Floreana Island
We woke to a garua-shrouded morning after a somewhat choppy night’s sail south-east to Floreana. A handful of people made a pre-breakfast panga pilgrimage to the Post Office Barrel on shore, armed with postcards, and listened to Ernesto’s tales of sex, death and drama on this desolate island. Naturally, this whetted our appetites for breakfast, which included some rather delectable eggs benedict.
In spite of a persistent gray garua, quite a few people donned wetsuits and plunged into the waves crashing against the sides of the little island of Champion, one of the last refuges of the Floreana mockingbird. Not a warm or smooth snorkel, but the chill was well worth the pleasure of being repeatedly confronted by the large, liquid eyes of inquisitive young sea lions. To top the morning off, we got some rather good views of the rare and endemic Floreana mockingbird hopping about on the rocky, layer-cake-like cliffs of Champion Island.
A spot of sea kayaking after lunch brought us very close indeed to sea turtles, bobbing in the water as serene as Buddhas, while squadrons of red-billed tropicbirds, with their long white tails streaming behind, screamed overhead. All the paddling didn’t leave the kayakers much time to join everyone else on shore, but we duly made our way onto point cormorant to admire sea lions slumbering blissfully on the sand. A short walk inland brought us to a shallow lake dotted with flamingos stalking about like society ladies among two or three less elegant but equally striking pintail ducks. On the other side of the point was the finest sand we have yet encountered. Frigates, soaring on dagger-like wings made a stark contrast to the silvery palo santo (incense) trees strikingly silhouetted on the smooth sides of ancient craters.
Everyone is looking forward to a barbeque dinner tonight, as the still, gray evening draws to a close, and we leave cormorant point to the true inhabitants to Floreana.
We woke to a garua-shrouded morning after a somewhat choppy night’s sail south-east to Floreana. A handful of people made a pre-breakfast panga pilgrimage to the Post Office Barrel on shore, armed with postcards, and listened to Ernesto’s tales of sex, death and drama on this desolate island. Naturally, this whetted our appetites for breakfast, which included some rather delectable eggs benedict.
In spite of a persistent gray garua, quite a few people donned wetsuits and plunged into the waves crashing against the sides of the little island of Champion, one of the last refuges of the Floreana mockingbird. Not a warm or smooth snorkel, but the chill was well worth the pleasure of being repeatedly confronted by the large, liquid eyes of inquisitive young sea lions. To top the morning off, we got some rather good views of the rare and endemic Floreana mockingbird hopping about on the rocky, layer-cake-like cliffs of Champion Island.
A spot of sea kayaking after lunch brought us very close indeed to sea turtles, bobbing in the water as serene as Buddhas, while squadrons of red-billed tropicbirds, with their long white tails streaming behind, screamed overhead. All the paddling didn’t leave the kayakers much time to join everyone else on shore, but we duly made our way onto point cormorant to admire sea lions slumbering blissfully on the sand. A short walk inland brought us to a shallow lake dotted with flamingos stalking about like society ladies among two or three less elegant but equally striking pintail ducks. On the other side of the point was the finest sand we have yet encountered. Frigates, soaring on dagger-like wings made a stark contrast to the silvery palo santo (incense) trees strikingly silhouetted on the smooth sides of ancient craters.
Everyone is looking forward to a barbeque dinner tonight, as the still, gray evening draws to a close, and we leave cormorant point to the true inhabitants to Floreana.
