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Scudding through the Galapagos Editors Note: If you purchase any item mentioned in this issue of the newsletter between now and September 15, 2005, we will give it to you at a discount of 15%.
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Launching us into our eventful crossing the first day, vast numbers of manta rays with 4' wingspans surround our catamaran. They soar 5' out of the sapphire blue waters, erupt into magnificent somersaults, then crash with the resounding crescendo of a slap on the waves. On our last day prior to landfall, we enter the Wildlife Whale Sanctuary, where a colossal humpback whale surfaces 20' to port, parts the waves with its elegant shiny body, then dives, his massive fluked tail disappearing slowly into the depths.
The Galapagos were uninhabited when a Catholic priest discovered them after he was swept off course from Central America in 1535. Pirates and buccaneers arrived in the 1700-1800's, using the archipelago as a refuge, thus beginning the demise of the giant tortoise by slaughtering them for their meat. Whaling ships followed, further contributing to the problem, until the British naturalist Charles Darwin arrived aboard the HMS Beagle, collecting facts for his "Origin of the Species" and bringing recognition to the unusual wildlife. Today, the islands are fiercely protected by the Ecuadorian government by strict immigration laws. I hit the sandy trails at sunrise one morning to Loberia to find the evasive 2' long black marine lizards, languishing in the warm sun, perfectly camouflaged against the sizable boulders. I clamber across for a closer look. Their tongues intermittently dart out of their prehistoric faces, saltwater shooting from their nostrils. We are ready to move on. Our sons are reluctant to depart from their new Ecuadorian and Californian surfing friends. San Cristobal is world-renowned for excellent waves, often attracting the pros. Since Warren is sponsored by 9 Surfboards, we simply navigate our itinerary according to where the big waves are up and running.
A small wooden sign peeks out saying, "Shark Trail." Curious, we tie our dinghy to a boulder, toss a stern anchor and meander barefoot down the narrow trail set in the boulder field. We pass the Halloween masked lizards to a wooden bridge over an open turquoise blue lagoon. Small gray sails slice the waters and we peer into the shallow depths to see a dozen white tipped sharks holding course in the sweeping current like parked torpedoes. Wanting to see the tortoise breeding center, we rent bikes the following morning and glide outside of town on the sandy road, taking a dock-like two-mile wooden trail over the mangrove fringed swampland. Along the way, we brake to whisper our euphoria at seeing stately pink flamingos. As they feed on the nutrient rich mud with their sieve-like bills, we can hear their squeaky calls to their mates and young.
Mezmerized by the peaks of the Cero Azul volcano while sipping our morning teas, we're eager to explore the rim by horseback. Packing into two red rusty trucks with picnic benches for seats, we crowd next to our sailing friends for the 45-minute drive into the misty, chilly uplands. Ascending along the dusty road into the clouds, we pass luxuriant, verdant valleys and banana plantations. Ecuadorian cowboys with toothy grins and dancing dogs around their legs greet us with a herd of good-looking saddled horses. Our riding abilities are matched with the appropriate horses. Warren and I end up with stallions and race along the volcano trail, taking in beautiful surrounding ocean views uninterrupted by the dust and clatter of marching hooves.
On the return ride, we pick wild guava as our horses speed under trees. We stuff the fruit into our pockets. Dismounting at the end of the trail, Warren and I find a pile of passion fruit to feed the horses along with the guava. Their soft velvet lips curl across our outstretched palms. We languish in the shade, our faithful white dog that followed us at breakneck speed the whole way sleeping across our legs. Returning to the quay thirsty for a cold drink, we linger with our cruising friends at the fisherman's palm-fringed hut and enjoy the local fish soup, reminiscing of our remarkable land and marine adventures in these enchanting isles. The subject drifts towards our imminent passage to the Marquesas, and we compare weather notes and analyze spinnaker tactics for the down-wind run. Check out these Galapagos references and cruisinig guides, or enter Galapagos in the Bluewater search engine. LANDFALLS
OF PARADISE 4TH ED
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Together
with Peter, my husband of 25 years, it has been our dream to journey to
the south seas with our sons, Adam (age 19) and Warren (age 17), both
completing their final year of high school on the boat. All of us are
euphoric to finally be on our way, departing from organized societies
and sailing into the blue ribbon of the unknown. 
On
the 800 nautical mile passage aboard Scud from the Las Perlas islands,
40 nautical miles off the south coast of Panama, to the Galapagos, we
are swept along in a record 4 .5 days. Under reefed main and genoa, our
performance South African-built St. Francis 44' catamaran averages a speed
of 8-12 knots due to favorable 15-25 knot southeasterlies and a 1-2 knot
current. 
Making
landfall in Wreck Bay, San Cristobal, in the late afternoon, we drop our
hook in black volcanic sand behind the brightly colored Ecuadorian fishing
fleet. During our passage, we caught so many yellow-finned tuna and Dorado
that our sons finally had to pull in their trolling lines: large hooks
attached to 200 lb. monofilament, shock cord and a yo-yo. As we are relishing
our tasty grilled catch in the main salon, a thunderous roar jolts us
out of our reverie and into the cockpit. On the last step of our sugarscoop
squirms a Mac truck sized bull sea lion. He must weigh 500 lbs. His rival
is challenging his real estate spot. Their bellows continue into the night
until we awaken at dawn bleary-eyed with sleep deprivation. Placing filled
water buckets on the sugarscoop to block access helps, but the sea lions
then move to our little dinghy, each taking a pontoon. At least they are
quiet, having settled their dispute.
It's
the affable antics of the young pups that amuse us most. During our daily
swims in the chilly Humboldt current from Antarctica, one or two will
inevitably approach us, gazing quizzically into our masks, their adorable
eyes wide. Looking down, I spot a large sun-bleached fish bone and toss
it to the pups. A game of chase ensues with the winner intercepting and
rolling the new toy down his snout and across his body. 
Our
sport conscious sons take to the big waves at the harbor entrance while
I begin traversing in and out of the vibrant yellow and blue rustic tiendas
in search of fresh greens and fruits for the long haul of the coconut
milk run to the Marquesas. A shop owner insists her son help carry my
bulging bags and I'm released from my pack horse persona. In the burning
afternoon sun, the polite adolescent lumbers alongside me with his heavy
weight through the mire of narrow streets as we search for mangoes and
pineapples, easily conversing in Spanish. 
A
gentle breeze takes us to remote Isabella, the volcanic peaks stretching
into the clouds, announcing the island to us. Again we find good holding
in shallow waters and black sand in Isabella, which means a good night's
rest for all of us. We're fortunate that the small harbor hosts another
wildlife sanctuary. Close by, large colonies of sea birds inhabit the
crag to starboard. Quietly drifting in our dinghy with the incoming tide,
we observe the diverse species that are unaffected by our presence. Blue
footed boobies with young like tiny white downy ducks, along with frigates,
gulls, terns, pelicans and a few penguins, create a symphony of calls
that wafts over the sailing fleet. 
Arriving
hot and thirsty at the breeding center, we enter the modern educational
facility and the cold air-conditioned air engulfs us, chilling our sweaty
bodies from the blaring sun. Out back, we study hundreds of carefully
monitored baby turtles in various stages of growth. We make bets on the
largest of the 150-200 year old adult male against his rivals as they
race for the preferred female, one agonizing inch at a time. Active measures
have been undertaken to protect turtle eggs from marauding goats, pigs
and rats on the out islands in efforts to preserve their declining habitat.
Peter
and Adam end up with a pair that is not intimidated by kicks and limp
twig flicks. We meet at the rim where the last volcanic eruption in 1998
is evident by the immense black ribbon of hardened lava stretching down
the side of the mountain. Scorched earth took out the endangered turtles
and the resulting heated waters wiped out the local penguin colony of
200 flightless birds. A few have returned from neighboring islands to
resettle. 
