Diving with Paul - Galapagos

No matter where you go, there you are…

Galapagos, Ecuador

10-30-07 Quito, Ecuador After a smooth 5 ½ -hour flight from Houston on Continental Airlines we arrive in Quito at approximately 11 pm to stand in a long line for what could be customs, immigrations or whatever else the Ecuadorian government may have in mind. A softly spoken “Excuse me” comes from a man behind me and he asks my permission to take a photograph of a patch on my well-traveled and adorned pack. Attracted by the patch proclaiming COEXIST he asks me if I am a Canadian because of the Maple Leaf patch also affixed within the collection. “No, it’s just that I enjoy traveling and people everywhere seem to like Canadians.” Because our conversation reveals that he is, in fact, Canadian I allow him to photograph my backpack.

Through the lines and eventually past an ultimate authority figure personified by a sternly uniformed official occupying the cubicle of acceptance, we gather for our pre-arranged transport to the Quito Marriott. Despite our close proximity to the equator Quito greets us with cool temperatures and a mist filled night due entirely to its 9,300 ft. altitude on the moisture-laden rim of the Andes.

In all, fourteen divers join our sponsors, Tim and Diane O’Leary of American Diving and Marine Salvage based out of South Padre Island, Texas. With an open friendliness Tim and Diane also operate Far Side of the World Adventures through which our dive and tour package has been expertly booked. Grateful to be in the company of seasoned Galapagos divers who freely share their experiences with those of us visiting for the first time I greedily anticipate a fine new adventure.

When I meet my designated dive buddy and cabin mate, Mark Haynes, he asks the standard diver assessment of how many logged dives I claim. When I resist the urge of my inner smartass that tempts me to respond with, “You mean besides the two certification dives?,” he appears relieved to learn he will not be saddled with a beginner. As our trip progresses Mark will frequently appear with his video camera in hand to record our journey with a zeal similar to that which I employ in scribbling notes into this journal.

Other members of our group include Jeff Stineman who, like Mark, joins us from South Texas while Tim White and Suzy Mills also come from Texas. Lonnie Sharp, Malcolm Smith and Jay Schwartz join us from California and Jim Mustoe hails from Pennsylvania. Chuck Mason and Doug Caddell shared dive trips with me to Utila of the Honduran Bay Islands earlier this year and, most recently, on the Palau Aggressor. As Doug so aptly expressed it, our Palau trip had served as a wonderful warm up for this Galapagos adventure.

Completing the roster, Kevin McLeod from Boerne, Texas shares with me a room at the Marriott and, with introductions and pleasantries conveyed, we finally settle into our room by 2:00 am. The plan calls for us to rise again at 8:00 for Quito excursions that include a trip to the Equator Monument, shopping in the central market or, for those seeking different indulgences, an appointment with the staff of the Marriott spa. I appreciate our full day and another night for exploring Quito before our flight to the coastal city of Guayaquil. The delay provides a deliberate and useful strategy for ensuring that our gear and luggage will join us in the unlikely event of an airline-related disruption. In Guayaquil we will connect with a long commuter flight to Baltra within the Galapagos archipelago.

10-31-07 Breakfast consists of an ample buffet with many unusual items previously unknown to me. I now wish for a handy pocket notebook so that I could write down the names of some of the more exotic offerings rather than rely exclusively on memory. Given the great quantity of foreign selections and perhaps because of spelling ease I manage to remember only Taxo, a tart local fruit with many seeds.

After breakfast most of us prepare for a tour to the Equator Monument followed by a visit to the Quito market afterwards. While gathering an extra layer for warmth against the mountainous chill I look out the window of our room and view a bustling city comprising around 2 ½ million souls spread over a varied, undulating terrain. Descending to the lobby I climb aboard the bus that conveys us through the streets of Quito and our first destination. During our 50-minute ride I observe a change in the local environment, a shift from wet and green to brown and dry indicative of a rain shadow effect on the Andean spine.

An immense obelisk appropriately marked with compass points on each face, the Equator Monument sports a painted yellow line running through its base to represent the actual equator. Our tour guide tells us that the French had plotted out the equatorial coordinates years earlier, but had actually missed by a mile or two. After a few smug remarks over French precision we offer honest gratitude for the role played by Jacques Cousteau in assisting with the development of scuba technology. The monument offers interesting informational pieces and satellite images, but the real fun comes from straddling each side of the line. Seldom may a tourist explorer claim to stand with one foot in the Southern and the other foot in the Northern hemispheres simultaneously.

After nosing through a few of the gift shops and acquiring a modest bag of trinkets I find Mark and Jim enjoying a beverage and snack in an open café. When I join them over a local beer we soon welcome others of our group as they slowly gather on the café patio. The conversation naturally evolves into talk of diving and Tim asks me whether I will use Nitrox during our trip. I say “No.” Though I’m certified in the use of Nitrox I’d rather breathe straight air. As those who are certified in its use know, Nitrox mixes offer heavier concentrations of oxygen, usually 32% or 36% compared to the 21% content in the air we normally breathe.

My limited Nitrox experiences have consistently caused me to feel anxious, clumsy and to hyperventilate resulting in seriously reduced dive time. As a true scuba pioneer and developer of tri-mix, a tekkie mixture containing oxygen, nitrogen and helium to improve functionality at great depths, Tim expresses his concern over my disdain for Nitrox. For that matter, the cadre of divers that previously dived with Tim includes several course directors and enough certifications to thoroughly paper a large wall. Tim frowns at me his thought about performing a lifetime lab screen and then we both laugh when I suggest the expediency of skipping my university years. After another long and considered pause he asserts that my aversion to Nitrox must be psychological.

Following our monument tour some of us depart our bus at the Quito market, a local bazaar near downtown packed with vendors displaying their various regional wares. Even though I walk through each tent, past booth and cubby, I cannot find anything in leather, alpaca, jewelry or otherwise that demands to accompany me home. After an hour or so I avail myself of a brisk walk through a light drizzle along Avenida de las Americas to absorb the sights, sounds and citizenry of central Quito.

Back at the Marriott I rejoin the camaraderie of my fellow divers over dinner in the lounge area and it fails to strike me odd when we enjoy a plentiful selection of sushi in the high Andes. I appreciate that our love for diving encourages people from diverse backgrounds to come together in a common desire to explore new realms, bond for a time and enjoy the enrichment of shared experiences. For me, these attributes contribute to the overall benefits fostered by scuba.

11-1-07 Quito to Guayaquil and Baltra While shuttling from the hotel in order to catch our flight from Quito to Ecuador’s main port city of Guayaquil we encounter limited visibility as a result of early morning fog. The resulting delay seems a common local event and, when our 45-minute flight finally takes off revealing an aerial perspective of Quito’s size and shape, the metropolitan spread seems impressive. Stretching for vast lengthwise distances between parallel mountainous ridges, Quito appears to completely fill the trough and sides of a narrow Andean crease.

A professional pilot in his non-diving life, Jay occupies the seat next to me and, while I view the cityscape below, he shares his perspective of the flight plan. With the airplane at full-throttle for takeoff and topping the western ridge he plans to listen attentively for when the engines are backed off for the long, possibly gliding descent to the coast and Guayaquil. From there we intend to board another aircraft for the longer two-hour flight to Baltra, a segment roughly equal to crossing Texas and representing a testament to the relative isolation of the Galapagos Islands.

Prior to landing on Baltra a flight attendant first opens each overhead luggage compartment and then proceeds down the central aisle with an aerosol can of spewing insecticide. I observe a mother with sleeping infant in her arms cover the babe and attempt a retreat to the rear kitchen and lavatory portion of the cabin. Restrained by another flight attendant intent upon keeping all passengers in their seats for the imminent landing, the mother reluctantly remains in her seat while holding her child. Diane tells me that, on her previous trips, she had never before seen them employ this preventative measure against unwitting infestation. Doug also shared with me his observation that the can of fumigant discharged too quickly, requiring the spewing flight attendant to simply pretend finishing her sweep midway along the opposite compartments. Debugged and reaching for a positive aspect to enforced fumigation, I appreciate the seriousness with which the Ecuadorian government protects the sanctity of the Galapagos system.

At the Baltra airport, a work in progress on a seemingly barren expanse of dirt, rock and cactus, Aggressor representatives greet us, gather our gear and quickly shuttle us by bus to the dock. An awaiting skiff, known locally as a panga, completes our rendezvous with the Galapagos Aggressor II. Safely on board after three days, three flights, three shuttle buses and one short panga ride we’re greeted with refreshments and an orientation of the vessel, our home for the next seven days.

Comfortably arranged with four guest staterooms on the Lower Deck and three more staterooms on Level Three two decks up, the Aggressor welcomes us. The Main Deck occupies the level between the Lower Deck and Level Three and contains the lounge, dining salon, galley and an ample dive deck just a couple steps down in the rear. On top, Level Four offers a partial deck for either sun or shade with loungers and hammocks. I will invariably gravitate here for an open-air perspective of the surroundings.

Mark and I share a forward stateroom on the Lower Deck along the waterline and I appreciate that our beds are on either each side of the cabin rather than bunk-style. We also enjoy a generous portal allowing natural light to come inside. The three staterooms on Level Three are between the pilothouse and an outdoor shaded lounge designed in the shape of a horseshoe with continuous cushioned seats that also serves as our briefing deck for each of our activities.

When I peer at a Galapagos map displayed on the briefing deck I struggle to find Baltra until a much closer examination reveals a relatively small spot of land among many islands far more vast. Isla Baltra appears to be more the size of a rock than anything, but the map does include a cartographer’s designation for the airport upon which we landed. That Baltra appears so small in the midst of the other islands displayed conveys to me the enormity of the archipelago as well as the tremendous force behind its volcanic and tectonic origins. Tim points out that these islands were created relatively recently and, as a consequence, the airstrip was more easily constructed on the flatter terrain of a secondary island. The larger islands invariably exhibit the more classic and dramatically shaped volcanic cones and harsh angular terrain.

Dive 1 Punta Carrion [deepest descent 29ft, total dive time 20 min] As night approaches we moor between two large islands and prepare for our checkout dives off the rear platform of the ship. Because I’m wearing a new 7-5 ml semi-dry, I appreciate the opportunity to try on weights. Advised to be somewhat heavy due to the nature of our dives we must prepare for quick descents and a willingness to cling to something solid, a profile far more desirable than excessive drifting or bobbing over the rocky undersides of the Galapagos.

Initially advised that insufficient time remains to perform our checkout dives as a result of our flight delays and the local restrictions prohibiting diving at night we receive clearance to do them quickly despite rapidly approaching dusk. While awaiting my turn at the checklist for additional safety equipment I observe that the rocky shores astride us are painted white with ancient patina of guano. The feeling that we arrive as transient visitors to an established system excites my sense of adventure while the surrounding sea provides an exotic contrast of deepening blue mixed with emerald over a ghostly bottom.

A couple of my fellow divers offer me separate and private expressions of their uncertainty over diving with this highly skilled and experienced group. I quickly provide assurances that everything will be just fine and yet, privately, have similar thoughts even with my recently earned Master Scuba Diver certification. An odd feeling emerges in which the total of my acquired skills seem akin to learning to walk amid this American Diving class of runners.

When my turn with the safety equipment checkout comes I accept an issued retractable safety flag and EPIRB device, affixing both to my buoyancy vest as instructed. EPIRB signifies Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon and each of us receives instruction for activating it in the unfortunate event of being swept away by currents or other whim of the sea. A receiver on board the Aggressor tracks each activated EPIRB and serves as a wise precaution in an extremely remote corner of the vast Pacific Ocean.

11-2-07 Under way to Isla Seymour and our first of two scheduled dives we traverse a calm sea under a sun-filled sky. From there we plan to cruise 140 nautical miles north by northwest to the uppermost edge of the Galapagos system where Isla Teodoro Wolf and Isla Charles Darwin, otherwise known as Wolf and Darwin Islands, await in remote seclusion.

During our passage I notice sharks just below the surface while Frigate birds glide hungrily overhead, both in apparent escort of our voyage. Around us, brown and barren low-profile islands offer visual contrast to the immensity of Santa Cruz, Santiago and distant Isabella Islands. I develop a sense of having entered a primordial aspect of our home world that few would ever see or appreciate and where an unrestrained vitality still exists.

Dive 2 Mosquera [83 ft, 39 min] As with nearby Punta Carrion the water temperature registers 70F on my dive computer and feels pleasantly comfortable while wearing my heavy semi-dry suit. Nestled between two larger islands Mosquera appears to be a rocky spit with a sand-filled interior forming a brilliantly white granular overlay. With numerous sea lions basking in the sun and frolicking offshore it seems a fitting backdrop to our first real dive on these remote shores.

Coached in the proper method for a panga dive entry we must perform simultaneous back rolls after a count of “one, two, three.” A quick descent directly to a shelf at about 60 ft. serves as our prelude before we drop a bit further past rocky steppes where a mild current greets us. As my depth increases I begin to feel increasing distress across my abdominal area and realize that “suit squeeze” has developed inside my new semi-dry. The combination of tight seals along my wrists, ankles and neck has trapped compressing air within causing my suit to tighten uncomfortably.

Because the first dive was for checking equipment, weight and buoyancy my depth never exceeded 30 feet and the tendency for suit squeeze had not become evident. I decide to invert myself and, taking a deep breath, blow my exhaled bubbles into a forced opening at my neck. This provides a quick relief that dissipates as soon as I return to a head-up position when the exhaled air simply rushes to the top of my hood. At least the pressure eases somewhat and a moment later I hear the rattle of our guide’s attention-getting device, a sealed metal tube with a loose metal clapper contained inside. In response to his signal I look toward the blue and immediately see a gang of five to seven hammerhead sharks perhaps eight or nine feet in length glide slowly past. My focus hardly settles on the hammerheads before a number of sea lions resembling brown torpedoes streak past and a school of Golden Cowrays also sweeps across my view.

Peering more closely along the rocky steppes I spot first one and then another aqua-blue nudibranch, each about ½” to ¾” long, sprouting small tentacular pennants from fore- and midsection. Looking more closely I see them everywhere and almost laugh into my regulator as I recall my recent dive trip to Palau where I struggled to find those multi-colored nudibranchs. Ferreting out small critters demands a fine scrutiny for which I have never been very good or diligent and I begin to think it might be time to invest in a good prescription dive mask. As if to dispel my alleged lack of spotting ability I spy a perfectly camouflaged Stone Scorpionfish only moments later as it lays amid ochre and green patches on a rocky ledge.

My focus on things small and disguised becomes somewhat forced by our relatively poor 30-foot viz, which causes me to look more closely at the creases and rocky ledges along which I silently float. Anything beyond visible range devolves into wishful gazing at a blurry deep, offering nothing more than hints and suggested outlines of sharks, rays and schooling barracuda.

After returning to the briefing deck of the Aggressor and while subscribing this narrative to pen and paper my fellow divers happily assail me with their enthusiastic recollections with each recalling a particularly satisfying moment during the dive. I also wonder at the sense of contrast that exists from my home to Quito and now this rare corner of our marvelous planet. Doug suggests I name this chronicle “Voyage of the Albatross” in reference to Charles Darwin’s famous “Voyage of the Beagle,” which he brought along for historical reference. Fittingly, ‘Albatross’ is the registered name of our Aggressor II vessel based in Puerto Ayara.

Dive 3 Mosquera [78 ft, 45 min] Following a similar profile to our previous dive on this site I encounter playful sea lions, majestic rays in winged formation and another large, purplish Stone Scorpionfish perfectly matching the rock upon which it rests. Crossing atop a rocky ledge I see a pair of feeding stingrays. They deliberately undulate their bodies time and again on the sandy bottom to seek out hidden morsels until forming a crater while opportunistic smaller fish form a ring around them to snap up the blow-by. Mercifully, the discomfort attributed to suit squeeze has abated from distress to mild awareness and I trust that my suit will continue to loosen with more use.

North Seymour Island Following our second Mosquera dive we enjoy an escorted tour on North Seymour Island. Land and marine iguanas share this habitat with blue-footed boobies, frigate birds, their chicks and many sea lions. Under an intense equatorial sun that radiates a metallic quality matching the barren topside harshness a wind steadily blows. I appreciate the protection offered by my wide-brimmed hat, zipper-leg jeans and long sleeved shirt as we walk a well-marked circuit designed to minimize human disturbance of the scaly, feathered and furred locals.

North Seymour Island appears like a Dr. Seuss landscape of tall prickly pear trees and broad patches of red succulent ground cover. Many Sally Lightfoot crabs stand out with an electric, ruddy-orange brilliance as they cling against the dark gray rocks strewn along the shore. We encounter two types of iguana including the larger land variety primarily colored with a brown that fades into tan. Speckles of golden yellow along the upper spines, facial area and leg scales serve to accent land iguana coloration. Marine iguanas are distinctly smaller and of a uniformly dark charcoal gray better suited to warming in the sun after grazing on algae and other aquatic vegetation in the chilly offshore waters.

Near the end of our 1½-hour walk we see a sunning female sea lion and, looking more closely, I realize that she’s using the sun to dry a recent wound. The distinct outline of a shark bite is clearly evident as an extended ring of toothy lacerations midway between her head and right shoulder. One of my companions observes that this sea lion must be one of the lucky ones to have escaped with her life when another counters with “You call that luck?” The exchange raises an interesting question over the merits of luck—whether to be bitten and survive or best not to be bitten at all? Perhaps the sea lion was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and gained a valuable lesson about the sharks that sometimes manifest in life.

At 4 pm and recently returned by panga to the Aggressor we commence our voyage to Wolf Island before continuing to Darwin. If our trip of 140 nautical miles goes according to schedule it will last about ten hours during which we will cross the equator from south to north. Our expected time of arrival at Wolf will be between 6 and 6:30 tomorrow morning.

Cruising at a steady yet leisurely pace with the sun on our port side a half dozen Frigate birds glide by and over our heads as escorts. Whether out of curiosity, boredom or to inspect us for morsels of food, these birds adorn our passage like seemingly motionless black-feathered kites overhead. I wish for my camera thinking to capture a frame or two of their elegance in flight, silhouetted as they are against a cloudless blue sky. Like our synchronized twin the Aggressor 1 runs before us and together we leave behind the heart of the Galapagos for its most remote northern extremity. Tim later tells me that these Aggressors always run together because, between them, they share an engineer for repairs and have enough spare parts to refit a whole new boat.

As our primary dive guide and major domo on the Aggressor, Giancarlo effusively shares his knowledge of local natural history while competently sharing guide duties with Lenin. In counterpoint to Lenin’s quiet efficiency, Giancarlo eloquently answers any of our questions and during the long passage north explains that the Galapagos system was primarily formed by a relatively stationary geological hot spot. In sliding over this active hot spot the incumbent Nazca tectonic plate advances at the rate of about 1” per year or around the speed a fingernail might typically grow.

Because the tectonic movement goes from west to east the oldest of the island group lies in the east while the westernmost islands continue to erupt irregularly. With its eastward movement the Nazca plate eventually forces itself under the South American plate generating geological upliftment along the Andean ridge. Additionally, the Cocos plate in the north fosters the Galapagos Spreading Center with Wolf and Darwin Islands standing astride it. Combine these surface events with a collision of nutrient-rich currents and the rugged Galapagos Islands receive a steady supply of proteins to support a vast ecosystem and abundant pelagic life. The currents include the colder Cromwell from the west, the Humboldt from Chilean waters to the southeast and the seasonal Panama Flow coinciding with the El Nino effect from the northeast.

Our lesson becomes sufficiently animated that Giancarlo takes us to the briefing deck for a visual demonstration using the ship’s map. After thanking him for the lesson he expressed genuine pleasure saying that few divers ever ask about such things.

As we continue our long cruise toward Wolf the sea around us remains soft, occasionally breached by a passing dolphin easily seen from my relaxed vantage point on the top deck. I feel lulled by the gentle rolling of our steady pace. Because the other Aggressor runs before us I can clearly see how we zig to their zag and Tim explains that the GPS, or Global Positioning Devices, feed the navigational autopilots of each ship. By providing latent signals to the hydraulically controlled rudders a cross-stitch pattern over the expansive sea results. Looking aft I observe the islands of Santa Cruz, Seymour, Santiago and huge Isabella slowly shrink into the distance of an earlier today.

Following dinner Giancarlo advises us that four dives will be offered tomorrow on or around Wolf. We should also expect our first look at the Galapagos shark, an alpha predator found primarily around Wolf and Darwin Islands. Tim relates them to local gangsters, fat and intimidating street toughs anecdotally described as if wearing a ball cap pulled down sideways on their heads. They offer a watchful eye that seems to follow you with every swim-by while exuding a ‘don’t mess with me’ attitude. With gangster sharks awaiting us tomorrow and the prospect for whale sharks around Darwin the following day our next pair of sunrises portend thrilling adventure.

11-3-07 Wolf Island Startled awake by the 6:30 bell calling us to breakfast I feel amazed to have slept through for eight hours and wake somewhat groggily after a long and unaccustomed stretch of slumber. I don my comfortable pants and Far Side of the World shirt given me by Tim and Diane before emerging from the lower decks. In the stateroom I join Chuck at his table and, with the perspective of previously shared diving experiences, he smiles hugely saying that he’s never seen me in such a sleep-dulled state.

Normally I’m up and alert, a natural morning person activated by sunlight, but must now ignore him for the sake of focusing my limited concentration on ordering two eggs fried over easy. I don’t know why I bother specifying how I want my eggs cooked because no matter how I ask for them fried becomes soft, hard and everywhere in between. With each breakfast we also enjoy fresh fruit, hot or cold cereal, juice and coffee for an acceptably satisfying start to the day.

After breakfast and feeling considerably more alert I ascend to the top deck and view our Wolf Island approach over a glassy sea rolling with moderate swells. In anticipation of our dive day I pause to contemplate my place in a food chain that includes hammerheads and gangster sharks. The recent memory of a shark-bitten sea lion basking on Seymour compels me to offer a silent prayer in trust that the toothy residents of Wolf do not also mistake me for a meal.

Dive 4 Landslide Area [78 ft, 32 min] All of us gather at the bow of the ship as if measuring our approach to Wolf Island while it steadily gains in size and proportion. An abruptly upright volcanic seamount, sea birds chaotically soar and alight along it’s uppermost reaches. Giancarlo tells us that Wolf extends 12,000 ft from its undersea base and I gauge that only the upper 600 to 800 ft rises above the surface of our calm sea.

As we recently learned Wolf Island sits atop the Galapagos Spreading Center, a convergence zone of the Cocos and Nazca plates. The tectonic collision formed a rent in the earth’s crust allowing magma to escape and create the raw mount now filling my gaze. With effort I shift my focus to the present and manage to hear the continuation of our dive briefing that urges us to submerge quickly. Due to wildly capricious currents we’re advised to hang close together or else risk scattering like so much flotsam along this edge of the world.

The Landslide Area fell away as a broad outer slice of the seamount resulting in bouldered steppes that cascade into and beyond our designated depth range of 60 to 75 ft. As usual we ride both pangas with each holding a driver, half the divers and a guide who issues our customary protocol of “Are you ready? I’m going to count to three now.” Becoming familiar with the maneuver I perform my part in the simultaneous back roll with one hand on my mask while the other multi-tasks with my camera and tucked gear. On “three” I fall in seeming slow motion and then quickly accelerate into deep blue water bordering on a darker blue deep.

The initial chill of the sea, which varies here from 72 to 75F according to the play of the currents, becomes a quickly passing sensation replaced by the visual thrill of a squadron of Eagle Rays in aquatic flight. Dropping to the rocky perch I had scoped during descent I am mindful where I place my gloved left hand lest it encroaches one of the many morays blatantly lounging in potential defense of the crevasses. Sure enough, as soon as I settle and look around me, a large green moray suddenly appears at my fins. Slightly elevating my gaze I also spot a six-foot Galapagos shark slowly cruising a scant fifteen feet behind, clearly checking me out.

Turning back toward the deep I gain another view of eight or nine eagle rays, either those that I had first glimpsed or another set entirely. They hover in place, exquisitely supple and streamlined to casually tread the current in perfect ease. From the opposite direction and slightly more distant, a small school of hammerheads patrols our outward perimeter. Using the camera still clutched in my right hand I freely take shot after shot and must have been excited during this first Wolf Island dive, because a quick gauge check reveals that my air already runs low.

After the requisite safety stop I reach the surface and signal my panga driver with the universal hand-on-head scuba sign that means I’m OK. After he maneuvers within reach I pass my camera and removable weights, assist by pushing my BC with attached tank upward and then clamber aboard seal-style. Almost immediately I see a small pod of dolphins looping through and across the gentle swells only a short distance away.

Dive 5 Landslide Area [87 ft, 47 min] Following a quick descent I notice a throng of small and unafraid reef fish that swim nearby with close encounter greetings. They serve as a prelude to the hammerheads, Galapagos sharks, rays and turtles that predictably follow.

The deep Cromwell current suddenly materializes with a colder influx of dense, occluded water to create a more bleary viz. With my left hand holding the barnacle-laden rocks I use my right to shoot images and an occasional video clip of anything that moves within my diminished range. Even though we’re diving in the same locale it becomes more dynamic with Cromwell’s effect on temperature, surge and dive profile management.

Upon surfacing I note that the morning clouds have burned away to transform gray overcast into a sunny blue sky to make our panga ride even more enjoyable by virtue of greater perceived warmth. The shimmering of the sea and enhanced brightness of the foamy white breakers against Wolf’s rocky knees magnify the sensation. Having pulled anchor while we were submerged the Aggressor moves to the west and our panga takes us on an intercept course around Wolf’s southwestern horn. Past craggy arches, foam-filled coves and beneath steeply vertical walls that appear to completely surround the island we skip across an increasingly agitated sea. The swells drive hammering waves against the rocky buttresses spraying cascade after relentless cascade as we converge with our mother ship at a west side mooring known as The Anchorage.

Gulls, frigates and other birds raucously call as they depart, return, greet or otherwise fend off feathery interlopers high above. During our ride from the Landslide dive site to our predetermined anchorage I visualize Wolf as an enormous volcanic plug ceaselessly worn by wind and sea. A visceral uniqueness sets it apart from the primary Galapagos group where those landforms typically appear more conical in shape and breadth.

Feeling a sense of peace that comes after vigorous diving we return to the Aggressor and see that our steward, Winter, and his helpers have prepared an open-air lunch. A perfect spot for a picnic at sea, we enjoy a soothingly sunny anchorage and the aroma of fajitas grilling on the top deck. During the meal that follows Tim remembers that I’ve been diving on regular air rather than Nitrox prompting him to ask how I am feeling. With incredible self-control I resist the urge to suddenly dribble food down the front of my shirt, twitch once or twice and then exhale a mock “hunnhhhhh?” As a recovering smart-ass feeling very much at peace while dining on the picturesque upper sun deck I tell him I’m feeling fine.

Dive 6 The Point [75 ft, 40 min] To the east and a bit north of the Landslide site we ride our pangas to The Point where we participate in our group back roll and drop quickly to depth. While descending I target a promising rock, grasp it and briefly wait for the pelagic show to commence.

During our briefing, we were advised that The Point has an unpredictable, finicky current that could sweep us further north or south. Despite the whims of the Humboldt I am grateful that it is about 5- to 8F warmer than the deeper, denser Cromwell Current. For now, the Humboldt forcibly pushes us to the north and I must maneuver by means of a left-handed crawl that reserves my right hand for ready camera use.

As before I closely examine each rock and crevasse for resident morays before wrist skipping to the next, perhaps better vantage point. We soon see hammerheads that glide by and then quickly scatter. I look around with thoughts that the disappearance of the hammers might have been caused by another predator. Turning toward the shallows I see a Galapagos shark cruising a slow path that will carry it uncomfortably close until it nonchalantly continues past with a what’s-your-problem attitude. I don’t know why the hammers fled and wait a few more moments seeing no further sign of sharks when I notice Jay taking up-close photos of a meandering turtle. Approaching easily and with my camera at the ready I begin to understand the mindset of paparazzi while considering that, in any place or time, all creatures become celebrities.

Dive 7 The Anchorage (aka The Chimney) [110 ft, 25 min] In the western cove of Wolf at The Anchorage mooring we plan our final dive of the day to see the famous red-lipped batfish. Found primarily in the Galapagos and occasionally around Cocos Island further to the north the red-lipped batfish intrigues for its unique coloration and awkward style of swimming. As with our initial check out dive, a mild sense of urgency to submerge before nightfall ensues and we enter the water from the dive deck of the Aggressor using giant strides. Anchored nearby, a research vessel has potential whistle-blowing authority in the event that we blatantly violate park regulations by diving at night.

Pairing again as dive buddies, Mark and I quickly descend to the sandy bottom and fin about thirty yards away from the Aggressor. We soon see Tim and Diane hovering over a handsome red-lipped batfish and join them for a closer look. When topside only moments earlier, Tim had described the red-lipped batfish as “painted up like a Matamoros whore.” Displaying full, pouting red lips in contrast to a creamy brown body I imagine it as the envy of every bottom-dwelling fish in the area.

According to my gauge at 110 ft along the bottom water temperatures quickly drop from 75- to a relatively colder 66F. Even so, the prospect of seeing this rare and remarkable specimen suspends frivolous or transitory desires for a return to warmth above us. While Mark has his camera, I’ve replaced mine it with a hand-held dive light in deference to the dusk that rapidly grows after 5 pm local time.

Approaching the red-lipped batfish I spot it with my light to facilitate Mark’s photographs. Because the batfish must have felt nervous, possibly embarrassed by our intrusion or simply shuns the limelight it lunges away using a curious side-to-side hopping motion. Jerkily reminiscent of a spastic flamenco dancer or an Irishman performing an off-cue jig it scoots quickly out of range. After only five minutes at depth with our shy batfish, I offer Mark the signal for ascending to a more reasonable depth and eventual conclusion of our last dive of the day. With his agreement we ascend to our mid-level range while also finning toward the rocky shore for a bit of exploring.

While approaching the rocky downslide encircling Wolf’s base I become suddenly uplifted from my 35 ft depth to a mere 8 ft by a surging vagary of the Cromwell flow. Alarmed, I instinctively attempt to dump air from my BC and realize I have no air to dump. My rapid ascent was caused by the strength of the capricious current rising along the upwardly sloping sea floor with an accelerating force aimed directly into Wolf’s rocky shore. By kicking vigorously I manage to return to a 30 ft depth where, after another exchange of hand signals, Mark and I agree to return toward the boat while performing our final safety stop along the way.

Moments later a female sea lion arrives and drops engagingly into Mark’s dive mask as if seeking a closer look at the curious undersea creatures we must seem. Mark reacts with his camera and begins shooting pictures of our sea lion while she performs an engaging series of playful swoops, rolls and somersaults around us. I feel thrilled that her acrobatics carry her near and feel like I could easily reach out to stroke her smooth coat. Like a coy maiden she teases and flirts, maintaining just enough distance to prevent further thoughts of an unwise touch. We conclude our safety stop with a return to the dive deck applauding our sighting of a red-lipped batfish, the playful sea lion and survival of the cold and spontaneously vigorous Cromwell current.

11-4-07 Darwin Island and Darwin’s Arch Shortly after four in the morning the steady vibration of our ship’s engines stirs me awake with anticipation of our departure from the Wolf Island anchorage. Darwin Island lies approximately twenty more miles and two hours running time toward the northernmost reach of the archipelago. There we expect more schooling hammerheads and the siren call of whale sharks, the largest fish in the sea. Due to Darwin’s extreme remoteness our position there places us geographically closer to Costa Rica’s Cocos Island than to the Ecuadorian mainland.

Dive 8 Darwin’s Arch [90 ft, 35 min] Astride and distinctly apart from Darwin Island, Darwin’s Arch stands tall on a broad base constantly awash with the lapping of a vibrant sea. Sculpted entirely by natural forces, the arch seems to rise from the depths creating an illusory experience reminiscent of the Arc de Triomph in Paris, rough-hewn atop a liquid foundation far out in the Pacific. The airy space within this Arch of the Galapagos evokes a spatial sensation that beckons like a surreal keyhole leading somewhere beyond the edge of this world.

Our intended dive site traverses the southeast side of the base where rocks cascade outward and down as a series of underwater steppes. The rocky outflow provides numerous perches for intercepting passing whale sharks with the interestingly evocative feeling of bus stops for awaiting the next arrival.

Consistent with the dive strategy used at Wolf, we employ the well-rehearsed simultaneous panga back roll and immediately descend to a mid-tier shelf along the base of the arch. In a moderate current and 75F water we position ourselves with handholds on the barnacle-encrusted rocks. I calm my breathing and relax while waiting only a few moments before a hammerhead flotilla appears above me. Outlined by the backlight of a shimmering, silvery surface they appear ethereal in silouette while rhythmically gliding overhead. Compelled by the vision I shoot several upward frames for capturing this moment, though I recognize that photographic images can account for only a small part of living the experience.

Moments later our guide rattles the signal of a whale shark sighting and alerts me to propel myself into the blue. Discerning a barely visible approaching shadow I close the gap as rapidly as I can. Drawing nearer I observe the shadow gain in proportion until assimilating into a spotted titan. Too late I realize that the zoom feature on my camera is set at mid-range hammerhead and I cannot fit the monster completely into my frame. I adjust the camera’s range and shoot three frames in rapid succession, all from below in upward silhouette as the whale shark cruises by with surprising momentum. While watching it vanish I realize that the whale shark’s heading had been directly into the current for ease of vacuuming plankton and fry into its open maw. As I return to settle on another barnacle handhold carefully avoiding the ubiquitous and uninhibited resident morays I develop respect for the deceptively powerful stroke of a whale shark cruising into a steady current.

When we commence our requisite safety stop and hover at 15 ft, I must retrain my focus in order to appreciate the incredible diversity of life around me. The abundant supporting cast of other species includes Goldrim Surgeonfish, Moorish Idols and the curiously handsome Guineafowl Puffer. In any other place or time I would consume an entire memory stick shooting digital images of the colorful reef characters. Here, the outer Galapagos Islands entrance me with an exotic diversity where beautiful, albeit small, specimens become secondary to the whale shark, eagle ray, scalloped hammerhead and Galapagos shark.

Dive 9 Darwin’s Arch [64 ft, 55 min] Our second dive along the base of the arch requires no further briefing beyond donning our gear and repeating the first dive. Settling at depth onto a decently sized boulder, host to a fresh and reluctantly compliant crop of barnacles, I employ my left-handed hold for maintaining position in a rhythmic on-again off-again surge. With a quick check of my depth gauge I also note water temperature consistency before awaiting a resumption of the grand aquatic march. With a mix of surprise and a growing sense of fascination I feel the intermittent tugs of the resident barnacles as first one and then others offer pinches to my gloved hand. Their timid yet evident insistence that I relinquish my hold on their hard-crusted conical homes goes unfulfilled given my determination to interlope their realm.

Hammerheads soon sail into view and I grow thrilled with the discovery that my perch adjoins a shark throughway as several pass remarkably close, perhaps within four to five feet. Quickly adjusting the frame of my camera to maximize the close proximity I begin snapping pictures while observing their features more closely. Situated at each extremity of their uniquely scalloped heads the eyes of a hammerhead epitomize black and beady. Swinging their hammers scythe-like with a lateral back and forth motion they fin past me, ostensibly eager to sidle quickly away. Holding position for several more minutes I use this segment to examine my surroundings more closely, always with an eye for hammerheads while scrutinizing the profusion of reef fish both new and old to me.

My contemplation ends with our guide’s signal to depart the rocky perches for a blue water mid-level profile and hopes for another whale shark sighting. While nearly surrounded by a mob of jacks that reduce visibility to within their massing numbers I hear the earnest rattle of a whale shark sighting. The divers before me immediately propel into a kicking frenzy while I quickly check my gauges to confirm my safety parameters and think, “Why not? This is the reason we’re here.” Kicking vigorously toward them for a few time-stretching moments I earn a downward view of a beautifully marked whale shark, our second sighting of the morning.

By virtue of great size and relatively casual tailfin propulsion it appears to move slowly below, creating a distorted spatial perspective that confuses my estimated point of convergence. With deference for the instructions previously given by Giancarlo we approach but do not touch. He explained that direct contact might cause the whale sharks to become alarmed, thereby disrupting the natural order and creating a potential wariness toward those divers who have yet to visit this magical place. A second whale shark materializes below the first but my depth limits and waning air prohibit my approach. With reluctance I commence my safety stop and decide to extend it from the usual three minutes to five for prolonged enjoyment of the overall sensory experience.

Dive 10 Darwin’s Arch [91 ft, 52 min] While clinging to a strikingly beautiful section of intermediate ledges with only a few distant hammerheads and no whale sharks I entertain myself with my camera. Unafraid butterflyfish above barnacle-laden rocks become a willing canvas for my photographic library. With none of the bigs in view, I narrow my focus and further cultivate a curious intrigue with the nipping barnacles. Naturally reclusive, they appear armed with at least one crab-like pincher tucked securely away within purplish white striated cones that sprawl over much of the rocky strata.

After investing about 25 minutes in macro observation I reconvene with our group as we drift into the blue. We quickly encounter actively schooling fish of a nondescript variety before they suddenly disappear without obvious warning. The notion that something large and imposing might be on the approach interests me, but when those same fish soon return I feel as if a curious sub-sea prank occurred at my expense. After a few more minutes and lacking the impetus for further identification or understanding of fish and their behavior I commence a prolonged safety stop before surfacing to the awaiting panga.

While on the mid-level deck of the Aggressor our reminiscences revolve around our individual dive experiences, notably centering around those divers from our companion Aggressor. During the middle of our perching segment they had converged upon us in a swimming, crawling bump and grind melee that required me to lay face-down flat. Holding deliberately to my occupied and claimed ledge with one hand and my mask with the other I began to understand how the resident barnacles or moray must feel while clumsy interlopers bumble into my territory. Lucky were they that my teeth are not so sharp or my lips brightly painted when Diane appropriately describes our other-diver encounter as a “Red-Lipped-Batfish-eat-Batfish world.”

Later, while enjoying a bit of post-dive quiet time, I unintentionally contemplate ear congestion. After repetitive submersions the ear can feel blanketed and interactions with others become like a parody of conversations with old folks. Many of us suffer from foggy hearing and must consciously refrain from speaking progressively louder. Mindful of shouting yet endeavoring to be heard, conversations include the polite punctuations “What?”, “Excuse me?” or “Say again?” Freely shared eardrops make frequent rounds.

Upon switching to the more satisfying visually-kinesthetic mode we embellish the briefing board with crudely drawn images and an ongoing whale shark tally as lucky totems. Thanks to our local batfish, red lips whimsically add to most of the renderings.

Dive 11 Darwin’s Arch [94 ft, 40 min] Following the usual protocol we drop to a mid-level ledge where I find a flat patch of rock providing an unobstructed view of the deep. I remain in position for about fifteen minutes while innumerable hammerheads glide past in their solemnly majestic, ethereal procession. Nearing 5 pm local time our viz remains good, but the lighting has diminished sufficiently that I simply observe and admire the passing hammerheads without further expending the battery life or memory of my digital camera.

By temporarily suspending photography and, for that matter, any physical exertion beyond the effort of clinging and watching I actually broaden the awareness of my surroundings until imagining that I hear music. Closely resembling the song Serenity by the artists of Delerium, a rhythmic chanting engages my aural attention. With a universal monastic order providing an auditory backdrop I feel certifiably intoxicated by the spectacle of a hammerhead procession journeying past my rocky perch. Despite my highly gratifying state of being, I reflexively recall the conversation with Tim concerning the benefit of Nitrox. Relying solely upon air over repetitive dives I wonder, should I say anything about the soundtrack?

Within moments my self-indulgent reverie is interrupted by the urgent signal of a whale shark sighting and I immediately launch myself with an eager Pavlovian fervor into the open blue. While I kick blindly and somewhat faithfully outward the rattling signal issues again. After completing a full 360-sweep without seeing anything level with my position, I look upward and involuntarily expel the words “Oh, shit” into my mouthpiece. The whale shark appears so close above me that I freely spend a moment to reset my digital camera to video clip mode. Near enough to look the beast in the eye, which appears unnaturally small in relation to its overall size, I record a full-body pan that concludes with the slow and deliberate beat of its massive tail. As the whale shark disappears beyond visible range I recollect all the old diving adages favorably comparing its bulk to that of a spotted school bus.

The monks of Delerium resume their private and unbidden chanting while I hover at a depth of about thirty feet wondering about the difference between hallucination and spiritual opening. When our guide, Giancarlo, offers an encore rattle I pivot to see another whale shark moving laterally underneath. With waning air and a mid-level stop to consider I choose to simply watch it go by. The thrill of swimming with the largest fish in the sea provides cause to reassess my preferential ranking of lifetime dives and I only hope those sites will again hold the same appeal they once had.

After surfacing and an assisted clamber aboard the panga I freely share jubilant high-fives and individual accounts of our close encounter with the whale sharks. When we motor past Darwin’s Arch through choppier water I use my camera to snap images of Galapagos’ own Arch of Triumph while the monks continue their accompanying song audible only to me.

Buoyed with exuberance over a new favorite dive of this trip, I throw caution to the wind by sharing with my fellow panga mates that I could hear monks chanting while underwater. This admission prompts Tim to correctly and astutely observe, “That’s probably the closest you’ve ever been to church music.” It really doesn’t occur to me until later that audio hallucinations suggest an abnormal condition that might suspend further diving. My enthusiasm in the moment superseded acceptable appearances and diving practicality. Spiritual fantasy and an honest self-appraisal reveals nothing more symptomatic than a continuing aversion to Nitrox.

Dried, at peace and relaxing on the Aggressor I broach the topic of my chanting monk episode with some of the other divers. A dialogue with Jim and Mark follows in which Jim offers the immensely profound perspective that “God made all those animals. All are perfect and with a perfect function.” Responding to that assessment Mark replies “And you know, 99.9% of people will never see this place.” “No”, we amend…”99.9% of divers will never see this place.”

11-5-07 Arising at 5:45 feeling energized for a new day I grab my freshly charged camera and enter the dining salon. There I pour myself a mug of hot coffee while bidding “buenos dias” to those already awake. Proceeding to the upper deck and an excellent view of Darwin Island I observe the resident sea birds noisily flocking along the sheer cliffs in pursuit of their new day. We anticipate two more dives along the base of the arch before returning to Wolf Island for an afternoon dive.

Dive 12 Darwin’s Arch [75 ft, 52 min] After descending I cling to a new ledge where I again entertain myself with my camera. A Fine Spotted Moray poses nearby and I also shoot several reference images of the colorfully encrusted rocky steppes. Only a few creatures materialize to capture my attention, but the improved viz now extends from 60 to 75 feet and the water temperature registers a comfortably consistent 75F.

The divers perching with me remain poised for quick action along the edge of the beckoning deep, colored blue with softening shades of azure and cobalt. When the signal to move eventually issues after about twenty minutes of waiting we cast off. After relinquishing my hand hold I diligently add a touch of air to my BC to avoid further descent and requisite expense of effort to recover depth. We drift casually and, before long, a large school of hammers swirl around us employing their peculiar side-to-side full-body back and forth stroke.

Amid the hammerhead swirl a lone Silky shark approaches more boldly than his hammered cousins and I briefly wonder to what extent my dive mates and I are scrutinized with hungry intent. I hold to a passage from a fish behavior book that describes the Silky as more curious than aggressive as it continues to swim vigorously below us.

Our drift continues uneventfully toward our safety stop when, causally looking below me, I see an immense moving carpet of white hand-sized polka dots on a darker, charcoal background. Coming wide-eyed alert from only ten or twelve feet above it, I remember to breathe as the whale shark continues its passage directly beneath me as it moves from behind and away. The sighting rattle comes a moment later and the divers in our group begin furiously kicking toward the beast and I. With the rush of adrenalin I fumble a hurried attempt at setting my camera to shoot in rapid burst mode. Shrugging off momentary frustration I choose to simply observe and enjoy the view.

As the school bus barrels through I become aware that one of our divers strays too close and risks entanglement with the massive tail beating that rhythmically powerful stroke. Watching closely I see our diver narrowly escape impact and, with a speed that continues to surprise me, the whale shark disappears from our field of view. We exchange fist pumps and underwater salutes during our safety stop and then board the awaiting pangas with excited versions of another close encounter.

Dive 13 Darwin’s Arch [75 ft, 55 min] Poised, waiting and attached to my final ledge at 56 feet it occurs me that ours has been a form of reverse trolling that requires us to wait for our game to pass. Of the six whale sharks sighted so far most were encountered in depths between twenty and sixty feet. The breadth of Darwin lends to speculation that whale sharks seem to be circumnavigating the atoll while sweeping vast quantities of plankton, krill and other particulates.

For 25 perched minutes I enjoy the company of several morays and one mature two-foot-long Bumphead Parrotfish languishing nearby. Highlighting the sensory stimuli, the ongoing sensation of barnacles relentlessly pinching my gloved hand underscores the whole experience before we head off into the blue and another lazy drift. As part of my own pre-dive briefing I had set forth a personal intention for an up-close, face-to-face encounter with a whale shark on this, our last dive on the arch before returning to Wolf Island.

Drifting in the blue at around sixty feet I hear the signal, immediately perform an eyes-wide-open 180-degree pivot and there, to my intense satisfaction, I see the massive face of a whale shark bearing down upon me. Recalling the pre-dive instruction to react as if in the path of that proverbial school bus, I quickly fin out of its direct path and begin shooting one still-frame picture after another. Close enough that I could easily touch it, I again refrain from doing so choosing to visually enjoy my proximity to this gentle giant.

Whale shark eyes appear relatively small and set back astride the broad head. The intelligence shown in those eyes seems to be of an enduring kind, like those of a slowly unfolding planetary consciousness exuding a simple refrain, “Life is”. The cavernous mouth serves as a delineator between the charcoal gray upper body laced with white hand-sized spots and the milky underbelly. Proportionately correct, the enormous fins sail past as rigid appendages to the long sinuous body drawing the great, beating tail behind.

The passage of the whale shark endows me foremost with an emotional reward of satisfied intentions. Because gazing upon its massive bulk lends the eye a wide screen perspective, I realize with some surprise that numerous piscine passengers also ride attached to its chin, fins and tail. Large in their own right, the clinging remoras seem dwarfed by their gargantuan host. As the whale shark continues its journey and before completely receding into a deeper blue beyond visible range I say a private “Thank you” for a wish fulfilled.

Readying myself for the safety stop with a slow ascent to fifteen feet I hear the rattle again and, looking about, see another whale shark passing no more than 25 feet away. Perhaps half the size of the other, I watch this one sail out of sight and express feelings of profound appreciation before resuming the prescribed safety stop. Returning to the awaiting panga I realize that I could not have scripted a better finale to this last visit to the arch.

Our onboard lunch includes the laughter of shared tales and the pleasure of post-dive exertion. After more than a dozen dives most of my companions transition from lunch to napping, but I sit reflectively on the aft end of the Aggressor watching Darwin and its namesake arch recede into the distance. With the still discernable opening in the center of the arch comes a feeling akin to mourning and I acknowledge that this special place will soon vanish from my view as we begin our return from this far side of the world.

Stopping briefly for a return to Wolf Island and another dive there we expect to make the longer crossing back to the heart of the Galapagos. Claiming eight whale shark sightings, uncounted hammerheads, morays, an abundance of reef fish and other exotics fills me with a sense of great satisfaction. And as successful as our trip has truly been our scheduled itinerary promises yet more dives. While reflecting upon the sites to come and an impulse to drop a few pounds of leaden weight I observe the sea growing increasingly restless under an overcast sky.

After retiring to my bunk for a surprisingly sound catnap the ship’s bell alerts me to our third and final dive of the day. Aroused and fully alert with the call I rise and quickly prepare myself. The sea now churns with even greater vigor and regularly swamps the window of our lower level berth with foamy green seawater. This creates an intriguing strobe-like effect as gray daylight intermittently shines through the frothing swells.

Scrabbling like an unsteady crab while gripping any conveniently stable handhold I manage to check my gear and also reduce my lead to twenty lbs of weight. After donning my suit I prepare to board the panga by timing its pitch to that of the Aggressor dive deck, now completely awash with several inches of sea and foam. Rather awkwardly, because there is no allotment for grace in a roiling sea, those of us participating in this scheduled dive successfully transfer to the skiff and we motor toward our previous Wolf Island site, The Landslide Area.

Dive 14 Wolf Island Landslide Area [77 ft, 44 min] Our wild panga ride across the turbulent sea yields significantly more action than was experienced on the larger Aggressor. We ride bronco-style to our drop off and urged to back-roll with a rapid descent. After firmly gripping a rock at depth I immediately look for Chuck, who substitutes for Mark as my buddy on this dive. Spotting Chuck, I offer an OK signal and he concurs.

With each heave of the imposing surge I roll landward-to-seaward, pivoting front to back in an arc centered around my handhold as if a three-dimensional rodeo ride. Engaged in a vigorous dive requiring ample positioning above the sharply edged, barnacle-encrusted rocks, obstructing sub-sea boulders and the need to remain in contact with buddy and group I seem to lack only my spurs and chaps to complete the cowboy imagery. Anecdotal images suggesting mix-master and spin cycle come easily to mind. My positional variance seems to grow with each gyration until our guide signals us to move down current, adding yet another angular dimension to this dive.

Amid the sub-sea acrobatics I see many turtles, a lone meandering Eagle Ray and a steady procession of Galapagos Sharks effortlessly gliding with menacing presence. Chuck signals an octopus sighting, a great find given its remarkable camouflage while it clings almost motionless astride a matching rock. Typically nocturnal, preferring a reclusive lifestyle, they usually shun attention. Chuck would later explain that he saw it as a flicker of movement, perhaps while hunting or else surprised by our sudden appearance.

When I signal my desire to commence our safety stop due to depleted air consumed through exertion Chuck graciously agrees. Moments later Jay appears from below and joins us. With his arrival I extend my stop to over six minutes to facilitate our surfacing together as a group. From about forty yards away each of us gives the panga driver an all-OK signal and then awaits our retrieval. Because the sea continues to gain in swelling intensity our panga steers directly to the anchorage on Wolf’s western side. There we expect to board the Aggressor with more ease than would be possible near our open water dive site. Even so, stepping from the smallish panga onto a foamy dive deck requires an eye for timing and the attentive hands of the helping Aggressor crew.

Once safely aboard the Aggressor we soon head south-southeast for a return to the heart of the Galapagos and, along the way, a re-crossing of the equator anticipated sometime tonight. Our course steers us directly into the storm surge and significant oncoming swells that cause the Captain to reduce speed. His decision inhibits the bow of the ship from climbing too sharply else it plunge harshly downward from each peak into a following trough of the undulating sea.

By 8:30 that evening I realize with some surprise that I am alone in the lounge area. Each of the others, whether passenger or crew, have already retired with most wedged into their berths, some due to nausea and all due to the exhaustion of a physically demanding regimen. Feeling spent, yet pleasantly satisfied despite the rough passage, I finally climb into a bunk that repetitively lifts and drops me with the effect of alternating heavy and zero gravity. While rhythmically pitching in my bunk, though never fully airborne, I contemplate the desirability of straps with which I might secure myself atop an undulating sea. Sleep comes for me as a series of two-hour snatches and yet I feel surprisingly refreshed when I arise with the next light of dawn.

11-6-07 Compared to more northerly or southerly latitudes the timing of sunrise and sunset in the vicinity of the equator changes little with the calendar. The first glow of daybreak typically here wakes me around 5 am while nightfall arrives locally by 6 pm. Due to our slower passage through heavy seas we belatedly re-cross the equator sometime between 7:30 and 8:00 am. Because of the delay associated with our crossing the next dive shifts to 10:30 for a descent along Cousins Rock, Roca Cousin in the vicinity of Isla St. Bartolome. Following this dive we anticipate our second land tour of the trip.

About one hour before the dive I choose to spend a few preparatory moments checking over my well-used equipment. Disengaging my BC to drain residual seawater that may have accumulated within I observe with some surprise and pleasure that only a few drops emerge. After re-attaching the recently-filled cylinder of air to my BC I also note with satisfaction that it holds 3,057 lbs of air, about normal for this filling process.

While readying myself for Roca Cousin I learn that the delay caused by our plodding nighttime passage negates additional diving for today. Commencing shortly after the Cousins dive, our land tour will encompass a steep and wind-blown trek to the top of seriously volcanic St. Bartolome. I sense that many in our group feel amenable to the reduced scuba regimen as several have previously opted out of one or two dives. Whether due to simple diving exertion, seasickness or a spreading respiratory illness among the ship’s company our proposed hike over dry Terra Firma assures a pleasant interlude from our underwater agenda.

Dive 15 Roca Cousin [62 ft, 59 min] The descent on Cousin’s Rock follows a familiar series of outwardly cascading steppes. Descending to a 55 or 60 feet we begin searching for the Pacific Seahorse, scientifically known as Hippocampus Ingens. The Pacific Seahorse apparently grows to as much as twelve inches long and comes in varying colors, though none of us succeed at finding one. Multitudes of psychedelic starfish, ample specimens of black coral and numerous hydroid clusters inhabit each level of the shelf system to otherwise capture my attention along and around the base of Cousin’s Rock.

The water temperature reads a significantly cooler 62F and feels chilly with the effect that seahorse spotting, huge though they may be, feels like a chore. Moving along a shelf with my dive buddy, Chuck, we expend 18 of our allotted 20 minutes searching for illusive seahorses before moving on. After our Palau time together spent in search of nudibranchs and other small creatures I feel confident that if Chuck could not find a large seahorse then none were here to be found.

Proceeding up and across a broad upper ledge we fin to the opposite side of the rock toward Cousin’s Point and find many brightly exotic starfish strewn along the way. The water temperature elevates to as much as 68F after we withdraw from the primary channel through which the Cromwell Current flows. Even so, cumulative cool-water diving leads to numbness that grows noticeably more pronounced in my toes.

Reaching the far side of Cousins Rock I encounter a wall and fin along its vertical steep, here encrusted with brilliantly colored orange sponge, numerous hydroids and thick, blunt-ended sea urchins. Turning to establish Chuck’s position as a dive buddy confirmation I see him gesturing emphatically beyond me and I spin a quick turn. Startled, I see a massive bait ball more accurately or cleverly known as schooling Black Striped Salema. Separately, Salema lack interest, but when schooling in the thousands they polarize. By swimming together with uniform direction, speed and at the same relative distance one from another they provide a mesmerizing display.

Without hesitation I set my camera to video mode and deliberately swim into their writhing mass. With sufficient density to reduce available light, they part and regroup along my trajectory as if forming a shadowy phalanx. After an amazingly long interval of swirling, scaly schooling motion I exit through the living boundary on the opposite side and turn in time to see Chuck also emerge. With eyes alight and an emphatic fist pump, Chuck emphasizes our shared experience. Smiling into my regulator I return his salute and re-enter the bait ball for another pass through the shimmering, kaleidoscopic mass of tightly knit fishies intent upon performing a signature survival trait.

After surfacing we return to the Aggressor where it waits patiently moored within a sweetly glistening cove adjacent to Isla Bartolome. There we briefly rest and ready ourselves for the next land tour, a hike to the highest of the nearby cinder cones. Overt volcanism overwhelms the eye and lends an unearthly appearance to our view, now brightly awash with sunshine on jagged peaks topping a blue sea and a steady breeze.

St. Bartolome Our pangas carry us to a grayish-brown volcanic outflow brightly punctuated along the water’s edge with the brilliant orange intrusion of Sally Lightfoot crabs. Our hike begins along the sides of a sheer cinder cone dramatically rising from the depths of a glistening sea. After only a few yards our path becomes a railed wooden land bridge constructed for safer footing atop sharp volcanic grit uniformly covering the terrain with loose, slippery particles.

The wooden walkway confines visitors to a prescribed path that ascends in a spiral around the base of the cone, adorned here with small ghostlike bushes in an otherwise barren landscape. Throughout the lengthening afternoon relentless winds blow steadily stronger as we ascend the around cone. With an unbidden visualization I imagine that everything along our path was once the hot liquid of flows, fumaroles, blasts and spatters of magma escaping the interior of the earth. While continuing to the top of the cone a grand panorama of spires and craters fill our view and lend to the impression of a raw, windswept place alive with a sense of exploration and rebirth.

11-7-07 After waking at first light I contemplate our final day of activities that will begin with a land tour on South Plazas Island. Our last available dive follows this excursion and I develop a quickening awareness of the need to prepare my gear for eventual departure. A visit to Darwin Station on Isla Santa Cruz, reached after a short walk through town from the Puerto Ayora dock rounds out our varied itinerary.

With the wind settled under an overcast sky and, because our vessel moved to a new mooring during the night, we quietly sway in an unfamiliar cove. First Kevin and then Jim emerge with the identical question, “Where the hell are we?” In a world grown increasingly accessible to adventure in distant locales I quietly laugh, wondering how many more exotic experiences will yet enter my reality.

The term, ‘The world is your oyster’ comes to mind and I truly feel that mine contains a pearl of immense beauty and immeasurable value. Following my brief moment of romanticism and appreciative good fortune those thoughts abruptly shift to a hope for functional cellular service. Darwin Station poses the most likely source from which I might call my loved ones at home.

South Plazas Island Our land excursion begins at 7:30 am and we ride the pangas to another Dr. Seuss landscape similar in form and content to that on North Seymour Island. The most noteworthy difference is that South Plazas slopes upward and away from our landing site toward the opposite shore. The far side of the island rises abruptly from the sea to form a jagged stretch of cliffs perfectly suited as aeries for the Swallowtail Galapagos Gulls. As usual, Giancarlo answers our questions with great interest, freely sharing his gems of knowledge. For example, increased morning dew benefits the prickly pear trees here more than those smaller, more spindly examples seen on North Seymour.

South Plazas Island also has loose, sandy soil better suited for iguana burrows than found on rocky North Plazas just across the channel. Here a marine iguana male doubtlessly overcome with the reproductive urge will occasionally mate with a female land iguana to produce a sterile hybrid. Sadly, as with our search for the Pacific Seahorse, we see no hybrid iguanas on this excursion.

The iguanas we encounter appear as unafraid of us as the Galapagos Gulls, sea lions and every other creature we pass during our hike. Impressed yet again with the careful controls and protection employed by Ecuador and the Galapagos National Park Service we wend our way along a marked trail from which we are urged not to deviate. Ecuador rightly regards the Galapagos archipelago as a world-class treasure.

Dive 16 Rocas Gordon [88 ft, 35 min] Our final dive drops us inside this semi-submerged volcanic crater where the collapsed or blown away western wall provides unobstructed access to the cold Cromwell Current. At depth the dense current flow across the crater floor chills the water to 61F on my computer while my dive buddy, Chuck, registers an invigorating 59F. Because of the Cromwell influence our viz rapidly deteriorates as we valiantly attempt to follow our prescribed route around the inside of the crater rim. Many colorful starfish litter the sandy bottom of our passage and I must force a sense of appreciation for their varied beauty as a defense against the coldness.

Approaching the inner spire, a rocky pinnacle at the center of the crater that measures perhaps ninety feet around and forty feet tall, I observe schools of fish hovering around and atop the resident sponges. Resembling lichen that covers high-altitude slopes, flattened coral clings to rocky outcroppings and contributes to the wild profusion of colorful hues.

While finning beyond the central pinnacle toward the far side of the crater’s inner rim the temperature gradually warms to 66F as a sign of our departure from the Cromwell effect. Looking up I spot a squadron of Golden Cowrays that motivates me to reset my camera for video mode and I begin capturing their flight despite the continuing poor viz. Probably because I approach too close they suddenly dive as an organized group and I shift my focus toward a school of Pacific barracuda that also withdraws from view. A lone turtle remains to capture my sole attention as it beats a slow path and I simply watch it ease away, having previously seen and photographed several during our trip.

When Jim joins Chuck and I we each check with the other for a directional preference and I quickly suspect that none of us has a clue regarding our specific proximity to the dive plan. At a depth of 35 feet somewhere along the Rocas Gordon rim in the heart of the Galapagos archipelago we drift with casual ease. After a few moments Chuck offers the signal to commence our safety stop and I welcome his suggestion.

The combination of colder water with poor viz and recognition that we’ve been on every available dive makes this a reasonable and fitting conclusion to the underwater portion of our trip. Ascending to fifteen feet and while preparing for my final clamber aboard the panga I note that the water nearer the surface warms to a comparatively balmy 70F atop the heavier, bottom-hugging Cromwell Flow.

As we depart Rocas Gordon a very light rain begins to fall on a settled, nearly calm sea. When we reach our vessel the speed and efficiency of our crew quickly impresses me as they clean, rinse and then place our gear on the upper sun deck for drying prior to our departure in the morning. Following a hot shower and fresh change of clothes I enjoy some quiet bunk time for jotting a few notes in this journal when Doug urgently alerts me that Orcas have been sighted.

On the viewing deck I join my dive fellows who point excitedly toward a small pod that appears to consist of one male, two females and a juvenile. Watching the Orcas slice the surface of the water with stiletto-like dorsals I appreciate the sighting as an auspicious finale to a very vigorous dive regimen. Soon, our last outing will commence with a panga ride to Puerto Ayora where Giancarlo will shepherd us on a tour of the Charles Darwin Research Station. I have no doubt that our tour will include one of his excellent briefings on the nature and condition of the giant Galapagos tortoise.

Puerto Ayora Providing an interesting blend of Ecuadorian culture with worldly flair the town of Puerto Ayora embodies a relaxed, eclectic and cosmopolitan panache. The architecture includes many examples of free flowing plaster in a pleasing variety of pastels I enjoy in passing on our walk to Darwin Station. Offered as a naturalist’s overview, our educational briefing describes the effect of early seafarers visiting the archipelago and specifically focuses on the giant Galapagos tortoise.

Food and water were primary concerns for early voyagers and we learn that tortoises were frequently loaded into the holds of sailing vessels as a resilient stock requiring no care. While the most overt threat to survival of the giant tortoise may have been their use as food so goats, rats and horses left behind by Europeans also created an unnatural competition for survival within the sparse island system.

Hanging in the display lobby of the learning center a large map demonstrates progress of the deliberate eradication of foreign transplants shown on an island-by-island basis. Measured by the slaughter of thousands of goats by authorized Ecuadorian agents success comes slowly, one island at a time. A thought occurs to me that Ecuador might profit by selling hunting permits to certain Texans who would eagerly pay for the privilege of shooting things.

After our introductory overview we walk past many chain-link pens, each holding tortoises in varying degrees of maturity as a result of the careful breeding and repopulation programs. The first pen holds the youngest of the hatchlings, each marked by a painted number designating the specific individual. Successive pens enclose tortoises grown older and larger according to chronological hatchings.

Beyond the hatchling pens we view observe open habitat carefully designed for naturalism through which a continuous wooden walkway preserves the integrity of the native vegetation. Colorful signs along the walkway provide educational highlights that state, among other details, that the dozen surviving sub-species evolved variances in size and shell type according to their specific islands of origin within the archipelago.

Following the walkway along its length we arrive at an enclosure with fully-grown tortoises through which we may freely move. Advised to look without touching and to avoid stepping onto their feeding platform we approach the slow giants with fascination. The average Galapagos tortoise enjoys a life span of around 180 years, much easier to comprehend as I watch several of them laying about in a state of seeming catatonia. When one tortoise dips his great head into a water reservoir for drinking, his gulps seem to occur in slow motion over four- to five-minute intervals until a fellow visitor wonders aloud whether it had fallen asleep.

Recovered from the fascination of motionless tortoises with further excitement over the act of drinking I continue on to the station’s gift shop where I find and acquire a Galapagos Reef Fish Identification book. Proceeds for all purchases here go entirely to the benefit of the Charles Darwin Research Station and I don’t mind paying a slight premium for the cause. Devoted to making the archipelago a focal point for world-class conservation, Darwin Station promotes naturalism through research and merits our support.

Following our station tour we return through town and engage in mild shopping for gifts and souvenirs or simply enjoy beverages and empanadas at an open-air café. The customary Champaign farewell party aboard the Aggressor remains our final scheduled activity.

The farewell party allows the crew and guests to exchange mutual appreciation and gratitude. Resplendent in dress whites our crew beams in dress whites while the steward, Winter, dons a formal black suit akin to a tuxedo. He serves many hors d‘oeuvre platters of cheese and treats until several Champaign toasts offer warm thanks to our captain, engineer, panga drivers and himself. A special acknowledgement for Giancarlo’s guidance of our group concludes the occasion.

After the farewell reception some of our group return to town for dinner while a few others remain on board freely consuming the remaining beverages and otherwise packing for our morning departure. Very well fed and in enjoyable company throughout our voyage I feel no urge to dine out and opt to remain on board for a bit of quiet time packing. Even so, I experience an odd restlessness after our week of adventuring and stroll between the decks while endeavoring to unwind. As if the rhythms of my body have attuned to regularly scheduled thrills I feel an inner void attributable to whale sharks, hammerheads and vigorous surge now solely residing in my memories. In passing I encounter some of my fellows apparently feeling similar sensations, moving about with a wired ceaselessness as if awaiting the next bell alerting us to dive.

By 9:00 pm only a few of us continue to move restlessly around the ship, though now with a slower pace. Sufficiently unwound and as if by previous invitation Mark, Chuck, Jim and I converge on the briefing deck and spontaneously commence an IPod party using Jim’s equipment and musical selection. We quickly transform into Los Cuatro Amigos with great laughs and singing, though to this day I cannot relay what songs we specifically sang or episodes laughed about. Our warm transformation draws from a true high-on-life feeling. After all, what better way to celebrate the end of an exceptional vacation linking new friends and exotic diving?

We continue our party with bottles of red wine, many beers and a few tastes from Jeff’s bottle of Jack Daniels. During our celebration a catamaran had settled on a mooring behind our port quarter and, sometime later, a disco ball appears to tease or entertain from its upper salon. Whether spurred by the sparkling ball or motivated by a higher source we party on until Mark announces, “When I have Chinese eyes we’ll all go to bed.” I actually try to read an excerpt aloud from this journal, but my unfocused and squinty eyes lend spirit to Mark’s prediction.

Our party reaches its culmination when Diane emerges from her cabin at precisely 12:09 am (diligently noted in the dive log) and offers an exasperated plea to please quiet down. Immediately adjacent to our briefing deck frivolity, the cabin she shares with Tim must reverberate with our celebration. Looking around I detect the extinguished disco ball and, soon after, we each retire to our cabins for the night.

11-8-07 Baltra to Quito After breakfast, final packing and successful transfers via panga to the dock we board our awaiting shuttle bus. Upon our arrival we discover that the Baltra airport has transformed into a vendor haven of trinkets and textiles to entice departing travelers. A regularly scheduled assemblage, the souvenir booths anticipate the weekly passenger exchange associated with mainland flights. With few other opportunities for exploiting tourist trade the vendors opportunistically open their stalls according to the flow of airline traffic. After our week-long voyage I remain unable to remain still for very long and appreciate the distraction of goods for examination and handling during our prolonged wait.

Early departure from the Aggressor provides the crew time to prepare for their next round of divers, but limits our stimulation to hours of sitting or aimless wandering amid the array of vendor booths while awaiting our flight to Guayaquil. Tempted by a rack of post cards I purchase a total of ten with postage from a friendly woman in the nearest booth where an opportunistic mailing bin stands directly outside. After writing and mailing my postcards (which will arrive about four weeks later) I continue wandering among the shops scrutinizing almost everything. Boredom eventually prompts me to buy a new patch for my pack and then obtain another pronouncing “I Love Boobies” that I mischievously hide inside Jeff’s bag.

The prolonged waiting eventually evolves into a form of endurance and I continue my wandering until the call through airport security finally issues and we board our aircraft. After many indeterminate hours we depart for Guayaquil and our connection to Quito. Upon arrival we shuttle by prior arrangement to the Marriott and our final night in Ecuador before flying home.

Ecuador must be renowned for roses because they adorn the Marriott lobby in magnificently abundant bouquets that prompt me to follow through with Diane’s suggestion to carry a bunch home. Unfortunately, our late arrival causes me to miss the daytime concierge and, after making a few calls, the friendly clerk in the sundry shop advises me that all local flower vendors have closed for the evening.

Resigning myself to the thought that counts and ascending to a room shared again with Kevin I reorganize my luggage for early morning accessibility and unfettered departure. After savoring an invigoratingly hot shower in a confined stall that seems to sway with every swell of the now distant sea I feel refreshed and head downstairs. There I enjoy another sushi dinner with Mark and engage in the comfortable conversation of new friends. One of the best aspects of diving includes adventuring in new and exotic places with those who share an appetite for those adventures.

11-9-07 In our room at the Marriott Quito I awake much earlier than the time set by Kevin on his alarm, a usual behavior for me and completely consistent with my total dislike for alarms. At 4 am the view from our window reveals a light rain falling amid a mild fog gently shrouding the street lights. I suspect that our flight could be delayed just as it was upon our initial arrival.

Downstairs, multiple shuttle vehicles appear to ferry our party and gear from the hotel to the airport and I feel relaxed as Tim diligently counts people, bags and everything else. When verified and loaded, our driver speeds along the slick, pre-dawn streets of Quito and briefly acknowledges before completely ignoring the many red lights we encounter along the way. He simply smiles and nods when I bring this to his attention.

Within the airport we engage in an annoying cattle car routine with Continental Airlines, which does a good job of flying diver-laden aircraft from one destination to another. Unfortunately, their pre-boarding process seems to model the protocol of a deliberately slow and methodical tax audit. Once through the ticket confirmation and check-in process the locals extract a departure duty before we must run an amazing gauntlet of airport shops. Intriguingly maze-like along an ambling, twisting course the multitude of shops feel oddly reminiscent of a psychology experiment intended to study wallet behavior.

Toward the end of the last row of vendors stationed just before the final security gate that fronts the departure lounge I encounter a friendly girl selling fresh roses. Expressing a private “Oh, yes!” I select a bouquet consisting of two-dozen Sexy Reds that she neatly boxes for carrying onto the aircraft. With a five-hour flight from Quito to Houston only partially full, I enjoy a comfortable return from a spectacular journey to the Far Side of the World.