Santa Cruz Island, Galapagos - Tortoises, Iguanas, and Lava Tunnels

When we arrived in the Galapagos Islands after our 600-mile flight from the South American mainland, we were met with an interesting array of methods by which to get from the airport to Santa Cruz’s main city of Puerto Ayora. After waiting for drug and contraband sniffing dogs to climb over our and everyone else’s luggage - that we were forbidden by armed guards to retrieve until the animal was done doing his business - we were directed to a bus loading area.

After a short shuttle bus drive, with a fare rivaling that which a cabbie in Chicago would charge for the same distance, we were delivered to dock side and a waiting ferry. You see, Santa Cruz’s airport, converted from an old WWII air base, is located on the small island of Baltra which in turn is separated from Santa Cruz Island by a channel not much wider than a couple of football fields. Our bags were placed on the ferry’s rooftop while we and dozens of others donned our lifejackets. No sooner did I and many others finally figure out the tangled strap and buckle system on our PFDs did our ferry bump up against the dock’s moorings on the other side of the channel.

More options presented themselves for the 45-minute drive across the island’s interior to the town of Puerto Ayora. None of the many vehicles that had queued in the circular gravel drive were identified. We were at first admonished for trying to board what was a privately chartered bus reserved for a group that was transiting via a tour company. After running a gauntlet of several men while simultaneously declining their offers to ride in their taxis, we finally found the public bus that would take us to town.

But, as with much we have so far learned with our short time in Ecuador, nothing occurred the way the guidebooks and pre-trip research said it would. Not only were the transportation options chosen about three times more expensive than what was advertised, the public bus did not drop us off at the main intersection in town as was described in our literature. Instead, we and others on the bus found ourselves being asked to disembark mid-block in the center of a quiet, non-descript neighborhood.

I showed the driver a pre-printed map I had brought along and the address of our hotel. It had on it the walking directions for us to follow had we been dropped off at our anticipated corner of Happy and Healthy like we were supposed to. I asked him if he could show us what direction we should walk to get to the hotel from this now unfamiliar drop-off location. Neither he nor his assistant had a clue nor did they seemingly understand how to read a map. Other passengers had since disappeared while our driver held up the map, turning it in all different directions, even at one time upside down, trying to understand its meaning.

Frustrated, he asked us to re-board the bus and we took what turned out to be a private chauffeured drive around town while looking for our hotel. It was only by pure luck that we drove by it as we rounded yet another corner. We were delivered to our hotel’s doorstep where we were greeted by the friendly proprietress who had a look in her eye as if to say, “What took you so long?”

Mid-morning the following day found us traversing the city’s sidewalks while on our way to the Tortuga Bay trailhead. Along the way we passed an bare-footed indigenous woman standing under a condensate drainpipe from an adjacent building’s rooftop air conditioner unit undertaking her morning washing ritual. She smiled at me while washing her face and then proceeded to wipe her wet hands on her dress to complete the process. I saw her later crossing the street to enter the market to do her daily shopping as if all was just another day in her life.

This was the same market we visited yesterday afternoon where we had bought our fruits and vegetables for our upcoming meals. Our hotel room has a small kitchen so we are able to save a good deal of money eating in with reasonably priced and healthy food options. The green beans were fresh and the potatoes looked as if they were dug out of the ground moments before we bought them given that they were still covered with a good coating of earth and soil.

At the far western edge of town, we found the lava rock trail that wound its way inland away from the bay and shoreline and into the growing heat and humidity of the sunny day. We were surrounded by a forest of cactus trees and manzanita shrubs for most of the trail’s 2.5 kilometers. Unfortunately, they were too small to provide much needed shade, yet were big enough to block any winds to be had that might have otherwise cooled us off.

The trail eventually gave way to the wide, long, and brilliantly white sands of Tortuga Bay. Warning signs cautioned against swimming due to the season’s strong swells and rip currents. After a kilometer or so of beach walking, we arrived at its far end where a sandy path took us to a sheltered lagoon of calm and warm waters in which we swam and tried a little snorkeling.

We shared the water with sting rays and numerous bait fish. Another swimmer told us he had earlier seen a baby reef shark glide past while he was snorkeling. In the shade of the nearby mangroves were dozens of marine iguanas. Some took to the water while others clambered up the beach like soldiers during the D-Day invasion. Meanwhile, off in the water, a sea lion basked in the sun while floating on its back.

The growing heat from the equatorial sun sapped us of all energy after getting back to town. What we needed were some cooling waters in which to swim. We learned that for only eighty cents, a small ferry boat would deliver us to yet another trailhead on the far side of Academy Bay. At the pier, numerous sea lions had taken up residence. Some commandeered space on the park-like benches while others lounged about underneath tables and along the railings.

After a fifteen-minute walk from our drop-off point across the bay, we found ourselves at Las Grietas, a natural crack in the earth formed by ancient earthquakes and volcanic activity, that was now filled with the cold waters of the ocean. The relief from the heat was immediate as we entered the water. The snorkeling here was excellent. Schools of large fish, perhaps as big as three to four-foot long, greeted my face mask. Their iridescent blue and orange colors shown brightly in the crystal-clear waters. Later, MK not only swam among those same fish, but she saw a five-foot long eel slither its way from one underwater lair to another.

We later shared the return ferry with a group of four middle-aged men. Instead of going back to the town’s dock on the other side of the bay, they instructed our operator to first motor over to a large sailboat that was anchored nearby. As they left our ferry and boarded the sailboat, I noticed its markings indicated that they had sailed this vessel from British Columbia, Canada. Now, there’s an adventure!

We rose early the next day to arrive at the bike shop soon after it opened. Our plan was to rent two bikes, pedal a couple of miles to the bus station, and take a ride with bikes in tow to the El Chato Tortoise Reserve outside of the small village of Santa Rosa up in the highlands. When finished, we would bike downhill the 10 or so miles back to our hotel.

The bus station was deserted. Its windows were shuttered. Not a soul was seen. So, we sat on the one bench outside its locked door and waited for the blue bus with the words “Santa Rosa” emblazoned on the side, just like the lady at the bike rental shop instructed us to do. And we waited some more. Still no bus. Then, our blue bus with the magic words appeared from down the road. But, it never left the road and didn’t pull into the station. Apparently, you are supposed to stand out on the road and flag it down as it passes by. So, there we stood, waiting for the next bus. Then we waited some more. Our hoped for blue bus just wasn’t showing up.

Frustrated, MK said, “You know, when we bike back home, we easily put in 20-30 miles on our rides. What’s so hard about pedaling the 10 miles up to El Chato?”

“You’re right,” I said. “Easy, squeezy, lemon-peasy. Let’s do it!”

So off we went. Now, mind you, we were pedaling from town, at the ocean’s side, up to the highlands. The going was steep. The weather was hot. The air was humid. In short order, we knew this was a mistake. My shirt was soaked with sweat. So too were my shorts. They looked like I peed myself. MK was in no better shape. At times, we needed to walk the bikes up the steeper sections. To add to our growing frustration, a blue “Santa Rosa” bus drove by. I cursed at it. “F*** You!” I yelled. As I squinted through my watering eyes, stinging from the sweat dripping off of my forehead, I could see several bikes smartly affixed to an outside rack and several happily smiling people within. 

After two and half hours of this misery, we finally made it to Santa Rosa. After posing some questions to some of the villagers using my crude attempt at Spanish, we were directed down a dirt and gravel road for a fair distance until we finally arrived at El Chato. The hard work getting here was made worthwhile for the treasures within.

Lava tunnels dotted the reserve. We walked through them to get to the grounds where the large, century-old tortoises roam. These tunnels were formed many moons ago when molten lava flowed underneath the hardened surface of a previous flow to create a rounded, tube-like cave. Some of these were long enough that we needed the headlamps we brought along in anticipation of this situation. Others were either relatively short, the “light at the end of the tunnel” being very apparent, or were artificially lit with a string of bare light bulbs.

Soon after we surfaced, we began to see what we had come for. Tortoises, the size of rounded, kitchen-sized table tops, roamed about freely in their natural environment. They were spectacular creatures. They spent their time eating the vegetation, moving in slow motion and on to the next patch of plants, or wallowing in the few pools that dotted the reserve.

We were cautioned not to use flash photography and to stay at least 10 feet away from them. Even then, some would retract their heads back into their shells, or let out a guttural growl if they felt threatened by our proximity. Try clearing your throat with a long, slow, and deeply resonating reverberation, and you get the idea of what these creatures sounded like.

We couldn’t get enough of them even though they probably had enough of us. But in time, we headed back to the visitor’s center for some cold and refreshing drinks. Now, we may be idiots, but we’re not blithering idiots. So, I asked the desk clerk if he could call for a taxi to take us back to Puerto Ayora. There was no way we were going to pedal back after what we went through to get here. As luck would have, a man in a pick-up truck had just delivered a group of tourists to the reserve and was heading back to town. After I negotiated a fare, we placed our bikes in the bed of the truck and clambered aboard for the 20-minute ride back to town, relieved by the fresh and cool air pouring in from the open windows.

The front tire on my bike was flat when we arrived at our hotel. It must have happened right before we arrived at the tortoise reserve. Luck was on our side. I couldn’t imagine what we would have had to endure if that had happened earlier while we were en-route somewhere in the remote highlands of Santa Cruz Island.   

Given all of the fun and frivolity of the past two days, we spent our last day on Santa Cruz in a much more relaxing way. Plus, MK had cut her toe rather seriously the other day while snorkeling and we thought it best to not put it under too much pressure so that it could properly heal. We do have a lot of adventures ahead of us and she wants to be fit and ready.

On the way to the beach, we briefly observed an outdoor Sunday service. While we didn’t stay for the full mass, God was probably still pleased that we made an attempt, however small, to pay him the proper respect.

While at the beach, we took in some snorkeling and people watching all while looking at our guidebooks describing upcoming activities on Isabella Island, our destination for tomorrow. 

A four minute music video of our time in the Galapagos is at the following link: