“Take only photographs…and leave nothing.”
“Not even footprints?”
“Not even footprints.”
Welcome to the Galapagos.
I’d heard the expression, “take only photographs, and leave only footprints”, but never had I heard that not even a trace footprint is desirable. The Galapagos, if they’re being honest, don’t really want you to leave anything that indicates you were there. Not even the imprint of the sole of your hiking boot, whether it’s brand new, or worn through. They don’t want to know that you wear North Face boots, size seven and a half, and they don’t want the animals or plants to know either.
The Galapagos Islands are unique in many ways, this tourist directive being just one of them. At this point in time, due to the rise in popularity of the Galapagos with tourists, the islands’ reputation and distinctions are well known. The islands, a volcanic archipelago nearly a thousand kilometres west off the coast of Ecuador, possess one of the world’s most diverse ecosystems, and inspired Charles Darwin’s great work, The Origin of Species.
Gradually, through the proliferation of ecotourism and the increased accessibility to tourism on the islands, the Galapagos has become a top bucket list item for all types of tourists. I can’t say I was much different. While I was familiar with the Galapagos, their most famous species, and their historical / environmental / biological significance, much of what I took away from the Galapagos (photographs and memories only, I promise), is less about what I expected, and far more drawn from the, at times, astonishing realities I experienced while there.
Mostly, I remember the fur seals. They were everywhere. From the minute I arrived to find them sprawled on a bench that said “Welcome to the Galapagos”, to the final farewell, the fur seals were perhaps the most omnipresent species on the islands (aside from the iguanas…which is a whole other story).
The fur seals were my favourite for many reasons, particularly because they were totally indifferent to us. In fact, virtually all of them downright ignored us. Instead of being offended, I was pleased – their indifference to us tourists meant that we were behaving ourselves. If the fur seals were carrying on with their existence, blissfully impassive to ours, it meant that tourism hadn’t interfered with the nature of things in the Galapagos. This is the goal of ecotourism in Galapagos – for tourists to be as unobtrusive as possible.
Managed by the Galapagos National Park, they adhere to strict carrying capacities and tourist regulation in order to sustain the islands and the industry. We were heavily restricted on when we could visit, and despite there being a decent number of boats in the water, the number of tourists on land appeared to be restricted to the population of our boat – about fifteen. As such, we were able to explore the islands without throngs of tourists, making the experience more enjoyable for us and more palatable to the sustainability of the islands.
We were able to meander along the auburn, golden, and charcoal-sanded beaches, weaving around fur seals, without causing a stir. Even the heavily pregnant fur seal we encountered, absolutely ready to burst, according to our naturalist, didn’t bat an eye when I crouched a few feet away for a photo.
At first, on the day of our arrival, the temptation to reach out and pet the seals was unbearable. They were adorable, and their aloofness made them even more charming, if you can believe it. However, I, along with the rest of my group, restrained. Interestingly, by the second day, the urge to touch the animals was gone, replaced by a deep-seated respect, yielded by the inherently repressed notion that this was not our home, and we do not have ownership or control over these animals.
We were visitors. Observers. When the naturalists said to leave nothing, they meant it – not even the oil from your fingertips.