A few minutes later, at the very first hint of daylight, we weighed anchor for the all-day trip to Isla San Christobal. We never saw more than two knots of wind the whole day, so ended up motoring the whole distance on one engine. We arrived at the harbor of Puerto Barquerizo Moreno with just an hour or so left before sunset. We got a nice bonus of passing through a playful pod of dolphins as we arrived. They all seemed very happy to be enjoying not only our bow waves, but also those of all the returning day-tour boats.
A calm passage between islands (Motoring) and with visits from the local dolphins and birds
In the morning, we went ashore to meet our agent and hand over the relevant paperwork (foreign boats are required to get permission to move every time). When we were done, we did a quick pass along the Malecon to pick a restaurant for dinner, then we headed out on foot to see some nearby sights.
First impressions of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno (the town on San Christobal) - the sign warns to be aware of nesting iguanas
First was the Interpretative Center, which has some nice displays, particularly about the geology of the Galápagos. Behind it is a concrete path (it is really nice that they do this in terrain that is either really rocky or really muddy) that leads to Tijeretas Bay, where it's possible to swim.
Tijeretas Bay is beautiful in its own right, but it also has a pretty good population of several large schools of large fish and lots of big Green Sea Turtles. Plus, dozens of sea lions also call the bay home.
The walk to Tijeretas Bay
It is these latter residents that make a swim here so much fun. Sea lions all lead such double lives. On land, they are all lumbering, clumsy lummoxes. Once in the water, they are prima ballerinas, effortlessly swooping, spinning and zooming with ease.
It was so much fun to be among the playful sea lions (but there was plenty of other sea life also in the bay)
Despite only bringing mask and snorkels – no fins (it was a very long walk), Maryanne and I did a lap of the whole bay. Although there were lots and lots of people also swimming in the bay, most of them were sticking pretty close to the stairs used as an entry point. It wasn't long before it was just me, Maryanne, and a whole bunch of pirouetting sea lions. They seemed completely unbothered by us and in some cases I would swear they were trying to show off, zooming past us and then checking to see if we saw, like human kids showing off for their parents. We are aware that they are wild animals with sharp teeth, who can completely outmaneuver us in the water, but we never saw any sign of aggression or territorialism towards us. They just seemed to want to play. The topography of caves, tunnels and pillars made it all the more fun as they played hide and seek with us. It was delightful and Maryanne's squeaks of joy through her snorkel at it all made it sound like we also had a dolphin nearby.
After a walking back to town and having a nice rooftop dinner out, we returned to Begonia to find both of our stern steps covered in sea lions, plus two more in our cockpit. San Christobal's sea lions are much less timid than those on Santa Cruz. Only the ones that were in immediate danger of getting squished by the water taxi or stepped on by us would reluctantly move out of the way, often barking their disapproval at having to do so. The two in the cockpit, seeing that we were not just going to wait for them to finish their naps, left by plowing through everything in our cockpit as if they were the ball, our stuff was the pins, and they were really trying to roll a strike.
San Christobal's sea lions have been called the island's unofficial welcoming committee and they take their role to heart. They are VERY insistent about coming aboard and occupying any suitable space. We realized our ball fender deterrents were no match for them. They just push them out of the way or burrow under them. We decided to change our strategy and fall back to a more defensible position.
Like with the boobies at sea, we conceded an area of the boat for their use on the proviso that they leave our territory alone. They could have the stern steps. We barricaded them out of the cockpit with a wall of ball fenders and buckets anywhere we thought they might try to climb under the lifelines.
Sea lions, while being fun to swim with, are terrible roommates. After observing them for a while, I've decided that, like the seagulls in the film "Finding Nemo", almost all of their vocalizations are one version or another of the same thing: "I am SOOOOOO uncomfortable!"
"Hey everyone! Anyone! This rock is too pointy! This sand is too gritty! This sidewalk is too hard! This bench is too small! This ramp is at the wrong angle! I CAN'T GET COMFORTABLE!!! Do all of you know how uncomfortable I am!!!?"
This seems strange coming from animals whose bodies basically look like giant pillows.
It's the same on the boat. They'll spend twenty minutes fidgeting and complaining about the curvature of the deck or the size of their chosen step, before they finally become too exhausted from the effort and fall asleep.
They are noisy sleepers. They snore and they talk in their sleep. Everything they say sounds like Chewbacca complaining about the hyperdrive not working. They'll sleep for maybe twenty minutes before deciding they just HAVE to roll over, which starts a whole new round of complaining and bickering from any neighbor who gets jostled. Sometimes, one of them tries to upgrade to a better spot, causing angry barking fits from the current occupant, who is determined to keep their own Worst Place on the Boat for themselves. Multiply this by half a dozen and the snoring/bickering times never get in sync.
Maybe two or three times a night, one of them will decide they just can't take being so uncomfortable anymore and will start trying to figure out how to get into our nice, big, flat cockpit. Over our heads, Maryanne and I can hear someone trying to push a gap in the barricade right above us to try to get in. Then one or the other of us will have to climb out of our berth, go outside and have a little chat.
For the most part, they are pretty good about knocking it off, or even leaving for a while, once they realize that we are there. The bigger males will sometimes feign growling at us, but they always back down when they realize we're not going to be having any of that tonight, thank you. The choice is to try to behave or leave. With trial and error, I figured out the most effective method was to come out wearing a red headlamp, speak in soft tones from behind the glare of the light, and then gently stroke them with the tip of a boat hook. They get a wide-eyed "What the hell is that?!" look on their faces and flee en masse.
The next day, after having slept not nearly as well as we had hoped, we booked ourselves in for a 360° Tour. This tour is pretty much what is says: a full circumnavigation of San Christobal Island, with a few stops at various highlights.
100s of dolphins join in the fun at the start of our boat tour around the island
The fun started almost immediately after we left Puerto Barquerizo Moreno. As we rounded the first headland at the western end of the island, the worryingly named Punta Wreck, our boat was surrounded by more dolphins than we could count. Lucky for Maryanne and me, she had previously jumped to volunteer us to be the first two people to ride up on the flybridge with the Captain, so we were one of only three people with a good all-around view of the fun.
Great scenery and waterfalls that were once used to fill the barrels for pirates of yore and even boats like the Beagle (of Darwin fame)
After that, the tour's first scheduled stop was at a lovely white beach, where we started a short walk to a more protected bay behind. We then all dove in for what by then was a much-needed snorkel so that we could escape the heat.
Ashore at Rosa Blanca
Snorkel among the wildlife (lots of turtles)
This is the part that is hard for me and Maryanne. Once we were in the water, we were ready to take off and start exploring, but our guide kept reminding us of the importance of staying together in a tight group. There then followed an obligatory fifteen minutes of helping the less confident swimmers adjust their buoyancy jackets, dealing with leaky masks, etc. Maryanne used this time to see just how far away she could get before being called back. It worked out to everyone's benefit, though, because Maryanne is pretty good at spotting interesting things. By the time the group was ready to begin the swim in earnest, she was able to call them over to the shark, turtle, or blowfish she had found. There turned out to be lots of big turtles, especially, and it seemed everybody was happy to get a chance to get up close to one.
The boat then continued up to Punta Pitt, a prominence of rock that we circled while admiring the birds thereupon. Maryanne and I particularly liked getting up close to the blue-footed boobies. It's funny because, listening to the guides and the other guests, they were all really hoping to get a glimpse of a red-footed booby and didn't seem that bothered about their blue-footed cousins.
This difference in interest is because of a difference in the behavior of the two varieties. Red-footed boobies are deep water fishers who go on multi-day excursions in search for food. They are usually way out at sea and it is a rare treat to find one roosting in the scrub clinging to the rocky cliffs. Blue-footed boobies, on the other hand, are near-shore birds who do most of their fishing within a few miles of shore and spend the bulk of their time perched on rocks by the water's edge.
At Punta Pitt, we spotted blue-footed boobies and frigate birds (among others)
Maryanne and I have seen and been temporary home to plenty of red-footed boobies on passage. I've even picked up a couple of them to move them to better perches. We have only had one or two blue-footed boobies hitch a ride, so they are much more special to us. Plus, if I'm being honest, lots of birds have red feet. Ducks have 'em, geese have 'em, even pigeons have 'em. I like the blue feet better. They stand out. They're pretty, and you'll only see blue-footed boobies if you're basically within the Galápagos archipelago.
Our guide, Alejandra, explained how boobies got their names, which we hadn't known before. Booby is an anglicism of the Spanish word "bobos", meaning "silly." It's partly because the birds have big, prominent feet, like clowns do, and partly because their courtship displays involve a lot of, "Hey, look at my feet!" dancing.
Our tour then continued to a nice beach, where we had the option of sitting on the beach or going for a snorkel on our own. Maryanne and I chose the latter. Beach-sitting is fine, but we thought it would be more fun to find some iguanas with which to swim. I think the real purpose of the stop was to give the crew a calm place to prepare lunch for the group. There didn't turn out to be a secret chef aboard, but they did manage to do better than cold sandwiches.
Snorkelling at Bahia Sardina
After lunch, we rounded the eastern tip of the island and started back in the direction of town. The first stop on this leg were the impressive arches and cliffs at Cerro Brujo. Once again, Maryanne and I got lucky because there were no takers in the rest of the group when offered the two extra flybridge seats, so we jumped at the chance for a second go.
Cerro Brujo rock feature (with Kicker Rock beyond in the close-up shot, had a handful of blue-footed boobies hanging out too
After hovering around a particularly picturesque archway, which came complete with a nesting blue-footed booby overhead, the Captain got a playful look on his face and told Maryanne and me that since it was relatively calm today, he was going to take us to his very favorite place on all of the tours he does.
We raced around the point and into the nook in the coastline pulling up to this huge, deep fissure in the cliff face that was barely wider than the boat. Maryanne and I were smiling. The people below were smiling. Everybody was taking pictures. The Captain was smiling at all of our pleasure. Then he looked at Maryanne and me, gave us a little wink, and said, "Mira!" (watch this!)
Into the nook (not sure what its official name is)
He then pivoted the boat and backed it into the chasm like he was pulling into a one-car garage. Ho, boy! Now we were surrounded on three sides by cliffs over a hundred meters high. He paused for a moment to let that sink in, and then we were off to our last stop, Kicker Rock.
Kicker Rock is a former volcanic plug that rises as a spire from the seabed about eighty meters below to an equal height above the water. We were told it was our best chance to see hammerhead sharks, although our guides were clear that the most likely way to find them was on SCUBA dives first thing in the morning. Snorkeling on the surface in the afternoon, not so much.
Regardless, the vertical wall plunging into unseen depths was plenty interesting in its own right. I'm pretty good at doing deep free dives so, keeping with the spirit of our guides instructions not to stray too far from the group, horizontally, I decided to have a go at going straight down as far as I could while they adjusted masks above.
I managed to get down to about 20-25 meters. It was just far enough that I could make out the sand at the base of the cliffs. Then I saw the unmistakable outline of a hammerhead patrolling the bottom. It was way down there, but I saw it, so that counts. I thought for about a millisecond about trying to get a photo, but then I realized my next breath of air was still a long way up, so I chose to worry about that instead. Later on, our guide found either the same one or a different one down at a much more manageable 15 meters, where we could all see it. Woo, hoo! That wasn't supposed to happen!
And then on to Kicker Rock - a dramatic geological feature, but probably the #1 place for visiting divers
The crowd rode the last few miles back to town with a mixture of satisfied smiles and heavy eyelids from a long day in the sun. Maryanne and I had a meal out, then returned to Begonia to find a line of sea lions waiting to get past the velvet rope. We stepped over them like VIPs and let ourselves in, where we collapsed in a heap.
Sea lions are (almost) as common here as pigeons in Trafalgar Square
After a lazy day aboard, we took a taxi the following day up into the highlands for a tour. Our first stop was El Junco, the highest point on San Christobal and a small freshwater lake inside a volcanic crater. It is a favored spot for all three of the island's Frigate Bird species to come and have a bath. We did see plenty of them on our walk around the crater rim.
A visit to "El Junco" a water filled crater, with soaring frigatebirds
Then our driver took us to La Galápaguera, San Christobal's tortoise breeding center, where we could enjoy hanging out right next to them as they forage their way down the trail.
Galapaguera (Tourtoise conservation and breeding Center)
Puerto Chino
We were then driven to the end of the road, where the trailhead began for the walk down to the beach at Puerto Chino. It was a bit late in the day for us to be wanting to do another walk in the hot sun, but the trail has lots of interesting flora and fauna and the beach is really pretty. We decided it was worth the walk after all. By the time we arrived back in town and handed our taxi driver his fare, I decided that it was 10% for the driving and 90% for the air conditioning – both worth every penny. {Starlink (high speed satellite internet) is widespread in modern-day Galapagos, and there was even a device in the taxi so we could be connected for the whole trip!}
Another stroll along the waterfront - it's hard to forget we are in the Galapagos when we come across a blue-footed booby
We had a delicious meal at a lovely restaurant on the Malecon. I'm still getting used to that – happily. On our after-dinner stroll, we found a small group of blue-footed boobies right on the rocks by the Armada base. And we were spending hundreds of dollars to be whisked away to the furthest corners of the island for a chance at a glimpse. Here, you can buy a coffee and then sit and enjoy them all day.
On the way back to our water taxi, we were sucked into a pub confusingly called "The Post Office" for a drink. It had one of those perfect waterfront locations that just calls out for you to linger. They got me. Here, I got bamboozled by the marketing again. I see words like craft, artisanal, or micro- and think, "Ooh, that sounds special. I'll try one of those."
This is when Maryanne goes for a cheap lager, to my snort of derision. The thing is, lager is pretty universal. It tastes the same everywhere and it's pretty hard to screw up. My artisanal hefe-blackberry weissbrau tasted like a really hoppy beer that someone added two tablespoons of sour milk to. I choked it down while the waiter pleaded with his eyes to get me to agree that their micro-brewmaster is the foremost genius on the island. Yeeaaaah….Check please!
As I was staring at the second half of my beer, trying to figure out how I was going to do it (apparently, I've never heard of the sunken cost fallacy), I noticed some commotion in the distance, just outside the harbor. There was a small boat out there which was surrounded by what looked to be jumping dolphins. I studied the scene for a while and decided there must be some whales in the group. I mentioned it to Maryanne and she gave me a look that unequivocally said that I had two seconds to finish my beer or she was leaving without me. It turns out that gulping it down really fast, like cough medicine, was the best way to go with this particular artisanal microbrew.
We rushed to the water taxi, hailed the next guy, Eduardo, and asked him if he could take us out to the whales. He seemed delighted at the chance to break from his usual routine and raced us out of the harbor at full speed. When we got there, we were delighted to find that we had come upon a group of Orcas! Eduardo encouraged us to go up on the bow and enjoy. Every time we thought he must be ready to turn back, he just sped further out to sea with them. We must have followed them for thirty minutes. Other water taxis arrived to do the same, but they were all full and thus not as nimble. Orcas are pretty fast, the sun was about to set, and we could no longer see the town. Still, all the boats pushed outward, trying to get ahead of the pod (without blocking them) so that we could see them as they swam by.
Orcas in the bay!
Just as we got to the best position of the group, Eduardo's engine coughed. With a sheepish grin, he went forward past us to get a can of gasoline from the locker. He had the engine running again within thirty seconds, but now it was time to give up and make a mad race against the other boats to get to town before it got dark. They all took the locals-only shortcut, which was really shallow. I was following along with the charts on my phone and trying hard to hide my growing concern. All the boats were going this way, I'm sure it will be fine.
Then the engine stopped again. This time, it wasn't the gasoline. We were beam-to between two sets of breakers higher than we were and Eduardo needed to stop so he could turn in to take the waves over the bow and then figure out when to punch it to get us out of there. We had one more big one and then he sped us off before the next wave after that could get us. I'm sure it will be a while before we will beat that for a water taxi ride.
Next up on the calendar was π-Day. π-Day is special to us because we both have a real love for theoretical mathematics. We always try to do something to mark the occasion. Sometimes, we have a nice, romantic getaway, like last year. Other times, not so much. {It's also our wedding annivesray, it helps to have a date that is easy to remember!}
This year's π-Day started for us at one a.m. during the total lunar eclipse. That was cool, but after a fitful night of mostly not sleeping, as the roommates bickered and snored, a spate of banging and sliding noises had me climbing out of bed to have a word. Upon reaching the cockpit door, I found a giant (maybe 300kg) sea lion taking up most of the length of our five-meter cockpit seat.
Uh… I was pretty brave when I was standing behind the lifelines and our barricade of inflatable fenders, but now there was nothing between me and a big bull male except a layer of fly screen. Worse, to get to my handy-dandy boathook, I would need to ask him to kindly move a fin out of the way, please… Sir?
I decided to go for our backup, collapsible boathook. As I was extending it to its full length, he spotted me and FREAKED OUT.
The term 'Bull in a China Shop' should really be, 'Panicked Sea Lion in a China Shop'. This giant, heaving, clumsy beast, unable to see a way out through our barricades and already facing the wide-open expanse of our cockpit table, decided to bash his way out that way. I had been hoping to herd him gently the other way, but he had other ideas.
Our table, while sturdy, was not designed for this. As the sea lion reached the far side, the table support pole followed him, leaning over until the table hit the seat on that side. Then, the beast somehow managed to squeeze between the deck and the lower lifeline without permanently stretching it or bending a stanchion.
Inspecting the damage, I found that the table support pole had not bent, as I had hoped. Instead, the receptacle into which it fits was caved in, leaving a big rip in the flange that attaches it to the deck. This means that any water that gets into the cockpit can now go through the cracks in the flange and flow into the cavity under the cockpit. There is drainage under there, but only for minor amounts of water, like condensation, not for what would come through if the cockpit shipped a wave, or even during a heavy rain.
About that last one. Heavy rain was in the forecast for at least parts of the next few days, so sealing the leak was my new first priority. My first thought was to fill the cracks with metal-bonding epoxy. After thinking about it for a little longer, I decided a more flexible seal was in order, so I went with lots of layers of duct tape, covered in several coats of flexible sealant. Hopefully, as long as no one sits or falls on the table, it will last us the season. We can then replace the whole mess on our next haulout.
With that job done, we could now start our π-Day celebrations.
Except that we couldn't. For the last few days, I had been having an increasingly sore throat. It was now bad enough that I was having great difficulty even swallowing. A quick search of the intertubes (which I understand are never wrong) led me to diagnose myself with Strep Throat, which I have never had before in my life, ever. It hurts. After thinking about it for a bit, I'm pretty sure I got the infection from the tour company's snorkel equipment when we took the tour to Bartholomé Island the week before. From now on, we're dealing with the extra hassle of taking our own snorkel gear.
My normal man-plan was to ignore the problem until it goes away, but the tubes told me that doing so could lead to a more serious systemic infection, which could cause things like permanent kidney damage. It looks like π-Day would have to wait until I see a doctor.
Maryanne and I went to the hospital, where after a short, boring wait, we were shown to an exam room. The doctor confirmed my condition was early Strep, wrote me a prescription for two pain killers and an antibiotic and gave us directions to the hospital's pharmacy.
There, the woman behind the counter took my note, found the right pills, handed them over to me, and then told me to feel better soon.
"Thanks. Where do we pay?"
"No pay."
"What about the exam?"
"Free."
"But I'm a foreigner."
"Free. All free. Get better soon."
What?!
I was about to go on an American-style rant about how it was my God-given right to refuse free healthcare, but honestly, my throat hurt too much. Lucky for her.
Maryanne and I emerged from the hospital right at solar noon. The sun was 88° above the horizon and it was getting really hot really fast. Now we can start π-Day!
Since Maryanne had had so much fun swimming with the sea lions at Tijeretas Bay, my plan was to make π-Day even better by taking the Tijeretas trail past that bay to Barquerizo Beach, about 2km farther on. That way we could see the beach (she had been hinting she wanted to all week). Then we would go in the water and swim back to Tijeretas Bay, enjoying all the untrammeled sea life along the way.
We had just made it past the Interpretive Center when Maryanne realized she had left our dry bag on the boat. Since it was where we were going to put our valuables while swimming between beaches, it was central to our plan. After trying to think of a way out of it, we decided the only way we were going to salvage the day was if one of us (me) went back to the boat to get the dry bag and bring it back.
Okay, now it was 2pm, I was already exhausted, and it was blazing hot. Time to head up the hill!
At the place where the main path to Tijeretas Bay branches off, so does the nice, concrete trail. We were now alternating between mud pools and hopping between ankle-breaking stones. It was tough work in the heat, which felt much greater than the distance covered. By the time we finally made it to Barquerizo Beach, we were both so wobbly on our jelly-legs that we knew we wouldn't be able to hike back. Our only hope was that swimming would be refreshing enough to give us both a second wind.
Barquerizo Beach was a mess. It is very pretty, but today for some reason, there was a big swell coming in from the north that was smashing into the beach as big breakers. Going into it for a swim seemed like almost as bad an idea as turning back and walking up the hill again. The people on the beach must have thought we were nuts as we plunged into it.
We each did a couple turns through the spin cycle on the way, but were soon outside the breakers swimming down the coast. It wasn't what we had hoped for at all. The churned-up sea was bringing the visibility down to where we could barely see where we were going. There were no playful animals in evidence of any type, and it also looked like we were fighting a pretty big current. We had to swim reasonably hard and continuously to avoid being swept backward. Still, we both agreed it was better than the hike. At least the sea was keeping us from overheating.
When we finally made it to Tijeretas Bay, we noticed that it, too, was being slammed by the swell. It would not have been incorrect to characterize the conditions at the entry steps as treacherous. A few seal lions did come out to look at us, but by then, we were too exhausted from our day to want to linger and play.
I was the first one to try to exit the water. I got my fins off, then a big breaker swept me into the stone steps behind me. I was tumbling around when I was grabbed and pulled clear by a lifeguard before I had a chance to hit my head on anything. Maryanne's experience was the same, except that she had the lifeguard on one side and me on the other. By the time we staggered over the hill and back into town, we were reasonably dry again and really looking forward to a nice meal out.
As we approached my pre-chosen restaurant, the skies opened up and dumped heavy rain on us. Well, at least that rinsed off the salt. We presented ourselves, dripping, to the Maître D, and asked for an outdoor table overlooking the bay on the roof. He tried to give us one under the canvas awning, but we were wet anyway, so we left those for any new, dry customers they might have. We'll take our romantic meal in the pouring rain, thank you. At least the rain was lukewarm. We then tried in vain to pretend π-Day hadn't been a bust because it was at least eventful.
Back at home, we toweled off and changed into some dry clothes, which made us feel like regular humans again. Then I had the idea of opening a bottle of wine and relaxing. It worked so well that we had a hard time staying up late enough to finish it.
Our anniversary adventure turned into a hot trek and a wild snorkel, but it's still and adventure.
Understandably, we decided to take it easy the next day. Our only real jobs were to clean our boat speed transducer in preparation for the next leg, and deal with the sea lion mess. We know other boaters who have complained that the sea lions had relieved themselves on the boat. So far, ours had not, but they did seem to have just arrived from some particularly muddy beach. Also, they shed like crazy, so there were tons of two-inch hairs to wash overboard.
It was now our last night in San Christobal and the sea lion thing was finally getting under control. After a week of selectively evicting individuals that were too loud, boisterous, or territorial, we now had a family of perfectly lovely sea lions that seemed to think of Begonia as their overnight home. They liked to cuddle each other, so didn't start up barking fits at each other. Best of all, their presence made the boat look not vacant, which kept the other ones looking elsewhere for a rest. I dubbed them the Loch Ness Monster family because one of the pups had tag number 350 on his flipper. It's a South Park reference I don't expect you to get, but I enjoyed it because I could say things like, "Hey, Maryanne, look who just showed up. It's that Loch Ness Monster!" This always had the pup looking at me with innocent, confused little cow eyes. Then, satisfied that I wasn't about to chase him off, put his head down to get a nap.
Farewell San Cristobal, thanks for the amazing memories
{Note: All the islands in the Galapagos have multiple names, each from the different stages of ownerships and history. San Cristobal is also known as Chatham Island}
Anchorage location >> On google maps