Coincidence - Alan May [45]
The small boat made its way from Academy Bay to the eastern side of Santa Cruz toward the Plaza Islands where large colonies of sea lions congregate on the rocks. Their guide spoke very good English. He had moved from Ecuador four years earlier because of his love of the sea. He stopped the boat in a little cove that was teeming with sea lions. The whole inlet echoed with their barking and squealing.
“Ah, buenos días, my flippered friends,” the guide shouted to them. “I have brought you a boatload of new playmates!”
The soldiers were the first to slip over the side of the boat into the water. As they swam, a small group of young sea lions wriggled off the rocks to see what was going on and then to play. The creatures had no fear of humans; they liked to be touched and allowed the soldiers to grab hold of their fins.
Melissa and Pierre soon dived in, too. The sea lions nudged them, darting in and out of the water and peering at them with their bewhiskered, inquisitive faces, as if daring them to hop aboard for a ride—which they were only too happy to do. It reminded Melissa of Sea World back home, where she had watched trainers get towed around by whales and dolphins. But this was infinitely more fun, because she was not just a spectator and the animals were wild and in their natural habitat.
They students swam and frolicked with the sea lions for over an hour. The guide then ferried them to another spot close to some cliffs where they were able to beach the boat. They climbed up the cliffs with the intent of jumping into the water about forty-five feet below. Pierre was the first to jump. The others, except Melissa, soon followed. As they jumped they let out the loudest roars they could, probably to overcome their fear of the descent. Pierre tried hard to persuade Melissa how much fun it would be to catapult herself off the cliffs to what she was sure would be her certain death.
Eventually she agreed to try it, provided he would jump with her and hold her hand on the way down. At least, she thought, it would make for an interesting obituary in her hometown paper. She could see the headline already: Pickering Girl—no, no, she amended it, Pickering Woman and Boyfriend Lose Lives in Galápagos Island Tragedy. As their feet left the firm foundation of the cliffs Pierre let out a Tarzan yell, but Melissa was holding her breath so tight she couldn’t make a sound.
Afterward, surprised to find herself still alive, Melissa felt a rush of triumph. She had done it! She had conquered her fear—well, perhaps not, but she had done it anyway. And thank you, no, she had no interest in repeating the feat.
The final destination of the tour was one of the spots where Charles Darwin’s boat, the Beagle, had anchored. Here they went ashore and enjoyed a late lunch—they were ravenous by now—of fish rolls and tea in a tiny restaurant, which was actually a house that served simple meals. The Floaties exchanged addresses with Asher and Ari, promising to keep in touch; they felt that the shared experience of this incredible day had forged a bond with them far beyond what you’d expect from such a short acquaintance. It had been, they all agreed, one of the most exceptional days yet.
A few of the Floaties and teachers had stayed near Puerto Ayora that day. Some had wanted to return to the Darwin Research Station, others to explore the little town and shop for souvenirs and postcards.
Mac, who had seen all of the sights on Santa Cruz Island several times by now, headed straight for a restaurant with a bar. Three students joined him, ordering sandwiches and beer for lunch and listening with rapt attention to one of his tales of adventure. Mac had so many extraordinary stories the Floaties were never quite sure how many of them were true; indeed, by now, Mac wasn’t always entirely sure himself.
He was just in the middle