GalapagosQuest: Learning in a pinch

Dan tried to stare down a Sally Lightfoot crab -- and lost!      RELATED VIDEO Real 28K      MORE REPORTS Day 20:End of a Journey Day 19:Nature Notes Day 18:Our Connection ... Day 17:The real final frontier Day 16:Islands in Danger? Day 15:Forests at the Edge Day 14:Swimming with Day 13:Hellos and Goodbyes Day 12:Journey to the heart Day 11:Learning in a pinch Day 10:Gringo Guides Day 9:Survival Issues Day 8:Gross,Warty.. Day 7:Water Scarcity Day 6:Should I have... Day 5:Arrival and Survival Day 4:The Hood Mockingbird Day 3:Lethal Charm Day 2:Flames in the Ocean Day 1:Off to a Bad Start

By Dan Buettner

March 15, 1999
Web posted at: 12:44 p.m. EST (1744 GMT)

(Classroom Connect) -- If you've come to the Galapagos looking for superficial excitement, you've made a mistake.

Don't get me wrong; things happen fast here. Take evolution -- it happens faster here than perhaps anyplace else on Earth. Darwin finches, for example, have evolved into 13 difference species in record time. Then again, that took many thousands of years.

The wildlife here is awesome. Where else can you see sofa-size tortoises, dinosaur-faced marine iguanas and birds with blue feet that look rubber flippers? The first time you see these marvels of nature, you're floored. You gasp, ogle, then shoot off a couple of rolls of film. The second time you see them you glance and take a picture.

The third time -- which could very well happen on your first day -- you shrug and think to yourself, "Yep, another 500-pound tortoise. When's lunch?"

We've been to six islands on our retracing of Darwin's route. Each of the islands offers some combination of essentially the same famous animals -- sea lions, flightless cormorants, penguins, tortoises, blue-footed boobies, marine iguanas, to name a few. Sure, animals vary some from island to island.

For example, the marine iguanas of Espanola are red, while on other islands they're black. To all but a science teacher, though, these differences might not mean much. They do help tell a big story, the story of evolution. But to someone like me, who favors fast mountain biking over bird watching, day after day of incredible animals tends to inspire, well, yawns.

Then something happened. We stopped at a Punta Espinosa on Fernandina Island, the best place to view flightless cormorants in the entire Galapagos. But since I've seen about 200 flightless cormorants already, I sat out the tour. I found a comfortable rock and sat down to wait for the rest of the team.

Five, 10, 15 minutes passed.. I looked down at the porous volcanic rock under my shoe. It reminded me of the pumice that my grandma used to scrub corns off of her feet. "I wonder if it came from here?" I thought. I suddenly noticed a lava lizard sitting right next to me. It had been there the whole time, sitting motionless, exquisitely camouflaged, awaiting some unsuspecting insect. How did it get to be the exact color of the lava instead of say, hot pink? Trial and error?

Jack photographs a flightless cormorant. Punta Espinosa is one of the best spots to observe flightless cormorants in the Galapagos.

A moment later, a Sally Lightfoot crab swam out of the sea and skittered past me. It ran sideways with the grace of a ballerina. All eight legs moved independently yet in harmony with all the others. "What incredible coordination," I thought. "Does it have to think about moving each leg or does it just happen?" It settled near the waterline of a nearby rock. Using its spoon-like foreclaws, it began shoveling in algae and munching it up with its multi-part mouth. It looked like a hungry kid devouring a bowl of Lucky Charms with a spoon in each hand.

Being a bit of a kid myself, I tried to grab the crab. He darted backwards into a crack. I, of course, reached in -- AHHHHHH! The critter snapped down on my finger with hydraulic strength. I wrestled my bloodied finger out of the crack and knelt down to confront my opponent. He hunkered down, pincers open, ready for another attack. I looked him right in the eyes, which sat on top of his head like tiny marbles. He stared me down, and won! I retreated to my rock.

A few moments later, the rest of the team came back bragging about the pictures they got of yet more sea lions, marine iguanas and yes, flightless cormorants. "What did you see?" they asked.

"Oh nothing," I replied, knowing that I wouldn't be able to explain my simple but fascinating encounter with the crab. After all, these crabs litter the rocks. Visitors pretty much ignore them.

It occurred to me that much of the magic of the Galapagos --or anyplace -- is in the minutiae-the tiny details. I happened to be watching crabs, but it could have been ants in Arkansas, worms in Washington or caterpillars in California. In the critter world, small miracles occur every day. The gift that the Galapagos has given me is the patience to slow down and witness them.

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