8 Aug. Our alarms were set for ~ 0520. It turned out this was about the same time the power came on. A neighbor’s security light glared in our window.
An early breakfast preceded a 0700 pickup for “The Tunnels” tour.
They said we had to split into two groups–one of eight, and one of four, to go on different boats… those with dietary restrictions would go in the group of four. Presumably since the max number of passengers was ten, they wanted to keep us with some of our own people. Logic problem: you have a three-generational family of three, and a married couple… neither sub-group wants to split up, and both have a member that doesn’t want fish. Why not put them in the group of eight? Who knows. Language barriers and everyone talking over each other I guess. The driver of the first pickup vehicle, for the group of eight, added to the chaos trying to get eight people to load his vehicle while everyone stood in the street arguing about whether the dietary restrictions could switch to the group of eight. I finally just climbed in the vehicle, and noticed it already contained a skinny French couple that probably rarely ate (to round out the ten passengers). They were suitably annoyed. It all finally sorted itself out.
Later that afternoon we were able to laugh about it
Finally on the boat, we sped out on some rough water. I may not know anything about boating, but I recognized the captain had some skill outrunning waves – and/or taking them at better spots/angles.
Our first “stop” was Union Rock. It stood as a solo formation against the pounding waves.
Initially, our boat bobbed around like it was a corked bottle. I knew we wouldn’t crash into the rock, but it sometimes felt like we might.
When the boat captain gunned the engine, I thought maybe we’d had our minute there and the waves were too intense.
This may give you some idea why. Look at it like you’re in a trough, not like it’s shallow and you can extend it to the horizon.
No, he just moved us to a different angle, where holding a position seemed a lot more manageable.
I think I was more fascinated by the waves crashing over the rocks and the water cascading down them, but the other claim to fame was the colony of Nazca Boobies nesting at the top.
A random fortress, mostly unapproachable by anything but air, it was premium real estate for birds! Though we did see a sea lion perched high up in a place I wouldn’t think it could reach without mountain climbing skills.
On to “The Tunnels”.
We traveled parallel to the coast, all the while noting the intense wall of waves between us and the shore.
Tours had cancelled this trip the week prior. I wondered if the surf (terminology?) was seasonal or weather patterns or always like this, but I presume captain’s discretion and confidence level always weigh in.
Ours waited for the right wave.
I think there might have been a couple of false starts.
I tightened my life vest and fidgeted with my camera tether, both anxious and curious how he would breach the wall of water.
The boat lurched forward, its captain and throttle fully committed.
I cannot adequately describe and still don’t really comprehend our exact course through this rising peak of water. I can only assume our captain used “the force” to transit what differential equations and chaos theory would require a supercomputer to map. Soon we were on the other side.
Enter an otherworldly calm.
A world that formed over lava tunnels, at sea level, and has mostly collapsed into a maze of bridges and pools.
Cactus stuck up out of bare rock. It grows about a centimeter per year.
We “docked” against some tires serving as bumpers, and climbed up into this other world.
Looking down into the shallow pools, there were sea turtles and sea lions. But the real attractions were boobies, up close and personal.
Two were courting. They didn’t seem to care we were there. It looked like something out of “The Ministry of Silly Walks” but was amplified by the blue feet and some projectile pooping. We left them to their business.
We walked across another bridge and came across a pile of what seemed like dryer lint.
Then it moved, and revealed itself to be a baby booby.
An adolescent was nearby. It stood up for a stretch. It gave the guide an opportunity to point out its feet were NOT blue. They don’t turn blue until sexual maturity.
It’s not the size, it’s the colour! (I feel compelled to spell it the British way since I mentioned Monty Python)
Back out through the surf into open water to transit to our snorkeling location.
This site had a lot of boobies, and many of them were formation dive-bombing for fish.
There were of course an abundance of fish…
And what I think were fledgling coral.
Turtles rested in “dimples” on the ocean floor.
Small sharks in rocky alcoves…
And out in more open water.
And, near some mangroves, there was an elusive sea horse.
Back on the boat we were offered a snack. A local “endemic” banana. It was spared the “ethnic cleansing” that left our supermarkets with only the Cavendish. This one was small and sweet. They could probably export it at a huge markup.
Our speedboat came to a screeching halt, if that is possible. Robin crashed into me.
This wasn’t far off our experience driving up Mt. Washington when Robin spotted chaga on a birch tree just off the road. She veered off, and stopped on a dime. In this case, the boat captain just stopped for a massive manta ray instead of a mushroom.
This is as much of it as I saw…
A couple people were allowed to skirt around to the bow for a better view.
Unfortunately, I don’t think either of them had a camera on their person.
Back “home” from “The Tunnels”, our groups compared notes. It seems both boats/groups had a non-fish option… a cheese sandwich that nobody ate… Sometimes options = much ado about nothing.
That afternoon, we biked to the “Wall of Tears”.
The simplified story of its existence: prisoners were forced to wall themselves in to their own concentration camp. Clearly not a happy place, but a site worth visiting regardless whether you care about the history. It was a few miles out of town.
We rented bikes. I hadn’t ridden one since I was a kid and had no idea what to do with gears. Everything at this rental place was the same size–designed for taller people. But by this time I was tired of too many finicky tangents and didn’t want to open the floodgate to more, so I decided I could deal with it.
The first part of the trail tested me. There were areas where sand had blown across it, and others where lollygaggers blocked it. And in some cases, our own people had to point out something that, to me, wasn’t worth the not-very-controlled effort of getting off (then back on) a too-tall bike…
I let it be known that I was unhappy and didn’t want to stop for trivial things, to just leave me to my space. I was a grump.
We finally cleared the sand traps. This made me happier.
I passed a section of marine iguanas sunbathing in the road, and saw our group stopped ahead. I grudgingly stopped, this time without crashing, and hoped it wasn’t for a flower or a mushroom. I think I might have muttered something to this effect…
An interestingly-shaped boulder? Nope. It was a giant tortoise, our first of the trip!
I’m shy, and you wouldn’t believe the sucking noise I make when I suddenly retract my head
A few “land turtles” later (more corrections to my taxonomy), we found one venturing onto the road.
“Why did the tortoise cross the road?”
“I don’t care, it’s awesome it was in front of me!”
Weather was rolling in when we reached the Wall of Tears, but we figured we had time.
There’s a nice hike above it. I initially thought it was just for a bird’s-eye view of the wall.
But it kept going.
We still beat the storm home, and it didn’t follow us into town 🙂
I still don’t know how “Little Bo Peep” did this in a dress
Because there was only one place we knew of that had both lobster and Hawaiian Pizza…
Ahhh… poor Carlos…