Santa Cruz Island
There are different accounts from the early colonizers who inhabited the island of Santa Cruz. That the island was very dry, that the island was very lush; they had many different experiences. But all of them talk about a “hospitable hostility” that made living on this island “gratefully difficult.” Only those with a predetermined determination and the wherewithal to succeed won the right to live here.
Today, those varied accounts came to my mind while we were visiting the green and lush gentle slopes of this very old volcano. And, in comparison to just a few months ago, we couldn’t help noting the massive absence of tortoises. Most of them are not in the highlands anymore but instead they have moved towards their nesting sites, in the midlands. It has been raining heavily for several weeks and therefore there is water everywhere nowadays. The ancient urge of perpetuation calls from the innermost fibers of these giants and they migrate to lower altitudes to comply.
We cannot scan their minds, neither would we want to, but it is easy to understand their slow but steady pace out of the muddy areas where we spent time this afternoon photographing them. This morning, when we visited them in captivity, we took it for granted that the friendly chelonians never moved regardless of how close to them we got. Observing them in the wild, we discovered that this wasn’t true at all, and we witnessed the distrust in the reptiles: they withdrew their head and limbs when we approached. We can’t really blame them, as during the 1800's and early 1900's, hundreds of thousands of these placid creatures were loaded into the holds of passing ships to supply fresh meat for hungry sailors.
The fragrance of the wet earth will accompany us for a long time after this day, as will the memories of the “galápagos” roaming, leaving, and just being.
There are different accounts from the early colonizers who inhabited the island of Santa Cruz. That the island was very dry, that the island was very lush; they had many different experiences. But all of them talk about a “hospitable hostility” that made living on this island “gratefully difficult.” Only those with a predetermined determination and the wherewithal to succeed won the right to live here.
Today, those varied accounts came to my mind while we were visiting the green and lush gentle slopes of this very old volcano. And, in comparison to just a few months ago, we couldn’t help noting the massive absence of tortoises. Most of them are not in the highlands anymore but instead they have moved towards their nesting sites, in the midlands. It has been raining heavily for several weeks and therefore there is water everywhere nowadays. The ancient urge of perpetuation calls from the innermost fibers of these giants and they migrate to lower altitudes to comply.
We cannot scan their minds, neither would we want to, but it is easy to understand their slow but steady pace out of the muddy areas where we spent time this afternoon photographing them. This morning, when we visited them in captivity, we took it for granted that the friendly chelonians never moved regardless of how close to them we got. Observing them in the wild, we discovered that this wasn’t true at all, and we witnessed the distrust in the reptiles: they withdrew their head and limbs when we approached. We can’t really blame them, as during the 1800's and early 1900's, hundreds of thousands of these placid creatures were loaded into the holds of passing ships to supply fresh meat for hungry sailors.
The fragrance of the wet earth will accompany us for a long time after this day, as will the memories of the “galápagos” roaming, leaving, and just being.
