The Galapagos Islands – Take a Picture!

The animals of the Galapagos can only be described as… stupid.

During our eight-day circumnavigation of the islands we were constantly stepping over, through and around colonies of iguanas, sea lions, blue-footed boobies and a myriad of other odd creatures.

They paid not the least attention to our superior human existence. Silly creatures. But their lack of concern has an evolutionary foundation. In the Galapagos, fear of large terrestrial predators was not a pre-requisite to survival. There are few enemies on land. Endurance in this remote archipelago is dependent upon mining the nutrients of the sea and avoiding underwater perils. Land is safe haven.

So over millennia some birds have given up flying and taken to fishing. And, oddly, iguanas have learned to swim.

Warning: if you believe the world is only 6000 years old, read no further.

Flying into the Galapagos, 1000 kilometers west of the South American mainland, one’s first impression is of a barren and uninhabitable environment: ancient lava floes running toward the sea, a few scrubby bushes and the odd patch of cacti. Not the sort of place to expect a proliferation of life.

After passing quarantine – and being relieved of the prohibited fruit products we inadvertently brought to the islands – we were whisked to the Ocean Spray, our floating home for eight days.

This luxury catamaran has eight staterooms and houses 16 guests – a perfect size to accommodate intimate service but still foster camaraderie with one’s fellow flightless birds.

Harry Jimenez, our onboard naturalist, was a riot. Each morning at 7a.m. he’d announce in a baritone disc-jockey voice over the airwaves of the ship’s p.a. system:

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. This message is brought to you courtesy of Sea Spray radio. Welcome to the Galapagos Islands. Welcome to paradise. It’s a miracle… take a picture.”

And pictures did we take; by the hundreds. Of land, sky, water, terrestrial critters, sea critters, all day every day. And at night we’d download, view, edit – and delete. (An aside: a difficult but crucial task in photography is to rid one’s memory card of defective, still-borne loved-ones. Call it “survival of the focused”.)

I expected the Galapagos would consist of a few tiny islets separated by narrow ocean channels. But we sailed for eight full days just to visit five of the larger islands; three full days alone were dedicated to exploring the coast of Isabela.

Each evening we’d anchor in a remote pristine bay. In the morning we’d tender to shore by zodiac, hop onto land – and immediately be immersed in the ignorant island fauna.

At our feet creatures squawked, quarrelling over territory and protecting nest sites while their young called incessantly, demanding a salty meal. The Galapagos air harbours a constant ripeness, the overpowering smell of nostril-burning ammonia. Slippery whitewash is everywhere. One must tread cautiously or risk the embarrassment of a guano-clad derriere.

The entire archipelago is a National Park and the Ecuadorian people take conservation seriously. We were not permitted to set foot on land without Harry’s presence. We didn’t venture far inland on our walking tours. No need. Most of Galapagos’ life clings close to the sea.

I am an expert on seasickness – perhaps the most motion-challenged person to have survived long enough to reproduce. Aboard the catamaran, I rocked for all eight days, despite overdosing on the world’s most advanced medications (including Dicky Jewell’s New Zealand “bomb”).

My most nauseous moments occurred while sailing between islands. I stood, hour after hour, eyes glued to the floating horizon. It was small consolation that Charles Darwin, who turned the scientific tide against creationism, also felt ill during his sojourn in the Galapagos.

In his 19th century expeditions Darwin observed that the characteristics of some animals differed from island to island. The beaks of finches changed, depending on the nuts available in a particular locale.

Iguanas on Isabella were coloured differently from those on San Christobal. The flora was predominantly yellow on one island and red on the other. The luckier iguanas adapted hue and survived.

On Floreana food grows higher from the ground, so the giant land tortoises there grew longer necks.

These observations were the germ for Darwin’s eureka moment: natural selection favours creatures that evolve to survive in the unique, changing conditions presented by their environment.

“Lonesome George”, an iconic emblem of the Galapagos, is a sad example of evolution’s ambivalent attitude toward success or failure, life or death. George’s native island, Pinta, was decimated by man’s introduction of feral goats a century ago. The last tortoise of his species, George was brought to a breeding center in Santa Cruz in the hope he would mate with a related sub-species. Alas, he died in 2012, unable to pass on a thousand generations of evolutionary success. In a few decades clever mankind managed to destroy a unique habitat nature had taken a million years to fashion.

As for the Sea Spray. Our stateroom was large and luxurious. Our chef Juan Carlos prepared three remarkable feasts a day. (Based on his jolly demeanor – and girth – I surmise he happily enjoyed the leftover fruits of his own labour.)

Photographic evidence of our aboard-ship decadence would be nice but I can offer none – I was busy concentrating on keeping down Juan Carlos’s cookies and took no indoor pictures.

While my fellow guests cheerfully clinked wineglasses at dinner, happily recounting the day’s remarkable sightings, I gloomily stared out a porthole, careful not to release my gaze from the gurgling horizon, lest I bring up one of Juan-Carlos’s incredible seafood dishes. We all know that regurgitation is for the birds.

Our itinerary included snorkeling. I love the water. (Ironically, when I jump into the sea my queasiness abates). So I was overjoyed to learn that both land and water tours were offered at every mooring.

Situated smack dab on the equator, it seems improbable the Galapagos should be rich with Antarctic nutrients – a place where penguins frolic. The westerly islands of the Galapagos are – geologically speaking – the newest, less than a million years old. They face the deep, cold upwelling of the Humboldt Current, which brings nutrient-rich waters from Antarctica. So even with a full wetsuit, my extremities numbed after a half hour of wide-eyed exploration. Later in the trip as we circled eastward the waters grew warmer, a clear turquoise.

Harry was our constant, patient guide. He pointed our untrained eyes at the indiscernible. On shore, obscure birds flitting amongst trees, Nazcas nesting in nooks and perky boobies tucked in crevasses. Underwater, he showed us tiny sea horses anchored in swaying sea grasses, stingrays camouflaged in the sandy seafloor and remarkable inflating puffer fish.
It is unfair to compare what we saw on land with what the sub-surface offered but for me the underwater Galapagos experience was truly remarkable – alone worth the price of admission.

On our final day in the Caribbean-like warmth of Española’s waters, an insulating wetsuit was unnecessary. I was able to swim comfortably for three hours clad only in – dare I say it – a speedo.

Surrounded by gentle sea turtles, schools of colourful fish and curious sea lions, I felt at home, naturally selected for this place.

Gerry