Last year, Dartmouth filmmaker Cece King traveled to Juan Fernandez Island to learn about the work Island Conservation is doing to protect endemic species and holistically restore the ecosystem. This is Part 2 of her two-part reflection on her experience on this remote Chilean island, including her own photos from her journey! Read Part 1 here.

You can follow Cece King’s film about our work on Robinson Cruse Island, Chile, at @silaislaquiere.film.

Before working with Island Conservation, “endemic” was a word I only understood in the abstract as meaning from and unique to a place. Scientifically speaking, I learned how endemic species are vital elements of isolated island ecosystems and particularly vulnerable to invasive species. Because species such as the tiny Juan Fernandez Firecrown hummingbirds evolved to be suited to their particular island ecologies, with only the island’s predators and natural resources to worry about, they do not have strategies to defend themselves from outsiders that might outcompete or prey on them. 

Hummingbird on Juan Fernandez. Photo: Cece King

While I was documenting Island Conservation’s efforts to restore and rewild the islands, I also understood what it means for humans to be endemic to a place. In each interview with an islander, I heard how the population identifies, personally, with the endemic species whose populations Island Conservation was nurturing and views them as equally important to creating the unique island culture. 

Most islanders identify with the vibrant, social energy of the Juan Fernandez Firecrown. Due to invasive species and human development, there are currently less than 1000 Firecrowns in the world, according to the Chilean National Parks Service. Just as this bird population is at risk, so is island culture. After 2020’s COVID-19 pandemic, the island grew from approximately 800 inhabitants to over 1200. The prevailing anxiety for islanders is that, without a robust educational campaign, their culture of connection to the land and drive to preserve the endemic species they grew up with will be lost. 

Luma Trees. Photo: Cece King

I understood the profound impact that losing endemic species in real time had on the community, and it can best be described as collective solastalgia: existential distress and internal displacement arising from environmental destruction. More than just rewilding the island to preserve healthy ecosystems, Island Conservation’s work on Juan Fernandez helps restore a culture that exists in harmony with this healthy ecosystem. 

As I conducted my interviews with islanders, I began to internalize the intense connection they had with their environment and heal my own relationship with the natural world. I grew up in New York City. Winters are marked by graying slush and the putrid odor of cigarette butts mixed with fallen gingko fruit. With summers comes blistering heat and steam hissing from the subway grates. The City is not a place that makes you want to be outside.

By connecting with nature and its radical culture of stewardship, I restored my hope in our species. Being in nature makes us more human, not less.

Without the ease of access to groceries or goods at any given time, you rely on generosity, creativity, and cooperation to get by. The Island Conservation field team ran out of bread in the middle of implementing a project. The rest of the team in the office searched everywhere for a bakery or bodega with bread. But, unlike in mainland supermarkets, the island relies on freshly baked bread which usually runs out in the morning. So, our project manager Solange had to learn to bake bread in order to feed the team! We woke up before sunrise to bring it to the boat driver who was delivering supplies that day.

Local Island Conservation Partner in Endemic Forest. Photo: Cece King

My most consistent companions were IC’s Canon 70D DSLR and a Zoom audio recorder. I filmed my friends and adopted families alongside the endemic animals and plants, including one of the last existing dendroseris neriifolia trees. I began to focus my interviews on how the islanders have generated a culture in deference to the land, and through their stories, I understood why connecting personally to nature is paramount to building resilience to climate change. Simply put, we protect what we love. 

Fur seals. Photo: Cece King

With over 500 GB of footage, I am now in the process of producing a bilingual documentary, named after the island saying “Si la isla quiere,” that can best be described as a love letter to Robinson Crusoe. Collectively, the shots aim to inspire anyone watching to nurture a love for their natural spaces, no matter where in the world they are. 

Cece diving. Photo: Nacho Fuentes

To impart some of the island magic my film will share, I end with this final note. During my last week, I learned that Robinson Crusoe Island was first called Santa Cecilia. I cannot help but feel a sacrosanct connection to this place, with whom I share a name, that brought me back to nature and back to myself.