Of idealism and realpolitik

SOME OF YOU WONDERFUL READERS ASKED ABOUT WHO TOOK THE PHOTOS AND HOW. I TOOK ALL OF THEM WITH MY NIKON D200 AND AN 18-200 LENS. THE ANIMALS, SEA AND SKY SEEM TO BE POSING, AS IF TO SAY, "SNAP AWAY, GRINGO! I LOOK GOOD!!!" THE RARE FUR SEAL (BELOW) WAS TWO FEET AWAY. A SEA LION SLEPT ON MY FOOT WHILE I VIDEOTAPED. DARWIN'S FAMOUS FINCHES EAT BREAKFAST WITH ME AND GIANT RAYS SLEEP AS WE VIDEOTAPE.













The Galapagos National Park is in charge of the 97% of the islands' land mass. Most of the land and the maritime areas are in a pristine condition, that is, without the influence of human settlement. Park officials, from the time of the Park's founding 50 years ago, have done a spectacular job of maintaining a world for flora and fauna (as well as tourists)that is minimally affected by introduced species. The result is that much marine and land life is not too different from what Charles Darwin observed in 1835. This is especially true on the uninhabited islands, where humans have left few feral dogs, cats, and rats.

The head of the park's educational programs is a wise and affable guy named Marco Hoyos Garcia. He has a crew cut, is from Ambato, talks softly and wisely about the 12years of intractable problems. He has been accused of being unable to wield a big stick, but he is operating successfully in a turbulent political world.

After talking with him, I have a kind of epiphany, realizing that, though I don't get paid for my work, I get to meet stellar folks like Marco Hoyo. He is calm, smart, and patient.

He sees a troubled future in store for the islands and the Park, because the non-park areas are intensely populated by the aggressive species known as "human being" a.k.a. "immigrant" --- this is THE most deadly of all "invasive species." He has some suggestions that make a lot of sense.

"We have to know the facts, first of all. We must find out, scientifically, what to do. We cannot just tell people whatever we think might work; there has to be a basis for what we say. Everyone has a point of view based on their personal preferences, but few can see the scientific truths. Secondly, we have to have enforcement of existing laws, or the laws are not worth the paper they are printed on. The police, Park and national officials cannot just pass the Special Law for the Galapagos and expect it to exist on its own. There has to be law enforcement. Finally, for folks to change their behavior, there must be some incentives. People don't just change. They have to see a reason to change. At this point the only incentive is a negative one.

"At the Park, we try to teach the teachers and the kids by offering them trips on our boats. That way, local people see the Galapagos wildlife and, all of a sudden, they see the reasons to not dump trash, to conserve the environment, and to be proud to be a Galapagueno. This is the incentive we offer.

"My concern is that there is no unity here because people come from many provinces. One day, hopefully, they will know what it means to be a Galapagueno."

Marco also told me that there had been a crisis in community confidence, and that, instead of uniting the community, it has ripped neighbors apart from each other. Here is what happened. A porno ring was discovered, and some residents were arrested and jailed. After the discovery, "experts from the continent" were called to help the community to understand sexual abuse and how to prevent it. In the months that followed, there were revelations of frequent violence against women, including injuries of wives by their husbands in the house and, occasionally, in public. The officials in town encouraged all residents to report any such incidents, so many folks took the recommendation at face value. There were "denuncios" of teachers, mothers and fathers. Now teachers are afraid to touch children, even on their shoulders, and parents fear their neighbors.

Of Humpbacks and Sharks, madness and grace

For a month I have been working for the Charles Darwin Foundation, a large non-profit dedicated to scientific and social research throughout the Galapagos. Aside from designing curriculum on history, I get to travel. Here are reflections on a sailing trip.

Four days ago a group of ten of us were exploring the eastern isles. We were on board the Beagle, a two-masted sailboat owned by our captain, Augusto Cruz. Each day, the Naional Park guide, Daniel Sanchez, encouraged us to snorkel, hike and kayak. As it turned out, Alan Hesse, a British cartoonist, and I were kayaking near the island of Bartolomeo. We were being watched by crew members on the inflatable speedboat. After a few minutes paddling near penguins and boobies, we saw Daniel standing in his 'panga,' wildly motioning us to turn around.

"WHALE AHEAD!!" he and our crewmates yelled.

Alan and I paddled like maniacs the length of the bay, out into the ocean. We leaned into each stroke, desperately trying to outrace the 40-horsepower engine. How many times in a lifetime do we get to see a whale up close? Was a killer whale, blue or what?

We caught the motorboat. Even better, since we had a tiny turn radius, we could easily follow the whales' regular surfacing. Soon we were glued to the rhythms of mama humpback and baby. Compared to us, both were megasized, the baby weighing unknown numbers of tons. Mom was bigger than a tractor trailer, gliding with grace, showing a black smoothness that was massive and sinuous. Behind the hump was our tiny sailboat, a speck getting ever smaller.

Every 3-4 minutes, madonna and child surfaced with geysers announcing their presence. They undulated, rose in curving vastness, side by side, knobbly faces touching each other -- and almost touching us.

I wondered where they were headed, only to realize they might be directly below our flimsy yellow plastic. It was then that I recalled a lecture by my hero and professor of American Literaure, Leo Marx. He told many semesters of rapt Amherst students about the madman on the whale, attempting to cross to the other side, past the wall of unknowing. Ahab knew there was something more to life than his mechanistic existence, killing the whale might yield his clue, maybe in death he truth would be known. Leo Marx made us all feel that we were Ahabs, ready to harpoon our white darkness, to suffer for truth. I remember being unable to breathe when I realized Leo was Ahab, and this insane tension was in our red hall. Leo was on the whale, in public view, for us to witness.

We students were madmen, too, we were Ahabs, incensed at the stupidity of the mundane, bewitched by the fog of ultimate truth, outraged by just about anything. When the lecture was over, the silence was deafening. Then the whole class erupted in applause, standing up for our own Ahab..

Next to the humpback whale, I didn't care if I died. He was truth incarnate. "Humpback" What a silly moniker for the most graceful giant I had ever seen. Like Quasimodo, these humpbacks were reviled by many, feared and hunted. But my humpbacked Madonna was sublimely wise, transcendentally good. Too awful to contemplate that they will be hunted by Japanese whalers.

Are these not two of earth's most gentle and lovely creatures, at home on our blue earth? It was one of those moments. Here was birth and motherhood, sea and sky, black giants and puny humans. Ahab and Gregory Peck were alive. Quasimodo was a saint. The lectures of 1969 were alive. Alan and I were hanging between life and death, on the back of grand mammals, carried forward in life by a subtle coaxing.

We saw the waters flatten when they rose. Flukes climbed to the sky and slapped the green sea. We sat, gaping, too mesmerized to move away. Mother and child had no fear in their vast home.

Someone yelled to me that I was in danger of being smashed. Or tossed tossed like a matchstick. Life in that moment seemed too extraordinary. Why worry about death?

. . .

The next day, at a neighboring island, we made a wet landing and walked on one of the Park trails. We detoured around red land iguanas and boobies standing right in the middle of "our" path. We crossed a spit of land, and at the sea's edge, we spotted fins of some white-tipped sharks. They were sliding in the water, just yards from the water´s edge. Not thinking about Jaws, we stepped into the wavelets.

You need to realize that we tourists had become domesticated, due to the utter fearlessness of all island creatures, whether they be hawks or iguanas. Boobies and albatrosses had wandered up to us every day. Sea lions slept on our feet. So, we stood in 2 feet of water, naively snapping photos of fins and shadows. We did not notice their muscular gray bodies getting closer. Then, in a moment I won't forget, the sharks turned right into our little forest of pale legs. They brushed against our shins and feet. They swiveled, bending and propelling, touching our flesh lightly. They made a slalom course through our legs and headed out of the lagoon. They were as gentle as the waves themselves.

Sharks and humpbacks. Two heavenly creatures. Earthly beings living in the sea. Misnamed and misunderstood, hunted and hated. And yet they are the repository of nature's grace. They shed light on our manic selves. They are evidence that there really is something on the other side.

A few of my favorite pix

SCUBA diving, cruising on the Beagle

September 8, 2009
Leon Dormido (sleeping lion) is a famous diving site known for being a monolith whose twin spires rise out of the ocean floor to a height of several hundred meters. Its more common name is Kicking Rock, for no reason that anyone knows, but perhaps it stands for the frustration some feel here in Ecuador. In that sense, perhaps it is what the Ecuadorian soccer team ('World Cup hopefuls') is doing to itself after losing to Colombia 2-0 last weekend.

Our guide is Victor, a bear-like man with a crew cut. AFter he helped me put on my gear, he asked me, "Tito, have you really ever been Scuba diving?" I had to admit that my last dive was in 1979. I did not want to add that I was unable to recall anything other than a primordial fear of the depths. He rolls his eyes, because we are already at the Rock, ready to somersault off the boat's gunwales. Patiently, he watches me stagger around, due to the 25 pound lead belt and air tank. I wonder if the weight will have the same effect as concrete boots attached to former friends of the Mafia. At a nod to warmth and buoyancy, and especially since the Humboldt Current makes the Equatorial waters as cold as Maine's Atlantic, we are outfitted with thick neoprene, from toe to head, even gloves, booties and a head warmer.

During our two dives of 40 minutes apiece, we see majestic ray, sea lions, and four species of shark. The hammerheads have an odd appendage on their heads, eyes protruding from the "hammer." The Galapagos sharks have big shoulder humps, making them look vaguely like bulls. The black-tipped sharks are long and lean, smooth-moving and slinky. At 90 feet depth, around the base of a volcanic pinnacle, there is a world of movement.

VOYAGE OF THE 2009 BEAGLE

It turns out that Alan Hesse, an Englishman and cartoonist, is my new friend, and we will share a double in the two-master called the Beagle. Alan is a practicing conservation biologist who has decided to put his childhood doodling ability to good use for conservation education. As he puts it, his aim is to "bring my grain of rice to reunite art and science... cartoons enriched by science and social content for educational purposes."

Check out Alan's website: http://www.alanhesse.co.uk/

We depart this evening on the Beagle, named after Charle's boat that landed on San Cristobal 167 years ago. Tonight, after a dinner with our 10 new friends, we will cruise to an island overnight. Since your mates determine how much good conversation occurs, he and I are hoping for some lively, youthful passengers. You might think this is an specious concern, but some tourists are animated; some are not. I did not think about this until I attended a history/ecology seminar by Felipe Der Ger. The 16American tourists seemed tired from their busy schedule, so, during dinner, heads rolled backwards. Alan looked for a feather. A man with a Pawley's Island t-shirt became comatose. During the fascinating and hilarious slide show, the tourists were pasty, silent. The only lively one was a Floridian with huge, gnarly mitts. Noisily, he told me that 'most of the problems today are caused by tree huggers.'

I guess it really does not matter who else is on the boat. After all, the crew of the original 19th century Beagle was a varied lot. Charles, himself, was an eccentric divinity student working as a volunteer. The captain was nutty.

NEW FRIENDS
Pedro: our tour guide to Los Lobos, an island known for its sea lions and iguanas. I grew up in Guayaquil but moved here 25 years ago. For a long time I was a barman on a cruise boat – three months on the boat and 15 days vacation. It was a good job but then I had a family. Now I like the day cruises better. I do one 4-hour bay cruise in the morning and one in the afternoon. Americans are the best tourists because they are humble and don’t say mean things. I married a woman from Nebraska. We have a three-year-old daughter. I am going to Nebraska this fall but need to learn English before I go. My wife does not like the island life so she comes here a few times a year. It is good you are working with the people of the Galapagos, since there is almost no connection between the FCD and the local people. We don’t know what the FCD does and they don’t know us.

Some charismatic folks...

The Wild West of the Galapagos

Enid _________ is an immigrant from the mainland port of Guayaquil. She raised 11 children, 9 of whom survived. One is working in her new milk factory and another is the father of a CDF volunteer, Anita. Enid is 77 years old, looks youthful and talks with warmth and a slow Spanish. I interviewed her on her highland ranch in a large kitchen filled with brass and wooden tools.

"I came here in 1961 and have lived the life of the Wild West. I cried when I first got here, since I had left everything. No one visited for years since the islands are far from the mainland. After a year in the village of Puerto Ayora, we accepted a land grant from the government. It was here, in the mountains above town. For years the only way to the only town was on horseback. It was a tough trail, and, because I was raising my 11 children, I almost never went. The best thing about town was that it had a well, attached to a wind pump. Over time, we got some modern things like a kerosene refrigerator. We made money by hunting the wild cows that the Navy had left behind, decades earlier. They had become hard to find, and hard to capture. But we used traps and then saved every pound in our new refrigerators. My children went to school on horses until the built a school in Bellavista.

"I survived all of this because I had to raise my kids. I had to be where my husband was. I made it, in spite of adversity. These days things are different. People have cell phones and there are factories for milk. In fact, we are building a milk products factory so we can sell yogurt and cheese to the tourist boats and markets in town."