Written by:
4/19/2010 1:48 PM 

Someone, years ago, built a large wooden frame box on the chassis of an old Toyota pickup. The box consists of seven wooden bench seats painted in the fashion of a circus merry go round with depictions of all the animals of the Galapagos, penguins, iguanas, turtles, sea lions, and of course the blue footed booby. The contraption is called a chiva.

I’d spent the last hour riding around the 30 kilometers of passable roads in this chiva climbing routinely from the safety of the bench seat inside to the back of the chiva and onto a wooden platform allowing for a view of stars known from years gone by in the Northern Hemisphere and straining to pick out the constellations now visible in the mysterious Southern Hemisphere sky.

With many goodbyes and the quaffing of the last of a large bottle of Pilsner, I made my way down to the dock where my inflatable dingy bobbed gently on its tether. It only took a second to see the tide had run clean out and not knowing the safe route through the rocks back to the anchorage I decided it was time to get some sleep until my old friend, me amor, la luna, pulled the Pacific tide back in.

Deep restful sleep comes easy anywhere I lay my head these days. Man can’t turn the tides, but he can find the patience to wait for his to come. Kicking off my flip flops and sliding my day pack under my head I let sleep wash over me as I settled down on a large wooden plank. I woke around 3:00 a.m. and splashed a bit of salt water on my face to restore some cognitive function to my still groggy mind. Boats were floating again and that meant the dangers of the harbor were covered under at least one foot of water, enough for me to safely make it back to Jargo, my 1976 Allied Mistress ketch, and a deep sleep for the next four hours.

The Aussie girls we’d met a few days earlier caught their water taxi and showed up at a merciful 11:00 a.m. That gave me just enough time after coffee and my standard breakfast to make myself and Jargo somewhat presentable. With no ATM on the island many a traveler finds themselves broke, bust, and needing cheap alternatives to the high priced Galapagos tours. I find myself one of them. The crew of Coconut and I befriended the Aussies and decided we’d make a day of exploring the shallows of the anchorage in our dingys in search of the penguins and sea lines who feed constantly around our floating homes. It turned into a day to remember.

Not wanting to break the spell that had been cast over the pleasant afternoon we spent talking in Coconuts cockpit we got a late start. Making our way to the first little island we couldn’t believe what awaited us.

Working into the shallows, barley a foot deep, we were almost within arms reach of a colony of penguins, the tuxedo type, and blue footed boobys doing their blue footed dance and nuzzling their beaks in a courtship display that puts Shakespeare’s Romeo to shame. One must tear their eyes away from the brilliant blue of their feet to have any hope of visually forming an impression of the whole bird. The sight of even a single penguin makes me giggle like a little kid, but the blue footed bird inspires some kind of infatuation.

Moving deeper into the shallow island cut we eventually found a small dock built for tourist where we could land and explore the volcanic island and its aa lava moonscape. The lava cooled and became solid thousands of years ago, but one must still use extreme caution as the ground can swell again and come to life at any moment. Thousands of jet black marine iguanas call the island home. Laying, soaking up the suns heat, on the black rock born of fire you can easily miss them. Take one step too close and suddenly 20 iguanas break for the sea or the security of another jagged lava outcrop. Once your eyes adjust and can spot the sub mariner reptiles you find them stacked like bricks, one atop another, basking in the glory of the equatorial sun. Young iguanas range from not quite a foot to 50 year old granddaddies easily two and three feet long who appear to be as old as the lava they warm their reptilian skin upon.

Taking in too much salt when they dive for Pacific algae they expel the excess by sneezing violently. Clair, the fair skinned Aussie, took a direct hit on the leg while walking past a sneezing youngster. Clair and Jodi are doctoral candidates who’d skipped out for a few days on their strictly enforced research visitation permits to explore the largest of the Galapagos Islands. With Coconut and I both staying well past our visa and boat permits we were all pirates in a land once only occupied by pirates looking for Spanish gold.

Most won’t, nor should they press the laws of the countries they visit. However, as we eased into the cool saltwater wading pool fed by the rolling swell to play with three baby sea lions none of us could be bothered to mind the sign warning us not to swim due to the presence of sharks resting from the strong currents ripping between the islands. We were rewarded with the playful rolling, sniffing, and jubilance of a creature whose huge, brown, curious eyes seem to invite you to play in their world if only we could. Magical moments can happen here between people and these animals that have never learned to fear us and the damage we are so prone to doing them.

Back on the boats, cold Balboa beer imported in Jargo’s bilge washed the salt from our mouths and canned tuna fish sandwiches nourished our sun soaked bodies and minds. The day before, riding on the chiva, a phone call reserved several pounds of wahoo for dinner that was as fresh as the days memories were in our minds. We took the fish to a local hotel where we have befriended the proprietor who also happened to have a rare treat, a fresh water swimming pool. Eating our herb grilled wahoo overlooking the Pacific breakers we settled back into our easy banter. So seldom does the same spell get cast twice.

I am late making my jump to the Marquesas. If I’ve learned nothing else from this voyage of madness it is this, when life is good, go with it. Too soon will the moment be gone and there is no getting it back. My great Pacific passage still lies before me. One day soon, like pirates before me, I’ll tire of the arid islands or from pressure from the local law, I’ll have to run for it. Until then, I’ll soak up the sun, sea, and salt with the islands penguins, seals, and blue footed boobies.

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