A change of heart in the Galapagos

For years I have been chastised for having the dolphin as my favourite animal. People have shunned me at parties, I have stood in the corner, drink in hand, the cool liquid my only friend. The high-pitched tones of the dolphin have played in my ears as my friends have turned their backs and talked of tigers and elephants, sharks and snakes. Greater animals, tougher, faster and more dangerous.

Dolphin love is 80s they said, Flipper is childhood thing, the dolphin heyday has passed and will never to reach the heights of the 50s when Opo the friendly dolphin graced New Zealand's shores and played with the wee ones. Why not choose any one of the gigantic beasts from the great plains or a magnificent bird? Why not go left field and choose the Siberian Snow Leopard?

For a time I stood fast, resolute in my love for the friendly sea creature, but not fast enough. For it was in the early 2000s, when my acceptance into a new and exciting University peer group teetered on the brink, that I dropped the Dolphin and slumped for the Bengal Tiger. It was a strong choice and it played well with my friends, you cannot quibble with the orange and black beauty from the sub-continent, but oh how my heart ached.


I hadn't given the decision much thought since then. I had seen dolphins but I was at peace with my decision, no tears were shed. However, on arrival in the Galapagos I knew I would face my first love again, in their world, on their terms, but of course there was much else besides...

There were sea turtles, copulating, male on top, sitting just behind the wave line their shells glistening in the light with the rise of each wave. Galapagos sharks surrounded the boat, nearing two metres in length they lazily showed their fins and moved slowly around our wooden ship clear as day in the emerald water. Sea lions honked from the shore, following the boat like licorice weaving in and out of the water. They jumped and fell across rocks, the teens playful, the males bristling with machismo, others resting, languid on the rocks, opening their deep brown eyes a slit to peer at the sun.

Yellow-tailed surgeon fish with their black and white stripes at the eyes swarmed under our boat pushing puffer fish deeper through the weight of their numbers. At times a swarm of eagle rays, methodically flapping their wings like under water birds. And umpteen other fish, schools of yellow and black and green, on and on... an explosion of colour under clear sea water.

We took a five day boat trip around Santiago Island which sits north east of Santa Cruz. It was full of lava and extinct volcanoes and around it sat small islands of red sand and rock, black ignite and obsidian with rocky inlets and coves waiting to be explored.

There were ten of us crammed onto a small wooden mono hull called the New Flamingo, the old Flamingo having probably packed up in the 70s. But we ate exceedingly well, entertained ourselves on the astroturf deck and our guide was a small pick-up truck worth of knowledge. 

In the mornings we woke to aqua explosions everywhere as Blue-footed Boobies circled and dived for their morning feed, smashing through the water like missiles, a mess of feathers and feet. Frigate birds, large shining black scavengers, would catch the uplift from the boat's hull and float on the sea breezes so close you could see the deep black pupils of their eyes and the red throat of the male hanging limply to its breast.

Penguins gunned across our bow in flocks of ten or more, raising their heads in unison to breath, treading water as their small beak opened and then rocketing underneath like tenpins at 40 kph. Gulls and cormorants nested on cliffs and giant Pelicans with their ungainly beak and body crested air currents feet above the water. To the rocky shore they would go, nesting together in tiny bushes that buckled under their weight.

In this magic place we woke up in remote bays, the only humans about watching nature run its course. And we snorkeled daily dropping into this fertile sea silent with life.

Eels poked their heads from dark holes as schools of fish darted and dropped away. Sharks would cruise by, drop to the ocean floor to rest, and squirm away when they felt too many peering eyes. Seals darted between us, resting on their backs below and blowing bubbles to mimic our own. They would speed up to your goggles, stop on a dime, peer at you with those big, brown eyes and scoot off again. And the sea turtles would from time to time wander into view, their shell incongruous to the aquiline features of the other animals. But in spite of this, they swam with a languid beauty and that grave look that only turtles have, the upturned mouth of an elder.

In the evening giant rays performed back flips and dolphins jumped some miles away as birds consumed their dinner amongst giant schools of fish. It was magic. But, when it's all said and done it was the Bottlenose dolphin that sent the emotions of our boat soaring.

It was our final night, the boat was heading back to port, a long seven hour journey south. We had beers in hand, the sun was sinking off in the west and the rays were jumping. And then off the starboard bow, a few fins in the distance, then more and then they're coming towards us, rocketing forward, jumping and cresting. And suddenly the water about the boat is choppy with dolphin, the eeks and shrieks of the pod are audible above the water.

All ten of us crashed down the stairs to the bow, a hungry group of children eager for a dolphin experience. We gripped the salty wooden rail and lent out as far as we dared and there they were... three, then four and then eight dolphins fighting for position at the boat's front. They rode the wake beautifully, moving in and out of each other like expert dancers, their senses alert to the boat and to others joining the fray. They jumped so close their breath sent sea water into our faces and then there were the magic moments when they would swim on their side looking up at you.

We were like children, adults reduced to screaming and hollering and slapping each others backs. Grinning like jokers, smiles ripped across our faces, jabbering, swearing, making high-pitched noises to keep the dolphins with us. Jumping up and down, stamping our feet, crazy with dolphin. Injected with that Bottlenose aura. High as hell.

They stayed with us for what seemed like hours and when it was over we retired to deck and talked at pace wide eyed, twitchy and breathing deep. Exhausted and high, a few of us were rubbing our faces from the extended hilarity.

Does any other animal do this? Conjure this magic, this excitement, this connection that crosses nature's boundaries? To look back on our group at the time in reckless abandon is kind of embarrassing. We were slaves to these creatures under the ocean, utterly transfixed. And yet it's understandable. The dolphin is a great creature with a personality that seemingly mimics our own emotions and only then, those that are our best. It's small wonder we act the way we do when they appear.

And as I sat there grinning, the air alive with dolphin chatter, it was then that I apologised for my folly and installed the dolphin back on the number one spot. Marvellous.

So sod your tigers and your lions, sod your sharks, eagles and dogs. I will continue to drink alone, but I'm ok with that, dolphins are best.

Oh, did you know crabs do it missionary? Exactly.

*Photos courtesy of fellow boat peeps Andrew and Courtney (http://couanddrew.weebly.com/travel-blog.html) as they've ripped out the usb ports in most Ecuadorian internet cafes.