Sunday, April 20 (Easter)

Our overnight navigation has been the longest of our cruise, from Punta Moreno on Isabela Island in the west, east to Gardner Bay on Española Island. We drop anchor in front of a beautiful white sand beach lapped by azure water. It is very much like Horseshoe Bay Beach in Bermuda, but with higher surf. We climb into pangas for the short ride to the beach. An easy wet landing brings us on shore, our towels and snorkeling equipment in tow.

Scattered along the beach’s quarter mile of floury sand are four or five sea lion harems, each separated from the next by fifty to one hundred meters. These harems each contain a dozen or so basking females and a number of pups. The beachmasters all seem to be absent. Maybe they have agreed to go out fishing all at the same time so no one has to worry about an ambitious rival attempting to enlarge his côterie while its incumbent is absent.

We stake out some sand between two of the harems and spread out our towels. Soon we see the small drama of a sea lion pup in the midst of the closest harem bleating for its mother. It humps its little body up to each prone form and sniffs. Each time this sniff is returned with the deep snarl of, “you’re not my kid, get lost.” Finally, it finds a mother sea lion that doesn’t recoil from its sniff, and rolls over to bare a teat for the pup. The family is reunited. But it doesn’t always work out. We see one such pup starting its search through the harem to our left. Each female is checked out, but no maternal match is found. The pup then labors across the two hundred feet of empty beach in front of us to the harem on our right. Again each female is inspected, but all snarl their response. The little pup then continues further towards the next harem. If that one is a washout, there are only two left beyond if for the pup to check out. We hope that this methodical little guy will meet with success.

Because it is overcast and not terribly warm, we pay more attention to observing the sea lions on the beach than to bathing. After an hour and a half, Jeffrey and Mom leave to take a panga out the Santa Cruz’ glass bottom boat. The latter is a fiberglass Boston Whaler-type vessel with a glass viewing port in its middle. The Santa Cruz carries it, along with the pangas on its upper deck. This stop is the first time on our cruise that it has been put into the water. For the next half hour, they will cruise over various reefs to view the marine life.

A few minutes later, another panga arrives to take Eric, Barbara and I out to the waters around a small rock islet that lies about a quarter mile off of the beach. This islet, called Tortuga (sea turtle) Rock, is supposed to be a magnet for the local fish. We climb into the water and proceed to snorkel around its circumference. While we see no tortugas, we do see an abundance of other sea life: brightly colored fishes, sea urchins, sea stars, corals, a few very lethargic white-tipped reef sharks lolling on the bottom (about 20 feet below us), and a sting ray. While the wet suits are again very welcome for their warmth, their buoyancy prevents us from diving down along a rock wall to where Kiki has seen an eel hiding out in a crevice. After about an hour in the water, we complete our circuit of the island and haul back into the attending panga. We return to the Santa Cruz at about 11:30 AM.

This afternoon’s Easter lunch is described by the Cruise Director Peter Karch as “a typical Ecuadoran Sunday dinner.” I don’t think most Ecuadorans are so fortunate. The meal starts with ceviche, and continues on to a buffet that includes whole suckling pig and other delicacies – all presided over by several large fruit and vegetable sculptures. Ecuadoran ceviche completely outclasses the version passed off under the same name in the U.S. It is best described as a cold marinated seafood soup – where the broth is the citrus and vinegar marinade. Given the impeccably fresh seafood that formed its base, it couldn’t help but be delicious. And even better, the boys both turn their noses up at it, so we got to consume their bowls as well! The ceviche also comes with a garnish called maiz tostada (or tostados for short) to which we quickly became addicted. Tostados are very large kernels of roasted corn – seasoned with salt and other spices. The outer kernel is crispy, but the interior pulp remains soft. You add them to the ceviche as you would crumble crackers into soup – but they also can be eaten directly like a snack chip, only better.

Each meal also includes some new variety of potato, of which the Andean countries seem to have a limitless supply. All of these potatoes seem a bit firmer and more glutinous than the drier more mealy russets that predominate in the U.S. Although all of the appetizers and main dishes served on the Santa Cruz have proven great, the desserts are a bit disappointing in comparison. Rather unexciting baked goods, puddings or flans. Although Peter extols the rice pudding as the equal to what his mother made for him as a child, we are not impressed. For me it’s an easy call. I don’t like rice pudding of any kind, and this is no exception. But Barbara and my mother are both connoisseurs of the glop, and both pronounce this version uninspiring. But none of us (except the kids) goes hungry.

The Santa Cruz has to navigate only a short distance to the western tip of Española Island for our afternoon excursion at Punta Suarez. We begin to debark at about 3 PM. Our destination, through some rather heavy surf, is a small cove protected by a rock breakwater. Just like yesterday, the afternoon light is caught horizontally between the darkening clouds and sea. As the panga porpoises over the breakers, we are escorted by several sea lions taking advantage of the same waves for some apparently recreational surfing.

The panga pulls alongside a small concrete jetty built out from the rocks of the breakwater. We alight and move from the jetty over to the breakwater. As soon as we leave the jetty, it is reoccupied by a group of young sea lions who immediately toboggan back down its steps leading into the water, then haul themselves up to the top of the steps again to have another go. As we pick our way along the path lying atop the breakwater, we have to scare away a large bull to make it onto the spit of land that connects the breakwater with the island. As we reach this narrow spit, we are again blocked by more sea lions, marine and land iguanas and lava lizards. I guess this spit is narrower than usual today because of the high spring tides and Passover/Paschal full moon.

The marine iguanas are more brightly colored here than on the western islands. In fact, they have a combination of red and green hues on their black bodies – in contrast to the grays that we saw on Isabela and Fernandina. The lava lizards also seem to be splotched with reds. I don’t know if this is just the result of evolutions of the different sub-species across islands, or whether it reflects a different diet. Eric hasn’t eaten well for a day and complains of a stomachache, but after some coaxing, he soldiers on.

After a couple of hundred meters, we come upon an albatross, and a few meters farther, we arrive at a large clearing about the size of a football field that is speckled with albatrosses and their nests. These birds are huge. When walking, they stand almost two feet high, and when flying, their wingspans may reach eight feet. They have a white head and a long yellow beak with a hook at the end. The subspecies that inhabits Española is the waved albatross. The name derives the wavy pattern of white and brownish feathers across its lower body. They only are present in the islands from late April through early December and are out at sea for the balance of the year, so we are fortunate to see them. Indeed, we understand that they just began to arrive over the past week. And when all the albatross colony gets here, instead of the field being spotted by several dozen nests, it will be chockablock with several thousand. Right now, they are only beginning to choose their nesting spots and waiting to catch up with their mates. These birds, who can live for up to sixty years, pair off for life. They lead solitary lives at sea, but share a nest with the same partner when they return to land. It is evidently a very sad sight to see an albatross waiting by a nest for a partner that has failed to return. It is not clear whether such birds will seek a new mate, or remain single. Albatrosses seem to communicate by clacking their bills. Even with only a few dozen pairs on the field, the noise is extremely loud.

Albatrosses need a large clearing in which to nest because of their size and aerodynamics. To take off, they need either to run a good long distance to build up enough velocity to get airborne, or they need to climb up on a cliff and launch themselves into the air. Similarly for landing. Their mass doesn’t allow for quick deceleration. So when they land, they run for several steps and then go head over heels as their legs just cannot keep up with their body’s residual momentum. According to some of our fellow passengers who had the good fortune to see several albatrosses land (we did not), the landing albatross who has just gone head over teakettle upon hitting the ground, picks itself up, gives its feathers a brief shake and utters a brief harrumph at the indignity of it all, then walks away trying to pretend that nothing extraordinary has happened. Once in the air, everything changes. The bird never seems to take a flap, but soars and circles effortlessly.

Moving on a couple of hundred meters from the albatross field brings us to the brink of some sheer rocky bluffs that overlook the ocean, about 70 feet below. It also brings us to the beginning of the boobie colony. The first two we see are blue foots, who are courting. The male, as is typical, is the beseecher. He spreads his wings and calls. The female responds with her own call, and then turns her back and hops a rock or two further away. This occurs several times. Soon another male places his bid with his own call. She moves over in his direction to check him out. Very picky birds. We must move on before determining the outcome of this love triangle. Because this calling is just the beginning of these birds’ courtship ritual, more than likely she will reject them both before finding somebody serious. When things get more serious, the birds will trill, flap their wings and start showing off their amazing feet – to which the closest match in the Crayola palette is Sky Blue.

After walking a short way along the cliffs, we come to a blowhole in the rocks below us. This is a fissure in the rock where entering waves build up immense water pressure. This pressure then causes a gout of spray to rise out of the terminus of the fissure, and creates a noise very similar to thunder. Even though we are at the top of the cliffs some fifty to seventy feet above the sea, the spray rises over our heads.

On the cliffs by the blowhole is a concentration of masked boobies. I was able to get pictures of these birds in all stages of their development: eggs, young chicks completely enveloped in fluffy white down, an older chick that was losing its down, an immature juvenile whose feathers are a mixture of light grays, and mature birds. The plumage of the adults is brilliant white, with just a few black markings – especially the famous “mask” around its eyes. We also see a bit more refined courtship among this boobie species. A pair is building a nest and he (or she, it is hard to tell the difference among masked boobies) hands (beaks, really) a twig to her for placement in the arrangement. A pebble comes next, and so on. It is hard to break away, but the group continues on.

A little further along, we come to a huge field of blue footed boobie nests. Most of these are inhabited by beseeching males, while the females stroll from place to place, luxuriating in their suitors’ calls and evaluating the opportunities. Although there are no dramatic differences in the coloring of male and female blue foots, it is still quite easy to tell them apart. If there is a pair together, the male is usually the smaller of the two. In addition, the female’s black pupil is dilated so that almost completely fills the eye, while the male’s pupil is more of a pinpoint. I know this doesn’t sound like a very distinctive trait, but believe me, you notice it right away. A number of the blue foots have already paired off, but we see no nests where eggs have yet been laid. In the middle of this large field wanders a confused albatross, apparently wondering how he ended up in the midst of all these strange birds. His colony is just a few hundred meters away, so I am sure he will figure it out. A Galápagos hawk also sails down into the field, but it is a waste of his time because there are not yet any unwary young about for him to snatch.

Neither the blue footed or the masked boobies make a very elaborate nest. While the masked boobies seem to place a few sticks on the ground. The blue foots don’t do much more than lay out a circle of guano about eighteen inches in diameter, and quit after that. Neither of these birds are really protective parents. The masked boobies lay three eggs and the blue foots lay two. As described by our guide Kathy, as soon as the chicks hatch, they begin to fight. The goal of the earliest to hatch, or the biggest if several have hatched simultaneously, is to push its siblings out of the nest. And once out of the nest, even if just by a few inches, the parents will no longer care for the chick and the victor receives all of their regurgitated fish. Almost never does more than one chick survive from a nesting. But as you will hear later, the third main boobie species, the red foots, are much more nurturing.

As we continue back to the breakwater, we pass more marine iguanas and sea lions. But when we arrive at the cove, high tides are now causing the surf to crash over the breakwater and the jetty is unreachable. This forces our pick-up panga to pull in along the rocks that line the interior edge of the cove, and we must scramble across these spray-wetted rocks to climb into the boat. Indeed, it turns out that this high tide prevented Mom’s panga (which was at bit later than ours in starting out from the Santa Cruz) from ever reaching the jetty and debarking its passengers. Thus, she was not able to see these bird colonies from the land. Her group had to be content with a more extended cruise along the cliffs and viewing the birds from the water.

Once back on the Santa Cruz, passengers are treated to a pisco sour in the lounge before dinner. We also are instructed how to disperse into smaller groups depending on whether we are leaving the Santa Cruz tomorrow at San Cristobal island, or are continuing on for the full seven day itinerary before returning to Puerto Ayora. Debarking passengers are to remain in the lounge, continuing passengers are instructed to assemble in the dining room. As we five wait in the dining room, only two other passengers appear, a pair of English ladies. Out of the 89 passengers on board, we are the only seven continuing on for the next three days. And of the 82 departing passengers, only a handful had boarded a week ago in San Cristobal – the rest had arrived with us, just four days ago in Puerto Ayora. I asked Pierre whether this pattern was typical and was told, yes, only about ten to twenty percent of all passengers take the full week cruise. Most take only the three or four day subweeks.

This surprises me. The dozen or more guidebooks and websites that I used to research the Galápagos are unanimous that you need at least seven days to get an adequate feel for the islands. Although these sources tend to parochially overstate their recommendations, I am still surprised at how few people seemed to be following their advice. But another issue is cost, although each extra day on the Santa Cruz raises the cost of the cruise in nearly direct proportion, a very large portion of the total cost for a visit to the Galápagos is fixed in airfares and admissions, etc. Thus, it seems to me to be a bit uneconomical not to extend one’s stay for the full seven days.

This large passenger exodus did, however, explain a lot that had puzzled me when the group first assembled at the Quito airport for our flight out to the Islands. All of those passengers that seemed to carrying so little luggage, especially in comparison to ourselves. It was because they were only going to be four days on the ship; and because they were with tour groups, arrangements had been made for them to cache the luggage that they would not need in the islands in Quito, to be reclaimed on their return. But in the end, their choices were not bad, just different from our own. During the four days that they were on the Santa Cruz, they had gotten to visit three out of the big four of the Galápagos Islands (Isabela, Fernandina and Española), and most were on tours that included other sights such as Machu Picchu or the Equatorial rainforest. Attractions that for us would need to wait for a second trip.

The evening meal was then served, and it was lobster. So for many reasons, this was another red letter day.

Eric and Jeffrey at Gardner Bay	Sea lions at Gardner Bay
Easter dinner on the Santa Cruz	Albatross – Punta Suarez
Cliffs – Punta Suarez	Blue footed boobie – Punta Suarez
Masked boobie chick– Punta Suarez	Marine iguana, note coloring – Punta Suarez