The originofthe speciesinthe land time forgot
From monster lizards to ‘dinosaur’ birds, the Galapagos offer a wildlife adventure that’s out of this world, says Libby Purves
Gazing at a frigate bird as it perches on a ship’s rail just six feet from your head, it’s impossible not to think of pterodactyls – and you start to get the strange feeling that you’ve strayed into The Land That Time Forgot.
With its fierce, hooked beak, vast angled wingspan and beady eye, the bird exudes primitive scorn. And as our ship meanders its way around the Galapagos Islands, you notice that wildlife even rules in the sparse human settlements: sprawled on one town bench, hogging the shade, a sea lion waves a lazy flipper of ownership. And take a hike on the ragged black lava and you’ll probably have to step around a 3ft iguana dozing on the path.
The Galapagos, almost 1,000km off the coast of Ecuador, are a Pacific outpost born of immense volcanic eruptions. Sailors, privateers and eccentrics have settled here sporadically over the past 400 years, sharing these islands with 4,000 species of wildlife – nearly half of them unique to this place, and all unafraid of Man.
There are snakes that go fishing, and immense tortoises whose shells have evolved and now have a rakish uplift to allow high grazing. Where but on lonely Floreana, one of the islands that makes up the archipelago, can you nose past mangroves and skeletal-white incense trees in a rigid inflatable to see flamingoes – seemingly so African – amiably sharing a rockpool with neat little penguins?
And what other ecosystem would produce huge iguanas that can stay underwater for an hour feeding on algae and then sneeze the salt out through their noses? And they produce urine so clear of salt that small birds gratefully drink it during droughts.
The islands blow your mind, not least because the wildlife is so famously fearless: virtually all the land here has been designated a national park and, according to the rules, you should not get closer than 8ft to the wildlife, but those rules are insouciantly ignored by the animals and birds. During my stay, blue-footed boobies did their mating dance next to a track, a rare mockingbird pecked our shoelaces, and a curious sea lion pup galloped up to inspect us on the beach.
To visit this World Heritage Site was the fulfilment of a lifetime dream. We flew from Quito to the island of San Cristobal to board our new home – the Ecoventura’s Origin, an informal, very comfortable super-yacht for 20 guests staying in smart cabins.
Fine meals are served aboard, and the packed itinerary around the islands is led by highly qualified naturalists. It has to be that way: you don’t go to the Galapagos to lounge all day on beaches (no food or drink apart from water may be taken ashore, and there are no ‘rest rooms’ or visitor facilities on most islands). You don’t go ashore in flipflops either, because many of the living treasures can be found along rough, rocky trails. You go with stout shoes and respect, to marvel as Charles Darwin did.
Every hour produces excitements and fresh gasps, from seeing that the blue-footed booby’s feet are almost neon blue, to swimming with penguins and turtles while frigate birds soar overhead.
On the tiny island of Espanola, we saw a single albatross and gathered for a ‘unique’ moment. But 10 minutes later, the plateau was covered with them: one pair guarding their egg, and two more twining necks in a mating-dance. Albatrosses roll their eggs before they hatch: if they roll in a circle, it’s a female, and if it goes in a straight line, it’s a male. Nobody knows why. Our guides, Cecibel and Billy, said they have to go on regular refresher courses
as scientists keep finding new facts.
The brain spins in the heat, but even the clumsiest smartphone-snapper can get the most incredible photographs. It’s like Eden. As the young Darwin wrote: ‘Both in space and time, we seem to be brought somewhat near to that great fact – that mystery of mysteries – the first appearance of new beings on this Earth.’
We were lucky that our slots to visit the national park were early in the morning when it was a little cooler. We would wake at 6am, have breakfast, and by 7.30am we were powering ashore in a rigid inflatable. After exploring the various rocky trails, we would take a coffee break before snorkelling or swimming amid big, brown-striped fish.
There are few things more disconcerting than suddenly seeing through your snorkel mask that one of the rocks is moving – then realising it is, in fact, a turtle the size of a car bonnet.
On one of our jaunts, we took a trip into the highlands to walk woodland paths full of giant tortoises, which Darwin himself called ‘antediluvian’ – dinosaurs in shells. They looked at us casually, then returned to their pursuits. One vast male managed to chase a reluctant female until she escaped into a shallow pond.
The walking was varied, never technically difficult but sometimes exhausting. The oddest conditions were on the islet Sombrero Chino, a chaotic mingling of rough lava, lumps of white coral and sea-salt crystals: God’s equivalent of a builder’s rubble. But what a builder! Off its pristine white beach tiny penguins swam and darted. Magical.