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Showing posts with label Galapagos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Galapagos. Show all posts

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Camera critters and shadow shots, Ecuador

To market, to market,

To buy a fat hog,

Home again, home again, jiggity-jog!


No, we didn't really intend to buy livestock at the Ecuadorian country markets after our trip to the Galapagos Islands some years ago, but if we had wanted any, it would have been easy to find. However, we went back to our Quito hotel (above) without buying a pig in a poke.

This little pig went to market...

© Photos by Kay Davies and Richard Schear    

















And this little pig went to roam!



Posted for
Misty Dawn's
Camera
Critters
Thanks, Misty!


and
for
Shadow Shot Sunday 2

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Galapagos Critters Doing Double Duty

Below, this sanderling casts a delicate bird-shaped shadow as it dines on a piece of cactus.

Neither the sea lion nor the Galapagos gulls pay any attention to the sinister shadow cast by the marine iguana and the rock on which it sits.

A young sea lion watches a Sally Lightfoot crab hiding in the shadow of an overhanging rock.

Camouflaged in the shadows of opuntia (prickly pear) cactus, are a Galapagos gull (left) and a juvenile red-footed booby.

This Galapagos gull chooses not to lie in the shade, but in the sunshine, where he casts his own shadow.

Today I have
birds, reptiles, mammals and crustaceans for both
and

Photos by Kay Davies and Richard Schear

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

One of my favorite photos


I knew I had this picture somewhere, but couldn't find it filed under "Galapagos" or "birds" or anything, anywhere. Ran across it today in my "to finish" file for An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel. Duh, huh?
I hope you like the photo as much as I do. It's of a Nazca Booby with two eggs. (You don't want to know what Wikipedia says about the two eggs, however.)
The Nazca (Sula granti) was formerly thought to be a subspecies of the Masked Booby (Sula dactylatra), but is now recognized as a separate species.
One of these days, I'll be visiting Canada's Gaspé Peninsula, where I hope to see another seabird of the Sulidae family, the Northern Gannet (Morus bassanus, formerly Sula bassana) on Bonaventure Island. I'm no bird expert, far from it, but I have become more and more interested in them the more I travel.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Getting in and out of a panga









As mentioned in an early chapter, getting into and out of a panga and onto a yacht isn't always easy for the unfit among us. Unfortunately for my readers, I have documented evidence only of the times I did it in a reasonably dignified fashion. Once, however, while snorkeling, I did manage to get into a panga (with assistance from the young man at the helm) when I couldn't swim any farther. Fortunately for me, no photographic documentation of that exhausting event exists, anywhere. Take it from me, I have never done it unassisted, and have never done it gracefully. But, if I can manage, with some help, so can other unfitties, even you.


Friday, January 29, 2010

Something else I didn't do



My husband went with a group from the yacht Flamingo I to crawl through a lava tunnel on the Galapagos island of Santa Cruz. Another of my weaknesses is claustrophobia, so I went along for the ride but stayed in the bus, watching birds land on the side mirrors to peek in at me. Beautiful day, beautiful birds, no symptoms to speak of.
-- photos by Richard Schear

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Don't you know how fierce I am, post?


My favorite blue-foot is this guy, glaring at one of the posts that outline the trail for tourists. He's probably telling it not to interfere with his mate, who is sitting on an egg in the background (right).

A field full of blue-footed boobies

All I had to do was sit on my cane/chair, under my big umbrella, and snap photo after photo of blue-footed boobies. A number of blue-foots are camouflaged among the rocks in the upper picture, and the tourists to the left are taking pictures of some we can't see here. Meanwhile, the male in the bottom picture is sky-pointing, either to impress his chosen mate or to frighten off other males. Blue-footed boobies are seldom very frightening, however, not even to one another.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Chapter 6 from 'An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel'



CHAPTER 6 –
ANOTHER LESSON
ALMOST LEARNED


There is a lot of talk these days about closing the Galapagos Islands to tourism because of the great sensitivity of their unique eco-systems. In the meantime, we’re only allowed to be there if we stay within the path outlined for that purpose. Therefore, on the smaller islands, Orlando, one of the guides from our yacht Flamingo I, would take his group clockwise around the island, while his colleague Karina took our group counterclockwise. This system worked fine until the day I got left behind.

One of the best days of my life!

Karina speaks excellent English and is a wonderful guide with a tremendous depth of knowledge about the Galapagos. Nevertheless, when she said we would see lots of blue-footed boobies one day, I was thrilled to find she hadn’t exaggerated. Just as my feet were getting sore, we came to a huge field covered with sand, rocks, twigs, a few shrubs, and a flock of elaborately-courting and minimally-nesting blue-footed boobies. With the exception of one booby protecting an egg, they paid no attention to us.

I was in heaven. “I’d love to stay here,” I sighed.

“Okay,” said Karina, “you sit here until… (I missed this part) …pick you up on the way to the beach.”

Another rule: Pay attention, or request repetition for verification. I’m not always good at this, either.

When I heard Karina say “Okay, you sit here,” I immediately unfolded my cane/chair thingie, and sat down in that wonderful field full of blue-footed boobies, without actually hearing all of her instructions.

Another communication problem existed, but I didn’t know about it until later. There I sat, with my giant collapsible beige golf umbrella shading me from the sun, and watched boobies sky-pointing in their courtship dance; looked at the ocean in the near distance; watched a group of male boobies trying unsuccessfully to intimidate one another; and looked at the ocean again in case dolphins or whales came by. They didn’t, but I enjoyed myself immensely anyway.

After a few hours, Orlando came along with the second group from Flamingo I. They all greeted me.

“Hi, Kay, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m having a wonderful time.”

“So you’re alright here?”

“Never better,” I said as I waved goodbye.

I didn’t know Karina had asked Orlando to take me back to the beach with them. I thought our group, including my husband, would be coming back for me.

Eventually, when I was beginning to get just a teensy bit tired of sitting, but not the least bit tired of booby-watching, Orlando and a man from his group came up behind me.

“We’ve come to take you to the beach.”

“Oh?” I asked, “where’s Dick?”

“He and the others are out on the Flamingo already.”

So off we went to the beach, where one of the pangas (boats) from our yacht was waiting.

Oh, yes, getting in and out of a panga. That’s another story.

But first, my giant umbrella: I searched and searched online until I found a large, collapsible, light-beige golf umbrella. For a sunny climate, a light color is best, because dark colors absorb the sun’s heat, as we all know but often forget when buying everything from clothes to cars – and then we’re sorry later, as I have learned the hard way.

My umbrella, along with my portable chair/cane, provided me with shelter and seating. My face got red from exertion, but never from sunburn, for which I was grateful because I’m photosensitive, among other awful things.

However, when we got home from that trip, I discovered some sand had found its way into the workings, so I could no longer open my wonderful umbrella. Did I order a new one? No, I forgot that, too.

Of course, the time eventually came when I needed sun protection desperately. Surrounded by tourists and locals who were carrying pastel umbrellas and parasols in the heat of a Beijing summer, I found myself holding a small black (yes, black) umbrella over my head. It might as well have been a portable oven.


Sunday, December 27, 2009

COMING SOON -- CHAPTER 4



Chapter 4 of An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel (coming soon to a blog near you) tells of the key ingredient the author unearthed while reviewing her past and then attempting to reconcile an unfittie's reluctance to move out of a chair, with a basketball referee's desire to swing through jungles on a rope.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

CHAPTER 1 - TO THE READER


Okay, so you’re not as young as you used to be. You have pains in places where you didn’t used to have places, and you suspect your weight in pounds far exceeds your height in centimeters, although you’ve never been mathematically inclined and never mastered the metric system. The math part won’t matter anyway, unless you want to explore countries where everything is metric.

But you really don’t want to explore anything much any more.

You no longer imagine yourself walking the Left Bank of the Seine because you can’t even walk to the bank where your passport molders in a safe deposit box. You don’t imagine yourself sipping anything stronger than ginger ale, or maybe going wild with a diet cola on New Year’s Eve, and you no longer wish you were part of the crowd in Times Square. You don’t want to stay up to watch the ball drop. You’re happy if you live in the west and can watch it drop at nine or ten, when it’s already midnight in New York, so you can go to bed with a heating pad.

You’d walk to the library if you thought you could carry all those books. You’d walk to the coffee place you love so much, just to hang out for a while, if you thought you wouldn’t have to ask someone for a ride home. “Maybe I can get there, but I don’t know if I can get back!” has become your new mantra.

Can this really be you? How did you get to be an unfittie?

You remember when you could work full-time plus overtime, do your own housework and laundry, serve on a couple of committees, attend a few meetings, and go dancing every week.

You remember when you were 34 and could outrun a soccer-playing 13-year-old in a hundred-yard dash, although you realize you couldn’t have held out for a longer distance, even then. Maybe it was a sign, but you were too triumphant to notice it.

Triumphant, oh yes, you were, and you were all kinds of other good things, too. You were still young in your 30s – you were bright, productive, resourceful, excited and exciting. Members of the opposite sex still turned to look when you passed, and you still appreciated it. Hey, you still expected it.

You don’t know when you became invisible. When your hair first started graying, you thought it quite chic. Rather than dye it to conceal the gray, you dyed the gray parts purple, to match your favorite outfits. You certainly weren’t invisible then.

Nor were you invisible in your early 40s. You could still turn a head now and then, but nobody called you ‘cute’ any more. Instead, they said ‘good-looking’ or ‘charming’ or, if they loved you very much, ‘gorgeous’.

In your 40s, you fondly remembered the plans of your youth, when you wanted to change the world. You never quite accomplished it, but, in your 40s, you still thought there was time. The wild excitement of civil rights issues and women’s issues had, perhaps, given way to more subtle environmental causes, but you could still get pretty wrought-up about saving whales, pandas, or your local river.

Now you’re a confirmed recycler, if your spouse will bundle up the papers and plastics and cans and take them away. You want to save the polar bears, and those endangered penguin species, but you aren’t sure you could travel to the North or South Pole to see them.

You aren’t even sure you want to travel at all any more.

Home is nice.

Then, one day, you casually ask your spouse, just as a point of interest to see if you’re still soulmates, and not as a suggestion at all: “If you could go anywhere in the whole world, where would you want to go?”

Much to your surprise, he waves a brochure at you and declares, without hesitation or doubt, “Here!”

It’s from his university alumni association. They’re arranging a trip to the Galapagos Islands.

It doesn’t dawn on you right away – you’re not the quick study you once were – but life, as you’ve grown to know it, is over.