The Galápagos: then and now

Wrapped in a duvet of dawn clouds, the Pacific Ocean became a yawning abyss as islands sank into the horizon.

Heavy fog and strong currents led early navigators to nickname the Galápagos archipelago “Islas Encantadas” (the enchanted islands) – a fitting name for a place so wildly remote it’s hard to believe it exists.

Created by volcanic uprisings five million years ago, this cluster of far-flung islands straddling the equator has become a sanctuary for dozens of endemic species. More than 500 years later, the wildlife utopia remains alluringly enigmatic; its ethereal beauty undiminished. 

Free to evolve without interruption, each land mass has become a unique microcosm, allowing species to exploit a new and different ecological niche, an open-air laboratory for proving ground-breaking theories of natural selection.

There are finches with a toolbox of beaks used for breaking open seeds or drawing blood and warblers that sing a different song to their siblings 27 miles away. For centuries creatures have lived harmoniously, away from natural predators.

In a world where time is accelerating, change is inevitable. When I first visited the Galápagos in 2012, the destination received around 181,000 visitors per year. In 2023, according to official figures from the Galápagos National Park, that number has risen to 329,000 – an increase of 81 per cent. 

There is currently no limit on the number of visitors entering the park, although measures have been put in place to control tourism. Ships follow a fixed itinerary, visiting the same site only once in 14 days, and a moratorium on the building of new hotels remains in place. Most recently, in August 2024, park fees doubled from US$100 to $200 – the first increase since 1998.

Concerns about waste management systems, water and food insecurity, and the risk of invasive species mainly focus on land stays, which account for 70 per cent of visitors.

At sea, where the number of ships has been capped at 76, a limited number of “cupos” (bed nights) are issued. Replacement vessels must adhere to an allocated number of passengers. On my most recent voyage, we only occasionally crossed paths with another ship while out at sea. 

Another advantage of cruising in the Galápagos is access to more places. Due to the distances involved, day trippers can only visit one island. Espanola is one of several islands open for non-cruisers. It’s just a two-hour navigation south from San Cristobal, where international flights arrive from mainland Ecuador.

Cold currents bring an abundance of nutrients to waters lapping the island, allowing multiple species to thrive. I’d timed my voyage for an encounter with some of the temporary residents, who visit between April and December every year.

At Espanola, my expedition ship opted for an early-morning excursion. Warmed by the first rays of sunshine, marine iguanas clung to rocks, Sally Lightfoot crabs scampered through the surf, and a Galápagos hawk patrolled overhead. 

This patch of land is the only place in the world where waved albatross breed. The birds attract mates using a series of elaborate dance moves. Suitors swagger and strut, swinging their heads from side to side like a pendulum. The grand finale is a clattering of beaks as poised and elegant as a fencing bout.

Sitting meters away from the displays, I watched with the awe and privilege of a VIP in a royal box. Nearby, courting Nazca boobies aimed their bills skyward. All around, love was in the air.

During my seven-day voyage of the southern and central islands, I snorkelled, hiked and observed in solitude. The only human encounters took place on the inhabited islands of the archipelago, including the main tourist hub, Santa Cruz. There were more souvenir shops, bars and restaurants in the port town of Puerto Ayora than I remember, but other elements remained the same: sea lions lazed like vagrants on benches, and pelicans greedily gobbled scraps from the open-air fish market.

Not all change is negative. In the last few decades, major developments and advances have been made in the realm of conservation. Located on the outskirts of town, the Charles Darwin Research Centre has been an educational resource for scientists and the public since 1964. It’s one of several giant tortoise breeding centres in the archipelago.

Before the arrival of humans, there were an estimated 250,000 of the super-sized chelonians roaming various islands. Eaten by pirates and sailors over the course of several centuries, populations dropped drastically. Thanks to conservation efforts, numbers have bounced back to 25,000.

In 2012, I was fortunate enough to meet Lonesome George, an infertile male who bore the tragedy of being the last of his Pinta Island subspecies. Now, his embalmed body sits in a glass display cabinet like a beatified corpse, a reminder of what extinction really means.

A short drive away in the mist-shrouded Highlands of Santa Cruz it was easy to see giant tortoises living in the wild. On the boundary of the National Park, farmers have raised their fences to allow safe passage for the slow-moving, long-living land vertebrates and have agreed to stop cutting down native scalesia trees (sometimes called the giant daisy tree) in a bid to restore native habitat.

More than 80 per cent of the Galápagos is ocean, an area that’s challenging to protect. In January 2022, the Ecuadorian government announced an expansion of the Galápagos Marine Reserve by 60,000 sq km (23,166 sq miles), increasing the total area of Ecuador’s ocean by 5.9 per cent. The total protected area is a mass four times the size of Costa Rica. 

Twelve years ago, I was amazed by the water clarity and breadth of wildlife. My most recent experience was no less impressive. Skirting the shores of Bartholomew, I lost a race to torpedo-speed Galápagos penguins, spun somersaults with sea lions in caves and gawped at a triggerfish blowing bubbles upside down.

Each time I’ve visited the Galápagos, the experience has been refreshingly different. Yet the access to species and sense of magic remain untouched. Growing threats to our natural world are countered by successful conservation stories demonstrating a commitment to protecting, preserving and nurturing wildlife. 

Giant tortoises, dancing birds and acrobatic sea lions might belong in the pages of a fairy-tale book. But in the Islas Encantadas, they’ve found a real home.