Where the Wild Things Are
An archaeologist explores the Galapagos on an expedition run by school kids.
By John Fox
Jan. 30, 2006 | "Look over there!" yelled our enthusiastic naturalist, pointing to some nearby rocks. "You can see a male marine iguana in his breeding colors! These are the only underwater reptiles in the world and they're endemic to the Galapagos." While cameras click, and we learn about ecosystems and adaptations, I'm most impressed by how profoundly ugly these beasts are, with their Godzilla scales, slimy claws and heads encrusted with primordial snot. "Imps of darkness," was Darwin's gut response. I have to agree with the father of evolution on that one.
I'm in the Galapagos Islands, Ecuador, with a team of scientists and educators for a four-week interactive journey of exploration and discovery. Our project, called GalapagosQuest, uses the Internet to engage an online audience of kids and their teachers in a study of this unique archipelago. We send reports, photos and video back to our Web site, while kids vote to set our course, sending us into the most life-threatening scenarios possible and getting us into all kinds of trouble.
The Galapagos Islands are unlike any other place I've seen. I've yet to figure out exactly why, but part of it has to be the feeling of being outnumbered and insignificant. The iguana that I had a staring contest with seemed to be unfazed by my presence.
It's 6 a.m., and from our ship's bow the only sounds I can hear are those of seabirds and fresh coffee being ground. We've traveled eight hours over open ocean by night and are now at the island of Española, one of 19 islands that make up this volcanic archipelago. As you approach by sea, these islands appear stark, rocky and extremely unwelcoming. Dense, thorny brush covers jagged boulders, giving the impression that you've arrived at nature's original fortress. Peering over the bow, coffee securely in hand, I'm reminded of Herman Melville's unflattering description of the Galapagos as resembling "heaps of cinders dumped here and there in an outside city lot."
Punta Suarez is one of the most popular tourist sites in the islands, and we're determined to be the first group to land. Ecotourism is funny that way. We all want the most authentic experience of nature, and the last thing we want is dorky tourists with funny socks in the background of our photographs. As our dinghy approaches land, the beach comes alive with the dark forms of sea lions, strewn about the beach like overweight sunbathers. We swarm among the sea lions with cameras in hand, while they regard us with true apathy. They seem used to the drill by now, rising up on their flippers barking and snorting when we get too close for comfort.
Later, when a whole family of them starts rolling into the surf, I put my snorkel on and roll in after them. It's hard to imagine a creature less graceful on land than a sea lion. It's almost painful to watch them as they waddle and drag themselves to the water. Underwater, they're liberated. They play in pairs, diving down, rocketing up, pirouetting and wrestling with each other. I plunge between them and pass close enough to feel one brush against my stomach. I turn and swim straight for the 400-pound bull, hoping he knows we're playing. We meet head on, whiskers to whiskers; he barks bubbles into my face and veers off. I swim to the surface, catch my breath and go back under, but my friends are gone, bored no doubt with these tedious tourist stunts.
Next page: To think, I thought I'd be bored