Las Islas Encantadas

You can see how it happened. In fairness, it had been a pretty big week for God. He'd knocked a whole world together, got the garden looking just right, and even thrown in a few animals just to pretty the place up a bit. Things we're looking really good, he'd just have to put in a few hours on the weekend to add the final touches.

Saturday night rolled round and well, it was Man's birthday after all. He had to go out and have a few beers to celebrate, it would´ve been rude not to. After a few quiet ones they were just about to call it a night when Eve turned up in that sexy little fig-leaf outfit she saves for special occasions. A few beers turned into a few more beers, and well you know how those nights go.

Sunday was pretty much a write-off, and so maybe God just kind of forgot about the Galapagos Islands. Maybe he figured no one would notice anyway if he just left them a little raw and rough around the edges, a little unfinished. If it hadn't been for that smart-arsed Darwin bloke and his unhealthy finch obsession, he probably would have got away with it too.

The end result however is a stunning collection of volcanic islands scattered off the west coast of Ecuador. Untouched by humans until only a few short centuries ago, these Islands form a hauntingly beautiful landscape teeming with bizarre and somewhat prehistoric wildlife. Each Island is a microcosm of life, with a self-contained and still evolving eco-system: iguanas with punk-rock hair-dos bake themselves on black lava-rock; giant tortoises stroll ponderously through the misty highlands; and lanky sea birds hurl themselves from cliffs, too large and too awkward to get airborne any other way.

The Galapagos Islands sit on a huge tectonic plate that is hurtling towards the American mainland at the break-neck speed of three centimeters per year. As the plate collides with the mainland it slides beneath it, pushing the Andean mountains of South America a little higher. The islands on the east side of the Galapagos archipelagos, closest to the mainland, are gradually being pulled under the ocean. Within just a few thousand years these islands will sink under the sea and eventually under South America itself.

The tragic demise of these beautiful islands (all just babies really, barely a few million years old) is offset by the birth of new, fresh islands on the west side of the Galapagos. As the plate slides east, the churning lava below finds new ways to erupt to the surface, spewing out ash, and molten rock, and forming new land masses. These new islands, initially just inhospitable clumps of barren, black rock, are gradually worn down by the elements and over time new life takes hold. The tenacious cacti and small pioneer plants set up shop first, paving the way for all manner of marine and land-based creatures.

For a closet tree-hugging, animal lover such as myself there can be no greater experience than these Enchanted Islands of the Galapagos. Every moment spent in the Galapagos is an explosion of sights, sounds and smells. My mind is still trying to take in the raw, primitive beauty of the landscape when a leathery iguana slithers past my feet and a low-flying pelican blocks out the sun as it glides silently overhead. Always in the background, the low barking of sea-lions can be heard as the pups wrestle playfully on the sandy shore.

With embarrassingly little effort on my behalf, I find myself aboard the ship Sulidae, thanks solely to Sasha and her careful planning. The Sulidae is a beautiful, black-wood yacht with all the dark charisma of a pirate ship and sporting a skull and cross bone flag to complete the image. We join ten other travelers on board, and the 78-foot yacht accommodates both us and our crew of six comfortably. We are in spacious cabins of two people in comfortable bunk beds, each with a small toilet and cold-water shower.

Our crew are Ecuadorians, most having been born and bred in the Galapagos. El Capitan is a dark skinned man, sporting a heavy moustache and backing himself as a bit of a hit with the ladies, especially when wearing his formal Captains outfit. Assisting him and responsible for ferrying us to and from shore in a small wooden dinghy, is his second in command, known only as ¨El Guapo¨, Spanish for ¨The Handsome One¨. Apparently, it's common for Galapagos Islanders to give each other nicknames. The girls on board the ship assure me that El Guapo´s nick name is definitely used with a large dash of sarcasm.

Wilmer (dubbed Ricky Martin by us, after we awoke one morning to him singing La Vida Loca), is the deck hand and also acts as our ¨maid¨, making our beds each morning and with the unenviable task of cleaning our tiny little dunnies. He's also responsible for serving us our meals. These are prepared by Leo the chef, who has clearly sold his soul to the devil to be able to produce meals of such quality and variety on a rocking boat, in a kitchen smaller than most pantries. His meals are so good that I gorge myself at every sitting, polishing off any leftovers, and earning myself the dubious nick name of ¨El Gordo¨ which is Spanish for ¨The Fat One¨.

Our guide is a young local by the name of Marlon. Having grown up on the Galapagos, his knowledge of the Islands and their history is rivaled only by his passion for their preservation. He accompanies us everywhere telling us facts and stories about each of the Islands that we visit. He speaks with a thick Ecuadorian accent but is easily understood, and all of his stories include re-enactments of animal movements with sound effects. Watching him re-enact the mating dance of the blue-footed boobie is quite a sight, especially when he describes how the adults mark their territory by firing ¨poo poo¨ around in a circle.

Each Island we visit is unique, both in scenery and in animal inhabitants. On some islands we find beaches with pristine white sand, on others we find dull red sand and on others shiny black sand. Each beach may be set against a low hanging green-forest, a desolate black moonscape of solidified lava, or perhaps a series of eroded brown volcanoes covered in small hardy shrubs and cacti.

More amazing than the landscape is the diversity of wildlife. More amazing still, is the complete lack of fear these animals have towards humans. Having evolved without human contact, and in fact having no large predatory mammals at all, nearly all the creatures of the islands are stupidly trusting of humans. Often a blue-footed boobie will waddle its way through a crowd of humans to find a mate on the other side of the path, or a leathery iguana will spread itself on a warm rock not bothering to raise its head as the invading tourists are forced to sidestep around it.

Sea birds are abundant across all the islands. Great swarms of blue footed boobies nest on the islands. It's mating season while we are there and we watch as the males spread their wings to show off to their female counterparts (who act disinterested but of course are well impressed). Both the males and the females draw attention to their bright, blue, webbed feet through a comical little dance, raising one foot at a time. The brighter the feet the more attractive the boobie is to its partner.

After a long period of dancing, cooing and just generally posing for each other the two finally get it on. The male steps up onto the back of the female, wriggles himself into position and two seconds later it's all over. The male struts around for a while clearly very smug with himself and looking like he's about to light up a cigarette. The female, a little more subtle (but only a little) stretches her wings and gives a satisfied coo, letting any nearby females know that she's managed to bag herself a bloke (and one with nice blue feet too).

Boobies are very much into gender equality, and the parents each take turns minding their young while the other heads out to fish. Watching a boobie fish is quite a sight. It circles low over the water until it spots a school of fish. With it's prey sighted it shoots up into the air before turning around and plummeting back into the sea, pulling its wings in close and slipping like a spear into the water. It emerges a few moments later usually with a flapping silver fish in its beak.

Unlike the boobies, the great black frigate birds are opportunists rather than diligent workers. With their jet black feathers and bright red throat sacks they are truly the pirates of the sky. They circle slowly overhead waiting for a boobie to bring its hard earned catch back to the nest. In the brief moment when the fish is regurgitated to the young the frigate swoops, plucking the succulent fish right out of the mouth of the helpless boobie.

After the sea birds, the next most prominent inhabitant of the islands is without a doubt the sea lions. Generally we are greeted at the shore by the sight (and the stench) of a sprawling herd of these fat beasts lounging in the sun. On land a sea lion is as graceful and coordinated as a legless donkey. In the water however, it's a different story. When we snorkel along the rocky shores, through schools of fish so thick that you can barely see what's beyond them, sea lions often appear out of nowhere to play with us. They glide in towards us, faces almost colliding with our masks, staring at us with their huge puppy-dog eyes, before darting away at the last moment.

The sea lions, especially the younger ones, are total show offs. When they come near I chase them under the water and they circle around me, mocking my clumsy land-based body. I twist and turn with them, doing summersaults and rolls. If I do two rolls the sea lions do three, if I do three, they do four, always going one better. They like to poke fun at my breathing as well, blowing bubbles to match mine as I breath out underwater before surfacing for more air.

Small sharks patrol the depths of the ocean. We swim past and they pay us little attention. Something about the dark silhouette of a shark swimming below me causes my heart to skip even though Marlon assures me that they are completely "inoffensive". The sea lions have no such fear and they swim down to tease and play with the dark shapes. The sharks find this most annoying - it's hard to maintain a menacing, bad-ass image when a seal pup is doing twirls around you and nipping at your tail.

As we snorkel around one island a graceful flock of eagle-rays glides past beneath us. Few sights are as beautiful as these diamond-shaped rays winging their way silently over a submarine landscape through schools of tiny finish. The bright, white spots on their back provide a stunning contrast to their sleek, black bodies. Catching sight of us they turn in perfect formation, like a flock of birds, and effortlessly disappear into the murky depths of the ocean.

On another dive we are gifted with the stunning and rare sight of a group of green sea turtles feeding off an underwater garden of soft seaweed. Nothing could be more hypnotic than watching a turtle glide effortlessly towards the ocean bed, peacefully munching on sea grass like some underwater cow. It takes only the smallest movement of an agile flipper to turn their huge bodies upwards, and to then float slowly to the surface for air.

Swimming away from the others I come across a lone sea turtle cruising peacefully with the currents. She notices me and I stop all movement, even holding my breath in an effort not to disturb her. She begins circling me lazily, turning her head to check me out. I swim down under the water to the same depth as her and she almost swims over me, exposing her pale underbelly. I stay down there watching her drift past like some giant spaceship until my lungs are ready to burst and I am forced to the surface. When I dive back under I catch one last sight of her as she slowly disappears into the distance.

Marine iguanas join the turtles under the waves, feeding off the bright green algae on the submerged rocks. The iguanas, being cold blooded, spend most of the day sunning themselves on black rocks building up body heat. When they are warm enough they throw themselves into the surf and snake their way out to the calmer waters. Using only their tails to propel themselves, they dive down and cling to the rocks on the bottom, gripping with their sharp claws. They sit this way on the bottom for minutes, chewing clumps of moss that they tear from the rocks, and looking like a mini Godzilla.

Apparently Darwin tried to work out how long an iguana could hold its breath for by tying a rock to one and throwing it into the ocean. The story goes that he forgot about it and only remembered to bring it back up an hour later. The iguana was still alive (though not overly happy I imagine) and so it was concluded that they can hold their breath for at least an hour.

On a few islands we head into the ¨highlands¨. Only a few hundred meters above sea level the entire climate changes and along with it the wildlife and the scenery. A soft, cold fog envelopes us and we are surrounded by lush green forests. It is in one of these highlands that we come across the famous giant tortoises of the Galapagos (Galapagos is actually Spanish for tortoise).

These huge, lumbering beasts used to dominate these islands, now they are fighting their way back from the edge of extinction. Tortoises can survive for months without food and with little water. This made them ideal traveling livestock, especially for the long sea voyages through the Pacific: you can throw a couple of tortoises in the back of your boat and be looking forward to a good stew in six months time. Thousands of tortoises were taken for this purpose over the centuries of European exploration and colonization.

To make matters worse for the tortoise, when the sea farers no longer had much interest in them (due, I presume, to improvements in packaged dinners) Ecuadorian farmers moved in. The imported livestock of the farmers and the tortoises began competing for food. The farmers built fences to keep the tortoises out of their crops, but a barbed wire fence doesn't cause much concern for a 200 kilogram tank of a tortoise covered with solid body armor. The farmers began to kill off the turtles, seeing them as pests, much as foxes are seen in other parts of the world.

The fortune of the tortoise changed however with the rise of tourism. People were coming from all over the world to catch a glimpse of these impressive dinosaurs and they were bringing their wads of cash with them. All of sudden tortoises became profitable and the farmers were quick to realise that ushering around a few badly dressed tourists is a damn sight easier than plowing a field.

The change in attitude came a little late for one particular species of tortoise however (there are 11 species of tortoise in the Galapagos). Only one individual was found, wandering alone on an uninhabited island. Lonesome George as he became known now lives in the Darwin Institute where scientists have spent years trying to find some way to preserve this species. For a long time they held out hope that a female would be found somewhere on the islands, and they even offered a $10,000 reward to anyone who found such a creature.

They've all but given up hope on this option however and have decided that the next best option is to have George breed with a female of one of the closest matching species instead. They conducted the tortoise equivalent of Miss Universe to find suitable candidates. The winners were shipped to the Darwin Institute and moved into close quarters with George. Unfortunately Lonesome George was having none of it, showing no interest whatsoever in these young beauties.

The scientists next tried a little manual intervention. They called in an ¨expert¨ to get George in the mood. Covering her (hopefully gloved) hands in vaginal fluid from a female turtle she gave Lonesome George a full body massage complete with a happy ending. Even this (somewhat suspect) attempt didn't get George going and the project was aborted. It looked as if big George was perhaps past his prime (he is around 100 years old after all), however in the last few months he has apparently made a few attempts to get into gear. None of them have been successful as yet, but it's good to know there's life in the old boy yet.

Tortoises have not been the only animals to suffer from humans introducing foreign livestock onto the island. Goats, rats, insects and even cats have all come from across the seas and the sensitive Galapagos ecosystem has struggled to cope with the intruders. The birds, including the long-legged pink flamingos, and the reptiles have suffered the most, their eggs and their young being easy prey.

Recently attempts have been made to eradicate some of these foreigners. The most innovative has to be the ¨Judas Goat Project¨. The goats are hard to find, living in rocky, hard-to-reach areas and blending in well with their surroundings. To solve this problem ¨conservationists¨ took live goats, fixed a collar to them with a homing beacon and then released them into the wild. Goats live in herds, so naturally the newly arrived goat heads straight for its brethren. The conservationists then home in on its signal, fly in by helicopter with rifles and then mow down whole herds of goats from the sky. If Darwin's evolution is allowed to play itself out then years from now Galapagos goats will have evolved a natural distrust of anything wearing a collar.

Although the pets and pests of humans have established themselves quite firmly in the Islands, humans themselves have struggled until recently. Many times in the past, different groups of people have tried to settle down here for various reasons. Several colonies, started by a wide range of countries and ideals, have failed miserably. The shortage of fresh water and the lack of natural crops and livestock have provided a natural defense for the Galapagos.

A whaling community did establish itself here for a period, although it declined over time (but not before decimating both the local whale and seal population). The whalers established the first postal service in the Galapagos while they were here. This consisted simply of a large barrel on one of the islands where whalers would leave their male. Any ships returning to the mainland or Europe would check for mail addressed to an area near their destination.

The whalers are long since gone but their barrel still remains (although probably not the original one). Tourists now use this make-shift mail service, leaving postcards and letters addressed to love ones back home (or quite often to themselves). Other tourists passing through are encouraged to look for letters addressed to their home towns and to take these home with them. Once back in their own country it is traditional that these letters be delivered by hand.

There are no letters in the pile addressed to Australia but amongst the standard ¨wish you were here¨ cards I discover a few more creative messages. A few of the letters have requests that they not be delivered. One couple have left a letter addressed to their children who one day may travel through the same path their parents followed. Another guy has left a letter to himself reading, ¨Hi me, it´s me. I hope I´m doing well. Wish I was here. Regards, Me¨.

Before even the whalers were here, a group of pirates once used the Galapagos as a base, raiding both ships and towns along the coast of Ecuador. The most famous of these were the ¨Merry Bachelors¨, so called because they managed to capture a cargo ship with some eighty black, female slaves (presumably on their way to be sold in America somewhere). These happy lads actually managed to sack Guyaquil, the largest city in Ecuador.

I contemplate a mutiny on board Sulidae, taking over the ship and setting up a pirate empire for myself. As a pirate captain I could cruise the Galapagos paradise forever (hopefully capturing a shipload of women sometime in my travels as well). Regrettably I miss my chance and our eight days aboard the Sulidae are over before I know it. We don our fluorescent orange life jackets one last time and El Guapo drops us ashore. We have one last view of the islands as our plane turns and heads to the mountain city of Quito.

Reading back, I realize that I have barely outlined the stunning experiences that we have had in that brief period in the Galapagos. My descriptions are a poor depiction of the swirling collage of sights and sounds and smells that I have left the Galapagos with. I am forced to concede that plain simple words (or my command of them perhaps) are inadequate tools for capturing the sense of excitement and awe that these islands have aroused in me. Only by experiencing these ¨islas encantadas¨ first hand can you truly know the Galapagos.