San Cristobal

Adios Galapagos

/ Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Aeropuerto Seymour, Baltra, Galápagos Islands. 10.57.

What an incredible week it’s been! But like all good things, it’s finally come to an end. I’ve made it back to Baltra, not too far from where I was yesterday, and I have a good few hours until my flight departs – the last one of the day. I could have dawdled in Puerto Ayora, but if there’s one thing solo travel has taught me, it’s not to chance the final day, especially when you’re navigating to a place you haven’t been.

Getting to the airport was a cinch. The flat rate for a taxi to the Itabaca Channel is $30, which is per cab, not per head, but as I’m traveling solo, there wasn’t much of a chance of splitting it – and it’s not too much of a price to pay in any event. After that, a single dollar pays your fare across the channel (just get in line under the shelter) and then it’s another $5 for the bus to the airport (which seems non-negotiable – I don’t think you’re allowed to walk it).

All-in, the journey takes about an hour. It’s a pretty small airport, but there are a few shops where you can buy last-minute souvenirs, some snacks for the journey, or grab some final photos of the finches and reptiles that live around the airport. There’s at least one land iguana prowling around that you might see if you’re lucky.

While I’m waiting, I thought I’d run down my ranking for the things I’ve done on this trip, in case you ever consider the same:

✩✩✩✩✩ Punta Pitt ($240)

Easily the best trip on this tour and a very good substitute for Española’s Punta Suarez. Incredible views of all three species of booby, shearwaters, petrels and storm-petrels galore and a superb guide in Samuel Quiroz.

✩✩✩✩ Puerto Baquerizo Moreno (Free)

San Cristobal’s only town is genuinely one of the best places for close encounters with animals of all kinds. Mockingbirds, sea lions, finches, lava herons, noddies, pelicans, iguanas and crabs abound, and I’ve seen both turtles and sharks without even having to leave town. I can’t think of anywhere quite like it.

✩✩✩ North Seymour ($260)

The best destination for observing frigatebirds and land iguanas in the Galapagos for sure. They also chuck in a visit to Playa Las Bachas for flamingoes, turtles and ghost crabs. The only reason it’s not higher on my list was because of the timing. It would probably be near the top spot if we hadn’t gone in the middle of the day.

✩✩ Galapagos Frontier ($35)

A superb spot for seeing the famous giant tortoises, so close to Puerto Ayora that you could get there on foot if you wanted to. The $35 tour doesn’t include the taxi fare there and back ($25) which is worth considering, and holds this back a spot or two.

✩ Kicker Rock ($150)

One of the best diving spots in the world – but perhaps not as legendary for snorkeling. $150 seems a bit steep to see a few fish that you could find just as easily by snorkelling off Cerro Tijeretas, but there are tropicbirds to be seen here, and the turtles at Playa Manglecito more than made up for the snorkeling at the rock itself.

Pouring one out for the trip that never was: Punta Suarez on Isla Española. I’d have sacrificed both Punta Pitt and North Seymour to make that trip happen, but thanks to a malfunction with my tour operator’s onboard motor, it was not to be. At least I got my refund. When I think about it, $260 is a bit steep to see an albatross I’ve already seen, a third species of mockingbird and a shiny version of the marine iguanas – but then, none of the tours on the Galapagos are cheap. It’s set up to be a once-in-a-lifetime sort of destination, so people come here with cash to burn.

I’ll have to find some other way and some other place to see nesting albatrosses. This can’t be the only place in the world. I’m sure we’ll meet again somewhere, someday.

Readjusting to life at home is going to take some time after all of this. It’s been one wildlife spectacular after another this year in an almost unbroken line since my spontaneous trip to Peru in March. It’s been incredible falling back in love with the wild again. I don’t feel so lonely anymore and my general sense of happiness has gone through the roof. How can you be anything but happy when you’re surrounded by nature? I can’t recommend it enough. It’s the perfect antidote to the political and technological nightmare within which we find ourselves these days.

Whatever the problem, you will always find the answer in nature. I firmly believe that.

In total, I’ve spent just shy of $700 on trips and tours. That’s significantly less than I expected, and ridiculously cheaper than taking the liveaboard cruise option which starts at around $3.000. Traveling the Galapagos by yourself absolutely can be done, but if you’re giving it some thought, here’s my advice:

  • Do inquire about timings of trips and tours if you can, as these do somewhat dictate the success of your tours. Morning hikes are better than afternoon hikes.
  • Keep an eye out for guides with a III insignia under their badges on their left sleeves – these are park scientists and will be genuine fountains of information.
  • Be patient with the weather in August. The garúa rain can be disheartening in the morning, but it invariably clears by midday.
  • Always carry single dollars in paper or coin – you’ll need these more than you think for ferries, launches and helping restaurant staff to break down larger bills.
  • Don’t trust the prices on the packaging in the mini markets – stuff invariably costs more than what it says because of the cost of importing goods onto the islands.
  • Share and share alike! Not everybody brings a camera to the islands, so offer to share any photos you take with people on your trip so they can take away some magical memories! I’ve been asked at least three times so there’s clearly a demand for it.
  • You really don’t need to speak Spanish here as these islands live off the tourist trade, but if you can, please do – it goes such a long way with the locals.

Not too much longer to wait now. I might go and find something to eat. It’s going to be a long and probably rather sleepless night! BB x

Flow State

/ Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, Galápagos Islands. 18.55.

I could have sworn that it crossed my mind when I was packing for Chile that I might want to take my GoPro. It would have very easily fit inside my suitcase. It’s not as though I overpacked, by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, I almost certainly underpacked. Well, it can’t be helped – how was I to know that my last South American adventure of the summer would take me snorkelling, when Chile was (and still is) in the grip of winter?

Long story short, I really, really, really wish I’d had it on me today. But I didn’t. So I’ve done my best to make up for it with the trusty Nikon. I hope you enjoy!

Today’s expedition took me out to León Dormido, more commonly known as Kicker Rock. I’ll be honest, of all the Galápagos day tours available, this one was not on my list. It probably should have been, as it’s one of the most spectacular places in the world to go snorkeling, or so they say. Knowing what I know now – which is that the discount I had from my guide was considerable, compared to the other guests – I’m glad I signed on for a last minute slot.

I rocked up early to the marina, as instructed, but sometimes I forget that this is South America. A 7.45am meet turned into a 9.15am departure, so I had plenty of time to photograph the sea lions, which never fail to disappoint, no matter how accustomed one becomes to their presence here.

We had an afternoon slot for León Dormido, so Samuel took us to a sanctuary beach within eyesight of the rock known as Playa El Manglecito. When we arrived, there was hardly any wind at all – just the waves lapping upon a white sand beach. The surface of the water was only broken once in the distance by a mobula ray leaping into the air and disappearing into the endless blue. With the possible exception of Finisterre, this is probably the first true white sand beach I’ve ever seen, and boy did it live up to the hype!

I considered snorkelling with the others, but it only took a few seconds in the water to realise that something was wrong. My mask filled with seawater almost immediately, stinging my eyes and forcing me to my feet early. A small tear where the straps met the rubber seal of the mask was the culprit – something I confess I hadn’t spotted when I checked the mask last night. So I shrugged, got back out and went for a walk along the beach.

There was plenty to keep me occupied. The molten scrub beyond the shore was alive with little things: finches, warblers and colourful lava lizards. Of course, there’s always a sea lion about too, and since it was so curious about us, I couldn’t help but indulge it as well.

Indigo and her mother, a couple of experienced divers from the UK, told me I had to go back in the water: they had seen as many as fourteen turtles in the bay. I told them about my mask and Indigo lent me hers. I’m past the stage of my life where I’d awkwardly turn such an offer down out of affected politeness – and I really did want to see a turtle.

It took me a little while to find them. I swam across half the bay at first, thinking they might be sheltering on the far side, only to nearly collide with one of the giants as I returned to the shore.

Oh, if only I’d had the GoPro – the things I could have shown you! Green turtles are simply enormous. So much bigger than I expected. I think I assumed all turtles but the giant leatherbacks were around the size of an Olive Ridley, but these green turtles can grow to five feet in length. The largest of the turtles in the bay must have been that size or close to: he was busy gnawing algae from the rocks and paid me no attention whatsoever, though I can only have been a metre or so away when the waves hurled me in his direction.

I didn’t linger as I didn’t want to cause them any undue stress. They didn’t seem at all bothered by my presence, but turtles are endangered enough as it is, so I spent a few minutes in total awe, watching them feed and fly through the water on those evolutionarily perfect flippers, before pushing off back toward the shore.

Our divemaster Jesús called the three divers back to the boat, but the rest of us – me, a Brazilian-American and a mother and son from Austria – had another half hour to enjoy the beach. Naturally, I’d surrendered the working snorkel back to Indigo, but I figured I could at least have a go at capturing the turtles on camera, albeit from above.

The trouble with turtles is that they are perfectly adapted to life underwater, and do not need to come up for air as readily as other animals. When inactive, such as when they need to sleep, they can submerge for an astonishing seven hours without needing to breathe. Even when they’re awake, they can still hold their breath for thirty minutes or more if they need to – and when they do pop up for a breath, it only lasts a couple of seconds until they dive back down again.

All this is to say that photographing a turtle out of the water is a very difficult challenge. But I had half an hour and nothing better to do, so I took a stakeout. It was almost impossible at first, but when a couple of them decided to cross the bay and swim out of the dark reef and over the white sand, the job was suddenly made a lot easier. All I had to do was to track the shadows.

The calm sea that carried us gently into the bay had been whipped up into a fierce swell by the wind, which made the job even harder, but I managed a few half decent photos as the first one made its way across the bay.

Looking at a turtle is beholding one of the greatest survivors on Earth. These incredible reptiles have been around since the time of the earliest dinosaurs in the early Triassic, some 230 million years ago, and two mass extinctions, as well as a host of other destructive factors – including our depraved taste for their meat and shells – have not been able to rid the planet of these mighty success stories. It was a real privilege to see them so close.

I’ll be honest. After that incredible encounter, the snorkelling at León Dormido was… a bit of a letdown. Kicker Rock is a world-famous diving location, where entire schools of hammerhead sharks, eagle rays and even mantas can be seen. Naturally, snorkelling is a bit more restrictive, doubling your time but limiting your exploration to the surface. I was lucky that they had a spare mask, so I could see underwater without any difficulty this time.

We saw parrotfish, triggerfish and rainbow wrasse and a few impressive sea stars clinging to the wall of the rock, but beyond that, the most memorable encounter was the enormous salp swarm we found ourselves in. Every single movement of my hands was surrounded by a swirling cloud of reddish gelatinous organisms that looked like drawings of cells from my old biology textbooks. The sun must have drawn them all up to the surface from deeper, darker waters below, beyond the deep blue beneath my feet where the blades of sunlight fail to penetrate.

I’ve never snorkelled in open water before, so I think I was much more accustomed to being able to stop and breathe normally more often than I feasibly could with the seafloor more than 130 feet below. It took me a while to master breathing through the snorkel, and even once I’d lost my nerves about breathing through a tube, seawater still managed to get into my nose and up and into my oesophagus. After about twenty minutes it felt as though my throat was on fire with all the ingested salt, which probably didn’t help with my state of mind. It was only when I was distracted by the playful antics of the attendant sea lions or a particularly interesting fish that I didn’t think of the discomfort I was in.

The divers said they’d seen it all: reef sharks, hammerheads, eagle rays and barracuda and all the rest. They were all much, much lower down. I didn’t begrudge them for it – that’s what they trained for, after all. It was a good reminder, however, that my gut was right all along: snorkeling isn’t really my cup of tea, compared to, say, a two-hour hike. In that sense, I haven’t changed much since my school years: I know what I’m good at and I do it often enough to consider it mastered. I’m open to new experiences, but given the choice between snorkeling and hiking some other time, I might think again next time.

Unless, of course, I’ve got my GoPro on me. Or I’ve shaved (which may or may not have had an impact on the water getting into my nose).

Fortunately, there was one resident of León Dormido which had eluded me so far, and it was a creature I’d been hoping to see since I got here: a tropicbird. These angelic creatures are shy seabirds, nesting deep within the cliffs in hard-to-reach places, and – at least here – usually fly in pairs. Bloody hell, but they’re hard to catch, moving tremendously fast in wide circles against a bright blue sky, but after much trial and effort I finally caught one.

The return journey was a very bumpy ride. We’d been sheltered from the wind and waves on the east side of Kicker Rock, but had to cross a raging sea to get back to port. In spite of myself, I caught myself dozing off, which you’d think would be hard in a boat that keeps landing with a jolt and a hard splash after cresting every wave, but there’s something about afternoon journeys after a long day’s expedition that renders you terribly susceptible to fatigue, whatever the circumstances. I wrapped the strap of my camera as tightly around my arms as it would allow, just in case.

Samuel’s contact did finally offer me a trip to Española, the Impossible Island, but for tomorrow. Sadly, I neither have the budget nor the time: Punta Pitt and Kicker Rock between them cost what Española would have been, and besides, I have an early departure tomorrow for Santa Cruz, the second of the two islands on my Galápagos adventure.

I’ve been on the islands for four days and I still haven’t seen the giant tortoises that they were named for. That will change on Santa Cruz. It’s time to bring this adventure to a close in style – and, hopefully, add a couple more species to the roster in the process. Santa Cruz, here we come! BB x

Flippers, Fins and Feathers

/ Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, Galápagos Islands. 20.40.

The days here on the islands are falling into a sort of rhythm. Morning brings a slow and dark sunrise through the garúa, followed by spells of gentle rain falling on the roof over my head. The clouds hug the island for most of the morning, until the sun burns through them all shortly after one o’clock, which allows for a spell of humid sunshine until the clouds swallow up the sun once again before sunset.

August is – it should be said – definitely not the sunniest time of the year here in the Galapagos. Come to think of it, nowhere in South America seems to be, whenever I’m passing through. In fact, of the fifty-six days I’ve spent in South America this year, just under half have been washed out with rain. That could just be bad luck – I have been to each destination in its “off season”, which does usually coincide with the rainy season – but it could equally be an anomaly. Chile, for one, does not usually get as much rain as it did this winter.

It’s not so bad here, though. It doesn’t come down in buckets like it did in Chile and the Peruvian Amazon, and it does have the added perk of keeping the beaches and trails free of day-trippers, most of whom hole up in their hotels during the rain.

After a fake-out from the sun this morning (which was only briefly with us before the rain clouds returned) I set out up the Tijeretas trail to the cove I’d seen the other day. It was, predictably, almost deserted: just one other swimmer was there, the same one I saw when I scouted out the trail a few days ago, doing lengths of the bay.

I didn’t have a rental GoPro on me this time. Not that it really matters – some things are best remembered by memory alone. All the advice online had said the water would be much too cold to go in without a wetsuit. I suppose that advice was targeted at Americans, specifically the ones from Florida, where the daily temperature is a lot warmer. As an Englishman who has swum in the shores of the English Channel more than once, I found the water around San Cristóbal to be blissfully warm. I could have been in there for hours.

Here, as everywhere, I was joined in both land and sea by the sea lions. They really are everywhere on these islands, but they properly come into their own underwater, where their powerful flippers help them to fly through the water like birds in the air. At least twice during my swim I was nearly clipped by one that appeared out of nowhere, shimmering like gold in the grey water.

As for the rest of the world beneath the waves… where do I even begin? Butterflyfish and parrotfish, sergeant majors and surgeonfish, hogfish and hawkfish… all as wildly named and widely colourful as a Dr Seuss book. Like so many who come to the Galápagos, no doubt, I was especially captivated by the impressive king angelfish, one of the larger species you can find close to the shore, its dark body lined with an almost iridescent electric blue, complete with a smart shoulder stripe and a tail as yellow as a flame. What must Darwin and his men have thought when they saw these oceans full of living jewels on their voyage here, nearly two hundred years ago?

Speaking of Darwin, after I’d done a full length of the bay and dried off, I took my time heading back to my cabin so that I could linger in the forest. Mangrove warblers are just about everywhere, but it’s Darwin’s finches that are the real celebrities. Both species of ground finch are fairly easy to spot: small and medium. About as creatively named as a Starbucks order, they are at least easy to tell apart by the size of their bills.

Small ground finch (male), Cerro Tijeretas.
Medium ground finch (female), Cerro Tijeretas.

I had lunch for $6 at a really lovely local joint in town, el Rincón de Sebas. I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday, so the bowl of steaming hot shrimp soup and the breaded fish were nothing short of heavenly. I’m not really the dieting type, but there is something to be said for delayed gratification.

I waited out the hottest part of the day in the cabin, wrestling unsuccessfully with the dry weeds that festooned one of my tops which gel from the balcony where it was drying into the rocks below. Whatever plant it was, it’s like no weed I’ve ever encountered before. Short of a professional roller, that burdock-like debris isn’t coming off easily, so I’ve had to admit defeat for the time being. Fortunately, it’s not exactly long-sleeved weather up here.

After negotiating tomorrow’s plan with Samuel, my guide from the other day, I opted for his discounted trip to León Dormido, also known as Kicker Rock. There was still a chance I could hold out for a possible opening on Española’s Punta Suárez, but that particular adventure has become synonymous with frustration on this trip, to the point where I have christened the place “Impossible Island”. Even if it were to appear now, I would be faced with paying double the price of the alternative – which, when you consider it would cost more than a one way flight to Peru from London, massively puts it into perspective.

Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll diversify my options and spend a day with the fish.

There’s always something to see in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno’s harbour, so I took my camera with me on my way into town to collect my snorkelling gear. Sure enough, the manglar and its connecting channel near the Ecuadorean naval base was a wildlife magnet, so there was much to see here. The local noddies were pestering a young pelican that was fishing in the bay. One of them continually tried to land on its head, doubtless hoping to snatch anything the giant caught before it went straight down the bird’s gullet.

A couple of boobies were drawing a small crowd – not the American family watching them (/their smartphones) but the flies around their heads. I’ve noticed that these gnats seem to pester the iguanas quite a bit, so naturally a larger and more warm-blooded creature such as a booby would make for a better target.

The oldest of the pelicans was avoiding the problem by simply burying its face between its wings. It kept one eye open, languidly watching the world go by. I didn’t get to see this particularly impressive specimen in full breeding plumage, because it took off and left while I was distracted by something else.

That something else was just a glimpse, but enough to be sure of what I was seeing: the tip of the dorsal fin of a shark. They don’t usually come this far into the shallows, so I was surprised to see the familiar Jaws-esque fin break the surface, putting the local sea lions on edge.

The channel that runs alongside the road is a heron magnet. All three species of San Cristóbal’s small herons can be found here: yellow-crowned night heron, striated heron and lava heron. The sunbathing night heron from the other day was here, but I was more intrigued by the scruffy-looking youngsters hanging around the rocks. Head-on, they are remarkably frog-like in their appearance.

The striated heron – the same one that can be found across the Americas – is a lot like the endemic lava heron, only a lot more patterned. I tested out the camera’s dynamic range options with this one as it hunted in the shallows. I’m still learning as a photographer, but if I can get to the stage where my photos aren’t so blurry anymore, I’ll be a happy man.

One photo I am particularly happy with is this one. The lava herons are really hard to shoot as they are fundamentally dark birds that haunt a dark and rocky background, making conditions difficult. Fortunately, they’re a lot less active than the finches or shearwaters who have been giving me the run-around, so I had time to frame this one nicely.

Tomorrow is a day in the water. I hope the weather is kinder. Who knows what we will find in the legendary depths of Kicker Rock? Another shark would be nice, but I’d settle for a turtle or ray. BB x

Show Me Your Boobies

/ Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, Galápagos Islands. 18.45.

At the time of writing, I still haven’t heard back from the folks at EcoChallenger about the trip to Española. They did say they’d had engine troubles last week and would provide me with a full refund if they couldn’t go ahead, but also that they would keep me informed. I sent a chaser to see if if they’d fixed their boat, but no luck.

So, rather than feeling glum about it, I found an alternative tour for today out to the other side of the island: Punta Pitt, the easternmost point of the Galápagos. Here, with any luck, I might be able to recreate at least some of what I would have found out on Española.

I picked up my snorkel gear from the Kingfisher GPS agency and walked back to the marina to meet my guide. Traveling with me today were a lesbian couple from California, a couple of American missionaries, their sister and her three children and a shy Australian birder. We were due to have one more on the team, but they never showed up – but at least while we waited I had time to get a better shot of the noddy sitting in the harbour, in the same place I saw it yesterday.

The journey to Punta Pitt from Puerto Baquerizo Moreno takes you all the way along the north coast of the island, and after passing the lighthouse at Punta Carola, it’s nothing but volcanic rock on one side and the open ocean on the other. Kicker Rock looms in the distance – a freestanding volcanic cliff famous for being the haunt of hammerhead sharks in the right season – but that wasn’t part of our itinerary, so we sailed on past. Beyond Kicker Rock, some of the Galapagos’ pelagic birds picked up our trail and followed the boat: Galapagos petrels, Galapagos shearwaters and two kinds of storm-petrel native to these waters.

I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if it did exist, I should love to come back as a shearwater. The speed with which they race across the water, seemingly delighting in the thrill of it… it’s magical to watch, even if they are in a mad hurry to find enough food to raise their chicks, sequestered in some burrow near or far away.

I was so busy keeping an eye out for seabirds that at least once I saw something else with wings leaping from the water: a flying fish, recently arrived in these islands, and just in time for the breeding season.

The weather looked unpredictable but the sea itself was a bit easier to read, so when we reached Islote Pitt, I made the decision not to enter the water. Sure, it was a waste of $30 on the rental GoPro, but I know I made the right call. Even the guide upon his return admitted grimly that the conditions were awful. The water was cold, choppy in the extreme and visibility was limited to about 10cm. Those that did take a dip said they’d managed to see a couple of sergeant majors, but that was about it. The qualified divers had a bit more luck with some eagle rays, but even they confessed that it was a hard and relatively fruitless dive.

I, on the other hand, was having a whale of a time. Islote Pitt is home to a ridiculous quantity of endemic species, including both Elliot’s and wedge-tailed storm-petrels, Galápagos shearwaters and swallow-tailed gulls – the only nocturnal gulls in the world. I’m used to seeing storm-petrels at a distance, zooming across the surface of the open ocean and next to impossible to track with a camera, but I’ve never seen a colony before.

I’ve seen a lot of South American gulls on this trip: kelp gulls, dolphin gulls, grey gulls and lava gulls, to be precise. But swallow-tailed gulls are really rather special. Whether it’s their white wings and silver mantle, or the smart red ring around their eyes, or even their eerily haunting cry, they’re simply unlike any other gull I’ve ever seen.

Punta Pitt’s major claim to fame (as well as the explanation behind the title) is that it is the only place in the Galápagos Islands where all three species of booby can be found together. Each one nests in a different spot: blue-footed boobies on the ground, red-footed boobies in the trees and Nazca boobies on the cliffs.

The Nazca boobies at Punta Pitt itself nest on a cliff some distance from the path at the point itself, so your best views would be at Islote Pitt, which is home to an enormous colony of the handsome seabird, alongside the frigatebirds, swallow-tailed gulls and a legion of storm petrels.

The hike up into the cliffs from the cove at Punta Pitt takes you deep into the volcanic coastline, up a tree-lined gully that becomes a torrent in times of severe rainfall. You’ll encounter the most famous residents of Punta Pitt, the rare red-footed boobies, shortly before climbing the pass over to the other side: they’re hard to miss, as they nest right next to the path.

Boobies get their bright-coloured feet from their choice of diet, which seems to be an evolutionary choice in the race to find a mate. Red-footed boobies primarily hunt squid and flying fish, both rich in carotenoids, which gives them their red colouring; blue-footed boobies are after the same nutrients, but their choice of catch – sardines – gives them a wholly different colouration. The brighter the feet, the more successful the bird is at finding a mate.

In August, the breeding season is already well under way, with some early partners already feeding large fluffy chicks. Others are still taking it in turns to incubate their eggs, with one partner flying in from a morning’s hunting to relieve the other on the nest.

For once, I was with a really respectful group of tourists. Once they worked out that the birds don’t like being approached too closely, they asked if we could keep our distance and move on so as not to disturb the birds further. Music to my ears!

Sometimes you didn’t have much choice but to be close, as their choice of nests catch you by surprise, in a scrape beside the path or tucked away in a tree in the middle of the road.

They’re not the only iconic Galápagos residents that breed at Punta Pitt. The enormous frigatebirds can be found here too, looking even more fluffy than the boobies, albeit at least twice the size.

Frigatebirds are absolutely enormous – you won’t truly appreciate just how big they are until you see them for yourself. Using their swallow-like forked tail as a rudder, opening and closing their streamers to steer in the wind, they are masters of the air, perfectly designed for outspeeding the boobies and robbing them of their fish, which I have been lucky enough to witness.

I also saw a beautiful angel of a seabird here: a red-billed tropicbird, all white with long streamers and a bright red bill. They’re small – tern size at best – and nest in crevices in the cliffs that are impossible to reach, so you won’t see them as well as the other denizens of Punta Pitt, but it was quite a sight to see as it set out to sea to go fishing.

The red-footed boobies come in two colours: a white morph – more common in the western Pacific – and a coffee-coloured brown morph which is more easily found here in the Galapagos. The two morphs are totally interchangeable and cross-breed from time to time: for the ladies, it’s not about the colour of their feathers but the brightness of their feet.

After a solid two hour hike up into the cliffs, we left the boobies and their ramshackle nests and climbed back down to the beach where we landed. While the captain’s boy ferried us back to the boat on a small skiff, the local sea lion alpha was busy defending his territory, chasing off a rival male that had just arrived on the beach.

I overheard a family of Americans in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno watching the sea lions lazing around the port and saying how easy life must be for them. For the dominant male, it couldn’t be further from the truth. From the moment he assumed command, he cannot hunt, eat or sleep, patrolling his territory constantly and fighting off suitors as they come. This is, of course, extremely debilitating, leaving them physically weakened after nearly a month without food, but there are cases of individual alpha males returning to reclaim their harem up to three times in a single season. So when you hear the endless barking that is such a part of the soundscape of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, remember how long it might have been since the males have been able to eat. For sea lions, the urge to mate simply outweighs all other options on the table, including eating and sleeping.

The boat ride back to Puerto Baquerizo takes a lot less time as you ride the fast-moving current back, shaving a whole hour off the journey. In the middle of the day, there’s not as much to see either, so most of my companions fell asleep, aided by those curious neck-braces with built-in fans that I saw some colleagues wearing back home during the June heatwave.

Samuel, our guide, was keen to know how long I’d be here. I told him how last minute this whole operation was, and that I’d more or less given up on Española with no news from the folks at EcoChallenger. He said he’d ask around – after all, it’s not the agencies here that conduct the tours but rather the guides and their attendant boatmen. The agencies merely act as middlemen, sending a certain quota to the actual operators down in the harbour. So who knows? Maybe I’ll get to go to Española after all. either way, I’m glad I opted for Punta Pitt – it was absolutely incredible.

I’ll get an early night and have a quieter day tomorrow. I could do with some time to put the snorkeling mask to good use. I hear the bay where I saw the turtles is an almost guaranteed spot to see them year-round, so I think I’ll go there first if the weather is kind. It’s usually rainy and cloudy in the mornings and then sunny in the afternoons here, which is an easy enough pattern to follow.

See you next time! BB x

In Darwin’s Footsteps

/ Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, Galápagos Islands. 04.57.

I woke up to the sound of the waves this morning. Well, I suppose morning is a stretch, since the clock on my bedside table said ten past four. I must have passed out around eight last night, beaten down by the lack of sleep on the plane and lulled into a Pacific lullaby by the sea. I can think of worse ways to spend a summer.

The garúa rolled in off the mainland last night, bringing with it relieving cloud and gentle rain. A passing shower came and went a few minutes back, but now it’s just the tap-tap sound of the lingering raindrops falling onto the roof of my cabin from the giant daisy tree.

There’s no point going back to sleep now, so I’ll spend some time writing up yesterday’s account of my first day on San Cristóbal.

The magic begins as soon as you’ve left the airport. Technically before, I suppose, since I could see the sharp-angled silhouettes of the island’s frigatebirds well before we landed. Outside the terminal, it’s a ten minute walk to the centre of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, the largest settlement on San Cristóbal.

Three of Darwin’s keys can be found right next to the terminal building: small and medium ground finches, of evolutionary fame, and one of the island’s endemic species, the San Cristóbal mockingbird. It’s this last that’s especially important, as Darwin didn’t realise the significance of the finches until after he’d departed from the islands, but he did notice that the mockingbirds on each island were different in some way.

Like so many creatures on these islands, they are completely unfazed by the presence of man. They have a funny way of walking, with their cocked tail wagging from side to side. If I were a scientist, I might have called them metronomebirds for this singularly odd gait.

Most of the other travellers piled into taxis outside the terminal, which seemed a bit ridiculous, given just how close the town is to the airport, but I guess some habits die hard. I was quite happy pottering about with the ground finches. It’s not often you get to spend time with a species that literally changed the way we think about our place in the world.

The first thing you notice is the sea lions. They are absolutely everywhere. If you can’t see them, you can certainly hear them: that cartoonist arf arf arf you associate with children’s TV carries for quite some distance.

They don’t stick to the beach, either. A large number of them seek out shadier spots on the seafront parade, dozing quite carelessly on roads, park benches and boardwalks. It’s pupping season, so there’s no shortage of pups in varying stages of development sticking close to their mothers. I’d suggest giving them a wide berth – you never know where the bull might be.

In this case, I did know where the bull was – because he was announcing his presence every minute or so with that barking call, as though to remind everyone in the vicinity that the harem on the beach was his and his alone. Which, I suppose, is close to the truth.

You can tell the bulls apart from their size – nearly a third larger than the females – and the significant boss on their heads. I also hadn’t noticed before the claws in their flippers, but you can get so close to the great sea beasts here on the islands that there’s hardly a detail that will pass you by.

I had to wait a little while before checking in to my cabin on the edge of town, just a stone’s throw from Playa Mann. At a glance, there seem to be a lot of people who come to these islands for the beaches. To a dyed-in-the-wool naturalist like me, that does somewhat feel like going to the Serengeti for a tan, but I’m far too happy to judge. Who could possibly turn away from a chance to see these spectacular islands, given the chance?

I took myself straight back down to the sea once I’d checked in and found two more Galápagos specialities almost immediately. I’ve been mad about Sally Lightfoot crabs since they turned up in a wildlife spotting book I won as a prize for a sunflower growing competition when I was a kid. We have crabs in the British isles, of course, but none nearly so colourful as the Sally Lightfoot. They’re everywhere here, ranging from dark green to sunset red, hugging the molten rocks along the surf line and leaping between boulders with surprising agility.

The other specialty is a real treasure of the Galápagos, arguably as iconic as the giant tortoises that gave the islands their name. Marine iguanas, a short-faced ocean-going variant of the green giants found on the mainland, are often described as “ugly”, perhaps on account of Darwin’s first description of the creatures. Certainly, their patchy salt-washed skin and snub faces make them strange-looking beasts, and they’re not nearly as active as the sea lions as they soak up the sun on the beachfront, but they are tremendously interesting creatures.

Around midday, it gets rather hot here on San Cristóbal. Not unbearably so, but the humidity doesn’t help. I found a night heron sheltering from the heat in the shadow of the rocks earlier, and when I returned, it was sunning itself in a posture I haven’t seen in herons before.

A smaller heron was lurking among the boulders nearby: a lava heron, an island variant of the striated heron that can be found all the way up and down the coasts of the Americas. It was mesmerised by the dragonflies hawking over the beach, tilting its sharp beak and golden eyes every time one came close. I didn’t stick around long enough to see if it caught one.

After sorting out my snorkel gear for tomorrow’s expedition to Punta Pitt, I made for Cerro Tijeretas, a promontory to the north of town known as Frigatebird Hill. I passed a large Dutch contingent and a couple of Germans looking for a mockingbird, but other than that, I had the trail pretty much to myself. The Galápagos aren’t like Manu – you aren’t going to be tripping over a new species every few steps – but the encounters you do have with the island natives are more than a match in their total lack of fear. I found a Galápagos flycatcher hunting by the boardwalk and spent most of the afternoon followed by warblers.

From the top of the hill, you get a spectacular view out across the island to the east, all the way to the cliffs of Punta Pitt. The bay beneath Cerro Tijeretas seems to be a popular snorkelling spot, and I can see why. One shape drifting in the water seemed to the naked eye to be too compact to be human, but too mobile to be a rock, so I turned my lens on it to confirm my suspicions: a green turtle, one of a number that can be found around these islands. I’ve brought my own snorkelling mask so I’ll have to check this place out sometime, when it’s quieter, maybe.

I didn’t make it as far as Playa Baquerizo, which really is a proper hike from town, across several kilometres of molten rock and daisy trees, so I’ll have to check it out later. Instead, I perched myself on a boulder and watched the sunset in a beach I had to myself. Noddies dancing across the surface of the water. Boobies hunting offshore. Frigatebirds wheeling above the bay on those vast black wings. This really is a paradise like few others. I hope for the islands’ sake it remains that way.

It’s nearly seven o’clock. It’s light now, and the island is covered by a merciful blanket of cloud. There are birds called outside but Merlin is struggling to identify them. That may have something to do with the generator that keeps clicking and whirring noisily outside. I’d better have a quick shower and then head out. I’ve rented a GoPro for today’s snorkelling adventures, but there’s also likely to be a heck of a lot to see at Punta Pitt itself, so watch this space! BB x