Continuing onward, three sea lions looked at me reproachfully for disrupting their sleep on our swim platform. Bands of brown noddies perched on yachts to spot fish. Marine iguanas swam by. Wild tortoises plodded through the hills above Puerto Ayora. Fond of ripe fruit, they slumber under the mango trees. On Rancho Primicias, an observant giant made straight for two-year-old Amelie’s bright yellow Crocs.

Isla Santa Fé, a two-hour steam away, hosts a sea lion nursery. On the island, sea lion tots stared at us intently, torn between fear and a desire to touch. The kids had to goose-step over marine iguanas sprawled on paths digesting wads of algae. A diving pelican came up with a large pargo (snapper), and two others dove on him as he tried to align it down his beak. The three snatched and tossed the fish until one succeeded in swallowing it. A blue-footed booby watched the scene disdainfully, preferring to feed by aerial bombardment—kamikaze plunges onto shoals of baitfish called salema. Near the sandy beach, a baby male sea lion, lithe as a flamenco dancer, played with a handkerchief that had fallen from a tour boat.

Our next anchorage, between Isla Lobos and Isla San Cristóbal, sounded like old MacDonald’s farm with sea lions bleating and retching all night. At dark, our underwater lights came on, drawing in small wiggly things. A large sea lioness lurking under the hull gulped yellow-banded eels like candy.

The computer-tweaked itinerary sent Whale Song eastward to Santa Fé and San Cristóbal, followed by Española and Floreana. Next was the grandest of all: the 70-mile-long Isla Isabela. Cold waters along her western shores support most of the Galápagos’ animal life. Here, right on the equator, penguins survive, as well as tropical flamingos. Not only does Isabela host most of the animal life, but it also looks dramatic. In contrast to the older, eroded islands we’d visited, six volcanoes rise into Isabela’s skyline, with another big one (at 4,500 feet) on Isla Fernandina, practically in her lap.

Isabela also has our guide Antonio’s favorite haunts, and he shared them with us. In Elizabeth Bay, we snorkeled through an inlet cutting into fields of lava frozen into razor sharp cones. Few visitors come here, and a sea lion pup—teddy brown against jet-black lava—watched us with obvious disbelief, frequently dipping under the water as if to clear its head. Tiny bubbles gleamed on the underwater rocks, venting pent-up pressure from the netherworld.

Isabela carries the region’s most aggressive volcanoes. Sierra Negra erupted in 2005. Floating over rosettes of algal plants, we nearly collided with several Pacific green turtles. Disturbed from their slumbers, they raced out—big, dark shapes oddly out of focus in the cold, mirage-like mix of seawater and freshwater.

On the nearby Marielas islets, Galápagos penguins—midgets compared with their Antarctic cousins—share the sea with flightless cormorants that viewed our intrusion through strikingly blue eyes. Inland, in mangrove-bordered lagoons, lazy turtles slept on the mud bottom. Dozing sea lions stretched on fallen trunks.

Isabela continued to deliver thrilling surprises wherever we anchored. In Tagus Cove, the crew of visiting ships used to paint their names on the surrounding cliffs. Still clearly readable, Hussar 1932 was as moving as it was unexpected. Grant’s grandfather was then the skipper of the grand yacht, later named Sea Cloud when Marjorie Merriweather Post divorced E.F. Hutton and became the sole owner.

1 | 2 | 3 | >>

Related Articles
Winter Warm-Up
Charter Choices
Design Showcase: Decompression Chambers
Design Showcase: In-Spa-Rational Design
Summer Escapes