One boarded a flight in Honolulu and flew off, due south, for 1500 miles into the geographic center of the Pacific, trusting there would be a single atoll there to land on. The sense of isolation and "islandess" was complete. As there was only one chartered flight a week, the entire population of nearby Banana would either walk or cycle to the airfield to see the plane come in, the fishermen deplane, and maybe their neighbor suddenly dressed in a starched uniform (but still barefoot) trying to fulfill vague official duties. Meanwhile, during the hour layover and refueling the pilot would get driven down island to the diesel tanks and test the diesel to be sure no one had stolen some and watered it down. The accomodations for the fishermen were based on the abandoned british officers quarters, which were renamed "The Captain Cook Hotel". They were spartan, but clean, and situated next to the windward reef to afford a cooling night breeze. One day I wandered off exploring and found an overgrown cinder block structure that puzzled me until I entered a low doorway. I had found the british officers requisite (I guess) squash court! Even after three years of operation (almost entirely winter season only) when I first made the trip the CC was an adventure. The waitresses spoke no english and seemed to be rooted in the islander belief that, if you got anything to eat at all, you were lucky! We pointed to the menu, they would nod, and then later we would get served whatever. In the rooms, taking a shower meant braving two shocks of 110v AC, once when turning the shower handle on, and then again when turning it off. Getting good shower drainage meant getting the resident land crab out of the shower drain hole. Since fishing was (and still is) primarily out of compact pickup trucks, we had to deal with the general unfamiliarity of the "guides" with the internal combustion engine. Once off the only paved road, they drove rapidly through flooded landscape or puddles and often drenched the engine (in salt water!), killing it. SOP was to wait patiently for 1/2 hour for the engine to magically start again. We moved things along considerably when we showed them how to take the distributor cap off and dry the rotor. The current situation with electronic ignitions aside, they now drive slowly through puddles. 2 or 3 flat tires a day, punctuated by the spiculated coral, was not unusual.
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