Bowermaster’s Adventures — Tourism’s impact on the Galapagos

by Jon Bowermaster on

It would be wrong on its face to say that tourism is the biggest problem facing the Galapagos today. Simultaneously, it is accurate to say that the growth in tourism in the one-of-a-kind archipelago is the primary reason the islands are “in danger.” Those are not my words, but UNESCO’s, in 2007 … the same year Ecuador’s new president claimed the islands were at “great risk” and signed a decree making their protection a national priority. You get the sense that just defining the exact problem facing the Galapagos, for both locals and outsiders, is tricky.

With ninety seven percent of the islands off-limits and under national park protection – small, guided tours limited to 60 designated sites – the system that introduces tourists to the nineteen Galapagos islands has long been regarded a model of eco-tourism. But the success of that model is what puts them at such risk today: In 1991 there were 41,000 visitors, this year there will be close to 200,000; during that same period human population has risen from a few thousand to 40,000. Those are a lot of combined footsteps – as well as ship and plane traffic — for such a fragile eco-system (the so-called “Mona Lisa of biodiversity”).

The sudden arrival of so many people from so many parts of the world introduces parasites which threaten both flora and fauna; permanent residents arrive desirous of re-creating their mainland lifestyles, including cars, dogs and cats, and air conditioning; tour operators are pushing to expand their offerings to include sport fishing and skydiving. The Ecuadorian government has tried, with limited success, to limit migration and is considering raising the national park fee paid by every tourist from $100 to $135, an attempt to slow the numbers.

Jack Nelson is one of the Galapagos’ most-veteran tour operators, coming to the islands to live permanently in 1967. Like others like him in different settings around the world who have watched their own personal paradises become overly popular, he is alarmed. “To a tourist, things look good. You still see a lot of animals, and not many other people,” he says. “But get outside those controlled (national park) parameters, and you’ll find a big mess nobody can figure out what to do about.”

While we were filming in and around the islands we met longtime Galapagos guide Sylvia Vargas on a few occasions. A native Ecuadorian, she’s been coming here for more than twenty years and has lived in Puerto Ayora off and on since first visiting as a teenager. She feels both blessed to be working in such an incredible place and worried that tourism and migration may be taking too big a toll.

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“Personally, I think tourism should be capped for the moment. Higher entry fees haven’t worked to slow the growth. One tour operator I work for recently told me that the people who are coming to the Galapagos today are coming with a different idea about the place – they don’t ask as much anymore about wildlife, their first questions are about the comfort of the ship. They want more air-conditioning, more service, nicer cabins, a massage, a more comfortable mattress and expect a lot of chemicals on board to keep things clean and tidy … all of which have a direct impact on the Galapagos. More energy used, more garbage created, more pollution.

“I came first in 1984 when there were two thousand people living in town and two cars. I knew everyone on the street and was offered food by friends every day. The electricity on the island used to shut down at night. Now there are twenty times as many people and two hundred times as many cars. And we have electricity twenty-four hours a day. I miss the peacefulness of back then.

“But I have talked with people who work as guides in other places and they always say that we Galapagos guides are spoiled because we see such incredible wildlife every day. I guess they are right. But for me the most popular sites are too crowded, sometimes there are so many people I feel … embarrassed.

“My biggest worry is that more people living here means more demand for everything. I don’t see people thinking about having a different lifestyle than what they have on the mainland. They will tell you they came to the Galapagos to live in a peaceful place, but they expect to have exactly the same things that they had on the mainland. Why would you have a pet dog or cat here? Why would you have a car if you live in town? Why would you build a new house with air conditioning, when electricity is so hard to create? At Christmas on the mainland we decorate our houses with lots of outdoors lights and now they do the same thing here even though the power comes from a gas generator and the gas comes from far away.”

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Bowermaster’s Adventures — The Charles Darwin Research Center

by Jon Bowermaster on

While in the Galapagos filming we ran into an American writer living in Puerto Ayora, the big town on the island of Santa Cruz, researching a book about exactly the same subject of our film – the current state of affairs across the archipelago.

Carol Ann Bassett’s book is just out, published by National Geographic, fittingly titled “Galapagos at the Crossroads: Pirates, Biologists, Tourists and Creationists Battle for Darwin’s Cradle of Evolution,” and it’s a fantastic tutorial for anyone curious about the natural and human health of the island state today.

I was particularly curious about her reportage on Darwin’s initial reaction to the islands that will forever be linked with his theory of evolution.

Like other biographers of Darwin – who first visited in 1835 as a curious but inexperienced 26-year-old, born the same day as Abraham Lincoln – she labels his role as evolutionary mystery solver as “one of the greatest myths of the history of science.” Citing a study by Harvard professor and MacArthur Foundation “genius” Frank Sulloway, the book details how little Darwin actually took away from the Galapagos after his five-week visit. He had “no eureka flashes of enlightenment,” she writes, “it would take decades before his final theory transcended his religious beliefs and his enduring doubts.”

In his book “Voyage of the Beagle” Darwin referenced the Galapagos sparingly; in his “On the Origin of Species,” published twenty years later, he never mentioned the finches – mistakenly thought by many to be the linchpin of his evolutionary theory – and which are named for him.

It took those twenty years between publications for the significance of the Galapagos to sink in on Darwin. For two decades he wrestled with the history of creationism and its relevance to species diversity. In the end, he came down on the right side of the argument (unless of course you are among those who continue to believe the planet is only 6,000 years old and that life as we know it was created in six days). That his name and theory are so inextricably linked with both evolution and the Galapagos is something Darwin could have never predicted. Nor could he have predicted the clash of economics and the environment, which so wrack the place today.

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The Charles Darwin Research Center sits atop a long hill climbing up from Puerto Ayora, on the big island of Santa Cruz. Part of the Charles Darwin Foundation established in 1959 – the lone international research and advisory institution dedicated to exclusively studying the Galapagos – the CDRS is both an archive of historical scientific study and site of various laboratories engaged in today’s most cutting-edge research in the islands. Many of the world’s most-expert Galapganian scientists either have worked here or still do and we’ve walked up the hill to visit with one, marine biologist Alex Hearn … who we find with his hands in a tank, coddling one of the darlings of local marine life, the sea cucumber.

Sitting on a second-story deck overlooking the blue ocean that is his backyard we talk about the impacts of over fishing here. Some highlights:

“You know the Galapagos has a history of over-exploitation that goes way back to the whalers of the sixteenth century. Ever since we’ve had successive waves of boom-bust fisheries. The latest being the sea cucumber which started in the early Nineties as a result of the resource collapsing on the continent followed by a sizable migration of fishers who had already successively depleted the sea cucumber along the coast of Ecuador moving to the islands and hammering the resource here. At the time it was unregulated and there was no way of stopping it because there was no Marine Reserve. By the time the Marine Reserve was created a lot of the damage had already been done. Sometimes we forget that the Marine Reserve management system inherited a lobster resource which had already collapsed in the Eighties, and a sea cucumber resource that had already been heavily fished for ten years ….”

“In terms of coastal fishing, the number of local fishermen — who are the only ones legally allowed to fish here — has nearly tripled during the Nineties, from about 400 to over 1,000. Fishing around the coast has increased dramatically and we haven’t been very successful in managing it. In part because it’s a group with a lot of political power as well as the perception of an immediate need. Since 1998 this local management system has failed to take into account the sustainability of both lobster and sea cucumber. The result is that both are suffering, badly ….”

“When you’re at university or when you’re studying a particular species biologically you’re focused on the species. When you’re looking at the fisheries, the actual biology of the species is the least important thing really, your job becomes more about managing people. Getting them, first of all, to trust that our advice is first and foremost because we are scientists and is focused on sustainability. Our motivation is not about eliminating or prohibiting fishermen. There is a big lack of trust here, partly due to the fact that we’re both a science and conservation organization and carry a fair amount of political power as well. As a result we vote on the system as a conservation sector but we also provide the technical advice, which may sometimes seen as a little bit suspect. Some locals, fishermen, will say ‘You’re providing the advice just to justify your position.’ It can get very complex. It’s about building trust and showing them that the long-term impacts of over fishing and are very difficult to prove but that we still need to make changes now ….”

“Working in Galapagos is like a rollercoaster. There are times when it’s immensely frustrating and there are times when it’s just paradise. To tell the truth, for me, as a young scientist coming to Galapagos straight out of university, to be able to develop lines of research, to be able to publish, to be able to take the research from the sea to the government and follow that entire process is something you really don’t get in many other places. On a personal level I am eternally grateful for Galapagos. Besides, Galapagos also gave me a wife and a baby. So what can I say?”

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Bowermaster’s Adventures — Welcome to the Galapagos!

by Jon Bowermaster on

Often by the time the mainstream media runs big stories about an environmental battle it’s often too late. I’ve seen it up-close dozens of times during the past couple decades and have reported so many David-versus-Goliath stories – usually positing good-hearted indigenous peoples and international environmental groups against greedy, monolithic utility companies and strong-arming government agents – that the stories have almost become fill-in-the-blanks. (Just change the name of the indigenous tribe, the utility company and the country and the story – and outcome – are usually very similar.)
Yet despite ominous recent headlines in the Wall Street Journal (“Galapagos Under Siege“), the Times (“Can Darwin’s Lab Survive Success?“) and UK’s Independent (“Tourism, Over-Population and Overfishing Have Become the Blight of the Galapagos“), I happen to believe that the Ecuadorian archipelago will survive (even if more and more of its endemic creatures may not) and flourish. In some respects, as the standard bearer for the planet’s evolutionary history, it simply must. As Alex Hearn, a marine biologist with the Charles Darwin Research Center on Santa Cruz Island told us about the Galapagos future, “if we can’t get it right here, where can we?” A microcosm of the planet’s wildlife, if the Galapagos loses its wildness it will feel like the end is near for the rest of our wild places.


Given my interest in man’s relationship with the sea, it was hard not to go to the Galapagos for a first-hand look at exactly how we are impacting this once truly special place. Spurred by comments by the Ecuadorian president (“the Galapagos are at great risk”) and UNESCO, which first declared the Galapagos a world heritage site and has now put it on an “in danger” list, we took video cameras and digital recorders and came back with a story not so much about the incredible biodiversity of its wildlife but about how man is wrestling with his presence there.

The film we’ve made – “What Would Darwin Think?” – is nearly complete; in advance of that I wanted to share some of the stories, photos and videos brought back from several weeks of conversations and poking around.
According to a recent report by the Darwin Foundation, “Galápagos at Risk” the islands’ crisis does not just stem from an unprecedented rise in tourism, but also from a change in the marketplace. “Early tourism in the Galápagos was characterized by nature-loving tourists,” the report said, seeking “to learn about Darwin and see the amazing species that helped him to develop his theory of evolution.” It noted that these guests were “easily accommodated by smaller, locally owned tour operators.”
But, the study continued, the market expanded to include “eco-tourists,” who also like to visit places like Machu Picchu, the Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania, Easter Island and the Great Barrier Reef. These tourists are “often more selective in terms of required comfort and is better served by multinational tour operators,” the report said.
A consequence has been that local owners cannot compete with the foreign-run companies doing business in the Galápagos. Of the $418 million generated by tourism annually, only $63 million is estimated to enter the local economy. And of the 80 tourism boats allowed to operate in the Galápagos, only about 40 percent are locally owned.
“We have to think about the people and not just the plants and animals, or it will all collapse,” the report concluded.

Bowermaster’s Adventures — Kamchatka v. Kodiak, What a Difference 225 Years Makes

by Jon Bowermaster on

We sailed into Kodiak on a somewhat rarified day for this part of the world, one filled with sunshine rather than rain. The weekend just past had been its annual Crab Fest, an event dampened by typical summer weather: horizontal rain and temperatures just above freezing. But on a big, blue, sun-shiny day you’d be hard-pressed to imagine a more beautiful place, the entirety of Kodiak Island and the snowcapped mountains that rim it wrapped beneath an indigo blue sky.

Ironically, the place it reminded me of most of was Kamchatka, where we’d been a week before. Both are spectacular lands of active volcanoes and hot, spurting geysers. The seas that surround both are the same steel-blue, the volcanic mountain ranges similarly tall and foreboding, with fishing boats moving in and out of the bays. Both regions share physical turmoil as well as beauty, visited frequently by earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunami waves. Rain is a constant for both (Kamchatka, 110 inches a year, Kodiak, 68).

Though separated by one thousand miles of Bering Sea they started out with similar human roots as well. The very first Russian colony in North America was founded in 1784 at Three Saints Bay on southeastern Kodiak Island and until 1804 it was the center of Russian activity in Alaska. Russians are responsible for the name “Alaska,” derived from the Aleut alaxsxaq, meaning “the mainland” or more literally, “the object towards which the action of the sea is directed.”

%Gallery-69645%In the mid-1800s Russia, worried that the expanding U.S. and Canada would usurp its Alaskan territory without paying, attempted to play one against other in a bidding war, which proved unsuccessful. Ultimately, in 1867, the U.S. bought Alaska from the Russian Empire for $7.2 million (two cents per acre) and would become the 49th state on January 3, 1959.

Today both economies are driven by fishing. Kodiak is consistently one of the U.S.’s top three ports, with 750 fishing boats working off the island profiting from a wealth of Pacific salmon, Pacific halibut and crab. One thousand miles west, biologists estimate that a sixth to a quarter of all Pacific salmon originate in Kamchatka’s highly productive waters, including all six species of anadromous Pacific salmon (chinook, chum, coho, seema, pink, and sockeye).

But that’s where the comparisons come to a screeching halt. The state of the local economies and the health of the natural environments couldn’t be more different. The air and sea around Kodiak are nearly pristine; in Kamchatka, far from it, impacting the quality of life for all. Per capita income is widely different too (Alaskans, $33,000 a year; Kamchatkans, less than $7,500) and, no matter what you think about Alaskan politicians (Ted Stevens?), those in Kamchatka win the prize for blatant corruption.

How did these two regions, so similarly blessed by nature, turn out so differently? Two words: Soviet Union. During the Soviet era, Kamchatka was closed to outsiders for decades, for military reasons; today half of the territory of the Peninsula is still controlled by the Army. The result has been hard on both man and nature.

One of the first things you notice in Kamchatka is that there are very few old people. The harsh climate is partly to blame, but it is human influence, rather than natural forces, that shortens the lifespan of local residents. Despite its unspoiled appearance, the peninsula is filled with toxic pollutants, the most frightening aspect of which is that no one is really sure just how contaminated it is.

Until 1990 Kamchatka was home to the Soviet Pacific Submarine Fleet, several major airbases and is still an important testing ground for ICBMs. This substantial military presence has contaminated the landscape with heavy metals, radiation and other pollutants. The large naval base across from the capital city of Petropavlovsk bobs with poorly maintained nuclear submarines.

The decrepit capital appears to have been forgotten by time. Crumbling, Soviet concrete-slab buildings line the once-lush hills dropping down to the water. The once-bustling port is now mostly idle and crammed with rusting ships and scrap metal. Poaching – mostly illegal caviar, but also whales – are big economies and locals blame the intense poverty. It is estimated that criminal gangs poach at least half the fish sold from Kamchatka; when we were there twenty fishing trawlers were moored out at sea, impounded for poaching

While I met some beautiful and incredibly gracious individuals in Kamchatka, I couldn’t help but think that their situation was desperate. The few I met who would talk openly admitted that the corrupt bureaucracy that continues to oversee the plundering of the region’s unique natural resources cannot be – or at least should not be — continued. For their sake I hope big changes come. Soon.

Bowermaster’s Adventures — Dutch Harbor

by Jon Bowermaster on

Birthplace of the Winds, 10 Years After

During the past decade I’ve been to Dutch Harbor on the island of Unalaska – one of America’s last frontiers, potentially the planet’s next Singapore, home base for the loved-and-hated “Deadliest Catch” – seven times. Much has changed during the years, for me and for the place.

I first came this far west with close friends (Barry Tessman, Sean Farrell and Scott McGuire), three years later with French filmmakers (led by French television and political star Nicolas Hulot) and most recently as a visiting lecturer. I’ve arrived by ferry, small fishing boat, big fishing boat, small plane, helicopter and cruise ship; I’ve also kayaked along Unalaska’s rugged shores and climbed a handful of its volcanic peaks.

Dutch Harbor is annually the nation’s number one or two fishing port (trading off with Gloucester and followed closely by Kodiak). When I first came there was barely a bridge in town; today the town’s center has gravitated to a couple strip centers across from the airport. Its most famous bar and brawling center – the Elbow Room – is long closed. Yet its future looks oddly bright, and not because of the success of the Discovery Channel show, but because of the Arctic Ocean’s disappearing ice. As the Arctic’s ice lessens each year – some suggest it will be gone for good in another ten years – it makes the Northwest passage a much more commercially viable shipping route from Europe, Africa and the U.S. cutting thousands of miles off each trip, saving hundreds of thousands of dollars and gallons of diesel. The main port west of Canada? Dutch Harbor. There are many who believe the towns biggest boom is on the horizon.

When I arrived in 1999 it was on the strength of a first grant from the National Geographic Expeditions Council; six grants since have helped take my teams and me around the world. That first trip took Barry, Sean, Scott and I further west, to the Islands of Four Mountains, by kayak. Since then I’ve traveled literally around the world by kayak. Then my biggest corporate sponsor was Mountain Hardwear and my favorite jacket was its Windstopper Tech fleece (black/black). Today my biggest corporate sponsor is Mountain Hardwear and my favorite jacket is its (brand new) Windstopper Tech fleece (black/black).

From all the adventures I’ve had during the past decade some from that first expedition are still among my favorites. We arrived in Dutch by ferry from Homer, having slept on its deck for four wet, cold nights. And we still needed to get another 150 miles to the west before we could start kayaking. Unfortunately when we arrived we discovered that the guy we’d arranged to carry us the last leg (Scott Kerr) didn’t actually have a boat. I’d spent an anxious half-day walking the fishing docks before finally convincing Don Graves and his Miss Pepper to carry us another fifteen hours, in exchange for a sizable wad of cash. The night that followed was one of the hairiest we’d experienced then or since:

(From BIRTHPLACE OF THE WINDS, my book about that 1999 adventure …) “We had convinced Scott Kerr to meet us off Nikolski and accompany us aboard the Miss Pepper out to Kagamil, where we would be dropped off. (Don) Graves had no idea where he could safely drop anchor and unload us. We had leaned on Kerr to make the crossing, point us to the best drop-off point, then return to Nikolski with Graves.

“He’d agreed, in return for us bringing him $88 worth of groceries, Purina dog food and Red Man chewing tobacco. Just after midnight Graves calls out to me, saying we were nearing Nikolski … I grab the VHF radio and try to raise Kerr. No response. I try again. ‘Miss Pepper to Scott Kerr. Come in, Scott Kerr.’ After several tries he finally picks up. Groggily, he asks, ‘What’s your intention?’ as if we hadn’t explained it to him a dozen times.

“I shout over the roar of the boat and the sea that we are near Nikolski and that we’ll be offshore within a half hour. Then we lose communication. I can only assume he is on his way. (He later admits that when he heard the radio, he was very tempted to ignore it, roll over, pull Agrafina closer to him, and go back to sleep.)

“At 1 a.m. we pull into a wave-socked bay; a half-dozen lights a mile towards shore indicated Nikolski. Because Graves doesn’t know the entry through the rocky bay, it is too dangerous at night to get any closer. Soon we spot a giant, single headlight coming at us through the sea – Kerr in an 18-foot metal skiff. He pulls alongside, trying desperately not to bang into the Miss Pepper in the heavy seas. He is not alone. As he headed down to his boat, he’d knocked on the door of a sleeping neighbor – introduced as Rex – saying he needed help. Rex was barely awake; he thought he was coming out on a grocery run.

“Once they are aboard, it takes several passes to safely tie the skiff off the back of the boat. Empty .410 shells rattle around on its floor, making me wonder, what had these boys been hunting? We would be pulling the skiff behind, through the heavy seas, and Kerr is concerned that it not end up upside down, being dragged. Though he made the rendezvous, he doesn’t appear happy to be here. When he pulls back the hood of his forest green sweatshirt, wild, long, unkempt hair billows from beneath his ball cap. Around his waist he wears a rope belt loaded with knives and a heavy flashlight. He smells of wood smoke and tobacco.

“After brief introductions, he returns to his earlier question: ‘What are your intentions?’ Apparently Kerr has still not gotten the message. He thought we were bringing him his groceries and then crashing on his floor. Unrolling our maps, I focused on getting as much information out of him as possible in the limited hours we have together; first we tackle the question of the initial landing. Graves’ navigational system says we were 43 miles away from a sand beach on the north end of Kagamil, where Kerr says we’ll have no problem getting ashore. It will take us another three to four hours. In the dim light of the boat’s interior we study the maps together, us asking questions, him giving back little more than grunts.

“The final few hours of the fifteen-hour, 150-mile trip are spent trying to stay seated and picking up maps, coffee makers, donuts and rain gear as they fly around the cabin. The metal skiff tied to the back of the boat kept banging dangerously in the rough seas.

“I try to sleep sitting up. Scott Kerr admits to feeling slightly seasick and lies down on a bench. So much for our expert guide.

“Rex, dressed lightly considering the conditions, in blue jeans, hooded cotton sweatshirt and a Carhart vest, complains it is too hot in the cabin. For the bulk of the ride he stands on the back deck. I stand with him for a while and ask what it is that motivates him to live way out here. ‘Oooh, I been in some sit-eee-ations, that’s for sure, some real sit-eee-ations,’ was all he would say. Turning away he mutters, ‘It’s hot out here, ain’t it? Just like Florida.’ ”

Within a couple hours everything had gone awry; we’d lost the hatch cover to one of our big kayaks, Kerr’s metal boat was swamped and filled with sand and seawater on the beach at Kagamil and Rex was nearly hypothermic, smoking what might have been his last cigarette ….