It was all Pedro’s work, the diminutive chef who was either paid by the weight of food he served or who thought that the Nature-seekers were all intolerably thin. That said, the food wasn’t just generous in its quantity but also commendable in its quality – as well as being so varied that even breakfasts were entirely unpredictable. They might all include toast and cereals and coffee and tea, but it was anybody’s guess as to what the fruit juice would be made of – or whether Pedro would serve up fried eggs, pancakes with honey, scrambled eggs, something meaty like sausages and bacon – or a bewildering combination of all these offerings – with some cold cuts thrown in as well. And he produced these mountainous breakfasts and the Andes-sized main meals of the day in the tiniest galley imaginable, a diminutive cupboard of a room that boasted hardly any flat surfaces at all. Where the hell he prepared and then served all this food was even more of a mystery than how he cooked it. And it wasn’t just for the Nature-seekers but also for the Beluga’s crew. Quite clearly, as Darwin had observed when he’d introduced the crew on their first day aboard, Pedro was the most important crew member of all – and nobody, including the rest of the crew, could possibly have disagreed.
There were five other crew members, and of these, it was a guy called Abel who had most dealings with the Beluga’s guests. He was a young chap and he was the boat’s steward, which meant that he looked after the cabins (and had a whole repertoire of decorative folded-towel designs) and he transported the vast quantities of food from the galley to the tables. He was the only member of the crew who spoke any noticeable amount of English. José didn’t – but he didn’t really need to. Because José was the captain and, as already indicated, he did most of his work at night when everybody else was asleep or trying to sleep, and he presumably then slept during the day in his miniscule cabin. Roberto, the engineer, was similarly invisible for most of the time, and Brian could only think that he was continuously busy, oiling and greasing whatever it was that needed to be continuously oiled and greased. Or maybe he was seasick all the time. Gilbert and Jonathon weren’t, because these two sailors were the guys who as well as keeping the boat looking shipshape – as opposed to boatshape, which it managed all on its own – ferried the Nature-seekers from boat to shore and back again in the Beluga’s two pangas. They were both quite beefy and had obviously been on a Pedro-fed diet for quite some time, albeit not long enough to have become panga-threateningly obese.
Brian was musing on obesity as he rose from the table. It really had been another large – and irresistible – spread. But then he mused on something else, just as Darwin was embarking on another briefing, this one concerning the danger that lurked on that nearby fine sandy beach. And this was the danger posed by a large, not to say enormous, centipede. Specifically, it was the Galápagos centipede, Scolopendra galapagensis, which can grow up to thirty centimetres long and which comes equipped with an impressive pair of fangs with which it poisons its prey. It apparently makes a terrible pet and it can’t even be housetrained.
Anyway, the subject of Brian’s latest musing was not this animal per se but where it lived – on that long sandy beach. Because, what he’d thought was that it was now about time that he and Sandra became a little non-conformist in their behaviour. And the form that this non-conformity would take would be their staying on board the Beluga while all their companions were ferried to Española to take a walk along the beach. Not exactly the sort of non-conformist conduct that would get one burnt at the stake, but merely the sort that recognised that the Beluga was parked in an extraordinarily nice spot – with views of both the beach and Gardner Island – and that the idea of taking in these views from the comfort of the Beluga was highly attractive. On this already hot morning, it was certainly more attractive than the prospect of an unshaded promenade along a beach in search of a possibly belligerent centipede, and what’s more it would allow Brian to play at being Roman Abramovich for a couple of hours…
Well, not really. Lazing on the Beluga with just one’s wife hardly replicated the Abramovich boat experience. In the first place, even his smallest superyacht would dwarf the pretty Beluga, and in the second place, Brian suspected the views from the SS Abramovich were rarely of islands in the middle of the Pacific and much more frequently of just lots of other superyachts tied up in some horrifically swanky Mediterranean marina. What’s more, there were probably always more flunkies around than there’ve been managers of Chelsea. There had to be – if every oligarchic need was to be met – right down to the timely capture of distressing flatulence, which Brian understood was now often done for Russian oligarchs with the help of a trained ‘pétomanager’ and a medium-sized Fabergé egg.
Nevertheless, Brian was still glad that he had made the choice to stay aboard – and that Sandra had agreed to stay with him. He didn’t, of course, get the Abramovich experience or anything like it – which was probably a very good thing. And neither, incidentally, did Sandra, which was no more than an inevitability because quite obviously, to be a Russian oligarch, one has to be a man. But… they were both able to relish their situation in such a wonderful setting, and they even had a fantastic view of those two magnificent frigatebirds. Both non-oligarchs had stationed themselves on a lounger on the sundeck, and there, just a few feet from them, were these two… magnificent birds. They were perching on the derricks from which the pangas were hung when not in use, and they were entirely unconcerned with their human observers. So Brian and Sandra were both able to study at their leisure these large (hundred-centimetre-long) black birds, each with its long hooked-at-the-end beak, and each with the look of a true man o’ war of the skies. For that’s what these guys are: formidable pirates who, with a wingspan of up to 245 centimetres and the largest wingspan-to-weight ratio of any species of bird, are able to manoeuvre superbly on the wing, and by doing so, harass most other seabirds and thereby rob them of their food. Brian understood that this process could involve grabbing their quarry by the tail as a way of making them regurgitate their catch – which they would then scoop up in mid-flight – but he had not yet witnessed this himself. Perhaps he would very soon.
However, before then, there was some snorkelling to attend to. Yes, their companions had returned from the beach, having successfully encountered the aforementioned centipede, and there was now the offer of a snorkelling expedition off Gardner Island.
Brian signed up immediately. The snorkelling, Darwin promised, would be different from that which they’d already done, because the sides of Gardner Island just kept on going down where they met the sea, and therefore the snorkelling would be in very deep water. It was. And the surface of the water was quite ‘restless’. But all this just added to the experience – along with a host of new fish and some vaguely familiar fish, many of which would be only half-remembered by the time this evening’s listing session arrived. But that really didn’t matter. What did matter was relishing the delights of an undersea world, witnessed by only a lucky few and by hardly any Russian oligarchs at all. Oh, and an extended snorkel in quite choppy water also provides one with an appetite and the self-belief that one can tackle a Pedro lunch.
Brian acquitted himself quite well at the table and as well as consuming his fair share of comestibles he was even able to digest some background information on the one pair of Nature-seekers who have so far not been mentioned. This was John and Thelma, and John and Thelma were an exceptional pair in that they were both ‘measurably older’ than any of the other Nature-seekers. In fact, they were both in sight of their eightieth birthday – but one would never have guessed it. John was a retired executive, and whilst a little ‘old school’, he was still a quite stocky, healthy-looking guy with boundless energy and an overload of enthusiasm. He had already participated in all the snorkelling sessions and, as would become apparent over the next few days, he would participate in absolutely everything. Thelma was similarly ‘up for everything’. She might have acquired the face of a good-looking dowager, but
in her acid-yellow top and with her two walking sticks she would tackle anything – very successfully. She also retained a youthful outlook on life, lacked any pretensions – and she was slightly wicked. She had, for example, been removed from a Concorde aeroplane earlier in her life because she had imbibed a little too freely of the complimentary champagne. Which, apart from reinforcing her reprobate credentials in Brian’s mind, also made him rather jealous. Heck, not only had she flown on Concorde, but she had been ejected from Concorde as well – because of drink! And how many people can claim that?
Anyway, after the meal and after a short voyage along the north coast of Española, Brian and Sandra found themselves sharing a panga with John and Thelma (and four others) as this little craft made its way to their next visitor site, a place called Suárez Point. This is indeed a ‘point’ on the extreme north-west tip of Española, and it comes equipped not only with a handy little jetty, but also with a complement of blue-footed boobies, an army of Sally Lightfoot crabs and a host of spectacular marine iguanas.
Well, the jetty needs no further amplification – other than it provided the Nature-seekers with an easy dry landing. But those three varieties of Galápagos inhabitants certainly warrant some further discussion, and where better to start than with what is one of the iconic birds of the Galápagos: the blue-footed booby.
This is a fairly large bird that is related to gannets and, like gannets, has a teardrop-shaped body, a formidable conical bill and a plunge-diving feeding strategy. However, unlike gannets, it has a rather unflattering name – stemming from the Spanish ‘bobo’, meaning ‘clown’ or ‘fool’ – and ascribed to it by early Spanish sailors because of its supposedly clumsy behaviour on land and its failure to realise that early Spanish sailors were, by and large, not into ornithology in a big way, but instead into hitting over the head any bird or animal that didn’t run away – and then eating it. It also has very blue feet – as in unmistakable bright, light-blue feet that make it look… well, just a little bit funny. Nevertheless, its blue feet are important. Because they play a key role in courtship rituals – and therefore breeding – with the male booby kicking things off, so to speak, by displaying his feet to attract a mate. In fact, he dances – on his blue feet – and if he gets it right, the object of his choreographic cavorting will come and join him and, with him, dance the ‘booby two-step’. If all goes well, the dancing will then involve a bit of mutual ‘sky-pointing’ – face to face – and it will culminate in a bit of blue-footed copulation (not forgetting some associated male whistling and female honking – as one might expect).
So, here we have a remarkable bird that might be a little comical and a little clumsy on land, but one that is, without doubt, utterly charming – and in its ability to plunge dive, quite extraordinary. For this bird is able to dive in synchrony with others of its type – onto a school of fish – and is also able to exploit the inshore waters of the Galápagos by having the facility to use its airborne-torpedo skills in water that is only half a metre deep. So, not very comical if you’re an unsuspecting sardine. Oh, and not very comical if you’re a blue-footed booby chick and one of your bigger siblings has just read up on the practice of ‘facultative siblicide’.
Yes, that charming blue-footed booby sitting next to the jetty and almost smiling into Evan’s camera may have started off his booby life by murdering his brother or his sister. This is because blue-footed boobies lay two or three eggs five days apart – leading to ‘asynchronous hatching’ – and if there are then food shortages in the nest, due usually to environmental conditions, chick number one will kill its siblings by pecking them to death or by expelling them from the nest. And mum and dad won’t say a word. They are just passive spectators to this grisly behaviour – or maybe they just remember their own experience as chicks and are made incapable of intervening through guilt. And anyway, ‘facultative siblicide’ isn’t anywhere near as bad as ‘obligate siblicide’. Because in this latter practice, a sibling almost always ends up being done away with, whereas in the former, siblicide may not occur at all – if the environmental conditions are more favourable. So, that’s good, isn’t it? And some of us will still even be able to append that word ‘compassion’ to whoever they believe created our world. And, after all, sometimes – but not always – life is tough – particularly if you happen to be a number two or a number three blue-footed booby chick…
Mind, things probably aren’t a great deal better for Sally Lightfoot crabs. These chaps, which were scrambling everywhere around the jetty – and which scramble everywhere along the western coast of the Americas as well as along the shorelines of all the islands in the Galápagos – are a ‘food source’, and that’s not something one would ever want to be. Nevertheless, these ubiquitous representatives of Grapsus grapsus are not the easiest things to catch. When young, they are black or dark brown and therefore not that easy to spot as they move over the dark lava rocks in search of some tasty algae. And even when they become adults and inexplicably adopt a flamboyant red, yellow and purple coloration that can be seen a mile off, they are exceedingly difficult to catch. As observed by none other than John Steinbeck, they have an extremely fast reaction time, and by scampering on their tiptoes – in that ‘lightfooted’ manner – they appear to be able to run off in any direction they choose.
So it could be worse for them, and it would be worse for them if we found them edible – which we don’t – and we apparently use them only for bait. If we can catch them, that is. Possibly when they are distracted by their practice of ‘cleaning symbiosis’ – in the form of their taking ticks from marine iguanas. Which is an ideal way to leave Sally Lightfoot crabs and to pass on to make a few erudite comments about Española’s very special marine iguanas.
Yes, marine iguanas in the Galápagos occur as seven different subspecies or races, and those on Española are easily the most colourful. The younger ones are mostly a regular blackish colour, but the older, larger representatives of these Amblyrhynchus cristatus venustissimus types, when the mating season arrives, abandon any attempt to pronounce their scientific name and instead undergo a dramatic colour change. They develop noticeably pink flanks, and their legs, tail and dorsal crest all begin to lose their charcoal-to-midnight tint in favour of a lighter hue. Yes, incredibly, these corporeal extremities turn into the same bright and light blue as is worn on the feet of their blue-footed booby neighbours. The result is an animal that looks as though it has been drawn by one of the animators from Walt Disney’s first Fantasia film, although how they would have been cast in this first film is far from clear. After all, not one of the pink and blue marine iguanas draped over the rocks of Suárez Point was actually moving, and creating a dance routine to reflect their demeanour would have been an almost insurmountable challenge. Española’s marine iguanas might be dramatically colourful, but like all marine iguanas, they are essentially inert for most of their lives and generally about as peppy as a pound of potatoes. In fact, even though it must have been the mating season, it looked to Brian as though most of this lot couldn’t even manage a bonk let alone a bop. And furthermore, a lot of the smaller ones risked being denied any sort of activity at all – by their being trodden on…
Darwin was now leading his Nature-seekers inland, and it became very apparent very quickly that some of the younger iguanas had a preference for the shade of shrubs. And as these shrubs lined the path and the shade they provided tended to make these dark iguanas very difficult to spot, they ran a real risk of being squashed underfoot. Because the last thing they would do would be to move away from the visitors to their island. It’s not what they did. And it’s not what the boobies did either.
Yes, the Nature-seekers had moved away from iguana land and were now walking – carefully – through a mixed blue-footed and Nazca booby colony, and the adults and chicks of both sorts of boobies were largely indifferent to the presence of these visitors. They barely took any notice. Even when Shelly tripped down
an incline (due to a failure to heed the advice to wear something other than flip-flops) and let out an almighty scream, the birds were left entirely unmoved. So Brian and his colleagues were all able to take in some exceptionally close views of lots of bundles of white feathers – and their rather smarter parents – and Brian was able to anguish over the breeding habits of these new Nazca boobies. Because the colour-restrained Nazca boobies, as well as conducting their plunge-dive feeding further out to sea than their blue-footed relatives, have also opted to go that little bit further in their approach to parent-condoned siblicide. No mere facultative siblicide for them, but instead the full-bloodied, red-blooded obligate siblicide. Which, as will no doubt be remembered, means that most of the charming giant white powder puffs sitting and panting on the guano rings that constitute their nests will have been responsible for pushing their younger siblings to their less than humane death – probably at the hands of one or two mockingbirds. Even though mockingbirds don’t have any hands…
Absolutely Galápagos Page 7