How many miles is tristan da cunha

The upper surface of this low base appears dark green in this astronaut photograph. While geologic evidence indicates that eruptions have occurred from the central crater, lavas have also erupted from flank vents along the sides of the volcano and from smaller cinder cones.

The last known eruption of Tristan da Cunha took place in — and forced the evacuation of the only settlement on the island, Edinburgh of the Seven Seas, on the northern coastline obscured by clouds in this image. The town is considered to be the most remote permanent settlement on Earth, with its nearest neighbor located 2, kilometers 1, miles to the northeast on the island of St.

The image was taken by the Expedition 34 crew. It has been cropped and enhanced to improve contrast, and lens artifacts have been removed. The International Space Station Program supports the laboratory as part of the ISS National Lab to help astronauts take pictures of Earth that will be of the greatest value to scientists and the public, and to make those images freely available on the Internet.

Caption by William L. This volcanic island is home to perhaps the most remote permanent settlement on Earth. See our Site Map for a detailed list of all the website's sections and pages. It has news, facts and practical information about our island. See the Site Map for links to all our web pages. Visit the Tristan Post Office for the latest stunning island stamps and the Online Store for a range of clothing and gifts Want to find out more and support the Tristan community?

They built homes and boats from salvaged driftwood, then drafted a constitution decreeing a new community based on equality and cooperation.

The collective spirit that sustained the island during years of almost complete isolation still exists. We dig shallow rows, then lay in spuds from a plastic bucket, along with fertilizer pellets. Some smile over at me with an approving nod. This earns me points, and at least one South African lager. An year-old deejay is serving up pop hits from the s, but the dance floor is awkwardly empty, like at a junior high prom.

Young men cluster around a gin bottle they smuggled out of the Albatross; the women are seated on a bench. The deejay begins spinning a pop song, then abruptly changes to a country-and-western tune. I watch the guys put down their drinks, swoop across the floor, and extend their hands to the ladies. Looking at me, Desiree nods toward a shy young woman, and I walk over to invite her to dance. When the song ends, the floor clears once more.

Later, as I head home under a starry sky, the music slowly fades to just the lonely rhythm of breaking surf—a reminder that Tristan exists all by itself. She lives down a curvy paved road with no signs, traffic lights, mailboxes, or even house numbers. White-haired and squinting from behind thick glasses, she smiles warmly as she leads me into her living room, furnished with lace-draped armchairs and family photos.

We depended on cattle and sheep and fishing. For the first time, islanders learned that their mountain was an active volcano. Its eruption on October 8 caused the British government to evacuate all Tristanians to Southampton, England, for two years, where they quickly became media sensations and were subjected to all manner of medical tests. Then it happens: One morning I awake to a calm sea, partly cloudy skies, and light winds.

Opposing winds have produced calm conditions, but they are temporary. Like most islanders, Repetto is a keen forecaster by necessity. Locals make their living from farming and fishing. For Tristanians, a great day means a fishing day. Lights flick on inside houses as the settlement stirs. Soon men stream down to the harbor with rain slickers slung over shoulders and lunch pails in hand. In pairs, they board fishing boats loaded with lobster traps.

The women, including my hostess, Patricia Repetto, will process the bounty in a new factory beside the harbor—whole lobsters for Japan, tails for the U. Lavarello is large framed, with a silver chain around his neck and tattoos on his arms. He hooks a bit of squid onto his line as bait and, with a well-practiced twist of his body, lobs the line into the water. Finally he feels a small tug—and ends up accumulating a respectable bucket of fish known as five fingers.

Agulhas II returns. Not all of my Tristan ambitions have been fulfilled. I also attended two baptisms, a wedding reception, two birthday potlucks, a lamb-marking, and a distribution of the mail. But holding to a tourist checklist on Tristan was never the point. A handful of Tristanians sit around tables drinking white wine and soda. The talk focuses on the weather, fishing, the potato crop, and local gossip. Life here may not be free from care—the island now is more connected to the world—but it is simpler.