24-JAN-11: Isla Genovesa
Seriously. Just. Plain. Stupid.
This was my first reaction to the Nazca Boobies we encountered on Isla Genovesa. They were just standing there, on the ground, waddling like penguins and not moving when we got close. What bird doesn’t know to fly away when a human gets close, even if it’s just to hop into a tree or onto a rock just out of reach?
We saw a ton of birds today. Nazca Boobies. Red-footed Boobies. Great Frigate Birds. Mockingbirds. Lava Gulls. Swallow-tail Gulls. And they had no fear. Not a one.
We saw a pair of Swallow-tail Gulls mating (right). We saw a ton of chicks, from ugly looking frigate bird chicks to these downy-white balls of cotton that would eventually mature into red-footed boobies.
About halfway through the hike, my camera’s battery died. I couldn’t believe it. I had charged that thing the night of 22-JAN-11, and shot less than 200 frames on 23-JAN-11. That battery used to last for 48 hours of intense shooting before it died. I guess after five years, I need a new battery. Katie lent me her camera for most of the rest of the walk.
While taking a shot of one of the red-footed booby chicks, I lost my balance and scraped my left ankle badly enough that it was bright red with blood. That wasn’t enough to stop me trying to get that same shot again (the chick was probably seven feet above sea level, and this one steep rock put my head about eight feet above sea level) and I lost my balance a second time, this time cutting my big toe on my right foot pretty badly, enough for it to actually bleed and me to feel nauseous about ten minutes after. The cuts were surprisingly deep and razor straight; a reminder that the rocks are glass-sharp lava formations.
I handed Katie back her camera after I felt nauseous. I wasn’t about to take any more shots.
The cuts made it increasingly hard to walk with my sandals on, and the thought of participating in the next activity—snorkeling—with fresh cuts was not appealing. We went kayaking for an hour or so, which was a relaxing alternative, even if salt water kept dripping from my oar onto my wounds.