Strange, Surprising Adventures
By Jack Boulware. Illustrations by Ted Burn.
Truth
and fiction come together in the exploration of one tiny island whose
storied past inspired one of the world’s first real novels.
Daniel
Defoe’s classic novel Robinson Crusoe was first published in 1719.
Since then, more than 700 versions and translations of the book have
described the adventures of a shipwrecked English sailor, marooned on
an island along with his Man Friday. After the Bible, Crusoe is said to
be the world’s most widely read book.
The primary source for
Defoe’s adventure is the true-life story of Scottish sailor/pirate
Alexander Selkirk, who after becoming stranded, lived in complete
isolation on a small volcanic island off the coast of what is now
Chile. Clothing himself in goatskins and surviving off the island’s
abundant seafood, wild game, and vegetables, he was finally rescued
four years later and was described as looking like “a hairy ape.”
I’ve
come here to Robinson Crusoe Island, about 400 miles from civilization,
to see if anything still remains of this peculiar literary heritage.
Just getting to the island is a small adventure in itself. It isn’t
what one would consider easy, by any stretch. You have to take a small
plane from Santiago, fly three hours over open ocean, eventually land
on a postage-stamp-size runway, walk two kilometers along a gravel road
to a pier, and then get on a fishing boat for another two-hour trip
around to the opposite side of the island before you even arrive at the
main village. During the rainy season, there are few visitors; planes
can’t navigate the weather.
Robinson Crusoe Island is actually
part of the Juan Fernández archipelago, a group of three tiny islands:
Isla Más a Tierra, Isla Santa Clara, and Isla Más Afuera. In 1968, the
Chilean government renamed all three to promote tourism. Maps and
brochures now list them as Robinson Crusoe, Santa Clara, and Alejandro
Selkirk islands, but locals still refer to them by their Spanish names.
Only Robinson Crusoe is inhabited, with a population of about 600
residents, 10 or so cars, and a handful of dogs and chickens.
Selkirk
actually only lived on Robinson Crusoe (rather than on his namesake
island, Alejandro Selkirk, as one would think). But this is only one of
many confounding historical details. Although Defoe based his book on
Selkirk’s life, which was written about in British publications after
his rescue, Crusoe is actually set in the Caribbean, not the South
Pacific. Defoe also invented the character of Friday; Selkirk was
alone. And in the book, Crusoe and Friday were stranded for 28 years.
Selkirk was picked up by a ship after just four years on the island.
Nevertheless, Chile has renamed the island Robinson Crusoe, a central
street is called Daniel Defoe (also the name of a hosteria and a bar), and the local library displays a large collection of Crusoe editions in various languages.
Our
wooden boat slowly chugs its way along the western shore of the island,
edging past sheer rock cliffs. I wonder if Selkirk ran up and down
these peaks, his bare feet leathery and tough, looking for any sign of
a ship on the horizon. My companions don’t speak much English, and I
don’t know much Spanish, yet we still manage to communicate to a
degree. They open up a compartment and show me the day’s haul of
scuttling langostas (lobsters) and wriggling eels. The island
is famous for its langosta, a spiny lobster that once grew up to three
feet long in these waters. Like most of us, Selkirk probably thought a
langosta looked creepy and disgusting. Until he tasted one, anyway.
We
eventually pull into the harbor of San Juan Bautiste, the island’s only
settlement. Locals refer to it as Cumberland Bay. I step onto the pier
and head off to my hosteria, wheeling a bag along the bumpy dirt road.
A huge wooden statue of Alexander Selkirk stands in the village plaza.
He looks tired.
I meet up with Pedro Niada Marín, a scuba
instructor and ecotravel guide who explains a few more details about
the island. There are no hospitals. There are no banks or credit cards.
There is telephone service and, as luck would have it, limited Internet
access, if you sign up in advance at the library (satellite Internet
service was donated to the island by the Bill and Melinda Gates
Foundation).
The island has a school, museum, cemetery,
soccer field, tourism office, a few markets and bars, and two
fuel-powered generators that provide electricity. The harbor is dotted
with freshly painted green and white boats. Most people here make their
living by fishing, except for the mayor, who is also the police chief.
Supplies are brought in by ship from the mainland.
Beyond the
Selkirk story, the Juan Fernández archipelago is ripe with history.
Spanish sailor Juan Fernández discovered the group of islands by
accident in 1574 while sailing between Peru and Valparaíso, a Chilean
coastal town, and christened the islands with their original names.
Some years later, the main island served as a legendary hideout for
pirates — although to the disappointment of many, no treasure has ever
been found.
Then during World War I, the German cruiser SMS Dresden
was surrounded by British ships at Cumberland Bay after the Battle of
the Falkland Islands. With no engines operational, and still flying the
ensign flag, the commander ordered it scuttled. The wreck now sits in
200 feet of water at the harbor bottom. Divers discovered the ship’s
bell in February.
In the summer months (October to April),
visitors come for the excellent scuba diving, snorkeling, fishing, bird
watching, and ecotours. The islands boast several rare species of
plants and birds that are found nowhere else on earth, including a
hummingbird that stands five inches tall. Except for the airstrip and
village, the entire island of Robinson Crusoe is part of a UNESCO
biosphere preserve.
Marín is taking clients out to scuba dive,
but agrees to give me a ride over to the next beach, Puerto Inglés,
which is inaccessible except by boat. I want to see the historical site
that is Selkirk’s Cave. Supposedly this jagged rock formation was where
Selkirk first lived when he was stranded here in 1704. Actually,
technically speaking, Selkirk was not stranded: He voluntarily left the
ship, thinking it was no longer seaworthy. When he suddenly changed his
mind and ran back into the surf, it was too late — the crew ignored his
shouting and sailed away.
Selkirk’s Cave is cold and damp,
with a perfect view of the ocean, but there’s no real evidence Selkirk
ever stayed here, and locals later tell me he probably never did.
Nevertheless, the Chilean forest service has posted a sign outside
describing the Selkirk history.
The next morning, I’m
determined to follow in the footsteps of Alexander Selkirk. Although
saddled with depression and regret, the abandoned sailor did manage to
make a life for himself on the island. He built huts out of trees and
cooked meals in a salvaged iron kettle. He domesticated feral cats to
ward off the rats that chewed at his hands and feet while he slept. And
each day, he climbed to a lookout point to watch for an incoming ship
that would take him away.
A steep trail winds up a mountain from
the village to the top of Mirador de Selkirk (Selkirk’s Lookout).
According to legend, each morning the sailor made this trek, hoping to
spot some sails on the horizon. Supposedly, Selkirk was in such good
physical shape, he could outrun the goats. But after spending half an
hour struggling up the slope, I’m convinced he was either a freak
superhuman athlete, or this was done while running downhill.
About
halfway up (and just as I’m wondering if anyone has ever collapsed on
this trail or twisted his ankle — after all, I’m completely alone up
here, and it’d be all day before someone would find me), I come upon a
stream of rainwater that is diverted into a makeshift drinking spout so
that hikers can stop for refreshment. I sip the cool liquid, the very
same water that nourished Selkirk.
Dark clouds suddenly
materialize in the sky and dump a hard rain. This happens at least five
times a day, and usually lasts for about 15 minutes, followed by the
warm sun.
I reach the lookout spot, and the view from the peak
is amazing. Once again, there’s a commemorative sign about Selkirk.
Locals later whisper to me that this couldn’t have been Selkirk’s
actual lookout because of the direction it faces. Mountains block the
view to the west, which means from the Mirador, he wouldn’t have been
able to spy ships coming from the mainland to rescue him.
Whichever location he used as a vantage point, one day in 1709, Selkirk spotted the privateer ship The Duke
in the bay and ran down to the coast to build a fire. When he was
brought aboard, his rescuers could barely understand his babbling.
Selkirk returned to England, stories were written about his adventures,
and he became a wealthy man. The sea ultimately drew him back, however,
and on a 1721 expedition, he succumbed to yellow fever off the coast of
Africa.
On my last night, Marín invites me out for a fish
barbecue. A small group meets up at the pier, and we set out on a
fishing boat to find a quiet cove. We pass dozens of floating lobster
traps, the langostas’ antennae poking and waving out the tops of the
crates. Marín explains that fishermen will temporarily store the
langostas here in the harbor while they go back out for more. Nobody
steals them; it’s the langosta honor system here among the islands.
The
boat drops anchor, and Marín and his crewmate, Marco Araya Torres,
start a fire inside the boat. A cooking wok is produced, and soon the
smells of scrambled halibut, garlic, and peas fill the air. Everyone
takes a wooden plate and digs in with chopsticks, and wine is passed
around. After dinner, Torres stands up, claps his hands, and announces
it’s time for entertainment. As he begins singing a dramatic love song,
Marín’s wife, Fabiana, joins him. I can’t help but think that somewhere
in the hillsides above us, the ghost of Alexander Selkirk is getting an
earful.