Guaniland

The second part of our Galapagos odyssey took place almost entirely on and around Isabela, the largest of the islands and one that was entirely new to us, even the five who visited back in 1989.

Although it has a sizeable town at its southern end, much of Isabela is as remote and wild as the Galapagos gets.  It's 120km north to south, and our guide Tommy reminded us of the story of a group of Ecuadorian marines who decided to make the ~25km journey across as a training exercise.  They didn't tell anyone locally where they were going. So harsh were the volcanic landscape and the climate in the highlands that twelve of them died and the remains of five have still not been recovered (I've tried to find further discussion of this story online, but failed.  However it's entirely plausible, so I'll leave it here).

This wildness was abundantly evident in our first morning, as we took a zodiac ride along the base of huge tuff cliffs supported by volcanic dykes and punctuated at the north end by a perfect volcanic cinder cone.

Along the base of the cliffs we spotted the usual sea lions and marine iguanas.  We also got a look at the Galapagos’ endemic (and the world's only) flightless cormorant.  They're really almost fully adapted to life in the water, able to dive down to 70m in search of their food.  They're big fans of octopus, but going after such tough prey sometimes backfires and they sometimes end up being a meal themselves if they pick a target that's too big and strong.  They're obviously still competent on land as well. Their stubby wings are useless for flight, but are good enough balancing devices that we saw one shove a metre long marine iguana off a preferred roosting spot that the big lizard had occupied.

After the zodiac ride we returned to the same spot with masks, snorkels and fins to visit all ggof these animals, plus a few more in situ.  The cormorants looked so graceful and playful under water. Like the sealions on our previous trip, they took to playing with our snorkelling gear, nibbling on my nephew Dante's fins and trying to pluck my dad's mask out of his hands as he washed it.  My brother in law Greg saw one repeatedly grab hold of a pufferfish, only to be repeatedly forced to let go as the fish swelled to many times its normal size. Proof that the defence scheme works!

As beautiful as the surroundings and as fun as the cormorants were, the highlight was probably swimming in clear teal water inside a wide, high-naved sea cave with hundreds of fish all around and numerous Pacific green sea turtles gliding gracefully around us.  Just outside the cave they were even more numerous, with about twenty(!) sitting resting on the shallow bottom. Apparently this is a place of safety from the orcas and tiger sharks that prey on them out in the open ocean.

Across a narrow channel from Isabela lies the westernmost of the Galapagos, Floreana.  We spent the next morning cruising around the mangroves that had found a foothold at the edge of this newest Galapagos Island's lava flows.  We were up super early, and as a result had crystal clea, dead flat water for viewing more sea lions, sea turtles and an especially weird treat: Galapagos penguins bobbing next to and zipping beneath the mangroves.  Where else in the world could you possibly witness such a spectacle? (I think NZ is about as close as you could manage, but there's still about 800km from the northernmost spots frequented by little blue penguins and the southernmost mangroves).

We also did a little snorkelling just away from the mangroves.  It was nice, but absolutely paled in comparison to the spot we went to later in the day.

Our guide Tommy obviously saw that we really enjoyed our time in the water, so had asked the captain to take us to a spot he remembered from one of his first (out of hundreds!) tourist boat trips out away from his home on Santa Cruz Island.  We often had companion boats at the anchorage spots, but this time we were all alone.

From the surface the spot looked black and rugged, like many spots where the lava meets the sea.  But under water it was a whole other world. It was a series of narrow, shallow channels that connected larger, deeper pools in the lava.  The rocks were black and white and yellow and pink. It felt like swimming around a giant mansion, exploring its mysterious rooms and hallways.

The fish weren't quite as numerous as in some spots, but the sun was shining and the  water was crystal clear. The only impediment to vision was the fresh water that flowed through the porous lava into the ocean, sometimes blurring your view with its different refractive index.  In one spot, Tommy dove to the bottom and sipped pure fresh water that had a layer of saltwater floating above it.

I loved cruising around the nooks and crannies, wonderstruck each time a new bit of undersea magic was revealed.  Only to pop my head above water and see nothing more than dark rock with small, unremarkable bits of water around the outcrops.

The very best part was what we called the Turtle Bowl or the Turtlequarium.  Duck through a narrow channel no more than 50cm deep and suddenly you were in a circular pool 20m across and 8m down.  Inside were maybe a dozen sea turtles ranging from “little” ones maybe 60cm long to huge old monsters 1.5m from head to tail.  They lazed on the bottom, glided through the transparent water as though flying through the air and on several memorable occasions raced one another in loops around the bowl, showing off speed and agility that their size and usual calm behaviour belied.

I think we spent an hour and a half in the water there.  I could have spent all day. This was definitely the most memorable outing from the ship in our whole trip for me.

We had one last day  in the wild west of the islands.  We'd already seen plenty of marine iguanas.  But hadn't yet met any of their equally bulky landlubbing cousins.  And we hadn't yet seen any of (arguably) the islands’ most famous residents.  In maybe 45 minutes ashore we saw many goldenrod coloured land iguanas and four giant tortoises, one that had “parked” itself in a semi-subterranean “garage” so that you could only see its rear half, one that was parked in the middle of the trail, entirely undisturbed by a dozen humans strolling past a metre or two away, and two others that looked to be engaged in some sort of race (they're surprisingly quick when they want to be!)

That afternoon we went for a walk around Punta Morena, exploring a huge lava flow.  Despite being several hundred years old the rock was still viciously sharp and you most certainly didn't want to trip while walking amongst it.  The fascinating thing about this area was the small, green freshwater oases that dotted it where air pockets or sections of lava tube had collapsed.

In one of these improbable spots a huge, decades old conger eel lived, the big-fish, apex predator in a very small pond.  At another three flamingos (relatively new Galapagos migrants) swooped in for a visit, delighting my niece Gwen (whose middle name is Flamingo) and her brother Desmond.

We went for one final swim as we waited for the Panga to navigate its way into then small inlet in the bay to pick us up and take us back to the ship (via a quick tour of a point where huge marine iguanas and little penguins shared the space peacefully).

One final anchorage at a bay that has been used and graffitied by passing ships for over a century (there's a reliable fresh water source there).  A cruise around the bay, including a visit to (still!) more penguins and some blue footed boobies. And then it was time to head back towards (if not precisely TO) civilization.

And what better way to leave the wild west than over some wild seas? The swells weren't quite the 10m we'd had in the Drake Passage on the way to Antarctica, but like there, Sarah and I were the only ones up and about, while everyone else was seasick or tending to spouses or children who were.  We were likewise the only ones awake when we neared Puerto Villamil, two hours late because of the rough seas.