Touchdown on the Outpost of the Mutineers
We woke up early, determined to squeeze every single minute out of the day. After calling in over the VHF radio to announce our intention to land, a full welcoming committee was dispatched to meet us. On Pitcairn, a “welcoming committee” isn’t just a friendly local—it’s a package deal including customs, police, a doctor, a biologist, and the island’s mayor. As you venture deeper into the Pacific, biosecurity becomes a massive deal due to the fragile, closed ecosystems, so the biologist’s job is to ensure we aren’t introducing any invasive flora or fauna to their pristine rock.
We hopped into the dinghy and made a run for it. The swell was far from gentle, spraying salt water in every direction. The landing site—a tiny concrete dock inside Bounty Bay—is notoriously impractical and heavily exposed to the ocean’s mood swings. We managed to tie off to one side, leaving enough room for anyone else who might need to land without getting smashed against the concrete.
The committee greeted us warmly and presented us with handmade necklaces—crafted and placed around our necks by the great-great-great-great-granddaughter (I might be missing a ‘great’ or two!) of Fletcher Christian himself, the leader of the famous HMS Bounty mutiny.
To reach Adamstown, the island’s main settlement, you have to tackle a steep dirt track that climbs sharply before making a hairpin turn toward the center. Luckily, the locals came to pick us up on ATVs so we wouldn’t have to trek up on foot. There is no asphalt here, no cars, no mobile cell service, and none of the modern conveniences most people take for granted. We hopped onto the quads, hit the throttle, and zipped up the hill. Within five or six minutes, we arrived in the center of town.
Calling it a “town center” might be generous—it’s essentially a small open plaza with tables and chairs set up for community gatherings, flanked by a post office, a church, a town hall, and a museum. The whole area is covered by a canopy so an unexpected tropical downpour won’t ruin the fun. Sitting right above us, resting against a fence, was the original anchor of HMS Bounty, salvaged from the floor of Bounty Bay back in 1957.
A Quick Detour: The Mutiny and Captain Bligh
The story of the Bounty is legendary, but it’s always wild to stand right where it ended. In 1789, a group of sailors on the HMS Bounty, unwilling to endure the harsh command of Lieutenant William Bligh, revolted under Fletcher Christian. They set Bligh and 18 loyal crew members adrift in a 23-foot open launch with minimal rations and a pocket watch, then turned the ship back toward Tahiti.
Fearing the inevitable wrath of the Royal Navy, Christian, eight mutineers, six Tahitian men, and twelve Tahitian women set out into the unknown, hunting for a sanctuary. They settled on Pitcairn because it had been incorrectly charted on British Admiralty maps, making it a ghost on the water. Shortly after arriving, they burned the HMS Bountyon January 23, 1790, ensuring no one could spot the vessel from the sea—or escape. To this day, the islanders celebrate January 23rd as “Bounty Day.” The current residents are direct descendants of those mutineers and Tahitian women.
Meanwhile, Bligh pulled off one of the greatest navigational feats in maritime history. Against all odds, he guided that tiny, overcrowded open boat across 3,600 nautical miles of open Pacific—from Tofua all the way to Timor in modern-day Indonesia—without losing a single man at sea. While Bligh was undoubtedly a brilliant navigator, history proved he was a terrible diplomat, leading to more than a few chaotic incidents later in his career!
Operating on “Pitcairn Time”
After soaking in the history, we wandered over to the local post office to send a few postcards. The friendly postmaster greeted us, and as we browsed the cards, he casually mentioned with a smile, “We close at 8:30.”
I looked at my watch. It was 8:28.
“Uh, so we have two minutes?” I asked, slightly confused.
He chuckled. “Take your time, I’ll stay open for you guys. No rush.”
Curious, I asked what their regular business hours were. His reply made me laugh out loud: “Every second Tuesday, from 8:00 to 8:30 AM.”
Now I was completely baffled. As we filled out our postcards and chatted, Damjan asked how long it usually takes for a letter to reach Europe or the States. The postmaster nonchalantly explained that mail only leaves the island four times a year—once every three months. “We’ll ship these out around late May or early June,” he said (it was early April). “Once the supply ship comes, it’ll get there eventually, don’t worry!” If ever there was proof that time is relative, Pitcairn is it.
We continued our stroll through the village, which has a population of just around 28 people. We popped into the island’s sole general store, but decided against buying off their shelves. Since supply ships only dock three times a year, buying up their groceries felt wrong. Instead, we put in an order for a crate of fresh local fruit to take on our upcoming ocean leg.
Pitcairn sits right along the Tropic of Capricorn, meaning the sun hits at a direct 90-degree angle. Combined with ocean breezes and extreme geographic isolation, the island has a unique ecosystem. The local bees produce some of the purest, most sought-after honey on the planet. Because of their isolation, Pitcairn’s bees have never suffered from the diseases that plague mainland hives. The honey is rich, floral, and reminiscent of New Zealand’s famous Manuka honey, but completely uncommercialized.
Exploring the Eco-Trails and Fletcher Christian’s Cave
Cell phone signals had long since vanished from our lives, so we left our phones aboard Daedalus Adventure. Given how uninhabited and rugged the terrain is, the locals handed us a handheld VHF radio and set a dedicated channel so we could call for help if we got stuck on a cliff.
Map in hand, we headed toward the island school and then followed a trail through dense vegetation toward “Down Isaacs”—a hidden rocky outcrop used by the mutineers as a lookout point to spot approaching warships. At this point, Damjan decided to head back to town and return to the boat, while I pressed on along the eco-trail to find Fletcher Christian’s Cave.
The trail narrowed, eventually turning into a steep, near-vertical rock face. I was practically climbing on all fours until I reached a narrow crevice. Leaping across the gap, I found myself standing in a hollowed-out cave in the cliffside. The vantage point was incredible—an unobstructed view over the vast Pacific and the settlement below. It was easy to see why Fletcher Christian chose this exact spot as his hideout and osbservatory.
I took a different route back, passing through the quiet island cemetery, picking fresh papayas and bananas right off the trees along the path, and using my pocket knife to crack open fresh coconuts for a drink. You certainly won’t go hungry or thirsty here, though living this isolated life would probably drive you mad by day five! You really get a raw, firsthand taste of what Robinson Crusoe must have felt.
Before heading back to the harbor, I stopped by the grave of John Adams—the last surviving mutineer—paying my respects to the man who eventually led the island community toward peace.
By the time I made it back aboard for a late lunch, the sun was dipping. Pitcairn is an officially designated International Dark Sky Sanctuary. With zero light pollution, the night sky here is a breathtaking, dense blanket of stars. After crossing the Atlantic and spending two months in the Pacific, stargazing had become our nightly routine, and I was getting surprisingly good at spotting constellations without a chart.
That evening, as we filled out our postcards, I noticed a picture of Fletcher Christian’s Cave on one of them—confirming that the unmarked ledge I’d scrambled up earlier was indeed the real deal!