This is a short article written for Noticias de Galapagos No 28, pp. 19-20, 1978.

Elizabeth Tindle

"How eerie it is. So quiet!" I paddle across the moonlit lagoon, alone in the early hours of the morning. All I can hear is the swish of my roughly made oar and the lapping of the water against the side of my balsa wood raft as I make my way to our camping site on the other side of the lake known as Lake Cementario, the Lake of the Cemetery. The name is derived from the rather macabre looking cemetery nearby where convicts from a small penal settlement were buried. The night is still. The full moon in a near cloudless sky provides sufficient light for me to pick my way around the tiny islands of mangrove and dead wood protruding above the level of the lagoon. The reflections of these same obstacles are quite clearly seen in the water. How beautiful it all appears!

I am returning to camp from a night observation of flamingos at the breeding colony. My partner and I have been here on the volcanic Island of Isabela, in the Galapagos Islands for almost a month and in that time we have been able to watch the progress of a group of 36 nesting Caribbean flamingos (Phoenicopterus ruber ruber).

Very little accurate detail is known about the breeding behaviour of these birds in the Galapagos Islands, Ecuador, where there is a population of about 500-700. These birds were believed to have been blown off course when migrating from Bonnaire in the Caribbean and now migrate between the different Islands of the Galapagos Archipelago. In other parts of the world where there are flamingos they are so timid that it has been difficult to get close enough to them in the wild to observe their every move. Flamingos select secluded inaccessible spots for nesting and build mounds of mud to form their nests. We have been fortunate in discovering this small colony set on one of a myriad of tiny mangrove islets in the middle of a salt water and mud lagoon.

I am now nearing our landing spot at the side of the lake. As the water becomes progressively shallower here, I must take care in piloting the raft through the submerged mangrove roots. Should the raft catch on to one it could mean my having to delve into the thick mud and slime in order to release it. The mud in parts of the lake reaches chest height and holds one immobile by its powerful suction. This time the raft passes smoothly across the water and halts abruptly in the thicker mud on land. I clamber off. This time my rubber boots have not filled with water as frequently happens. I pull the raft as far on land as I am able. Without this precaution the balsa drift wood from which it has been roughly made, would become quickly waterlogged. I pick my way blindly through the pitch black mangrove forest fringing the lagoon. Squelch, squelch, squelch I hear as I plod(ge) across the soggy earth (clarts). Soon I can see the dim light issuing from the kerosene lamp hanging high from a branch at our camp site. Bob has a meal ready. It smells good. It is diablo (Chanos chanos) meaning devil, a very bony fish he caught this afternoon in the lake.

To catch these enormous fish we have to walk slowly in the deep mud and water, holding open the neck of a large sack. The fish nudge our legs and body all the while, their visibility being reduced by churned-up mud. With a quick jerk of the wrist a fish is in the bag. I have watched groups of local men from the nearby village of Villamil rounding up the diablo with a long net. They all work together reducing the circumference of the net and as it gets smaller the lake begins to "boil" with the thrashing of entrapped fish. Fins appear travelling in all directions at the surface like a hundred small sharks. Soon the diablo start leaping high and smack into the bare bodies of the fishermen. Surely it must hurt! In their panic the fish leap in all directions and many miss the water completely, landing on the muddy shore line. Finally, the net is dragged on to land. The men need the helping hands of others to release themselves from the unyielding mud. The fish are beheaded and gutted on the rocky sea coast, while frigate birds soar overhead swooping at intervals to scoop up a delectable morsel of entrails. The brown pelicans, meanwhile, stand by for the larger fish heads.

During our meal we can hear in the darkness surrounding us the scurrying of black rats over the thick carpet of leaves. They also climb to considerable heights in the mangrove branches. Each night before turning in to our simple tent we must ensure that all edibles including those in plastic jars are stored away in large tin containers. The enormous stem of bananas creates a problem. Since we suspended it from a high branch some distance from our primitive "kitchen" it seems that it has been sustaining all the creatures of the forest. The finches, yellow warblers and mocking birds feast themselves during the day. The rats seem to have a wonderful banquet during the night taking flying leaps from the nearest branch on to the banana stem. Sometimes they misjudge the leap and land with a crunch and loud rustle of leaves on the ground below. In addition we have a wild burro, nick-named Neddy who spends much of his day and night travelling on a circuitous route which passes right through the middle of our camp. Each time he passes, he helps himself to a few bananas. We had the impression that his visits were becoming more frequent. I later discovered that in fact there were four burros, wild donkeys, all enticed by our bananas I suspect.

Now it is the day shift observation at the flamingo colony. I sit on my half submerged log, hidden in the undergrowth by a clump of mangrove. I am clad in bikini, sun hat, rubber boots (Wellingtons) and binoculars. A flamingo chick explores within inches of my log. I pull my knee in to let it pass.

In the flamingo colony at present there are seven bickering chicks and one sleeping adult. The other parents will return this evening to feed their offspring. They will fly in from a feeding lagoon many kilometres away. We have followed the daily activities of this colony of birds some of whom deserted their eggs while others accidentally broke their eggs and had to abandon their mud-mound nests. Seven chicks have survived which is average breeding success of flamingos. Both parents incubated their single egg in turn and when the chick hatched after 28 days both male and female fed it. This was accomplished by the parent holding the chick under its wing, lowering its long curved beak and dribbling a bright red liquid into the chick’s mouth. Later the feed was given with both parent and chick standing, the long neck of the adult reached down to the white fluffy chick. Now that the chicks are almost a month old they look like ugly ducklings and spend much of their time together in one small part of the colony. Their incessant squabbling resembles the yapping of a litter of young pups. They consume great quantities of solid mud, gulping it down in huge chunks. They really are strange little creatures but quite fascinating to watch.

During our studies here we have discovered much about flamingos in general and the Caribbean flamingo of the Galapagos Islands in particular. We are happy to think that our work may prove to be a valuable contribution to the conservation of the flamingos in their natural habitat in the Islands.