“These people have learned not from books, but in the fields, in the wood, on the river bank. Their teachers have been the birds themselves, when they sang to them, the sun when it left a glow of crimson behind it at setting, the very trees, and wild herbs.”
- Anton Chekhov, “A Day in the Country”
“We are tossed about by external causes in many ways, and like waves driven by contrary winds, we waver and are unconscious of the issue and our fate.' We think we are most ourselves when we are most passionate, whereas it is then we are most passive, caught in some ancestral torrent of impulse or feeling, and swept on to a precipitate reaction which meets only part of the situation because without thought only part of a situation can be perceived.”
- Will Durant, The Story of Philosophy
“Thanks, Scott, for your comments. I am grateful.
Very simply, we can encounter God without even reading the Bible. Aquinas says if you want to know something about God, then begin with creation.
- Blessings,Carol”
 |
| I'm having trouble finding attribution info for the Pee Wee picture - likely Warner Pictures |
Who’s that sexy thang I see over there?
That’s me, standin’ in the mirror…
…If I was you, I’d want to be me too.
—Meghan Trainor
 |
| Elvis picture from very cool poster at Rock.com |
Cause I’m a model, you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah, on the catwalk
On the catwalk, yeah
I shake my little tush on the catwalk
— Right Said Fred
 |
| Portland to Charlotte, to Miami, to Quito and finally to Baltra Island in the Galapagos archipelago (600 miles off the coast of Ecuador) - Map illustration derived from Google Earth |
The Ecuadorian flight attendants were uncannily identical in
appearance — from their red hats (faintly reminiscent of Hot Dog on a Stick
Uniforms) to their tight bun hairdos to their matching lipstick — so that I was
unsure whether I had slid into an alternate universe of 60’s stewardesses or a
future populated by identical clones. In either case, they performed their jobs
with military efficiency and no sooner had the plane landed, then all the doors
were thrown open and we passengers spilled down the closest set of ramp- stairs
to the sun baked tarmac.
Though I am handicapped by a severe case of monolingualism,
the airport personnel were experienced enough, and our cruise guides attentive
enough that I merely needed the skills of a cow to be herded to the transfer
buses. Languid iguanas watched our little tourist parade with their impassive
sidewise gaze, a gaze that because it only half meets our own, manages to seem
indifferent…but probably really is indifferent.
While the fleet of excursion vessels prepared to disperse among the different islands, the passengers of the Nemo III were baptized into the equatorial waters of the bay through voluntary self-dunkings as we strove to demonstrate our capacities to regain entry into the kayaks we would soon be using (provided we mastered this skill). For me it perfectly accentuated the idea that I was suddenly immersed into a new environment.
Darwin spent 1 month in the Galapagos (Sept. 17th
– Oct. 17th), though only 24 days actually spent on just 4 of the
islands. Ultimately, I would set foot on 5 different islands and 4 islets over
the course of 7 days, only two of which I’d have in common with Darwin. I
mention this because when I figured it out, I was surprised at how little time
he spent there on a voyage that lasted almost 5 years. Clearly, the ideas that
were eventually triggered by observations in the Galapagos occurred only in the
context of the rest of his observations on the South American Continent and
other island chains spanning the globe — not to mention his academic training.
I imagine he had to know very well how things were 'KNOWN' to be, in order to
recognize the subtle importance of say, tortoises customized for each island.
Not wasting any time, our nimble 75 foot catamaran sliced
its way to North Seymour which would serve as my introduction to what the
islands had to offer. “North Seymour — the island where you will ‘see more’”
said Veronica the guide, seemingly embarrassed
before she even started saying it, but determined to share the dubious
homophone regardless.
Our arrival at North Seymour was much like approaching a
bird-shit stained jetty. I didn’t know if this was
going to be a big island or a little island (I did research ahead of time, but
my variable memory of 13 major islands with their alternate names didn’t
include this one) and I didn’t really know enough to have a preference. In
retrospect, I can imagine that this little flat shelf was a remnant of a Santa
Cruz lava flow in a long past distant epoch.
Long before we arrived I could see distinctive birds
circling over the island vultures…or perhaps pterodactyls.
The crew took us to shore in what, by common consent, was referred
to as a ‘panga’…but having grown up with Jacques Cousteau specials, I thought
it resembled a ‘Zodiac’ (and began to wish I had a Steve Zissou style red
watch-cap instead of my camouflaged boonie hat).
 |
| Nocturnal gull |
Andres, our other guide (besides Veronica) soon explained
that the circling birds were frigate birds. There were two kinds of frigate
birds. Great frigate birds and Magnificent frigate birds. When Andres said it,
it sounded like Mag-KNEE-fee-cent frigate birds, which to my mind, sounded
somehow more spectacular. Turns out, these birds make a living by stealing from
other birds which explains why they patrol the territory from high in the sky
like opportunistic drones looking for a vulnerable target. Andres explained how to distinguish
magnificent frigate birds from great frigate birds (something about an ‘M’ on
their chests?), but as I was often some distance away frantically searching my
backpack for the wrong lens to use during our guide’s comprehensive
explanations, I missed this subtle point.
 |
| A male frigate bird with red inflated I'm-ready-to-have-sex display |
 |
| Like a peacock's ridiculous tail, this football sized red balloon shows how bad-assed its owner is since it can still perform all its alpha-bird functions while heavily disadvantaged. |
 |
| Probably not a male frigate bird |
 |
| The frigate bird's nest is not very elaborate. |
 |
| The male frigate bird blows up his throat pouch display which essentially screams, "Pay attention to me! Pay attention to me!" Eventually he will stage a big production with his wings which will unfortunately remind me of Chinese Opera. |
At this point, unexpectedly thrown (well, not entirely unexpectedly thrown) into a real life nature documentary, I began to imagine I could hear David Attenborough’s voice commenting about everything I happened to look at. High above me, a dozen fork- tailed birds wheeled in a haphazard gyre while my audio hallucination whispered “…frigate birds spend —months — continuously airborne at sea.” in that hushed way he has that makes it feel like you’re conspiring together not to have the T.V. animals over-hear.
Ecuadorians have come to treasure their Galapagos Islands
and have grown serious about protecting them and the island’s unique species.
To visit the islands, you need to be accompanied by a certified guide, stay on
designated trails, refrain from bringing food, and keep a prescribed distance
from the animals no matter how they try to interact with you.
Sea lions are kind of perfect role models if you want to
take a lazy vacation. But from what I’ve seen, they share my short-sightedness
with regard to career goals.
In the distance, I noted Daphne Major’s abrupt shoreline and
appreciated all the more the story of Peter and Rosemary Grant’s research as
chronicled in The Beak of the Finch — a book I’d been reading previous to my
trip — an amazing account that gives insight into the incredible discipline required
to see evolution happen in real time (http://www.pulitzer.org/winners/jonathan-weiner.)
In their unique island laboratory, they’ve been continuously studying generations of finches for 40 years.
In their unique island laboratory, they’ve been continuously studying generations of finches for 40 years.
August falls into the
Galapagos’ garúa season, cooler weather marked by mist and clouds that shroud
the highlands. The guides explained that the Humboldt current (cold water
circulating up from the Antarctic) moderates the temperature here to the upper,
middle seventies (Fahrenheit) while also infusing the water with a wealth of
plankton and krill. Otherwise, there isn’t much precipitation, and the lower
landscapes where the clouds cannot reach remain arid and appear desert-like.
The shrub-like trees that grow here remind me of the
krummholz back home that vie for existence at the upper limits of the timberline.
Krummholz is the German word that means twisted wood and should never be used
in the sentence, “I want to kiss you so please wipe that cheese away from your
krummholz.”
Cacti will (unbeknownst to me at this point) greet us in
many different forms as we hop from island to island, but for now, this one
tempts the local land iguanas with fleshy pads of refreshment…almost out of
reach.
(Yes I know. This iguana is not actually eating cactus. But at the evening photo review, it became evident that others had caught it in the act of propping itself on its hind legs to grasp at the lowest hanging cactus pads)
When I shared these pictures at the evening picture review,
my serendipitous travel cohorts accused me of being a typical guy — focused
primarily on butts and boobies (booby jokes never get old…right? I mean right?).
As I watched the booby set about laying out a poop nest,
various questions occurred to me:
Is this a booby dream home?
Do prospective mates find this sexy?
How does one compare this to other poop nests (texture,
smell, distance expelled, or symmetrical dispersal)?
Is there a booby vocational college that teaches poop-nests
101 — and if not, what the hell?
How many meals does this represent?
Is there an equivalent human behavior (for instance, in a
material culture, do we tend to surround ourselves with a lot of shit?)
Is that anus blue?
…and did you just
catch yourself looking?
By strictly evolutionary standards, I’m an abject failure.
As an animal standing amidst all my cousin animals, I wonder if my failure is
due to succumbing to bad instincts, or overruling good instincts with untested
ideologies (free will, individuality, golden rules) springing from an
experimental brain. Would I be happier if, in my late teens, I was seized by an
overpowering urge to make a poop-nest?
Is my genetic makeup such that I would have better thrived as a
Viking, utilizing my bulk to wield a broad-sword or battle axe —“… to crush my
enemies, see them driven before me…” — only to be (upon return from raiding parties) forever confounded by smaller, quicker-thinking lawyers and accountants?
 |
| A well adjusted blue-footed booby making a living, diving recklessly into the ocean for fish among the rocks and surf. |
Boobies doing what comes naturally.
To be continued...
see also:
Galapagos Pilgrimage Part 1
https://thenarrativeimage.blogspot.com/2017/03/galapagos-pilgrimage-part-one.html
Galapagos Pilgrimage Part 2
https://thenarrativeimage.blogspot.com/2017/03/galapagos-pilgrimage-part-two.html
Galapagos Pilgrimage Part 4
https://thenarrativeimage.blogspot.com/2017/05/galapagos-pilgrimage-part-4-truth.html
Comments
Post a Comment