To be honest, I’m not really much of a twitcher. Try to get me into bird watching in the UK and you’ll receive a worryingly unenthusiastic response. In the Galapagos, however, it’s all a bit different. Maybe it’s the relaxed pace of life; maybe it’s the guide’s excited if slightly broken englished-whisper as some super rare species emerges from the undergrowth. I think though that it’s just the birds themselves – very beautiful, and often in striking colours, with completely unique behavioural patterns that one can’t help but feel would only be witnessed by David Attenborough anywhere other than these islands.

We were also extremely lucky on the birding front. Completely outside of the usual mating season, blue footed boobies obligingly danced for us (yep, we copied them later) whilst the magnificent frigate birds gave a highly visual demonstration of the origins of their name, puffing out their bright red chests and looking thoroughly pleased with themselves. I nearly spat my snorkel out when I spotted a flightless cormorant calmly fishing beside me, whilst penguins zipped by at the speed of light (unfortunately we only have land photos of these two birds, where they look a little less graceful!!). We saw flamingos at BOTH the lagoons where they sometimes hang out. We saw nesting Nazca and red footed boobies complete with tiny, fluffy chicks. And, last but not least, on our last day on Genovesa Island we saw a short eared owl – pretty unexciting in its own right (small, brown, slightly bedraggled from the recent rain), but very rare – it’s been 5 months since our guide last saw one.

The only thing, frankly, that we didn’t manage to see is all 14 species of endemic finch. The 4 or 5 we saw all looked pretty similar to me so I guess I can let this one go.

Did I mention I wasn’t really a twitcher?

We were greeted by sad news on the first day of our Galapagos cruise: Lonesome George, the islands’ most famous resident, had died in his sleep. No foul play suspected, but as we set sail, George was inhabiting a rather large freezer awaiting autopsy (as it turned out, he died of a heart attack at a ripe old age of – well, no one knows exactly, but definitely more than 150). For those of you who haven’t made his personal acquaintance (I did on my last visit to the islands some 15 years ago), Lonesome George is a giant tortoise, famous (and named) for being the sole surviving member of his species. Despite numerous attempts to persuade this, the Hugh Hefner of the tortoise world, into breeding with other vaguely similarly specied ladies, all failed meaning that with his death, an entire species vanishes. Admittedly a rather slow moving and on the face of it startlingly similar species to all those other giant tortoise species. But still.

The giant tortoises are definitely the star attraction when it comes to the Galapagos land animals and we were fortunate enough to see quite a few of them, both in the highlands (on private land – some guy counting his lucky stars that his otherwise entirely unremarkable little plot of land happens to be particularly beloved of the tortoise – cue $5 per person entry fee and the construction of a rather large gift emporium) and in the drier lowlands. It has to be said though – star attraction they may be, but they really don’t do much. One yawned once and the entire group of tourists snapped a photo.

Other and slightly more lively land animals are the lizard types – both little lava lizards and their older cousins, the rather prehistoric looking land iguanas. The lava lizards are the more exciting of the two, not least due to an uncanny habit of positioning themselves, carefully camouflaged, precisely where they suspect you are most likely to place your feet. Something tells me squishing an animal to death inside a world renowned national park may not go down too well.

Also seen: lots and LOTS of hermit crabs scuttling, jumping and water-walking about the place and one large centipede – about 8 inches long and apparently the only poisonous thing in the islands. Which surprises me not at all, it’s one of James’ special talents to find the only even vaguely dangerous thing within a local environment. Only surprised he didn’t pick it up. Or put it down my shirt.

If there were ever gang warfare in the Galapagos I believe the sea creatures would split along time honoured lines: Deeply Cute vs. Extremely Ugly (but cool).

On one side: marine iguanas, which rock a spiky prehistoric vibe and lie around in huge leathery evil-looking piles. Their minions would be the crabs, which are bright red and disposable – like those nameless expedition crew members in Star Trek – but which crawl, and run, and jump, and fight for tourists’ entertainment. They also shag on camera and walk on water from time to time, both of which are pretty surprising when you see them for the first time.

On the other side: sea turtles (cute, but a little dull – see Lucy’s opinions of tortoises, except underwater) and sea lions. Now, let’s get this out of the way: sea lions are cute. Deeply cute. Furry, shiny, frolicking in the water cute. Sandy, cuddly, lying in the sun in pairs cute. Baby sea lions are like neutron stars of cute, tiny, fluffy, bleating, big-eyed balls of pure cuteness from whose gravitational pull no unbiased critical opinion can escape. Did I just write that sentence? Yes I did.

The victors? Probably the pirates, who stopped in the Galapagos, clubbed the seals, ate the tortoises, trod on the crabs and left the marine iguanas alone because they smell of rotten fish. For our part, we wandered and snorkeled wide-eyed through the islands being completely ignored by all the wildlife (you are recommended not to get within two meters, and I am guessing this is lest you spoil other tourists’ photographs, as the animals seem truly nonplussed by all the attention).

We have the pre-requisite dozens of photographs to show for this trip, not one of which was taken underwater. Unfortunately our closet camera love doesn’t really allow putting our shiny new Olympus into those expensive, high-tech plastic bags which are completely seawaterproof unless you get them wet. As such, you will have to take our word for it that we saw about a thousand different species of fish (including the coral eating, sand-pooping parrot fish), octopi, stacks of sea turtles, penguins swimming underwater and playful, somersaulting, bubble blowing sea lions. When your biggest gripe is that you only spotted two of the three different types of local sharks then life isn’t too bad. Also, neither one of us got eaten by a shoal of hammerheads, which is a plus at this early stage of our trip.

After the urban jungle that is N’Awlins, we wanted to check out the famous Louisiana bayou – a piece of wetland that is as deeply ingrained a part of the Southern myth as paddleboats, Mark Twain and slavery and yet faces extinction within the next 50 years as our ability to control our environment ever grows. That part of the landscape that has formed the backbone of protection for Louisiana against hurricane damage for the last millenium before falling (no really) to the onslaught of the state and federal flood protection programmes. Roll up folks, see it before it’s too late.

We felt a fortifying lunch was in order – three courses of fried food with fantastic swamp views coming up. Our feeling on the importance of this preparatory measure was confirmed when the resident (wild) gator popped up half way through lunch to say hello – unfortunately no photos, but take my word for it, he was a handsome, if weed bedecked, beastie.

Thus set up for our ordeal, we set off for swamp heartland over the treacherous [wheelchair accessible] raised wooden boardwalks. Photos are below (courtesy of James).