We anchor behind the reef, where the long swell from the south
bursts against the black rocks in clouds of spray, sharp white in the intense
equator sun. A water taxi takes us
across the aquamarine waters of the lagoon, through the mangroves to the
deserted wooden dock where an eagle ray glides through shallows in slow-motion
acrobatics. We walk past a big fat iguana basking un
the sun, down an unmade track into the sandy streets of Puerto Vilamil on Isabela, the largest
island in the archipelago of Galapagos.
Puerto Vilamil sits on a glorious
wild beach, maybe two miles long where the surf pounds the soft sand. Small
hotels and a few empty restaurants line the beach, where two fair skinned
sunbathers risk the intensity of the midday sun, alone on the large expanse of
sand with just iguanas for company, digging their nests to lay their eggs. One block inland from the beach is the town
square; sandy streets bake in the hot afternoon sun, small restaurants in
wooden shacks not yet open as the sleepy town starts to wake from its afternoon
siesta. At the end of the main street,
half buried in sand, is the beach bar where we gather at happy hour for cold
beer and the ubiquitous mojitos. Hammocks strung from
the beams and an open fire adds to the relaxed atmosphere and we watch the
sunset while the locals play beach volleyball. Isabella has a charming
laid-back feel.
We spend a few days here, taking a tour to see the volcano
Sierra Negra, and snorkelling in the lagoon at Concha de Perla. The wildlife is abundant with flamingos,
rays and even penguins living in the brackish water of the mangroves. Washed up
on the shores of Isabella many years ago by the Humboldt current from
Antarctica, they too have adapted to their surroundings. With no need for the
heavy layers of fat to protect them from the cold, they have evolved into much
smaller animals, a fraction of the size of their Antarctic relatives and they
zoom through the water at high speed.
We clear out at the Capitania
which is manned by heavily armed marines from the Ecuadorian military. They are
friendly and patient as we wait for an ancient dot-matrix printer which
clatters away, producing yet more forms which we all sign and stamp. We sail to our final destination in
Galapagos, Santa Cruz, the most populous island where we will provision for our
long journey across the Pacific.
Santa Cruz is very different to the other islands. The
harbour is busy with water taxis plying back and forth between the boats. Small
cruise ships are based here and the town has expanded to meet the demands.
Nevertheless the port of Puerto Ayora is still a
small town, with only basic facilities.
The anchorage is small and we roll in the swell as pelicans fish all
around us, circling us at low level until they see their prey, crashing onto
the water in a pile of beak and feathers, before regaining their composure and
gulping down the fish that wriggle in their huge beaks.
World ARC rally control has made its base at the Rock Café
on the main street and the fleet regroups here as we make our preparations for
the next leg. I service the engine and generator while Andrew polishes the cap
rail and Paulus cleans all the numerous stainless
steel fittings. 500 litres of diesel is
delivered to the boat in Jerry cans, our gas bottles are refilled, the cover
goes on the dinghy. We check the rig and
discover that some of the machine screws that secure the spinnaker pole track
to the mast are loose. Relieved to have
found these now, Andrew cleans the fittings and resets the screws with thread
locker, nipping them up tight. After a final wash down with precious water from
our tanks, Juno looks sparkling and ready. Fatty and Andrew provision from the
local market and now we are ready to go. At midday today we leave on the
longest leg of our journey; over 3,000 miles from Galapagos to the Islas
Marquesas in French Polynesia.