The dominant maleGalapagos tortoise slammed his massive carapace headlong into the tree. Luke Targus, our guide, said that a male tortoise, faced with a tree in his path, would rather keep battering it until it falls over than go around it. Stubborn fellows which, after all, have all the time in the world: their average age at death is two hundred. Surrounding us were a score of the prehistoric beasts making their way through the rainforest on the uppermost reaches of Santa Cruz Island, the largest in the Galapagos archipelago. These gray boulders were inching forward to better grazing, occasionally extending their accordion-like necks up a few feet to get a better view. Some digressed into copulation; their shells clacking like wooden salad bowls being slapped together. But I kept looking back to the huge beast that methodically slammed into a tree rather than go around it. I eyed the tree’s top and saw that its branches were swaying from the siege, undoubtedly the beginning of a very slow but inexorable fall.
Santa Cruz has a high enough peak to contain several micro-climates. Beach, dry foothills, some arable midlands, and near its top, where we were, a small rainforest held sway. Steam rose from the high forest floor where puddles met the sun. Our path often dissolved into mud from the run-off of the cloud bursts that ambushed us and then disappeared. Paradoxically, up here was plenty of water, but on most of Santa Cruz and the other ten Galapagos islands, grinding drought was the tough iron rule, typified by hot dry air, eye-burning sunlight, and parched land.
Climate wasn’t the only paradox. Because the archipelago is isolated by six hundred miles of the Pacific Ocean from the South American mainland and it was never on the main shipping routes, the islands were not inhabited until the early nineteenth century, and then only Santa Cruz. Thus, the animal life was spared the depredations of human hunting. As a result, today one can walk among iguanas, seals, blue-footed boobies and other unique animals, and they do not scatter; they have no fear of man.
That very fact was at the heart of why Marcia and Joseph Sauer came here for their honeymoon, the return from which was in doubt. Saurer’s father, Jacob, met Fletcher and myself by chance on an airplane flight from London to New York. We were all sitting in the same row, Fletcher in the middle seat and I at the window. About midway through the flight Jacob, a man of fifty, neatly dressed in tie and jacket, began to sob openly, after making a call from the credit card telephone attached to his seat.
Fletcher offered Jacob his handkerchief, “Excuse me, can I be of any assistance? Shall I call the stewardess?”
The distraught man wiped his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m very, very sorry.” As he spoke the last words his voice cracked and he began to sob again. His chest heaved with intense sadness.
Fletcher leaned over and said softly, “They say a stranger can be the best listener, for he has no vested interest. If it will help, please feel free to talk.” Fletcher kept his physical distance, and let his voice do the consoling.
“Maybe talking will relieve some of my anxiety. You really don’t mind?” “Absolutely not. Take your time. This is a six-hour flight, after all.”
Jacob took a deep breath. Without doubt he wished to unburden himself. “My son and his new wife have been honeymooning in the Galapagos,” he said. Yesterday, I learned that they hadn’t returned from a trip to one of the outer islands. Now the police have reported that despite a thorough search, they still have not found them. I was to meet them in New York, where we were going to continue the celebration.” He became overwhelmed again. “I just can’t believe it.”
