There aren’t many places that we can still classify as genuinely wild. Even in some of the most remote parts of the world, colonizers have made an impact and claimed land masses and their surrounding seas as their own. To us, wild means living independently of society with minimal interference from humankind. It means to let nature be as it intended and to remain undisturbed. Wild means to be free.
This is what defined the search requirements for our Solomon Islands expedition in particular. We met an Australian ecologist named John Read who clued us in to just how wild the Solomons really are. With over 30 years of experience, and over 110 scientific papers in his name, John had a lot of knowledge on what life is like on the edges of earth.
In his book, “The Last Wild Island: Saving Tetepare,” John talks about how this island was saved from the logging industry that runs rampant in the Solomons. Similarly to other island nations that are tapped for their natural resources, the Solomons get hit extremely hard due to a few key factors when it comes to logging.
With the accessible, lush forests being a staple here, international logging companies have been drawn to the Solomons for its abundant tropical timber. Of course, this has helped to bolster the country’s economic outputs, but caused so much irreversible damage in its wake. Corruption is genuinely out of control in this sector, with illicit dealings undermining the sustainable management of forest resources.
In a country where regulation could be the linchpin to balanced exploitation and preservation of forests, regulatory lapses have paved the way for unrestrained logging. The illegal export of logs, underreported volumes and undervalued exports exacerbate the situation, robbing the Solomons of significant revenues that could be channeled into public services and infrastructure.
The lack of comprehensive land use plans and the prevalent practice of granting logging licenses without stringent oversight have accelerated deforestation, with grave implications for biodiversity, climate and the livelihoods of indigenous communities reliant on these forests for their survival. The logging industry on one hand is bolstering the nation's economy while simultaneously igniting contentious debates over its sustainability, ethics and long-term impacts.
With all of this corruption and environmental damage, it’s a miracle that John, his family and a local community were able to save the special island of Tetepare from logging. Over two decades, this group worked together to push past these challenges to establish the Tetepare Descendants' Association (TDA).
The challenge lies in forging a path that aligns economic interests with the imperatives of environmental preservation, social justice and the rights of its indigenous populations. This in essence, is what TDA is all about. And it wasn’t before long the Edges of Earth team was getting on a plane to visit Tetepare, proudly conserved by this group.
Tetepare is one of the largest uninhabited islands in the Solomons. It’s said that, about 150 years ago, Tetepare was abandoned by its original inhabitants who were warriors similar to other communities in the area at the time. With their own culture, language and way of life, this group left in a mass exodus with reasons still unknown.
Perhaps it was disease (known as the “big sick”) said to come about due to contact with whalers, a great famine spurred by “sea devil magic” or head hunting due to the state of war that plagued the Solomons during this time period. This will forever remain a mystery.
It’s said that there are close to 3,000 descendants of the Tetepare tribe, living throughout the Solomons, with many on the nearest island called Rendova. This group is what we now know today to be the TDA—an alliance that came together to protect the island so that it has a future. The TDA is considered the legal owners of Tetepare, and those who fought off the logging industry.
I couldn’t help but to connect this story to "FernGully: The Last Rainforest." It’s an animated film from 1992 about fairy creatures that live in a magical rainforest working to stop human loggers from destroying their home. Spoiler alert, the fairies save the rainforest in the film and in this real-life example, the rightful descendants save Tetepare from logging.
Our commute to the remote island was hectic, to say the least. With a single tarp covering our dive and camera bags, and nothing but our raincoats on, we were soaked head to toe from our extremely long ride on what the locals like to call a “banana boat.” Pulling up to the field station, we knew the minute we stepped foot onto Tetepare that this was going to be one of those eye-opening experiences.
Our aim was to scuba dive the largest marine protected area (MPA) in the country, a 13 kilometer (8 mile) long no-take zone along Tetepare, and learn about the island’s regenerative and maintenance programs. Each week, a new ranger and marine monitor team is staffed on Tetepare, as the island must always be monitored. A rotational team of locals will come when needed to tend to the island and to guide explorers like us, as no one can be left alone here.
At first, we didn’t fully understand why. But after a week in the wild, we were glued to our guides Tumi Ben, Clement Baki and Henri Meke as if our lives depended on it. Well, not “as if” our lives depended on it, they actually did! Between the thriving wildlife and the looming spirits of Tetepare’s past, this place was just as beautiful as it was terrifying. It really felt like around any turn you never knew what would come out to get you. And with that, we needed pro supervision at all times.
But the true power of Tetepare is not just its wild nature and unexplainable spirits. It’s what this island does for its local communities. Not only does the island create employment opportunities for locals, but its conservation programs have also helped put over 400 children through school, offer scholarship initiatives to those passionate about the natural world and develop sustainable practices that impact their livelihoods.
With Tumi, Clement and Henri, we participated in three research and monitoring programs that have led to community development and long-term sustainability. The first day we arrived, they kept telling us how much we’d love the “turtle rodeo.” Having been a part of many turtle tagging efforts, we had never heard it called this before, or frankly had any clue what they meant. Intrigued, we agreed this was a good starting point for us—our “welcome” to Tetepare.
We soon came to find that “turtle rodeoing” is exactly as it sounds. Tumi drove the boat around the shallow lagoon outside of the ranger station looking for green and hawksbill turtles. Once found, the boat circled the turtle with Henri and Clement hanging off its side. At just the right moment, they dove into the water and caught that massive turtle with their bare hands.
Wrangling the turtle, they brought it to the beach where we took its measurements, inserted a tag and logged the data for future reference. Watching these two handle this massive turtle like a paper weight was nothing short of impressive. Their ultimate goal is to send all of their recorded data to the South Pacific Regional Environmental Program (SPREP) so it can be kept in a database for turtle populations in the Solomons.
But the project that we loved the most was colossal coconut crab monitoring. Having explored Vanuatu a few months earlier, we thought we had seen big, big crabs. We were so wrong. Putting coconut pieces out around sunset near their caves in the depths of the jungle, our aim was to see how many massive crabs we could find to bring back to base to measure and weigh. From there, we’d release the crabs back into the wild so they could continue doing what they do best.
On the first night of surveying, we caught four crabs, each one bigger than the next. My job was to hold the biggest crab on the boat ride back to base, and make sure that I did not lose the specimen. The crab was so heavy that I could hardly hold it up with one hand!
Outside of the MPA, these crabs are facing extreme danger, as they are overharvested and caught for sale. The TDA is actively pushing for seasonal protection of the areas around the Solomons so the coconut crab populations can be restored. The monitoring on Tetepare acts as a baseline, showing what’s possible if the species is carefully maintained.
As TDA eyes the future, expansion and replication of their model transcends Tetepare's shores—illuminating a path for communities across the Pacific to follow. From the protected land to sea, along with each empowered community member, there’s a narrative of triumph, not just over external threats, but over the traditional paradigms that have often portrayed conservation and community development as dichotomous.
Much like the resilient forest of FernGully, Tetepare stands as a testament to the power of collective action. It proves that with unity, determination and respect for our natural world, we can carve out spaces where the wild thrives and communities can still flourish.
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