The Land Divers of Pentecost Island – A Personal Work

Each year in April, a giant tower built from vines and jungle timber is erected on the side of a mountain looking out over the ocean from a remote island in the South Pacific. In a ritual practiced since time immemorial, men will tie vines to their ankles and make exaltations to their gods before launching themselves into the air and stopping just centimetres before their heads crash into the ground.

This photographic essay is of the land divers of Vanuatu’s Pentecost island.

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A day before the dives, men work tirelessly to prepare the site, plunging sharpened stakes into the ground to overturn clumps of the rich volcanic soil. Softening the area in front of the tower is the last precaution taken in case the vines attached to the diver’s ankles snap and send him crashing to earth.

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On one side of the tower, the slope is littered with the makeshift platforms, wrapped in thick lianas, from which the men will later dive. Careful consideration is given to selecting the strongest vines from the surrounding jungle. Unlike the coils used by modern bungee jumpers, the vines do not stretch. April is chosen for the land dives because that’s when the vines are least likely to snap.

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My first sighting of the land diving tower as I emerged from a break in the jungle brought excited anticipation. To be here as a photographer – particularly given my passion for recording traditional rituals of the South Pacific – was always likely to be an exceptional experience.

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Each diving platform is hoisted onto the tower – handed upwards by an army of men as ants might pass food into the nest. They’re then secured to the lattice of timber that forms the tower. Finally, two vines are attached to the tower and draped along the length of each platform so they hang to the ground. By pulling down on them, a calculation is made about how much of the vine is needed – allowing for the distance to the ground, the amount of give in the vine, and the weight of the diver.
There has only been one recorded death at a land diving ceremony when it was staged for a visit by Queen Elizabeth in 1974. It was held at the wrong time of year; the vines were too brittle and they snapped, sending the diver into the ground. Legend has it an ancient taboo was overlooked.

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The end of each vine is shredded into thin, rope-like strands and encased in banana leaf to keep them moist so they can be easily tied around the diver’s legs.

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Above: Allen is the custodian of the land diving ritual for his village. He is from Bunlap, further south, where the land diving originated and traditional practice is more strictly observed. There, the land diving towers rise beyond 30 metres. Allen oversees the building of the tower and the selection of the vines to ensure the safety of each of the land divers.
I met Allen at the first land diving ceremony I attended more than 20 years ago, and photographed him as he leapt from the top of the tower. Today, as he says, he tends to leave the diving to the younger men in the village.

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Folklore has it the land dives (Nanggol in Bislama) began when a woman fleeing her angry husband climbed a tree and, when he ascended after her, she tied a vine to her ankle and dived off to escape. She survived, he plunged to his death.
Since then, the ritual has been practiced annually at several villages along the south coast of the island. Traditionally, the land diving is held to ensure a bountiful yam harvest, and as a rite-of-passage for the young men in the village. While it was once held annually, today it is staged more frequently through April and May at various locations to generate income for the villages through tourism.

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Boys are taught to dive from as young as eight years old. They study “Kustom” (traditional practices) associated with the dive, learning from their fathers and uncles about the ritual. Not all of them get to dive – some may choose not to. There’s a limit to how many platforms can be built onto the tower. The young boys start on the lowest platform – still about eight metres from the ground – nervous but eager to participate in the time-honoured ritual.

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Behind the scenes, the women of the village prepare (with noted exuberance, I might add) to dance in celebration of the bravery of their men. Forbidden by traditional taboos to go anywhere near the tower until the day of the land diving, they will then gather near its base and dance, singing up towards the divers, willing them to land safely.

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The day before the land diving takes place, a small group from the village gathers around a large Tam Tam (drum) in front of the tower to sing and dance in a sign of things to come. It’s a joyous occasion, with men stomping their feet to the drumbeat, and women waving clumps of leaves in the air as they circle the group.

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The young boys are the first to dive from the lower platforms. Clearly, they have a lot on their mind by the time they are standing there having the vines attached to their legs. But they don’t falter. Some arrive on the ground with outstretched arms – contrary to instruction – and eyes firmly closed in anticipation of the collision. But to witness the elation and the pride of their family as they are held safely aloft after their first dive leaves no doubt about the importance of the occasion in a young man’s life.

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Above: These three photographs resulted from an invitation by the village chief for me to climb to the top of the tower and photograph a diver leaving the platform (a reward, possibly, for the copious amount of kava we shared a few nights before). It was a rare privilege. As you can see, in this instance, one of the vines broke and the diver plunged into the ground. In testament to his athleticism, he walked away, apparently unscathed.

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Once the vines have fully extended from the dive, they pull back towards the tower, taking the diver with them. Two men stand ready to catch and right the diver, cutting him from his bounds. The men dive only in a “nambas” – a customary penis wrapping, along with a rattan belt tied around their torso.

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At the base of the tower, the entire village is gathered in song and dance to witness the event, marching back and forth, heads arched upwards in anticipation of each dive.

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The last dive of the day – from the highest platform – is the most important. It is generally reserved for the village’s most accomplished land diver. By his example, all other dives will be measured. His bravery will be determined by how close he comes to the ground without injury.

I have witnessed the last dive on several occasions. It’s an incredible experience to be standing on the nearby slope watching it unfold. The dancing and singing at the base of the tower reaches a crescendo as the diver positions himself on the platform while the vines are tied to his ankles. Savouring the moment, he holds his hands aloft and claps as he loudly exalts the virtues of his village and the people who have helped him to this point. He steps forward and the crowd roars in eager anticipation. Then he steps back. A showman. The crowd is delighted.

But there’s no doubt about the conviction that will follow. When he leaps, it’s with absolute commitment. His body is arched in a classic pose. His arms are firmly curled under his chin, legs straight, he’s looking directly forward, unflinching, eyes wide open. In that instant, he appears suspended majestically against the brooding sky, waiting for gravity to take hold. Then, in the blink-of-an-eye, he’s hurtling towards the ground at a speed sure to see his destruction. There’s a loud crack as the vines snap taught and, suddenly, he’s recoiling through the air back towards the tower where he’s caught by a waiting duo and held aloft. The crowd erupts.

It happened so quickly, it was hard to know how close he actually came to the ground – though a cut on his forehead told the tale.

It would be a bountiful yam harvest.