I was kneeling under the same set of stairs unpacking the very bags of cement I had so lovingly installed at the start of the voyage. So neatly packed, getting the fuckers out proved almost as difficult as getting them in there in the first place, and I sniggered at my luck of getting the same hapless task twice in row. By the end, I felt strangely attached to the heavy bags of pain I had lifted, pushed, packed and massaged so many times, but was only too happy to let them bugger off and fulfil their destiny on Pitcairn Island.
Eventually, starboard watch returned from their little sojourn, invigorated and completely psyched about their short time spent on shore. The smiles on their faces as they approached in the long boat were unmistakeable. But finally it was our turn to go to the island ourselves for a whole two days of fun. Gathering our belongings, the first challenge was to board the longboat waiting alongside to deliver us to our destination. The key to this was timing. It bobbed up and down continuously like a demented yoyo, and patiently waiting for it to rise to its pinnacle to hop on sometimes took an age, as the rising vessel would often suddenly change its mind half way up, and descend rapidly into the trough of a smaller wave before jerkily rising its way back up again. Eventually with all of port watch having successfully jumped their way on board, we sped away leaving the ship, our sole home for the previous month, behind. The atmosphere was electric as we approached Bounty Bay, with the foam of the waves splashing virtually everyone on board but particularly those on the starboard side (I sat to port after a helpful and delightfully accurate warning by a returning shipmate).
As we unpacked our bags from the longboat onto the small jetty, Meredith, my Pitcairn accomplice, and I meandered our way through the welcome party to find Vayne and Charlene, our hosts for the stay. Due to the small size of the island and large absence of sealed roads, there are no cars, but instead the island’s inhabitants get around on large red quad bikes. Packing our belongings onto Vayne and Charlene’s weapons of choice, we each hopped onto the back of their respective vehicles and sped off up the steep incline leading to their home. As we made our way up, I looked around and familiarised myself with the tropical lushness of the island, contrasted with the curious host of red quads roaring their way up the hill, each one adorned with a Picton Castle crew member on the back.
We arrived at our hosts’ home remarkably quickly. It was graced with the most magnificent terrace and stunning views over the ocean. The sensation of being on dry land and in someone’s home, after months of sailing through ports and staying only in hotels on shore, was fantastic. The Captain told us to expect we would do a lot of eating while on the island, and he was not wrong! It was an awesome bottomless pit of delicious food which more than appeased my similarly insatiable appetite. In many ways, the ensuing accident was a blessing, as I would likely have left the island weighing something north of 100kg had it not intervened. Vayne and Charlene were both excellent hosts, laid back, welcoming and gentle, and kept us more than happy in their company with excellent food, comfortable beds and that most hallowed of onshore privileges, hot showers!
After stuffing my face with a double decker bus sized slice of banana cake accompanied by some sumptuous Pitcairn Island honey, which Vayne had harvested from his own hives at the bottom of the garden, we went on our first island outing with two of Vayne and Charlene’s five children, Jayden and Tereka, who had since returned from school. The kids were completely crazy and a lot of fun to hang out with. I will never forget one of their twin girls, Tereka, and her fearlessness on her much loved bicycle. As we made our way along one of the island’s many mud tracks, which all, rather quaintly, are adorned with signs pointing to the numerous places of interest on the island, a joke Meredith and I cracked was overheard by Tereka as she cycled ahead of us. “Don’t make me laugh while I’m riding my bicycle!” she screamed in hysterics, as she sped out of control off the mud track and straight into a ditch alongside us. Somewhat concerned about her safety, we found her lying on her back in the ditch with her bike beside her, still giggling her head off before getting straight back up and continuing her way up the path chortling loudly to herself.
We then made our way up to perhaps the island’s most beautiful lookout, Ship’s Landing Point, an outreaching vegetated pinnacle above seemingly endless cliffs below. The children hopped around the cliff edge full of energy leaving Meredith and I reasoning with them to calm down and step away for the sake of our own sanity. Little did I know that it would be I that would confront the very fate we feared so badly for the children, only a few days later.
That evening, after a delicious buffet dinner with family and friends of Vayne and Charlene and some shipmates too, we made our way down to Pawl and Sue’s place, as we had heard there was a gathering underway. A welcoming whale’s tooth filled with tequila was an inescapable entry requirement (indeed it would be rude not to), and after another couple, I retired to beer, while other shipmates continued their merry way in downing the spirits. Dancing, darts playing and general tipsy cheerfulness ensued as I returned to my bed weary from a full day and evening of excitement.
The following day, we all met up at lunchtime to head down to St Paul’s Pools, for me Pitcairn Island’s most magnificent spot. Certainly one of the world’s most spectacular natural swimming pools, the raised cliffs of the island descend to create a trough and pool protected from the ocean’s crashing waves. Every now and again, a wave would blast against the outside of the protected area sending jets of water like a Jacuzzi through small gaps in the rock straight into the pool, and a wave of water would intermittently flow over a lower sectioned side of the natural wonder into the calmer basin. It was, for all purposes, a stupendous and completely natural wet and wild water park. The snorkelling and swimming was simply amazing and it is without a doubt one of, if not my most favourite spot so far visited on the entire trip. Photos in the album below go some way to document the stunning setting.
After another simply sumptuous evening family buffet, we all headed up to Andrew Christian’s house and the island’s only bar and nightclub, known as Paratai Heights, delightfully open for business during the Picton Castle’s stay. Andrew’s house is the most elevated on the island and enjoys spectacular panoramic views out to the ocean. More drinking and dancing followed and even the Captain made an appearance, dancing vivaciously with many of the locals including Pirate Pawl himself. It was great to see the Captain in such a relaxed setting, really letting his hair down with the locals. Indeed he has been coming to Pitcairn since the age of 19, having established long lasting relationships with almost all of the residents.
Following a gentle morning, the time was already upon us to head back to the ship and allow starboard watch onto the island. We really didn’t want to go, and begrudgingly got back on the longboat just after 1pm to return to the ship and its maintenance. That afternoon at least, ship’s work was cancelled, and special anchor watches commenced both in the evening and throughout the night to ensure the ship’s position didn’t become precarious. On my watch, I was privileged to behold the most spectacular moonrise from the ocean just off the eastern coast of the island. Blood red and colossal, I could not work out what was appearing before me at first, until the moon’s unmistakeable shape became clear in spite of the contrary size and colour. It was a magic moment on a remarkably still night. So still in fact that the lacking wind and waves caused the ship to turn around completely early that morning, rocking me from my slumber, as the Pacific swell swayed both the ship and me laterally in short yet amplified waves for several hours.
Ship’s work recommenced in earnest the next day and my formidable task was rustbusting the superstructure containing the ship’s office and charthouse, before fibreglassing the sections where the metal frame had corroded away completely. I have heard much said about the joys of fibreglass, and having not had much experience of the substance other than a plaster cast for my legs when my Achilles tendons were lengthened many years before (and a subsequent cast for my left arm which I will come to in later blog posts), I was completely naïve about how much the dust makes you itch and wretch for hours.
That night we had our final practice for the hotly awaited and much debated Picton Castle Pitcairn Island concert. To take place just two days later at 7.30pm, this would be the last opportunity for us to all get together and finalise our acts. An almost complete port watch cast would star in our own rendition of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody with a falsetto solo by the ship’s second mate, Paul, being for me the highlight. This was largely due to his excellent Little Britainesque “I’m a lady!” falsetto style, and also because he repeatedly missed his moment of glory, leaving a deafening silence right at the song’s pinnacle. Coming in late all flustered in a false high pitched voice was pure entertainment, and I really hoped he’d mess it up on the night as it would certainly add to the overall appeal of the performance.
We then did a final runthrough of Thriller. Taking the time to look at the group without participating myself, it was amazing to see everyone doing the moves together in sync. Fellow shipmate, Cherie, was a fantastic dancer and certainly was at the heart of making our little number the success I expected it would now be. I was proud of our achievements, and pleased of the fact that putting it together turned out to be nothing more than a huge amount of unadulterated fun.
After another morning of fibreglassing, it was once again time for us to return to the island for our second instalment of Pitcairn pleasure. Sure enough, the long boat, filled to the brim with sad and disappointed starboard watch faces, arrived alongside to take port watch back to the island in deeply contrasted joy and excitement. That afternoon, I sadly missed the opportunity to visit the school, as class had already been dismissed for the weekend by the time we got there, but an invitation to go “sugar caning” was instead taken up, which filled the rest of the day and allowed us to get our hands as nice and as dirty as ever. That evening, more good times were spent at Paratai Heights with Andrew putting on the usual entertainment for an admirable complement of port watch peeps all taking the time to join the party.
The following day turned out to be a pretty eventful one for the entire island, and certainly a day that will remain vividly in my own mind for a long time. In contrast to the afternoon, the morning was relaxed and spent with Andrew and Niko eating a cooked breakfast and watching DVDs. Shortly before 1, we headed down to an area of the island known as Downrope. This comprises a cliff side walkway leading down to a beautiful beach with Polynesian scriptures carved onto the rock face. I had wanted to head down there on the advice of a shipmate who had been to the island before, and had also heard that a number of other people were specifically planning to check it out that very afternoon. Given the small size of the island, wherever we went, we would inevitably bump into someone we knew.
Andrew dropped us at the top of the cliff and arranged to collect us a little later in the afternoon. Niko and I descended the meandering pathway and made our way around the coast to the secluded beach where, sure enough, a few shipmates and some islanders were passing the early afternoon hours. I chatted to Sue who was sat pensively on a rock while Bob, kitted out in appropriate swimwear, appeared to be having a great time snorkelling in the rock pools on the shore. WT, the ship’s bosun and Chris, the engineer, were further out around the small bay exploring the far rocky edge of the beach. Eventually they returned our way before they slowly but surely headed one by one back up the path, leaving Niko and I on the beach by ourselves. Taking some extra time to enjoy the beach’s secluded charm and kick back to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, we eventually decided to amble our way back up to meet Andrew as planned.
As I happily and steadily made my way up the cliff’s winding pathway, however, I knew little of the great unexpected that awaited me just around the corner with deadly baited breath. Fate was conspiring to both save and ruin me, and in the moments that followed, I endured the most unnerving accident I expect I will ever have the privilege to survive. On my way up a steep, stepped section of the path close to the top, a chunk of rock disappeared gruffly beneath the trusting weight of my right hand causing me to lose my balance and fall backwards into a plunge down the cliff face which, all things considered, should have cost me my life. In all, I plunged a distance of 160ft/48m. This is the equivalent to taking a dive from a thirteen storey tower block (lucky for some), or, for the Londoners in the house, like falling from the top Nelson’s famous column in Trafalgar Square and landing on the back of one of the surrounding lion statues adorning the pavement below. Indeed this was a height so incredibly high, that if the Empire State Building were eight times smaller, I would have fallen the entire height of New York’s most famed of towering buildings. Truly chilling!
Handy diagram of the line of fall with small yellow man silhouetteat the top of trajectory drawn to scale. Click to zoom.
My memories of the fall and the events that followed comprise what I feel is a decent overview on the whole but certainly not without large areas lacking clarity. It was, after all, just a tad disconcerting and left me with a little more than a sore finger at the end of it. I know many gaps in the day’s running order will be filled in the coming weeks as I get the opportunity to talk to the people who were with me on the day of the accident. The intricacies of conversations and actions during the immediate aftermath of the fall may have escaped me completely in contrast to certain junctures of falling itself that remain so vivid, I am sure they will be indelibly scribed into the foremost of my memories until the day I actually do die. I have managed to piece together events based on my own recollections combined with circumstance and the accounts of others. I have also had a couple of experiences I imagine one might say are akin to flashbacks triggered by the most surprisingly mundane of conditions, which took me right back to particular moments of the fall, so I am certainly open to more of these experiences if they help to bring further colour and clarity to what happened to me that day.
As far as I remember in the seconds immediately before the fall, I was making my way up the final stages of the path to the top of the cliff. I looked up to see a shipmate just ahead looking down over a ledge onto the path where I was standing. I exchanged glances with Liam and continued my way steadily up towards him. Liam and some others were evidently at the top about to head down to check out the beach we were just coming from, and I was pleased to see him as it was a perfect opportunity to check out their plans for later in the afternoon before the concert. Making my way up a steep stepped section of the path, I reached out with my right hand to steady myself on a rock, which I expected to be well attached. The whole thing, however, gave way almost immediately and all but dissolved in my fingertips to my utter horror. Before I knew it, I had lost my balance completely and was falling backwards into the unknown. Liam had seen my misfortune and bore witness to the sheer panic in my face and the unmistakeable whiteness in my broadened eyes. My heart skipped a beat as I fell back before it recommenced pounding violently in my chest like a drum. Pure fear began to crystallise in the pit of my stomach. The moment slowed down to almost a standstill, and part of me was grateful I was looking up instead of down. But it was no good. I already knew how dangerously high I was. The question begged. Was I really about to fall off a cliff and die?
The answer to my little conundrum came remarkably quickly as I plunged almost immediately onto the all but vertical cliff face beginning an ever rapider tumble along the steep incline, first sliding, and then increasingly colliding along its sides as I progressively fell in gaps in between. I had thought I had shouted when I fell, but this was only in my head as onlookers later confirmed to me that I fell in complete silence. I found this somewhat chilling. The only really clear memory that sticks with me from that section of the fall is my back taking the brunt of one of the collisions, I think at the very beginning as I fell backwards onto the cliff face. This caused me no discernable pain or injury at the time but sent reverberations through the bones surrounding my chest’s air cavity almost akin to being winded for a split second. All of a sudden I felt exposed and vulnerable like never before in my life. Not only was this fall likely to kill me, but it was going to be increasingly messy and bloody as my speed increased and I inevitably smashed into obstacles along the way. My only hope was that something would stop me before it got out of control.
The indescribable fear that had gathered in my head suddenly had to be put to one side to focus on the task in hand. Knowing that falling irrepressibly against a jagged cliff face was likely to shatter the bones in my body was terrifying, but paled in comparison to the shuddering possibility of a deadly blow to the head along the way. The very notion of falling uncontrollably head first and faceplanting a rock somewhere en route that would break my nose through to the brain and smash all the teeth out my skull was my ultimate concern. All of my mental strength went into trying to keep as upright and as uninjured as far as I was able to, and almost a mental instinct prevailed of staying alert and alive and, somewhat counterintuitively, prolonging the tortuous ordeal for as long as possible.
Although I respect that my fate was fundamentally in the hands of gravity and circumstance, I think I was largely successful, or you might say, lucky, in not sustaining any major injuries in the first part of the fall. I don’t think I went head over heels at any point, and my memories of trying to stay upright and slow my descent against the steep slopes of the cliff are backed up by reports from Pitcairn that my line of fall was chillingly clear to discern from the sheer amount of rock, dust and vegetation I had dislodged and scraped out on my way down. Although I had a couple of nice grazes on my right hand and wrist, I think this had been largely incurred by my feet as I also lost, I think, both of my shoes on the way down. I have to accept, however, that in those moments the possibility of an impromptu somersault remains, a memory which my mind may have since discarded for my own good. I don’t mind keeping it that way for now. I certainly remember feeling like I was far from being in control of my own destiny at the time.
Inevitably in an unrelenting fall down a cliff face, it was only a matter of time before I hit something hard that would, if you excuse my French, fuck me up good and proper. But just under half way through my fall and with around 25m left to the shoreline, my ongoing battles and skirmishes with the cliff’s steep slopes and potentially deadly obstacles were concluded as I fell over a ledge which threw me away from the cliff face and into a freefall. By this time, either by my own doing in my futile bid to forge some stability and slow down completely while bouncing down the cliff face, or involuntarily during one of many collisions along the way, I had somehow turned around completely as I remember no longer facing the cliff and instead glimpsing the ocean and shore briefly as I fell. Mercifully, I was not falling head first, and instead remained reasonably upright. Immediately recognising how high I was and with nothing now to stop my relentless plunge to the black jagged volcanic rock below, I realised that, although my chances may have already been slim before, I now really was beyond hope.
The fear that had occupied my mind patiently in the first half of the fall suddenly exploded sending a shockwave across my body before it was almost immediately overwhelmed by raw feelings of disbelief and frustration. I could not grasp the reality of what was happening to me. At this point, I may have closed my eyes completely I was so absorbed in emotion, and I lost all contact with my surroundings other than the feeling of falling, which seemed to fit in rather nicely with the whole ordeal. Fathoming, rationalising and coming to terms with my own impending death during my last few emotional seconds of freefall was something I just could not do. I most certainly was not at peace with “my number being up”. My life did not flash before my eyes. I do not even recall a single word being articulated in my mind. I did not think about anything or anyone. There simply was no time for it. All I felt is what can best be described as an emotionary overload culminating in a fraught and anxious confusion. Before I knew it, and without even bracing for it, I was on the ground.
The impact is, somewhat remarkably, perhaps my most vivid memory of the entire day. It took me completely by surprise, not evidently because I was not anticipating its arrival, but because it did not take the form I subsequently concluded it ought to have taken – namely a bone crunching thud preceding an almost instantaneous and irreversible fade to black. I would not say my landing was soft, but in the heat of the moment I felt no pain in spite of the steadily increasing broken bone count as my descent relented. Adrenalin was in absolute free flow. Still absorbed in my own thoughts, I have no visual memory of the impact, but its texture and timing remain crystal clear. An almost crunchy respite from the freefall, my weight tested the elasticity of my salvationary captor until it gave way completely and I fell another few metres onto a rock below. Little did I know at this stage, but the outermost branch of the outermost Pandanas tree in a group on the shoreline had broken my fall and saved my life.
Illustration of landing at the far edge of the groupof Pandanas trees on the shoreline. Phew!
Recognising my perilous tumble had come to a standstill, I squirmed vulnerably as a cascade of rock, soil and dust crashed to earth in my wake only metres above my head. All of a sudden, the disconcerting sound of falling earth subsided and my absolute relief became clear. I was alive, I was safe and I was conscious. I could not believe it. The fall evidently could not have been as far or as hazardous as I had earlier envisaged, I thought. Little did I realise how wrong I was and how much luck had played its part in my survival. I had landed uncomfortably strewn across a bumped rock, but any attempts I made to move were greeted with searing pain, so I stayed where I was and immediately starting crying for help, albeit exhaustedly after my little afternoon jaunt. I was helplessly immobilised, but not at that point in time in a huge amount of pain if I stayed still. This, sadly, would not last. Although somehow self-assured of not having sustained any potentially and immediately fatal internal injuries (I was no longer in fear of dying any time soon), I had a feeling I had not escaped this one completely unscathed on the bone front. Having never previously broken a bone in my life, however, I was not completely sure what to expect.
Mercifully quickly, two of my shipmates arrived on the scene. One would later come to tell me that he expected to find nothing more than an unidentifiable mess of blood and flesh on the shore looking at the distance and surroundings in which I had plunged, (indeed no-one expected to find me alive), but instead he encountered me awake in what he described as a “typical Hollywood corpse” pose. Liam, who had seen me fall as far as the ledge, had immediately darted down the cliff side to help me, alerting all and sundry en route. Reassuring me that I would be OK, Liam commenced with a few simple tests asking me first to follow his finger with my eyes, which I think I managed to do without issue. It didn’t feel particularly difficult. I recall hearing his requests and complying with them almost as if it were just a normal conversation, although the shock and horror of the situation had certainly left me confused and insecure about what I had just gone through. Suddenly lying smashed up at the bottom of a cliff, trying to understand my completely unexpected predicament, I was stunned to say the least. What the hell had just happened?! The haziness in trying to get to grips with my new disconcerting reality acted in complete contrast to the curious clarity of thought and coherence I reaped from the adrenalin still pumping vigorously through my veins. This was a peculiar paradox indeed. My mind completely alert, and yet still stumbling its way haphazardly through some kind of fraught and restless dream, which I, sadly, knew I would not have the liberty to wake from.
I think by the time I was asked to wiggle my toes, which I, to everyone else’s relief (I already somehow knew I was bashed up but not paralysed as yet), did without problem, Rebecca, the third mate and someone who’d become a close friend of mine came alongside and held my right hand reassuringly. In a steady flow, other shipmates and islanders arrived on the scene. Julie supported my feet to ensure I did not move and agitate a potentially paralysing injury we might not yet have had the chance to identify. Sue came and sat directly above my head to talk to me and keep me occupied. I remember WT also being close to my head but up to the right and Andrew and sometimes Brad being down to the left by my feet.
It is at this point where my recollections become very hazy and I can recall only specific events and not necessarily the order in which they happened. The continual pain, which had long arrived resoundingly and almost intolerably, started to become ever stronger in waves in my arm and back. The adrenalin was running out and a new increasingly agonising reality setting in. Something most definitely was not right and my curiosity about what the hell it was began to burgeon. We could tell that the pain in my back was caused by the uneven rock I had landed on, but in order to assess what was wrong with my arm, my sleeve needed to be cut open. I was wearing my favourite hooded top at the time, and I was initially rather vexed at the fact it was going to be sacrificed. I even privately tried to conceive a way we could take it off without damaging it, but promptly grasped how stupid I was being. There was no fucking way I was going to be able to move that much without paralysing myself. The hoody had to go!
With the sleeve out the way, the injuries to my left arm were then evident to those around me. My elbow was very dislocated and my wrist superbly broken. Although not visible at the time, the bone in my wrist had actually pierced through the skin just beneath the palm of my hand. This had left a pool of blood in the tree above me and an open wound to the fragmented bone that was now threatened by a major risk of infection. Although it was a complete mess, the elbow desperately disjointed and the top of the wrist bone snapped and fragmented into many little pieces, it appeared that the left arm had taken the brunt of the impact in the tree and in doing so had saved the rest of my body. My back, which we would later discover had sustained compression fractures to four separate vertebrae, had survived 95% of the fall unscathed and, somewhat ironically, had actually been broken in my short fall from the Pandanas tree to the ground. The broken vertebrae to the bottom left of my back matched the bump in the rock on which I landed. Just beyond the now broken branch which had relented my freefall lay a dead tree and the open shoreline, littered with sharp, pointed and uneven black rock. I was already falling along a trajectory to my left, and had I ventured just a few feet further, I would have missed the tree completely and no doubt been ground into the bloodied dead mess Liam had expected to see at the bottom. Splat! I was so incredibly lucky.
In a bid to minimise any additional trauma, my arm had been covered with Liam’s shirt so that I could not see the extent of my injuries. I remember Liam reassuring me that all that had happened was that my elbow was dislocated, and could just be popped back in by the doctor later on. Liam did not at that stage want to risk worrying me with the real injury count. Although I wanted to believe him, deep down I knew something else was the matter, as the pain wasn’t just in the elbow. To address this anomaly, I persisted with a continual interrogation of my injuries as I winced in pain. Although I don’t recall this, Sue later told me that she eventually crumbled to my incessant questioning and informed me that my arm was broken.
As more people arrived on the scene, I was asked if I could recall where I was and what I had been doing in the past few days. Abruptly, my mind drew a blank. I knew I was in Pitcairn but the memories that accompanied this were gone. This startled me incredibly, as in my own mind, I had participated in a sequence of events, in which I knew I remained conscious throughout, but which, all of a sudden, I was unable to recall even though I expected fully to be able to do so. Perhaps a natural defence mechanism to protect you when you are at your most vulnerable from traumatising thoughts, my amnesia did nothing to reassure those around me that my head had not taken a knock on the way down. Other than a slightly bloodied nose, my head did, however, escape the incident completely untouched.
I subsequently embarked upon a series of very personal mind games in a bid to reconquer my short term memory. The only scrap of detail I had to go on was a very faint recollection of being on a cliff and a beach but far away from where I was. I couldn’t even find the words to explain this and memories coming into my head were almost immediately snatched away from my grasp leaving me terribly confused. I evidently realised I had just fallen off a cliff given my surroundings and condition, but even the detail of the fall had escaped me. My mind insisted on telling me that the very faint recollection of a visit to the beach and the cliff path had happened long before, perhaps days ago, and I started to try to remember what had happened subsequently and evidently struggled, as the memory I was going on, took place only minutes before. Increasingly troubled by drawing a blank, I tried to think back to earlier events and those too were gone. It was almost as if my concern and stress at not being able to recall events was actually causing and prolonging the inability itself.
In the minutes that followed, I don’t have any clear recollection of exact conversations and actions. It’s a little bit like trying to remember a minute by minute account of a drunken night out. There are quite a few gaps! I recall continually whining and sometimes shouting about the ever rising burden of pain and asking when the doctor was coming with the drugs to help me out. This must have left my friends feeling incredibly awkward and helpless for quite a long time, so I can only apologise for inflicting this upon them. I also recall closing my eyes for a few seconds as it made it easier to deal with the pain, much to the dismay of those around me and I was immediately commanded to open them again. I recognised the need to reassure them that I wasn’t on the verge of dying, and so for their benefit and hence my own, I kept them open, and tried my hardest to remain alert. I do recall a deliciously tempting urge to fall asleep enticing me at the time, however, so their concerns were certainly not uncalled for.
Quite evidently, on an island of fifty people, there are no emergency services to deal with an accident such as the one I had just sustained. The islanders themselves and my shipmates would instead be called in as rescuers, along with Pitcairn’s resident doctor. These are all perhaps the most shrewd and resourceful of individuals and, in any case, I was overwhelmingly reassured to be surrounded by people that I knew and cared about, and not alone at the bottom of the cliff waiting to die. In the meantime, a radio call had been made out across the island and the ship, for anyone idle to make their way to the scene to help in the aftermath. A qualified paramedic on the ship, Shawn, was also ferried over to the island to support.
As we awaited the arrival of the doctor, my short term memory finally came back. I suddenly recognised that the only faint memory I was so desperately hanging onto but whose timing I had completely misplaced, had actually happened only moments before. As soon as I established this simple fact, almost instantaneously like a self-solving jigsaw puzzle, all the other memories that accompanied this slotted themselves into place. Spontaneously, I remembered what I had done that day, the fall, the previous evening, even what I’d been doing on the ship days before. The removal of this preoccupation went a great deal to putting my mind at rest, as, all of a sudden, I didn’t feel quite so lost and almost embarrassed in participating and talking about the predicament in which I found myself. I remember recalling the upcoming concert that evening and joking that the accident could at least have happened the next day, so that I could take my rightful place in Thriller. Perhaps they could bandage me up good and proper so I could still make an appearance, I sniggered. In my own mind, I had thought that my temporary amnesia had lasted a few minutes, at the most, but I was later told that, rather disturbingly, it went on for closer to half an hour. Paradoxically, I clearly remember losing my memory and similarly I recall getting it back but there is evidently quite a big gap there in the middle.
Eventually the doctor appeared to make an initial assessment of the situation. Sadly, the drugs and equipment hadn’t yet arrived and he promptly disappeared up the cliff once again to fetch them. It was absolutely soul destroying to see him go leaving me empty handed, and in the end I must have waited an hour for relief from the pain, but my shipmates and Sue went out of their way to keep me happy and we continued engagement in chatting and joking to pass the time. I had to be patient and grateful for the huge lengths everyone was going to on my behalf. The doctor finally came back with a cast for my arm and, most importantly for me, an IV drip with enough morphine to send an elephant into outer space. Although it did not get rid of the pain completely, the sensation of the drugs kicking in was like an orgasm, and the relative reduction in pain left me feeling exhaustedly happy. With my increased comfort evident, it was time to move, but not before we took a moment to take some great holiday snapshots, I demanded. Liam complied. I remember someone shouting to me that I could have just fallen as far as 150ft, and vaguely celebrating the fact I had survived it. Privately, I expected this number to be significantly lowered, and certainly not raised, given I had escaped with such minor injuries (in relative terms, broken bones are a lot better than death) as well as the fact it was all over in less than ten seconds. I fell quickly and, thankfully, with the help of the Pandanas tree, landed slowly.
Having the time of my life taking it easy here on Pitcairn Island. The landscape and shoreline around the island is just to die for.
Wish you were here. Love Jimmy.
After a lot of gentle and slightly painful manoeuvring, I was helped and secured onto a split backboard for the journey. After an initial idea to get me out of the area by boat was deemed too risky, the only other way out was going to be a treacherous and difficult journey by stretcher back to the top of the cliff via the path from which I fell. I was not looking forward to having to face the trek up again after what had happened the first time round. I felt insecure and helpless about my fate being completely in the hands of others, but reassured to be surrounded by a load of resourceful tall ship sailors and self-reliant islanders, all determined to do everything they could to help me out when I so desperately needed it most. By this time, there was a large number of people gathered on the shore, all chipping in to carry the burden of my battered weight back around to the start of the path. A rope was attached to the top of the stretcher leading up the walkway to aid with the ascent, and to prevent me from going over the edge again should one of the bearers be forced to drop me. After a short pause, people were mobilised and the climb could begin.
The ascent by stretcher to the top of the cliff was incredible. The way the locals communicated and worked both seamlessly and selflessly together was one of the most humbling experiences, and perhaps the single greatest act of humanity I have ever had the good grace to receive. Where the path permitted, bearers carried my burden along its way, but in certain areas it both narrowed and steepened making the privilege of bearers to the side simply impossible. Although my view of proceedings was obviously restricted, getting a bulky stretcher complete with rescue crew safely along these sections of the path looked like a truly formidable task. I became increasingly terrified that in the sheer dedication in trying to help me, someone else might fall over the edge and meet a fate worse than my own. It was incredibly tense but the crew heaving me up were reassuringly professional and truly inspiring. On the most treacherous sections of the path, shouts would be made up to the line bearers reacting swiftly for support and all of a sudden, the stretcher would be heaved up from beneath and held in place by the line. Someone always stepped in to cover every conceivable position and the important point has to be made that, in spite of the jagged surroundings, my journey up was as smooth and as painless as I might ever have imagined it could be. In all, it must have taken about half an hour, and like those around me, I felt relieved that we had all made it safely to the top. I am forever indebted to these people’s selfless dedication which will certainly never be forgotten.
Waiting for me at the cliff top was an ATV cum ambulance. I was strapped onto the back as others sat in various places to balance the load out. Mercifully, the journey was much quicker than I expected, even though we travelled painfully slowly, as my back would punish me each time the vehicle went over a bump in the mud track, which would reverberate directly up and into me through the backboard. There is no hospital on Pitcairn Island, but a medical centre with limited supplies of drugs and equipment, along with a doctor and a nurse. This would be my home for the rest of my time on the island. Thankfully, as I had sensed, I had sustained no serious internal injuries requiring immediate intervention, but you can only imagine what sort of operation would have ensued had this not have been the case.
After being transferred from the backboard onto a bed in the medical centre, my shipmates were sent out while the medical staff did further diagnostic work. With a calm and reassuring manner, I had every confidence in the Australian doctor, who to his credit, was just about bang on in all of his diagnoses in spite of the limited equipment available to him at the time. Basic x-rays were taken confirming the breakages in my arm, but were inconclusive about the suspicions of fractures to my back. As time went on, I realised my injuries, however, were more serious than I expected. Part of me had initially thought, my arm could be bandaged up, and I would be back on my feet in no time at all. But in spite of the inconclusive radiology, my back was agonisingly sore and immobilised me to the bed. It was indeed broken in the exact way the doctor had feared, although it wouldn’t be until some time later, with clearer scan results, that my misfortune would be confirmed. Given the broken arm was actually a combination of a dislocated elbow and a shattered wrist (as well as an open wound leading straight to it), fixing it would be a complex operation, and so for the time being, I would be stabilised and monitored until arrangements could be made to get me to hospital. Other checks by the doctor also recognised an issue with my right lung. Although I felt no discomfort to begin with, the problem would later become particularly apparent during a flight, after which it would be confirmed that a build-up of matter in the lung cavity had caused my right lung to deflate to about 70% of its normal size.
The concert went ahead a littler later than planned, sadly without me, and I was looked after by different people throughout the evening and night but largely the ship’s doctor and assistant lay in constant attention hardly sleeping a wink. Stuck completely in bed, I would require constant care. The morphine gave me an insatiable thirst in contrast to a completely sapped appetite. Incapable of getting up to go to the toilet, a catheter was fitted, certainly not a pleasant experience but the very least of my worries in the circumstances. My terrifying ordeal had also led to me to empty my bowels so heavily that I wouldn’t actually need to go again for five days. The phrase “shit scared” wasn’t, I discovered, conceived without factual basis! Terribly embarrassing, and yet something I proved grateful for in the time that followed. During those first few days, having to deal with number two nature calls would have been extremely difficult and very painful.
In all, I would spend two days in waiting in Pitcairn and another day and a half travelling to the nearest hospital in Tahiti, about one and a half thousand blue ocean miles away. During this time, shipmates and residents would keep a vigil by my bedside twenty four hours a day, making sure I felt always that I had a loving family by my side. Waking up in pain, I would often open my eyes to see a local or a shipmate sat before me holding my hand and looking reassuringly my way. Locals came with delicious food, gave me loving support whenever I needed it and brought water to my mouth via a straw practically every few minutes. Their unfailing affection went beyond anything I could ever have imagined and was a gesture of kindness that will remain with me forever. My spirits were raised.
I also found out, that evening, that the marks so frenziedly scratched into the cliff face during my descent would remain there, more poignantly, long after the traces of dislodged rock, vegetation and dirt had been eroded away by time and the elements. The cliffside down which I had fallen, they announced, would be named in my honour as “Jimmy Bus' Ass” in light of my death defying tumble down its sides. “Jimmy Bus' Ass” is Pitcairn dialect’s translation for “Jimmy’s taken a fall”, or quite literally, “Jimmy busted his ass”. I felt humbled and privileged that a spot in the world, let alone on Pitcairn Island, would be named in my honour. What a legacy. It was almost worth falling down the cliff for in the first place, and indeed I was later subjected to some gentle ribbing that I had deliberately thrown myself off that particular cliff, having seen that it had not yet been named (in stark contrast to other areas of the island), in order to claim the title for myself!
The following day was a tough one. My vital signs started showing increasingly that the suspect wound in my wrist was becoming infected, so I was plied with high doses of antibiotics. I was eventually stabilised later in the day. A debilitating infection in my wrist, that could railroad my chances of a swift recovery, was the last thing I needed a world away from the nearest hospital. In the course of the day, a steady flow of visitors came to my bedside, including the Captain. In spite of sailing under his command for three months, I had never really had a meaningful conversation with him, so it was certainly an interesting opportunity for a get to know you session. People joked as my heart rate rose discernably whenever he spoke to me.
Compassionate and genuinely concerned, I was under no misguidance that he was going out of his way to secure me the quickest and least painful route to a hospital, although I evidently felt like I was in no hurry, having told him that I was perfectly happy to stay at the medical centre for a few days. I didn’t want to be responsible for shortening and ruining all of my shipmates' time on Pitcairn Island. Little did I know, however, how genuinely worried and concerned everyone was for my welfare. The ship’s carpenter had already built a special cradle to carry me in more comfortably than my bunk should my evacuation have to be made on the Picton Castle. Indeed, the only reason we weren’t already underway was the fact that a French navy frigate, La Railleuse, was, coincidentally, on its way to Pitcairn Island on an exercise and could take me to the nearest airport in Manga Reva, French Polynesia, some three hundred miles away, three times faster than the Picton Castle, in just twenty hours. Efforts were being made to secure my place on the frigate as a medical emergency evacuee. If this could not be done, only then would we risk travelling on the Picton Castle, which would involve three days of painfully unpredictable sailing during which my condition could inevitably worsen.
To everyone’s delight, after suitable diplomatic exchanges were expedited between the UK and French governments, the French were only too happy to come to the rescue, agreeing to take me and another islander who was suffering terrible hip complaints full steam ahead to our salvation. In Manga Reva, a private ambulance flight would await to take me to hospital in Tahiti, as I would only be able to travel lying down. This would be a flight time of almost four hours in all. The French navy vessel would arrive close to Bounty Bay the following morning, with the French delegation planning to come ashore and rescue us immediately. My bags were packed, and I must say, very diligently by the ship’s medical crew, and preparations were made promptly for my upcoming departure. I felt excited and quite honoured that a French navy ship was diverting its path and cancelling its normal duties especially for me, and pleased that the Picton Castle would not have its visit to Pitcairn Island unceremoniously interrupted due to my own misadventure. Thankfully, my fluency in French would also come in handy – a skill that would be imperative in making my subsequent hospital experiences less bewildering. Indeed, over the last few weeks I have found that learning said language has proven to be just about the best thing I ever did!
The following morning, the much anticipated French navy vessel arrived and hove to beside the island on time, and its delegation promptly came ashore. My bags and medical supplies were delivered to them, and I was delicately placed into a stretcher via a bedsheet to be taken out to the awaiting frigate. The prospect of being in constant transit for the next day and a half in my current condition was not too enticing, but sadly unavoidable if I wanted to get better. To be honest, I was actually just so very relieved that my route to the nearest hospital had been secured, and that I would shortly be underway in the most unique and privileged of settings. The goodbyes had already started the day previously as port watch crew heading back to the ship had come in to see me off in anticipation of my departure the following day. Meredith, my Pitcairn other half, trying her best not to, burst into tears and broke my heart as she left. Many of my closest friends on the ship would be leaving in Rarotonga, and this would likely be the last time I would see them. This was terribly sad, but I felt blessed to have made so many new sailing brothers and sisters, who, I knew, would remain close to me for years to come.
As my stretcher was carried out onto a waiting ATV, a huge crowd of people had already lined the streets to say goodbye. I hadn’t expected this at all, but everyone in Pitcairn and all of the Picton Castle crew on the island, numbering altogether some eighty or so strong, had come out en masse to give me a hero’s send off. Some of the girls came and kissed me on the cheek, and others smiled, waved and cheered as they came to wish me well individually. Incredibly touched and with my spirits spurred, I waved to the cheering crowd feeling, somewhat curiously, like the Pope or a royal head of state on a visiting tour. I was then loaded onto the longboat for the last time. The Captain and some others joined me for the journey and as I engaged in an introductory chat with the French navy ship’s on board medic, the Captain placed a Picton Castle cap affectionately on my head protecting my face from the sun. I looked at Pitcairn Island as we sped away thinking back to how differently I had approached it just a week before. My time both on the island and on the ship had been ended abruptly and my fate now irrepressibly turned to confronting a new and entirely different reality. Sadly, the Picton Castle’s doctor would be unable to join me on the passage to Tahiti, and instead I would face the trip alone. A new chapter in my travels and my life had just begun. But my resolve to pick myself up in the face of adversity and carry on the trip I had dreamt of for so long remained as strong as ever.
Although I appreciate this is perhaps my longest blog entry to date, I feel obliged, given its morbid and meandering nature, to provide some of my thoughts on the whole experience now that the dust has settled and I have had some time to adjust to and reflect on its impact. My time and experiences on Pitcairn Island were immense both before and after the accident and even if given the chance, I would not turn back the clocks and take any of it back. I am a true believer that the best lessons in life come from the hardest knocks, and, before I left, I had wanted this trip to be full of challenging, character building and mind opening experiences. If this doesn’t fit that bill exactly, I don’t know what does. At the risk of sounding like I have lived a sheltered life, this whole affair has been one of the toughest tests life has dealt me so far, and, indeed, one in which I had no choice but to participate. In spite of this, I don’t think it has changed me as a person, but it has instead called upon and galvanised intrinsic characteristics, such as keeping a positive spin in life, in order to cope and move forward constructively. I have no regrets. I incurred this fulfilling my life’s dreams and I remain unperturbed in continuing this quest. In fact, my resolve to carry on is now stronger than ever. It is better to die doing the things in life you dream of, than to live spending your life regretting what you missed out on.
And undeniably, I have so much to be thankful for. The simple positioning of a Pandanas tree on the shoreline is reason enough, but to escape from this whole ordeal, a plunge down a jagged cliff face measuring almost 50m in height, not only alive, but in anticipation of a full recovery, in time, is nothing short of incredible. Indeed, I may even be able to rejoin the ship as a passenger and continue my travels in the near future. In your face, cliff! The breaks to my back have incurred no damage to my spine, allowing me to literally walk away from this misfortune without the need of a wheelchair, and if I had to choose just one of all my limbs to break, it would have been the exact one that took the hit on impact saving the rest of my body. So, as a right handed lad with a broken left arm, you could say things turned out just perfectly for me in the end! For the rest of my body, including, most importantly, my neck and head, to escape completely untouched is also a huge reason to rejoice. A fall headfirst would no doubt have been the end of it for me. Even the simple coincidence of a French navy vessel being nearby at the time of the accident on an island that can be absent of visiting ships of any kind for weeks on end is a blessing of circumstance not to be forgotten. I can also not omit to mention the view I enjoyed during my fall, which was as spectacular as it was panoramic and would have been a great closing snapshot to my life as I hastened my way down Pitcairn’s inaugural high speed non-stop cliff plunge express link to the shoreline. It most certainly would have beaten taking a plunge off a non-descript Glaswegian tower block on a cold overcast Tuesday afternoon in November, I later concluded.
These beautiful shoreline views really cheered me up as I tumbled perilously down the cliff side to my own impending death
In subsequent weeks in hospital, my thoughts were brought back to a visit I made to a cemetery one afternoon on Pitcairn Island. I find graveyards intriguing places to be and strangely enjoy reading the epitaphs and imagining the lives of those who walked the earth before us. Ambling amongst the tombstones bearing the names of previous generations of Bounty descendants, all of a sudden, the unique and intriguing history hidden within the island’s shores opened tangibly before me like a book.
It was at this point that a curious and sad story was retold to me relating to one of the occupants of the graves, who had tragically died some twenty years earlier, on a visit to the island. Shortly before her death, she herself had paid a visit to the cemetery and, in passing, had made comment on the music she, one day, would like to be played at her own funeral. A few days later, the small yacht on which she was sailing around the world dragged its anchor, and was wrecked against the island’s craggy shores. Although her husband was saved, the lady drowned in the tragedy and her body was eventually discovered and retrieved from the water some time later. Due to the island’s local laws on human remains, she had to be buried on Pitcairn and, sure enough, her funeral took place only days after with the very music she had requested played movingly in memorium at the island’s church.
My mind then turned back to my own scenario and the events that would have followed had I perished in my own brush with death. Although I perhaps might not be that bothered about being dead after the event, the thought of my own burial in that very cemetery only metres from this lady, and my own family and friends in the years that followed making the sad and long pilgrimage to my secluded final resting place, cast a gruff shiver down my spine. Thankfully, the shiver was considerate enough not to disturb the fractures to the vertebrae in the lower region of my back. I smiled in relief, not only at the lack of pain in my broken back after such an unceremonious spine shiver, but also and in particular at the fact I had defied the odds and escaped death. The sad scenario I had just imagined was, quite simply and inescapably, not the reality in which I found myself now. Although I would consider myself an atheist without superstitious beliefs, the fact I had consciously kept my mouth shut at the time of the story when the opportunity arose to talk about my own funeral music stuck poignantly in my mind.
Although I have suffered my fair share of pain and anguish as a result of this accident, it has been an eye-opening experience that, with the beauty of hindsight, I feel enriched and educated for. I certainly had no true conception of what real pain was before this. Walking away from an unexpected confrontation with death is something, I feel, which should be seen as a privilege, not a burden. Not everyone else who gets it is so lucky. The loss of the use of practically my entire left arm, and the obligation to learn everything all over again, including all of my left hand, is a daunting task indeed. But I know I will get through it and draw from its experience when times inevitably get hard again in the future. I have often been curious what it would be like to have to learn how to use a limb again, and, in this respect, you can consider the cat well and truly killed. I just hope and look forward to the day I can pick up my guitar and play it once again just like I used to.
The final point I’d like to make is perhaps the most important of all, and relates to the strength and character of those around you. Adversity, proven time again, brings out the best in people. I will always feel greatly humbled by the response of both my shipmates and the residents of Pitcairn Island after I fell. The way everyone worked together impeccably when I found myself distressed and injured was nothing short of inspirational. In addition to this, the efforts of friends, loved ones and strangers alike, all over the world, to put themselves in my shoes and keep my spirits high have kept the smile firmly on my face. This whole episode has been a gentle reminder that life is pretty precious, and it doesn’t take very much at all to snuff it out in an instant. I am finding increasingly that the love you receive and the lessons you learn from the people whose paths you cross along the way are almost as precious as life is itself. However self-reliant one's convictions, both the boundless compassion and the refreshing contrasts to be found in your common man should never be underestimated or overlooked.
Oh, and Pandanas trees. They’re pretty cool too.
