May 2011: Journey to Guadalcanal

From Reel to Real

After working as an extra in The Thin Red Line—a film about the World War II battle of Guadalcanal—I knew that someday I had to visit the real island. At just 20 years old, standing in front of the cameras in Australia, I could only imagine the jungles and hills where American and Japanese soldiers, along with innocent Solomon Islanders caught in the crossfire, had fought and died.

A Deeper Purpose

Years later, I finally made the trip. I didn’t just want to see the battlefields; I wanted to experience the island more deeply. In the film, I remembered the scenes of blond-haired Melanesian children singing in their villages, surrounded by jungle and coral-fringed beaches. That image stayed with me, and it shaped my goal for the journey: to stay in these villages whenever possible and learn about the lives of the people of the Solomon Islands.

Location of Solomon Islands

Four Days in the Solomon Islands

Over four packed days on Guadalcanal, I balanced village life, jungle treks, and WWII history.

Day 1: Arrived in Honiara from Fiji, then traveled with my fixer Elijah by truck and on foot to a remote kastom village. Hiked deeper into the rainforest to Tenaru Falls and camped overnight in the village.

Day 2: Journeyed with Samson Hoasi to Barana Village and Mount Austen, exploring WWII caves and waterfalls before overnighting in Barana with locals.

Day 3: Snorkeled and hiked at Bonegi Beach, home to WWII shipwrecks and aircraft now teeming with sea life. Camped right on the sand beside the wrecks.

Day 4: Returned to Bonegi and then visited Bloody Ridge, one of the fiercest Guadalcanal battle sites, before catching an afternoon flight to Vanuatu.

Arrival in the Solomon Islands

Into the Unknown

After over 24 hours of traveling on buses, trains, and airplanes, I finally arrived in the Solomon Islands. There to greet me at the airport was sweltering tropical heat, humidity, and the chaos that often awaits arrivals into third-world airports. My passport was stamped, some money exchanged, and soon I was bouncing along muddy, bumpy roads in the back of a truck—passing villages of dark-skinned, blond-headed children, bamboo huts, jungles, and World War II battlefields. Most importantly, I was once again heading into the world of the unknown.

The drive lasted for a few hours until the dirt road ended at a rustic village along the Tenaru River. Here I met my guide, Elijah—who, like many in the Solomons, carried an Old Testament name—and together we set off on a five-hour hike.

Hike to Tenaru Falls and remote kastom villages that aren’t connected by roads through the same jungles where American soldiers faced a massive Japanese ambush. 

Along the Tenaru River

Crocodiles and the Shadows of War

We crossed the Tenaru River several times, careful to watch its dark waters. The river’s mouth is home to crocodiles—as are many others on Guadalcanal. American soldiers who landed on these beaches during the war endured Japanese gunfire, bombings, and to top it off, massive man-eating crocodiles. When I approached the riverbank, one slipped into the water before I could even snap a photo.

Elijah, my guide, spoke of the heavy combat that once raged along this river between Japanese and American forces. I’m sure the view I had was not much different from what young American troops saw as they marched upriver during WWII.

Remnants of Battle

Even today, villagers still stumble upon grim reminders of the fighting: rusted helmets, Japanese swords, unexploded bombs, and even skeletons. I couldn’t begin to imagine how terrifying it must have been for those young men—many of them never having left their homelands before—to suddenly find themselves in this malaria-ridden jungle, surrounded by death at every turn.

Now, the jungle has reclaimed the battlefield. The tranquility of the riverbanks belies the horror that once unfolded here. Just as it did in the 1940s, the thick jungle provided cover for Japanese artillery, which they used from hilltop positions to rain down fire on American troops below.

Signs of Life Returning

Above us, noisy bands of cockatoos squawked in the canopy. Elijah explained that their numbers have increased in recent years, now that hunting has largely stopped. During the civil war in the Solomons, when guns were everywhere and people were starving, these birds were hunted for food. But since the war ended and firearms were seized, the cockatoos have flourished again—a small but meaningful symbol of recovery.

Crossing rivers by foot

Entering a Kastom Village

Tradition Versus Reality

I entered my first so-called Kastom village—a community that had declared its return to traditional, non-Western ways. To my right stood the village chief, a man in his eighties. Yet, despite the claim of being “kastom,” the village didn’t strike me as particularly traditional.

The youth were rowdy, drunk, and chewing betel nut. Nobody wore grass skirts or loincloths, as I had expected. When I asked about it, the villagers assured me that they were indeed “kastom,” but that they had given up traditional dress.

A Different Kind of Atmosphere

The boys’ shouting and borderline violent behavior gave the village an unsettling atmosphere, and I decided it was best to continue on my way. I was later told that on the other side of the island, along the remote Weather Coast, some villages still maintain a more genuine Kastom lifestyle—complete with traditional clothing and customs less influenced by the modern world.

 The wife of the chief was a sweet old woman also in her eighties. She was so pleased to shake my hand. She didn’t speak english. I really wish I could have talked to her about what it was like to grow up in the Solomon islands during WWII. 

Tenaru Falls-To show how big the falls are, you can see my guide to the right of the falls on top of the ledge ready to plunge into the pool. The guy as soon as we arrived at the falls was transformed into a kid again playing in the water. He was so giddy.

Tenaru Falls

Villagers washing their clothes

Faces Along the Trail

Life, joy, and unforgettable encounters in Solomon Island villages

My favorite part of the trail wasn’t the rainforest, the river, or even the flocks of noisy cockatoos—it was the people I met along the way. Everyone seemed so photogenic, especially the children, many of whom had dark skin and striking blond curly hair.

The villages themselves were idyllic, nestled among coconut palms and lush rainforest. Life moved at a slower, gentler pace here. Children played alongside scavenging pigs, women tended to cooking fires, and men disappeared into the jungle to work their gardens.

Despite the hardships of daily life, there was joy in these communities. The children lit up with excitement when I lifted my camera, thrilled to have their picture taken. It was a reminder that, beyond the war history and wild landscapes, it’s the people who make the Solomon Islands unforgettable.

This pretty girl along the Tenaru Falls trail was washing her clothes in the river, and she couldn’t stop smiling when I met her. I told her she was very pretty and she even smiled bigger.

Village kids that met me with nothing but smiles and curiosity 

Village kids that met me with nothing but smiles and curiosity 

Village kids that met me with nothing but smiles and curiosity 

The kitchens are outdoors. Pigs wonder freely among the kids. The kids climbed the coconut trees for a dollar and brought me back five coconuts. There are few things better in life then drinking fresh coconut juice out of a coconut. Not only do the kids scale th 30 feet trees and bring the coconuts down but they also cut the tusk off of them for me.

Kids run around the villages with knives like they own the place. It’s safe to say that they are expected to grow up much faster here than in the developed world.

A Village Straight from the Movies

From Idyllic Charm to a Night of Terror

I loved this village. It reminded me of the village in the opening scene of the movie The Thin Red Line—bamboo huts, happy, friendly villagers, and a tranquil atmosphere that felt timeless.

The paradise was shattered later that night when I went to sleep in my tent on the deck of one of the bamboo huts. In the middle of the night, I awoke to the unintelligible screaming of a drunk man standing above my tent with a machete, yelling at me. At first, I thought it was a nightmare. Then I realized it was terrifyingly real. Trapped inside my tent, fumbling for my flashlight, I couldn’t understand what he was shouting and felt sure he might start swinging his blade.

My guide rushed over when he heard the commotion, calming the man down before he stormed off—only to start hacking apart the roof of another hut, shrieking like he was possessed. My guide later explained that the man had just returned from working at a gold mine in the mountains, spent his pay on beer, and was looking to beat his wife. Unable to find her—she was hiding in the jungle—he assumed she was in my tent. Now I could hear her calling from the darkness, keeping her distance from her violent husband, who had nearly beaten her to death before.

The next morning, the scene had shifted from chaos to comedy. In the village, I saw the drunken old man passed out in the same hut he had spent half the night destroying. My guide chuckled, saying he’d spend the rest of the day repairing the damage once he sobered up.

This is the wife of the drunken man who scared the crap out of me the previous night. She hid from the man all night and was spared any beatings. I felt bad for her. The man has a history of beating her and I didn’t understand why nobody tried to stop the man or lock him up. It was explained to me that alcoholism is a problem in the villages and that when the men are drunk domestic violence isn’t uncommon. I just wish I could have done something to help her.

The Battle for Mt. Austen

Storming the Hilltops of Guadalcanal

The next day, I drove to Mt. Austen, one of the bloodiest battlefields of World War II in Guadalcanal. The grassy hilltops here were the scene of some of the most brutal fighting between Japanese and American forces.

After the Americans captured Henderson Field from the Japanese, the hilltops of Mt. Austen became a launching ground for Japanese counterattacks on the airfield. The enemy was deeply entrenched, hidden in bunkers and foxholes that proved nearly impervious to aerial bombardments and shelling. To dislodge them, American forces had no choice but to storm the slopes directly.

The assaults were devastating. Soldiers charged uphill into relentless gunfire and artillery, suffering heavy casualties as they fought to reduce the Japanese positions one by one. Standing on those windswept ridgelines, it was easy to imagine the chaos, fear, and sheer courage it must have taken to face such overwhelming defenses.

Inner island roads

Bloody Ridge and Henderson Field

Where the Fate of the Pacific Turned

Here I had a different guide, Samson, who led me through battlefields and more stretches of dense jungle. He explained how the Japanese had been deeply fortified in these hills, determined to hold them at all costs. For the Americans, these positions had to be taken in order to secure Henderson Field.

The marines might have suffered even greater losses had it not been for Solomon Island guides who led them through the adjacent jungles. Their surprise ambushes helped turn the tide, catching the Japanese off guard and saving countless American lives.

Henderson Field: The Prize of Guadalcanal

Henderson Field was originally built by the Japanese and intended to become a major air hub for launching their planned invasion of Australia. Realizing the danger, the Americans seized the airfield. From that moment forward, nearly all the fighting on Guadalcanal revolved around control of Henderson Field and the Japanese efforts to retake it.

Standing on the ridge, Samson pointed out Bloody Ridge in the distance—one of the most horrific and heroic battles of the campaign.

The Stand at Bloody Ridge

I climbed a ridge where a group of marines had once been surrounded and outnumbered two to one by Japanese forces. That night, with no chance of air support, the marines endured relentless waves of attacks. Finally, the Japanese launched a full-scale banzai charge. Led by officers with swords drawn, they stormed into hand-to-hand combat under the cover of darkness.

Against overwhelming odds, the marines held their ground. Their defense saved the airfield and shifted the course of the Pacific war.

Ashes on the Battlefield

Samson shared a story that gave the place an even deeper weight. Not long ago, he had spread the ashes of an American veteran here—a man who had fought on Bloody Ridge and returned only once, in his nineties, to lay his ghosts to rest.

He told me of another veteran, a Raider who had defended this very hill. The man leaned heavily on his cane when he arrived, but as soon as he stood at the base of the ridge, adrenaline surged. He dropped the cane, charged up the hill, and collapsed in tears. To him, nothing about the place had changed. That night, Samson said, the veteran woke often, crying out from nightmares of gunfire and explosions. He later apologized, admitting he thought he had moved on long ago, but standing here had brought the ghosts back in full force.

Fading Voices of History

Samson explained that each year, a handful of American veterans still return during the annual memorial ceremony. But their numbers are dwindling. Last year, he said, only one man came. This year, he feared, there might be none left.

The Battle of Guadalcanal remains one of the bloodiest and most decisive battles of World War II, a true turning point in the Pacific. Thousands of Americans and Japanese died in its jungles and hills.

A Personal Connection

For me, this visit was deeply personal. Ever since my time working as an extra in the film The Thin Red Line—a Hollywood portrayal of the battle shot in the jungles of northern Australia—I had wanted to see the real Guadalcanal. When I was 20, backpacking through Australia, I wore the WWII uniform, carried an M1 rifle, and even “died” in a scene. That surreal experience made me feel a strange connection to the men who had fought in the real war.

Now, standing on the actual battlefields of Guadalcanal, that connection was no longer abstract. It was real, tangible, and humbling.

Battle fields where thousands of soldiers perished 

Life Amidst the Battlefields

It was incredible—and sobering—to visit villages where daily life continues amidst old battlefields. People literally live alongside unexploded bombs and even fallen human remains, constant reminders of the war that once raged here. Today, many villagers make a living by collecting and selling artifacts they find—helmets, dog tags, and other relics—to visiting WWII veterans and curious travelers.

Village in the hills along the outskirts of a major battlefield

The villagers in the area are always uncovering new WWII artifacts in the jungles and even in their gardens. Here are several Japanese gold teeth and a vile of poison meant to be used by the Japanese to commit suicide if captured.

Village kids I hired to guide me in the battle fields

Whispers on a Haunted Hill
From the battlefield of hell to a sanctuary of peace

I walked to the top of a hill once fortified by Japanese soldiers during the Guadalcanal campaign. Hundreds of bunkers and foxholes still scarred the summit, once bristling with enormous guns. This was one of the last major battles of the war—and, coincidentally, the same setting recreated for my dying scene in The Thin Red Line, filmed years earlier in Australia.

The Japanese soldiers who fought here were not villains. Like the Americans, they were mostly young men, far from home, bound by loyalty to country and to one another. They endured harsher conditions, with less food, water, and weaponry, and often chose to fight to the bitter end rather than surrender. Their determination, though directed against my countrymen, was something I couldn’t help but respect.

I climbed the hill alone one night, sitting atop a foxhole. The battlefield that had once been a vision of hell was now cloaked in absolute peace. The jungle was quiet, the air heavy with calm. Only the wind remained, whispering through the trees like the ghosts of the past still lingering in the dark.

Me in the same battlefields where I played a soldier that died 

Echoes of War on Gifu Ridge
Children, relics, and the somber reminders beneath the soil

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, I hiked up to Gifu Ridge. The hills here have always been poor in soil, covered in windswept grasslands, while the surrounding jungles climb into the jagged 10,000-foot mountains that form the island’s spine. I had hoped for peace and solitude at the top, but instead, I was trailed by a small entourage of children from a nearby village.

At first, I longed for quiet, but the kids quickly proved helpful. They began scouring the ground, proudly bringing me pieces of bombs, grenades, and bullet shells—the remnants of the brutal battles that once raged here. I realized that just beneath the thin skin of soil, the land was still littered with war. The ground itself seemed infused with fragments of history.

Among the relics, I picked up an American M1 bullet casing. As I held it in my hand, I couldn’t help but wonder: could this casing have once fired the shot that ended a Japanese soldier’s life? The thought hit me hard. Surrounded by playful children under a glowing sunset, it was sobering to imagine the hell this ridge had once been.

Village kids leading me into the battlefields at sunset

The kids brought me to this foxhole that they dug up and they showed me a slew of grenades some of them still live. On occasion villagers in the Solomons to this day are killed by undetonated WWII bombs and grenades that are stumbled upon in the fields and jungles. Needless to say I warned the kids not to play with these things.

Deep in the jungles outside of the grassy battlefields are caves where the Japanese hid during the war and some stayed well into the years after the war ended. In this cave 12 Japanese lived for 20 years after the war ended until they finally surrendered.

Hunting Wreckage in the Jungle
Tracing the story of a downed Wildcat pilot

The next day, the chief of another village, along with two local men, guided me across grassy hills and deep into the jungle. Our goal was to find the wreckage of an American Wildcat fighter plane, shot down by Japanese forces in 1942.

The story behind it was remarkable. The pilot had been on a bombing run against Japanese ships when his aircraft was struck by enemy fire. Wounded in the leg, he managed to eject and parachute into the jungle. For two long weeks, he crawled and crept through hostile territory, evading Japanese patrols while nursing his injury. Against all odds, he eventually found his way back to the American base—alive, though scarred by the ordeal.

Hiking with villagers to find a shot down American plane in the jungle 

Crawling through mud and memories of King Kong

From the open grasslands, we descended into the dense rainforest. The trail quickly gave way to mud, and soon we were crawling along the slippery banks of a river. Down here, the air felt heavier, and the ground seemed alive. Large, sinister-looking centipedes scuttled across the path, their armored bodies glistening in the dim light.

At one point, we had to squeeze through the hollow trunk of an enormous fallen tree. Inside, the scene was crawling with centipedes, their legs clicking against the wood. It instantly brought to mind the nightmarish insect scene from King Kong—the one with grotesque, man-eating bugs. For a moment, I half expected some monstrous jungle creature to lunge out of the darkness.

 The Chief first found the plane when he was 8 years old. His teeth are stained red from the Beetlenut that most Solomon Islanders have a crack like affection for.

The Wreckage Revealed
Fragments of a fallen Wildcat

After hours of pushing through mud and tangled undergrowth, we finally reached the site of the crash. The American Wildcat was no longer a single aircraft but a collection of scattered parts, torn apart not just by its wartime fall but by nature’s fury over the decades.

A flash flood from a recent typhoon had carried pieces of the wreck downstream, leaving the plane strewn along the banks of the river. Sections of fuselage lay half-buried in mud, twisted metal shining faintly beneath the moss and roots that had begun to reclaim it. The most striking piece was the engine—ripped clean from the frame and lying like a heavy relic beside the water, a silent monument to the violence of both war and nature.

Hiking with villagers to find a shot down American plane in the jungle 

The Wreck of the Bonegi 1
From war machine to thriving reef

All that remains of the Japanese WWII supply ship Bonegi 1 lies just offshore, within easy swimming distance of the beach where I camped. Toward the end of the Guadalcanal campaign, the Japanese attempted to resupply their soldiers on the island with fresh troops, weapons, and food. Almost all of those ships were intercepted and destroyed by the Americans. The Bonegi 1, however, was struck and sank just off this quiet stretch of coast.

Snorkeling out to the wreck was like entering another world. The ship, remarkably intact beneath the surface, has been transformed into an artificial reef. Vibrant corals now cover its steel bones, and schools of colorful reef fish dart through the openings that once held men and machinery. It was surreal to swim over a vessel that had once been part of such destruction, now reborn as a sanctuary for marine life.

Camping on the beach near a sunken Japanese WWII shipwreck 

Camping on a Historic Shoreline
Breakfast beside a naval graveyard

I camped on this quiet beach, lulled to sleep by the sound of waves that once carried the roar of war. In the morning, local fishermen paddled out in their dugout canoe and returned with fresh fish, which we cooked for breakfast.

It was hard to reconcile the serenity of the scene with the violent history beneath those waters. The sea before me had been the stage for one of the bloodiest naval battles in history. Hundreds of ships clashed here at close range, firing broadside like pirates, often just a few hundred feet apart. Today, the waters of Guadalcanal are a ship graveyard—silent, hidden, but forever marked by the chaos that once raged across their surface.

Camping on the beach near a sunken Japanese WWII shipwreck 

Camping on the beach near a sunken Japanese WWII shipwreck 

Camping on the beach near a sunken Japanese WWII shipwreck 

A bunch of local fishermen slept alongside this fire outside my tent. The fire went all night to keep the malaria mosquitoes away. Malaria, which killed more Americans in WWII on Guadalcanal than combat is still deadly here even today.

The Unsung Heroes of Guadalcanal
The sacrifices of Solomon Island guides

During my visit, I learned about the immense sacrifices the Solomon Islanders made during the war. One man in particular—Jacob Vouza—became a national hero. It’s said he was even given a room at the White House in gratitude for his service. Like many local guides, Jacob’s knowledge of the jungles was instrumental to the American victory.

While many islanders were captured and forced to guide the Japanese, they generally preferred working with the Americans, who treated them with dignity, provided supplies, and shared food. Jacob Vouza stood out above them all. He personally led U.S. forces through the jungle, helping them bypass Japanese positions, saving countless lives.

But his bravery came at a cost. Captured and brutally tortured by the Japanese, Jacob was ordered to betray American positions. He refused. Eventually, he escaped in the night, wounded but unbroken, and immediately returned to continue serving alongside the Marines. His courage symbolized the spirit of the Solomon Islanders’ contribution to the war effort.

A Personal Connection
From movie extra to unexpected recognition

To my surprise, some locals recognized me not as a traveler, but as someone who had appeared in The Thin Red Line. When they found out, they asked for photos and even autographs. It was a surreal twist, but also a reminder of how deeply the movie had resonated here, where the real battle had unfolded.

Visiting Guadalcanal became one of my favorite trips, not only because of the raw beauty of its jungles and historic battlefields, but also because I felt a genuine connection with the people and their history. My time as an extra in the film had come full circle, allowing me to better appreciate both the sacrifice of the islanders and the legacy of the war.

From Guadalcanal, I boarded a flight to Vanuatu, carrying with me the powerful memories of an island that felt both scarred and sacred.