There are some things on this planet you just have to see to believe, and the land divers of Pentecost Island are definitely one of them. It doesn’t matter that it was mentioned in the itinerary you poured over before coming on this particular voyage, or announced in the daily intentions. Even when you have left the ship and are headed to shore in a Zodiac, the very concept is still just an abstract idea trying to form in your head. As you follow the path up the hill and get your first glimpse of the 70-foot tower, made only of wood and vines, the realization that this is real slowly starts to sink in. Then the singing starts, the young boys and men begin to climb and it finally solidifies in your mind. They are going to jump. They are going to jump off various parts of the structure that stands well over ten times their own height. A structure that was built just a few weeks ago and is devoid of even a single nail, screw or any other scrap of metal.
There are fifteen divers today, each will dive in turn, each higher than the next. The youngest, and first to take the plunge, is only six years old a still significant twenty feet above the ground. The divers climb up to thin platforms (of an appropriate height for their age and experience) that will barely support their weight as to snap and help to break their fall once they take the ultimate in leaps of faith. Lashed to their ankles are vines that have been expertly measured and tied by veterans of this extreme ritual that is only practiced here on this one island of Vanuatu. The song becomes a chant, the diver ceremonially raises his hands high above him and begins to almost imperceptibly rock back and forth. Time itself seems to pause and become another member of the audience, utterly captivated by the anticipation of the moment. Then, as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world, he leans forward and drops, falling towards the earth below, and into our memories forever. I still can’t believe it though.
