First Rock of Great Corn Island: A Site of Memory and Origin
At the northernmost edge of Great Corn Island, where the Caribbean wind kisses the coastline and the sea now laps at what was once dry land, stands a fading sentinel of time: First Rock. Tucked into the shores of Henny Point, this formation of black volcanic stones—evidence of the islands’ ancient geological origin—holds a profound meaning for the community of North End. More than a landmark, First Rock is a sacred geography—a place where memory, ancestry, and quiet resistance have shaped its presence across generations.
Once standing high above the water, surrounded by open land some hundred metres from the sea, First Rock was a central gathering point for the children of North End. “We would jump from these rocks,” recalls long-time resident and historian Ella Jean Downs, “and have a bath in the sea.” The site offered joy and companionship—a playground fashioned not of metal and paint but of natural beauty and ancestral continuity. In Ella Jean’s memory, the rocks were taller, the land wider, and the ocean more distant. Time and tide, however, have reshaped the landscape. “Now the rocks are going down into the sand,” she says. “You see less and less of it.”
What remains above the surface continues to draw the community back, especially those with deep roots. Henny Point is named after Ella Jean’s great-grandmother, Henrietta—affectionately known as Auntie Henny. Ella recalls her grandmother, Emolin, Henrietta’s eldest child, telling her how her own grandmother, Elena Bowden Bryan, would take her by the hand to the rock. There, she would kneel beside it and gaze toward the horizon as the sun rose, giving thanks for the new day. These early morning pilgrimages to First Rock were a part of Elena’s daily routine. At sunrise, she would meditate by the stone—a place Ella describes as “a place of peace.” Decades later, during the quiet stillness of the COVID-19 pandemic, Ella found herself continuing this sacred practice.
Among the most striking features of the formation is a stone resembling a human foot—complete with carved toes, though one is now broken. “We don’t know who made them,” Ella says, “but we know they were handmade.” As children, they’d playfully measure their feet against the stone, a simple act that stitched their games to the weight of the past. To this day, these markings—and others like circles and impressions—remain visible, whispering of a time when the rocks may have held ceremonial or utilitarian significance.
These carvings offer more than mere curiosity. According to oral accounts passed down by local elders, one particular stone basin carved into the rock may be of Kukra origin. The Kukra Indians, believed to be the first inhabitants of the Corn Islands, are said to have used these features for grinding maize, preparing medicines, or creating herbal salves. Though driven from the islands long ago—some fleeing to the mainland areas now known as Kukra Hill and Kukra River—their imprint on the island endures in these weather-worn carvings. “It is said in a book,” Ella recalls, “that the last seen of them was going in two dories… five Indians… leaving.”
That blend of deep historical trace and everyday memory is what makes First Rock more than a natural formation—it is a layered archive. Archaeological value mingles with oral history and family lineage. To the untrained eye, it may appear as a group of seaside rocks, but to the people of North End, it is a witness. A witness to a people displaced, a childhood spent in laughter, and a place of spiritual refuge.
Its current condition—a symbol slowly succumbing to erosion—only strengthens the community’s desire to honour it while it remains. “It’s something very specific for us,” Ella affirms. “Especially my family, and the surrounding too. It was our playing ground. It was where we used to take photos, where we would sit down to chat, where we would laugh.”
As the sea inches closer, reclaiming land and slowly swallowing stone, the story of First Rock becomes all the more urgent. It reminds us that heritage is not only in monuments and textbooks—it lives in the rocks beneath our feet, in the stories we choose to remember, and in the quiet prayers spoken at sunrise.
First Rock may one day vanish from sight, but it will never vanish from the soul of Corn Island.
