by Ed Stafford
By mid-afternoon – I had now been thatching for eight solid days – I collected firewood for the big move. On the northernmost beach I found a huge piece of driftwood. It was about seven feet long and I hauled it upon my back and across my shoulders like a vast crucifix and trudged contentedly back to camp under its enormous weight. It was bone dry, incredibly heavy and would last for days.
I loved the challenge of getting these enormous pieces of wood around to my side of the beach. Once the pile was big enough to last me the night, I lay down under the thatch and contemplated my sleeping position. The lack of space worried me and if it rained the fire would be close to the edge and could easily be extinguished. After a long pause and an admission that things had slipped more than I was comfortable with, I acknowledged to the camera: ‘Do you know what? I’m moving in too early – there’s not enough space. If the rains come in this isn’t big enough – really. I’m so exhausted. Back to the cave.’
The admission hit me hard and I was really low in the cave. ‘I can’t believe how little energy I’ve got. Now, the truth is that I’m dehydrated, malnourished, umm, all of my time goes into repetitive tasks that aren’t interesting – and so I’ve just had a bit of a struggle getting out of quite a negative thought pattern.’
The negative thought pattern was me seeing myself as a victim: ‘I keep thinking like I’ve just been left here and nobody cares. I’m really craving company – I’m really, really lonely. Every bit of me wants company. Every bit of me wants to have a chat with somebody.’
But who had left me here? I had, of course. The whole project had been my brainchild, my challenge to myself. Despite this, in these darkest moments I still failed to accept responsibility for my own situation. The projection of blame and self-pity only made things seem further outside my control but for now I didn’t care – I just wanted to feel sorry for myself and hope everyone else would feel sorry for me, too. ‘One person doing this with nothing is extraordinarily hard.’ Despite having seen this trait in myself early on I was still succumbing to my debilitating self-torture. A lifetime’s habits, it seems, are hard to change.
Then, like a cloud passing and a bright ray of sun piercing down to light the way, I could see my way through. My core self-belief still stood there, ragged and wretched but alive and prepared to fight another battle in my name.
‘But I’m not going to give up. And I’m not going to go mad.’ My eyes showed renewed resilience. ‘It’s just tough.’
Thoroughly whipped by the wind ripping through the cave, I didn’t get much sleep. But the tin can kettle was on and I was about to have a lemon leaf tea – surely the solution to everything in life.
The previous evening’s desperation now contained, I felt much more able to take control of my own time on the island and write my own story. Being present in the moment was the key, I was sure, and so I focused on what I was doing now rather that allowing my mind to run around and play silly games.
As I sat and plaited a coconut palm I concentrated on what my hands were doing. I relaxed my shoulders and watched my fingers now quite nimbly weave the leaves through each other and create a small, simple work of art on my lap. I breathed in deeply and looked around. I was sitting in a patch of forest from where I could see out on to the beach through the trees. The coolness of the shade made for pleasant working conditions and the bright sky reflected on the vines and branches above me. I could hear the ever-present crashing of the waves and accepted them, perhaps for the first time, as a reassuring soundtrack to an experience I would never forget.
I felt I had turned a corner.
I found I was grinning to myself. Just completely and utterly absorbing the moment, really, and enjoying being on a Pacific island – and doing a very Pacific island type of activity such as plaiting palm leaves. There is a peace that comes from a space in thinking. There is an energy that is freed inside that can make you feel euphoric and makes me wonder why I don’t put more into meditation, and more often. You can regard it as airy-fairy rubbish if you like but to me it’s just another tool and, importantly, one you can carry with you naked.
For the moment it was true. As I sat in the trees I was truly happy.
I attached the ten palm tiles I’d been plaiting and had to sit on a branch that ran parallel to the ridge pole to do the last ones as they were well above my reach. The thatch crossed the crossbar and there was now a truly massive space below me. There was just a little to complete on the right and then it would be done.
By now it was mid-afternoon and I needed to go back to the other side of the island and do the dropbox pick-up. While there I managed eighteen chin-ups in the strong breeze that tormented Lemon Camp. It was late in the day and the sun had gone from the camp and the beach on that side of the island. It was the end of week four and I was ecstatic about my strength. ‘Quite pleased with that bad boy,’ I said as I flexed my biceps and winked at the camera.
My afternoon walk uncovered another taro plant that I’d previously passed but not seen. Fingers as diggers, I excavated the carbohydrate with a smile on my face. ‘One potato (well, taro actually), two potato, three potato, four; five potato, six potato, seven potato . . . ’ I heaved out the entire root bulb of the plant and placed it in front of the rolling camera, ‘ . . . more.’
A hermit crab scuttled in front of me, its sudden movement giving it away, and it was scooped up without further ado as my main course for the evening.
‘It’s funny how things come to you when you are calmer.’ Without the usual cacophony of deliberation and worry in my head I found that I had had my most productive outing in several days. I was more aware now and so I’d seen things that had always been there but that I’d been too occupied to notice before.
I knew that I needed simply to go with the flow, to relax and accept what was. If I didn’t accept it, and wished for something that I didn’t have, it was a waste of time and energy. What was – quite simply – was. I revived my forgotten lesson in serenity. Stop resisting Ed – let go.
‘Works very well in theory!’ I grunted to the camera. ‘I’m working on it.’ I knew I was still a long way from mastering true surrender to life’s ups and downs.
On the way back I spotted a fishing boat out at sea. It was white, with a roofed area to the fore and aft and a raised cockpit in the middle. The whole vessel was covered in masts and what looked like antennae. I estimated that it must have been at least a mile outside the reef. It was weird to think of people being on there with proper food and drink and wearing clothes. I felt odd seeing a boat and I wondered whether I would see any more.
In those last couple of hours of the day I completed the thatching and took it well over the bar.
‘It’s complete.’ The sun was low in the sky and the soft glow shone through the trees on to the inside of the thatch. I was very pleased with myself and proud of the thatch on closer inspection around the back.
‘That is one monster thatch! I am so happy with that!’
The thatch was indeed something to behold. It was almost a foot thick and had so many layers of leaves that it looked both padded and insulated. It was vast, considering it had been made entirely without tools, and I was elated that I’d not cut corners and that I’d stuck to my original plan and kept going.
It was too late to move in tonight – and I was too tired anyway – but it no longer mattered. I had completed the most ambitious of construction projects and I would never have to plait another palm leaf as long as I lived.
It was time to go and eat some snails, a hermit crab and some taro root, and to sleep well with a smile on my face.
‘I have four and a half weeks ahead of me to live in the shelter. Eleven days of construction. Happier than I have been.’ I emitted short sound bites as my brain clocked out for the day. ‘More periods of being positive and strong. Having water and being hydrated. I have twenty-eight litres stored now. With water nothing
bothers me. I’m hungry all the time but at least I’ve got water, so all good. Right – cup of lemon leaf tea. Then sleep.’
Chapter 5
HUNTING
It was moving-in day. I slotted the camera equipment into the case, added my green top and toothbrush and clicked the plastic catches firmly shut.
On the beach collecting snails for breakfast I found five and a half metres of nylon cordage. The quality was poor, though, and I suspected if I put any real tension on it that it might snap. But it made me think I should make a bow and arrow. A plan was hatched. Today I was going to move into the shelter after brekky, get organised. Then this afternoon I was going to start to make a bow and arrow. I fantasised about barbecued goat meat and decided that I needed to shift up a gear and become a hunter.
I left the seven litres of emergency water in the cave. I also left a night’s worth of dry firewood with the fire-lighting kit and a brand new tinder bundle. In the event of an emergency withdrawal to the cave, in hurricane or tropical storm, I wouldn’t have to take anything with me. I felt like a doomsday prepper ever ready for the worst-case scenario but it was reassuring to have a fall-back base that I knew I could rely upon to be dry.
‘I feel a bit weird moving out of here – I’m somehow apprehensive. I think this cave represents warmth and dryness and security, actually – and I’m moving out into something that’s a bit more unknown.’
It was the right thing to do – I knew that – it just felt odd, different. The move took three trips: one for the camera case, one for my palm leaf basket with pots and clamshells in it, and the final trip was to transfer the fire, and as I held the glowing logs away from my bare legs the smoke trailed behind me down the beach. Under the shelter I put the hot ends together, added some fresh dry wood, and gently blew – a long slow resuscitation. I had life and flames again in under a minute.
Today of all days was indeed one on which I could relax a little. I decided that, being an Englishman, the only true way of christening my new abode was to . . . have a cup of tea. Still riding what I hoped was now a permanent wave of positivity, I described the excitement and energy that was circling around me. It meant a huge amount to me that I wasn’t in a cave full of goat dung any more. I was sitting in a house I had built myself. I relaxed and allowed myself to ramble about my dreams.
I lay down in my sleeping position for the first time and realised I needed to move the fire – I was cooking my head again. While in the horizontal position, and feeling as if I was on a little holiday of sorts, I gave way to my heavy limbs. ‘I might just stay here for five minutes,’ I yawned.
I then spent the next hour and a half on my knees hacking the tangled roots away from the forest floor with a clamshell. But if I struck a root with my shell it would just bend the root into the ground – it would not break. So I quickly adapted and realised that I needed a mobile work surface (to slide under each root in turn) to act as a backstop to the strike; a flat stone worked well for this. By the time the floor was clean, and fresh flat earth all exposed, I was quite exhausted.
For lunch I found a new rock to smash snails on, as returning to the cave for every meal would waste valuable travel time. My new preparation surface was a ledge on Snail Rock, the rocky outcrop that split my beach, which was now conveniently on my doorstep in my new home in the trees. The ledge was at waist height and allowed me to crack my snails in the early afternoon sun. By now I wasn’t looking in bad shape. My love handles were long gone and my body fat must have been much lower but I wasn’t feeling strong, just leaner. The huge green snails that I’d collected on the outgoing morning tide had a white cap or trapdoor at the entrance to their shell. ‘This is a huge amount of protein – huge for me anyway!’ It was lunchtime.
To kill a goat I needed to propel something sharp with enough force to penetrate its skin. I could have tried to trap one with some sort of deadfall device but I decided a goat was too big to kill with deadfall. It would have required a similar falling object to that which would kill a man. That seemed a bit over the top for now. So I would make a bow and arrow – a short four-foot bow that I could carry through the forest without it snagging on everything.
The first bit of wood that I picked up to use as a prop (so as to be able to explain to the camera what type of wood I’m looking for) worked so well that I selected it and sat down to tie on the new blue cordage.
On the first, wary drawing of the bow the blue nylon rope snapped and so I doubled it up to make it twice as strong. I sat under my new roof rolling the improvised cordage on my knee. Once finished, I tied it on to the shaft and inspected my handiwork. It was as crude as they came but at least I’d got a bow. There was so much tension in the string that I could hardly pull it back. This was a good thing and would create more power. I needed to have another lie-down – I was exhausted.
By the fire I ate termites off a rotten log as they tried to escape the fire. This wasn’t because I needed the calories – they were insignificant – it was out of boredom, a distraction. When you find yourself eating termites for entertainment – that’s boredom.
It was late afternoon, golden hour, by the time I tied my spoon on to a hibiscus stick and walked down to the beach to test the flight of the impromptu arrow. I held the bow in my left hand, elbow locked out in front of me. With my right hand I rested the weight of the crude arrow on the fingers of my left hand and clamped the end against the nylon string. As I drew my right arm back the force made the string slip off the side and the arrow twanged rather pathetically on to the floor. I reloaded and tried to clamp more strongly with my right hand but each time I released my grip on the end of the arrow the string just slid to the side. The bow was potentially powerful, I could tell that, but for the moment I could not transfer that power into the flight of the arrow. I was done with bows and arrows for the day but I mentally began to craft the end of the arrow to try to solve the slipping and loss of control and energy.
Coconut chunks spat, hissed and caramelised as they roasted round the fire. It was the end of day twenty-nine and my video diary tells me that I really struggled today. I’d made a bow but that hadn’t lifted me as I’d thought it would.
‘I just don’t know why I’ve found today so difficult. I have no energy, ate twice my ration of coconut, and even had a brace of crabs for lunch.’
It seemed that even when I made progress I still needed to keep myself positive and motivated. I had simply allowed today to happen and as a result I got low. I needed to go through the process of keeping myself positive and light-hearted and humorous. This had to be an adventure to be embraced. I reminded myself it was not life or death. If I didn’t catch a goat I was still going to be alive at the end. I had thirty-one days to go and I needed to stay on top mentally. Tomorrow was halfway – a milestone. It was a good time to take stock.
‘Even if the bow doesn’t work, Ed, everything that you do is learning. Today I used bad cordage to make good workable (if somewhat ugly) cordage. There are lots of positives – you’re in your new house. It’s nice weather, the sun is shining. Tomorrow is day thirty and you are going to enjoy it a lot more than today – OK?’
Despite the fact that my inner coach seemed to be saying all the right things I wasn’t convinced. I had to take myself back to the cave to sit in my stone circle. Where was this unsettled feeling coming from? Why wasn’t I more at peace? What the fuck was wrong with me?
I stepped into the circle and into safety. I kissed the dusty floor of the cave with my bare bottom and rested my arms over my hunched knees. I gazed at the fading light over the horizon.
‘Breathe, Ed,’ I told myself. So I did and a sense of calm did indeed return. The circle shut out the rest of the island. In the circle there was just me and yet, somehow, I was connected to everything and everyone that mattered to me. I smiled in a knowing way that rarely came outside the circle. In here I had perspective, humour, peace.
As the
black blanket of the night came down I brushed the dust from my bum and looked up at the sprinkled dust of stars. The nights on the island were incredible, mind-blowing. I could easily see how isolation gives people spiritual experiences. You couldn’t feel anything other than humble under that sky.
My stiff knees clicked as I stood up and made my way back for my first night in my new home in the woods. Adding more wood to the fire, I stretched out on the floor and could sense in the orange flickering that something was moving. Lots of things were moving, in fact, on the forest floor right in front of me.
I flicked the camera on to night vision to reveal an army of hermit crabs going about their nocturnal business. They were tiny – the size of small snails. I fumbled for my tin pot and from my reclining position I half filled it and stuck it on the fire to boil. It was suppertime.
I woke up this morning and immediately went for a massive poo. I had eaten two whole coconuts yesterday and it was apparent. The night’s sleep wasn’t as pleasant as I’d anticipated, largely due to the presence of some small rats that kept running over me. Luckily I’m not particularly bothered by that sort of thing but neither do I welcome it.
While collecting little snails I also picked up a couple of flat rocks so that I could smash the shells in camp around the fire rather than out on the beach in the direct sun. One of the rocks had a very flat face similar to the sharpening stones that I’d seen Amerindians use in the Amazon to sharpen their machetes.
I had a circle of metal, a bit of an old outboard motor that I’d been using to crudely chop up taro. It was blunt and about as effective as chopping tomatoes with a plastic ruler. But I suddenly had no idea why I’d not considered sharpening it before. Not only had I been in possession of a piece of metal for some days now but I’d even been using it as a crude knife. Yet for some reason the penny had not dropped until now.
