It all made for a very vivid dream/nightmare, and Brian even remembered what this exercise in accelerating the extinction of sharks was called. It was called ‘The Great Trawl of China’. And in Brian’s dream, there were so many trawlers engaged in catching every last shark, that the whole enterprise was visible from space. Although, there again, it did all begin to get a little hazy when the trawlers started to net not just sharks but also elephants, rhinos, tigers and even pangolins. But such is the world of dreams. And such is the world we are now obliged to share with that modern-day, despicable, reprehensible and unremittingly brutal China…
Well, as might be imagined, Brian, when awoken at five-thirty, was not entirely rested. But tough. As Sandra reminded him immediately, the day was due to start with a panga ride before breakfast – starting at six o’clock – and he therefore needed to ignore any morning fatigue and get his skates on. He also, she suggested, should get some DEET on. Darwin, in briefing them about their early morning panga excursion, had gone to quite some lengths to explain how Black Turtle Cove, a network of mangrove-fringed lagoons on the north coast of Santa Cruz, was a favourite hunting ground for mosquitoes. Even if one just sat in a panga, and didn’t even set foot on land (which one couldn’t do anyway), one was quite likely to get bitten. And probably not just once.
So, suitably invigorated with an almost cold shower and suitably smeared with repellent, Brian boarded one of the pangas with Sandra, and this and the other panga began to make their way to mozzieland and what promised to be an interesting start to the day.
He was not disappointed. The interest kicked in within just a couple of minutes after leaving the boat, when it became apparent to all those on board the diminutive pangas, that Gilbert and Jonathon, their drivers, were going to have to negotiate what looked like some serious breakers to get to their destination. Brian didn’t really understand how these things worked, but between a moderately choppy sea and the significantly calmer waters of Black Turtle Cove, there was a line of very active water. And that is very active as in extremely active and on a scale that dwarfed the ridiculously small dimensions of the inflatables. How the panga drivers were going to cope, Brian had no idea. But that they would cope, he was sure. Just as he was sure that if the pangas did overturn, it wouldn’t necessarily be curtains for all. With their lifejackets on, one or two of the Nature-seekers were bound to make it. Even if they missed out on the cove.
Well, as it transpired, both panga drivers were able to read the turbulent water in a way that Brian could read… well, a shopping list prepared by Sandra. And just as he invariably came home from Waitrose with all that was required – when Sandra was otherwise employed – so Gilbert and Jonathon were able to pilot their craft safely through the maelstrom – when the maelstrom allowed. That is to say, by timing their approach superbly, they were able to make a dash through the boundary between choppy and calm without even splashing any of those on board. Brian was very relieved indeed and now just concerned about those mosquitoes.
Initially, none materialised, so he made do with becoming concerned about the seating in the panga. These inflatables are the standard oval shape, and their sterns are occupied by an outboard motor and a panga driver, allowing the eight Nature-seekers on each vessel – with the addition of Darwin on one – to occupy their two sides. What this means is that on each side of each panga, four lifejacket-encumbered passengers sit on its inflated edge, facing… four other lifejacket-encumbered passengers. This does not make for an ideal arrangement for wildlife watching, especially when most of the wildlife to be watched is beneath the surface of the water. This concern on Brian’s part was soon reinforced when the first of this morning’s turtles was observed. Or should that be when the first of this morning’s turtles was spotted by Darwin (who was standing up in his panga) and then comprehensively not observed by any of the Nature-seekers? This was because their view was obscured by a facing Nature-seeker or, in turning around and trying to look over their shoulder, they either looked in the wrong direction or became distracted by the need to stop themselves from falling overboard.
Clearly, in this predicament, two things were needed. The first was the need for Brian not to be so negative about what was no more than an inevitable aspect of undersea wildlife observation from a panga. And the second was the need for some enhanced accuracy in the calling regime, allied to some nifty but careful upper-body twisting in order to catch sight of whatever had been called before it had swum out of sight.
Result! Within only a few minutes, Brian and most of his companions had managed to observe a couple of Galápagos green turtles as they had swum towards and then under the panga – and slowly enough to allow all those on board who had adopted the necessary twisting technique to enjoy a really good view. And nobody had fallen in the water.
Brian considered the consequences of such a fall, principally because he wasn’t confident that he could avoid such a fall indefinitely. (His balance hadn’t ever been perfect, and he was certainly not a natural when it came to twisting one’s body on a not very stable rubber seat.) He decided that these consequences might include getting wet and getting away quite successfully from any mosquito threat – at least while one was submerged – but that there would be no real danger involved. The water in the lagoons of the cove was as calm as the proverbial millpond and it was no more than four feet deep. Furthermore, those turtles in the water were hardly a threat. They were big, but Brian knew they were almost entirely herbivorous and would react to a body falling into the water just as they had reacted to the Nature-seekers’ bodies as they’d snorkelled. They would ignore it. That said, Brian had heard it reported that male green turtles can get so randy during the breeding period that they will try to mount anything, even a middle-aged Brit they might encounter in the water. At anything up to 1.3 metres long and weighing up to 150 kilograms, that could be a bit of a problem. Although, there again, not a very probable problem, and about as likely to happen as being propositioned by a ray…
Ah yes, there were rays here as well – beautiful ‘leopard rays’, or to give them their more usual name, ‘spotted eagle rays’. Brian had never encountered these chaps before he’d come to the Galápagos, and not only had he now swum with them, but here he was being able to observe them in the shallows – very well and with only a modicum of twisting discomfort. They are, of course, quite fabulous. In shape, they are mostly just ‘wings’ with, to the rear of the wings, a long narrow tail armed with defensive spines. In size, they can grow up to two metres across, although the specimens here were no more than half this size. And in ‘decoration’… well, the whole of their top side is black but dotted with white spots and their underside is white. As Brian would be the first to admit, this ‘leopard livery’, when added to the graceful ‘flight’ of these creatures as they move through the water, makes them one of the most beautiful sights in the whole of the natural world. And one worth some quite serious, heavy-duty-type twisting, and even the risk of a Brit overboard.
However, in the event, there were no nautical mishaps of any sort whatsoever, even on the way back to the Beluga through a now abated maelstrom. Nor were there any bites from mosquitoes! So all in all a very good start to the day, and one that would help sustain all the Nature-seekers as, after breakfast, they were set adrift from the Beluga and ‘abandoned’ to the delights of Santa Cruz.
Well, ‘abandoned’ might not be an entirely accurate word to use here. Nor, for that matter, might be the word ‘delights’. But in any event, the first thing to happen after the first meal of the day, was another panga ride for all the Nature-seekers, after which the Beluga set off without them for the south coast of Santa Cruz. It was all to do with reprovisioning, you see. The Beluga had been at sea for a week, which meant that a mountain of food had been consumed, along with rather a lot of what comes in bottles. And to re-equip Pedro’s larder and to restock the bar, it was now necessary for the Nature-seekers’ yacht to visi
t Puerto Ayora and pick up new supplies. However, given the limited attractions of Puerto Ayora, as already alluded to, it had been decided that while all this business was being attended to the Nature-seekers would be otherwise entertained, and this entertainment would take the form of a bus ride through Santa Cruz. This would take most of the day, as the bus would have to make its way from the very north of the island to its capital in the south, whilst at the same time taking in a number of ‘points of interest’. But of course, before any of that could happen, the pangas had first to deliver their cargo of Nature-seekers to the shore, or more precisely to a landing stage that proved to be both surprisingly large and surprisingly busy.
Yes, during breakfast the Beluga had sailed just a little way east from Black Turtle Cove towards the channel that divides Baltra Island (of airport fame) from Santa Cruz to its south. This meant that the Nature-seekers’ panga ride was only a short one – to where a small ferry service linking Baltra and Santa Cruz draws dozens of people who are either travelling to Baltra’s airport or who have just arrived at the airport and are travelling away from it. Inevitably then, the ferry’s landing stage/terminal on the Santa Cruz side of the channel was a bustling sort of place, albeit not a particularly interesting one. In fact, the only thing that Brian would be able to remember about it after the event was that it had a popular tuck shop but only a little in the way of any sense of organisation. Indeed, for quite a few minutes there appeared to be some doubt as to whether there would actually be a bus to carry the Nature-seekers south. But then it did appear: a workmanlike rather than ‘executive’-style charabanc, and the Nature-seekers were soon all aboard it.
Brian immediately adopted his inquisitive mode, and first of all he applied it to the ‘bus park’. As he suspected, it wasn’t so much a regular bus park – or car park – but more an expanse of bare earth adorned with a few battered containers. ‘Infrastructure’ had yet to put in an appearance. It was much the same as the bus started off and joined the road leading south, a stretch of almost tarmacked highway, edged by one or two cars and quite a few lorries. These latter vehicles, Brian deduced, were here not because of the ferry but because of the business being conducted in the channel that the ferry crossed. And this business was the unloading of containers from sea-going ships onto the decks of a pair of tenders, and these tenders then taking their cargo to the shore. It seemed that there was no other way to get this sort of bulky stuff into the Galápagos, just as it seemed to Brian that sooner or later some of that currently absent ‘infrastructure’ would inevitably arrive. It would ‘make sense’ to build a proper deep-water port – maybe just along from the ferry terminal – after which it would ‘make even more sense’ to put in some handling and warehousing facilities along with a proper lorry park and maybe a proper bus park and car park too. Then, before you knew it, more development and more people would follow in the wake of this ‘infrastructure’, and this threatened archipelago would become threatened even more.
Now, it cannot be denied that Brian had an unsurpassed ability to interpret any given situation or any given circumstances in the most negative way imaginable. In fact, if, on this morning, the Desolate and Disconsolate Society had been seeking the gloomiest, most negative, most pessimistic person who happened to be within fifty kilometres of the equator – anywhere in the world – then Brian would have been their man. That said, he was probably right… Put street lighting in your village, and in ten years’ time your village is twice the size. Put a mains sewer in, and it’ll be three times the size. And so it is with ‘essential infrastructure’. And that would still be true if Brian was a world champion optimist. It’s just the way things are. Or at least that’s the way things are in Brian’s little world…
Never mind. The bus was now on the open road, and his inquisitive mode could now switch to ‘road conditions’ and ‘scenery’. Well, his curiosity was soon satisfied. The road was straight and tarmacked here and there, and the scenery was… well, nondescript. It was just an expanse of scrub, stretching off into the distance. Which, of course, was good! It meant that agriculture hadn’t reached the north of Santa Cruz – yet – and probably most of that scrub was native vegetation, providing a home to native species. Crikey, Brian was almost on the point of being cheerful. And furthermore, Darwin, at the front of the bus, had just announced that they were now very close to their first ‘point of interest’, and this meant that some cheerfulness might really be secured – within minutes. After all, Brian had never before encountered a pair of giant sinkholes!
Now, sinkholes are those voids that every now and again open up in somebody’s back garden or under a road. They can be caused by the collapse of old mine workings or, more often, by a variety of natural processes involving some sort of subterranean erosion. However, most of these sinkholes are quite modest in size and would have difficulty in swallowing much more than a family-sized car together with maybe a small herbaceous border and a rotary drier. The Los Gemelos sinkholes are not like this. They are in another league. In fact, they are in a super-league, with one of them measuring more than 150 metres across, the other more than one hundred metres across, and both of them being more than fifty metres deep. And they are this size because once upon a time they were empty underground magma chambers, and when their roofs collapsed – due to tectonic plate movement and/or erosion – these giant craters were the end result.
The Nature-seekers were now off the bus and observing the smaller of these two sinkholes. It was no more than a few yards from the road and its scale really was stupendous. Indeed, it was so large, thought Brian, that even taking account of the vegetation that carpeted its floor and its sides, it could have housed the whole of Jack Whitehall’s ego. And that meant it was a bloody great big hole. That said, that’s all it was: a bloody great big hole, and frankly it held a limited amount of interest for any of the Nature-seekers. Of more interest was the vegetation that surrounded the hole and in particular one endemic species for which this whole area was renowned. This species was Scalesia penunculata or ‘Tree Scalesia’, one of the fifteen Scalesia species endemic to the Galápagos, and the tallest of these species, growing to a height of fifteen metres or more. And what makes this plant especially interesting is that, despite its size, it is a member of the daisy family and, with a dome of branches above its unbranched trunk, it looks a little like a (giant) calabrese flower head. In fact, it is often referred to as the broccoli tree, albeit one will never find it served with peas and potatoes and the Sunday roast. Obviously.
All the Nature-seekers were able to inspect these remarkable plants as they followed a trail around the edge of the sinkhole and then more of them after they had crossed the road, and picked up the trail around the second sinkhole. Yes, the road builders of Santa Cruz had chosen to build the primary road on the island, and the only road that leads to the north, between two whopping great cavities, and cavities that might one day become just one even more whopping cavity – with the remains of a road at its bottom! Anyway, this second larger sinkhole, mused Brian, was so vast that it could probably have accommodated not only the egos of Tony Blair and Gordon Brown combined but also their collected mistakes and misjudgements. It was that humungous. Full marks to Darwin then for spotting within its extensive cloak of vegetation, a rare woodpecker finch, one of those impossible-to-tell-apart finches, but one which could actually be distinguished from its cousin finches by its habit of acting as a woodpecker (there being no ‘real’ woodpeckers in the archipelago). Bonus points to Darwin as well for injecting a bit of genuine interest into what would otherwise have been… well, just a rather hot hike around two rather big holes.
These were Brian’s thoughts anyway, and he didn’t think he was being unduly churlish in his assessment. If these two holes, he thought, had been in Cheshire or Lancashire, say, then they would definitely have been a must-see for the whole family. They would have been given a name – like the ‘Devil’s Footprints’ or maybe ‘Old Nick�
�s Nostrils’ – and they would have spawned a visitor centre, an extensive car park, a clutch of reasonably priced cafés, a couple of pubs and a whole range of shops, selling everything from hole-themed T-shirts to hole-themed fudge and hole-themed furry toys – and of course they would have needed a whole army of Health and Safety ‘experts’ to prevent the entire population of Britain plunging to its death… But the fact remained that, just like these holes on Santa Cruz, there would be nothing inherently interesting in these British holes, no matter how big they might be. In fact, Santa Cruz’s two big-uns were only interesting at all because of their surrounding flora and the possibility of sighting a rare example of the island’s fauna, and… possibly the remote possibility of witnessing these two big-uns becoming one very big-un, and the road between them becoming just a cherished memory. There again, the prospect of waiting around for another tectonic plate movement was not that attractive. Better to do what the Nature-seekers were about to do, which was to quit the sinkholes and head off for their next ‘point of interest’ – which was an ‘eco distillery’!
It took some time to get there and it involved their bus passing into the distinctly scruffy agricultural south of Santa Cruz, first observed by the Nature-seekers on their visit to the ‘tortoise farm’ just three days earlier. And when they got to the eco distillery Brian was obliged to revise what actually constituted ‘scruffy’. Yes, this ‘distillery’ comprised a tatty open-sided shed, a slightly less tatty ‘bandstand’ sort of building, an ancient press, a small concrete lavatory block, and, beyond this lavatory block, a small galvanised tank.
Absolutely Galápagos Page 13
