Skomer Island: so much more than a rock in the Irish Sea

Sunset through the sea thrift, Skomer Head

puffin flying above the sea

I hardly ever revisit places. I love discovering new landscapes, meeting new people, seeing everything with fresh eyes. So the fact that I decided to return to Skomer, a tiny island just of the south-west coast of Wales, must mean that I think it’s pretty special.

We first visited last autumn, on a two day guided trip to get up close and personal with the large Manx shearwater colony, and I was so blown away by the place that I vowed to go back in the late spring to photograph the island’s most famous inhabitants, puffins. What I didn’t realise was that the bleak windswept heathland would be awash with wildflowers, the sun would be shining (we were lucky), and the whole place would be an oasis of calm.

sunrise over Skomer and its wildflowers

The island is a National Nature Reserve managed by the Wildlife Trust of South and West Wales. It is an important site for seabird breeding, home to colonies of guillemots, razorbills, kittiwakes and fulmars, as well as the Manx shearwaters and puffins. As such it is protected from development and just a few hardy souls live here full-time: the warden and his partner and a couple of staff, supplemented by researchers at various times of year, and volunteers who clean the hostel and undertake monitoring tasks in exchange for the chance to be in this unique place.

Stepping onto the little jetty is like stepping out of the modern world in the best possible sense. No roads, no motor vehicles apart from one tractor to take luggage up to the Old Farm, no TV or internet –  so no bad news -no distractions apart from the business of living in the moment, right here, right now.

little girl walking the grassy pathways of Skomer

At the end of May grassy pathways wind through carpets of wildflowers: red campion, bluebells,  thrift, even the occasional foxglove. All inland paths lead to the Old Farm in the centre of the island and this is where you stay if you’re an overnight visitor. Most people stay for two nights but I wanted to have the best chance of at least one dry photographing day so we opted for three.

The Old Farm at bluebell time, Skomer

The Old Farm, Skomer






There are very basic facilities here. You need to bring all your food and drink with you, although there was a box of Tunnocks tea-cakes in the communal lounge for the severely sugar-deprived. Bedrooms are basic and can be damp and chilly. You are advised to bring a duvet cover for the supplied duvet or a sleeping bag; I brought both and layered the sleeping bag over the duvet. I am a cold soul. The whole island is off-grid and power is solar; water in the shared bathrooms gets hotter as the day goes on, more so if the sun is shining. Power sockets are few and far between, just three in the whole building, so if you feel bereft without your devices bring a backup battery. I hold my hands up to needing my phone at all times, if only to feel like I can talk to the rest of the family if I need to (which my daughters will confirm that I very often do.)

This ‘hardship’ – my daughter calls it first-world-problems – was easily outweighed by the sense of peace which descended on me as I walked up the path on the first morning. It was like the weight of my day-to-day problems – and those of our world – just rolled off my shoulders, leaving me free to breathe for the first time in months. Admittedly my shoulders were pretty sore again at the end of each day but that was due to carrying half a hundredweight of camera and lenses on my back. 

Sunset through the sea thrift, Skomer Head

The silence, filled only by the wind, waves, and sound of bird-calls is healing. The beauty of nature, whether it be mad puffins doing a courtship dance ten feet away, the sweeping view of hills across the bay from Trig Point, the highest point on the island, or a rich sunset off Skomer Head, all these make Skomer a really special place.

puffins in a courtship exchange
puffin with sandeels, SkomerThe stars of the show are, of course, the puffins. When we were there, they were just getting into the breeding season, taking possession of the burrows they use for nesting, and a few even had chicks, or pufflings as they are so cutely known. These were hidden away but evidenced by a few adults starting to carry back sand eels in their rainbow beaks. There are spots on the island where you can get really close and other parts where you can watch their antics from further away – they waddle like diminutive penguins on the ground but fly like little torpedoes, albeit with very flappy wings. They are fast!

puffin landing, skomer island

But it’s not just puffins that are the wildlife draw – there are short-eared owls hunting, oystercatchers and curlews crying, and black-backed gulls marauding like pirates, on the lookout for hapless chicks or shearwaters. All this amongst rolling heathland, little sheltered valleys, and never-ending views out over the crashing Irish sea. I may just go back again.Bluebells on the cliffs near the Garland Stone, Skomer

Next up – Skomer’s birds and how I found out I don’t want to be a wildlife photographer

A hidden gem in the Bay Area


A bizarre world of fantastical figures, wild gardens, concrete debris and graffitied breeze blocks. This is the Albany Bulb.

An off-the-beaten-track discovery made courtesy of my AirBnB host and new friend Edrie, these amazing sculptures are situated on a spit of land jutting out into the San Francisco Bay Area. 



Until 1982 the Bulb was was a landfill site; after that it was populated by the homeless as well as dog-walkers and urban artists who created, and continue to create, sculptures and murals using scrap metal and wood, blocks of concrete and diverse found materials.



Walkers interact with the statues, giving them pampas grass to hold and contemplate, playing hopscotch on brightly painted stepping stones, or walking the overgrown labyrinth. 



After photographing and exploring a few of the pathways, I sat next to the couple on the concrete bench and watched pelicans fishing in the bay as the sun moved slowly across the sky.


San Francisco, Berkeley and Oakland were a few miles distant and a world away.


See my website for more images or contact me for licensing. All words and images ©Annie Green-Armytage. Re-blogging and link-sharing on social media is permitted with full accreditation; no other reproduction of any kind permitted without written permission.

King Lear – a play for today?

What an amazing performance of King Lear last night, courtesy of a live link from Stratford to Cinema City in Norwich.
Incredibly powerful performances by the cast, but also such a relevant play for our deeply troubled times. I had never seen/read it before so I had not realised it was such a huge play, centred on man’s capacity for cruelty to fellow man, and also both deliberately plotted and opportunistic power-grabbing. And this all born of hatred/greed/envy which itself is born of resentment, anger and overwhelmingly, fear. Hmmm.
A quote which particularly resonated with me:
’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind.
Remind you of anyone?

via Annie Green-Armytage

The Referendum – or Where do we go from here?

I need to say this once, although most of it has been said already, much better, by others, so please forgive me.

I am really upset and quite frightened about what has happened and more importantly what will happen, in the immediate and long-term future.

The only people I am angry at, from the depths of my soul, are the so-called leaders, who have cynically and calculatingly manipulated the truth into scare-mongering half-facts and outright lies. On both sides.

Special mention must go to David Cameron who brought this whole mess upon us in the first place in an attempt to secure his own parliamentary position, and then walked away so brazenly yesterday. He’ll be all right, the rich and powerful always are, no matter what. He has left behind a legacy of mistrust, bitterness and a deeply divided and hurting society.

We all did what we believed to be right yesterday, from a genuine wish for a better future, whichever way we voted. We need, more than anything, in the coming days, weeks and months, to connect back with each other in any ways we can in order to to heal our differences. Whether it be through sport, music, online media, or summer street partying, let’s do something together. And build on what unites us, not what could tear us apart.

OK, I’m done. Thanks for reading.

What made my Galapagos trip great?

I received a parcel today. It was unexpected and it came from the US. What on earth could it be? And then I remembered, one of my fellow travellers from the Galapagos trip, David, had emailed me some time back for my address as he wanted to post something to me. That something was this parcel, a photobook of his best moments on the trip.

It brought the memories – for those experiences have now receded into faulty middle-aged memory – flooding back, and I felt ashamed to realise that I hadn’t even finished processing my Galapagos pictures. Or writing about my experiences. I am just starting to realise how hard this travelling-blog-writing-stock-processing-social-media-posting deal is. A relentless sea of different levels of work – paid and unpaid – for which I haven’t yet found a rhythm that works.

The other thing it brought up for me was a real need to celebrate the people on the Galapagos trip. I had left that post until last and then it got subsumed by other more immediate calls on my time (see above), but actually it’s really important to me. The landscapes, the boat travel, the wildlife, the history were all incredibly interesting and were the point of coming on the trip. But the human company is what made it truly enjoyable.

There is research out there that says that we all need to belong somewhere; it’s a universal human need to feel like we belong to a tribe of some sort. Some people find it through football, others through their political persuasion, religion, or their own local community. We were a pretty disparate bunch of people who would probably never touch each other’s lives in the ‘real world’ – from Axel, the young German journalist to Doug, the American ER doctor – but for those few days we co-existed and I was so thankful for that sense of being part of a group. I really enjoyed the company, at times quiet and reserved, at others sociable and relaxed, and occasionally, engaging on a deeper level.

So thank you to everyone on the trip, the crew and captain, Silvia our lovely and indomitable guide, and all of the group: Mark and Cynthia, Lynn and Woody, Gerry and Dominique, David, Debbie, Axel, Isaac and Doug. You were brilliant and I hope we meet again some day.

Walking into the ravines and caves at Asilo de la Paz, Floreana. 
Crew of the Mary Anne hauling up the sails with some help from Cynthia.
Kudos to Cynthia – the only one of us women to volunteer to help with hauling up the sails.


David relaxing in the stern off the Mary Rose.
David relaxing in the stern.
First sight of a Galapagos penguin, Sphensicus mendiculus, in Elizabeth Bay, Isabela island. 
Engines off amongst the red mangroves (Rhizpora mangle) in the peaceful saltwater lagoon at Elizabeth Bay, Isabela. Darwin and Isaac paddling.
On our way around the northern tip of Isabela to Santiago island.
Misty morning beach walk at Espumilla, Santiago. 
Walking on the beach and lava rock grottoes at Puerto Egas, Santiago.
Last (wo)man standing: coming off the beach and lava rock grottoes at Puerto Egas, Santiago on our last evening.
The hard-working crew of the Mary Anne, with Silvia our guide.
The sun goes down on the lava rock at Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island.


The wildlife – what will you see on the Galapagos?

This is my photo-indulgent post. I have been pretty restrained up until now, but one of the main reasons I went to the Galapagos was for the wildlife, and the photo-opportunities for this. As a garden photographer it’s not what I’m used to at all, and I missed a lot as I learnt new ways of using my camera. Burst mode – what’s that?! But I also caught some pretty special moments.

Marine iguana (Amblyrhynchus cristatus) lying on a bleached tree trunk, catching the last of the sun’s rays at Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island.

So can you get up close and personal like all the websites say you can? Well the short answer is yes, because the animals and birds don’t fear humans; they are protected by a strict code and regulated by the National Parks Service. (This may be as a result of the historical fate of the tortoises, which were severely depleted by pirates and whalers, and even by Darwin’s expedition in the Beagle. Tortoises can live for months without food and water and the seamen used to stack them on deck in piles for a supply of fresh meat during their time at sea.) But I digress.

But should you get as close as you can? I watched one young couple from a different boat walk right up to within touching distance of a pair of blue-footed boobies for their obligatory selfie. Silvia, our guide, remonstrated with them in no uncertain terms. ‘If you do this, do you think the birds will continue to be comfortable around humans? Have some respect and move away!’

Respect is key, I think, and a long lens very helpful. I used a 70-200mm zoom for almost all my wildlife captures. It has a stabiliser which meant I could handhold down to around 1/80sec on a good day. Tripods and boats definitely don’t mix, and neither do tripods and moving tour groups. Apart from in Puerta Ayora in Santa Cruz, landings on the islands are strictly timed, and you must be accompanied by a guide, always. There are pathways or areas of permitted walking which are marked out, and you must stay within these, and keep together as a group.

Annie shooting crabs.  Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island.
Shooting crabs (not craps). Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island. Pic: Silvia Vargas

This was a real challenge for a photographer used to spending unlimited (well it often seems that way) time parked behind a tripod with a macro lens and cable release, waiting for the millisecond when a miscanthus grass or an angel’s fishing rod is perfectly still. All of my captures were handheld, apart from a few before and after the boat trip. Another completely new experience for me.

Enough words; here are a few of my favourite animals and birds. You can see more on my website at

Sally lightfoot crabs (Grapsus grapsus), gathered on the wall of the jetty at Puerto Velasco Ibarra, Floreana island.
Blue-footed booby (Sula nebouxii excisa), perching on a guano-painted ledge in the volcanic cliff at Punta Vicente Roca, Isabela island. This was shot from a rocking panga/dinghy.
A brown pelican, Pelicanus occidentalis urinator, is circled by brown noddy terns, Anous stolidus galapagensis, as it dives for food at Espumilla, Santiago. 
When a pelican makes its dive, it then sieves out the water along with the smaller fish and crustaceans. The noddy terns wait for this moment: they are able scavengers and mob the pelican as it does this, sometimes even sitting on its head, as shown here, in readiness to pick up a food morsel.
Master of all he surveys: a brown pelican, Pelicanus occidentalis urinator, at rest in a black mangrove (Avicennia germinans) on the edge of the beach at Espumilla, Santiago.
Land iguana, Conolophus subcristatus. Urbina Bay, Isabela.
What’re you looking at? Land iguana, Conolophus subcristatus. Urbina Bay, Isabela.
Marine iguanas (Amblyrhynchus cristatus) huddling together as the sun goes down at Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island. They are ectothermic (they don’t regulate their own body temperature), so this behaviour may be about keeping warm. Or they might just like each other. If you know, leave a comment.
Marine iguanas (Amblyrhynchus cristatus) hunkering down on the lava rock next to the sea, Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island.
Galapagos fly-catcher, Myriarchus magnirostris, perched on lava rock above Darwin Lake, Isabela.
Female lava lizard, Microlophus albemarlensis. Puerto Egas, Santiago.
Female lava lizard, Microlophus albemarlensis. Puerto Egas, Santiago.
Blowing bubbles: Galapagos fur seal, Arctocephalus galapagoensis, sliding underwater as it sleeps. It would actually startle and wake each time it did this, settle back and then gradually slither down, submerging its nose into the tide-pool until its next breath. This species is actually a sea-lion – it has ears. Among the lava rock grottoes of Puerto Egas, Santiago.
A pair of magnificent frigate birds, Fregata magnificens, engaged in courtship ritual, North Seymour island. The male inflates his scarlet gular pouch and trills.
Galapagos sea-lion, Zalophus wollebacki, playing in the waves with lava rock behind, as the sun goes down. Punta Espinosa, Fernandina island.
Blue-footed boobies (Sula nebouxii excisa), North Seymour. They nest on open ground, and, according to our guide, come ashore to breed only when the sea currents are cold. The female is slightly larger than the male.


Blue-footed boobies (Sula nebouxii excisa), skypointing with twigs for nesting in mating ritual.  The female apparently chooses her mate based on the blueness of his feet. I guess blueness is in the eyes of the beholder. 
Galapagos sea-lion, Zalophus wollebacki, relaxing on the steps of the jetty at Puerto Velasco Ibarra, Floreana.
Colourful Galapagos Green Turtle (Chelonia agassizii, Chelonia mydas agassisi) under a red mangrove in the shallows of the saltwater lagoon at Elizabeth Bay, Isabela.
Wildlife on a rock. Galapagos sea-lion (Zalophus wollebacki) enjoys the evening sun. Elizabeth Bay, Isabela.
Stop!! Hybrid tortoise in the highlands of Floreana. The sturdy back legs and tail announce a male of some stature.
Sally lightfoot crab (Grapsus grapsus), perched on the lava rock in Punta Cormorant Bay, Floreana island.
See my website for more Galapagos images or contact me for licensing. All words and images ©Annie Green-Armytage. Re-blogging and link-sharing on social media is permitted with full accreditation; no other reproduction of any kind permitted without written permission.

You don’t really need light and water do you…?

Let me talk about comfort. I can no longer deal with scuzzy camp-sites, taps hanging off walls, mosquito nets with holes on, walls with holes in, resident geckoes, or any other wildlife inside my bedroom. Don’t ask me to, I really can’t.

I need a toilet that works, a shower that pushes out a consistent stream of at least tepid water, a bed with some kind of linen, and if it’s really hot, an air-conditioner that works and doesn’t sound like a Boeing 747 taking off. I need food that I can eat with confidence and a supply of potable water. In other words I am a namby-pamby, middle-aged westerner.

So the next few days aboard the Mary Anne were kind of interesting for me. To cut a long story short, the generator was only working partially from when we boarded, and on the afternoon of the fourth day it stopped. Completely. The engine was ok, so we were still able to move, but no power for lighting, cooking or air-con, and for a few hours even the water stopped. I refer you back to the beginning of my last para. We were on the west side of Isabela island, about the furthest we could be from the main port on Santa Cruz. It was not good.

We saw this amazing lava field at Punta Moreno, Isabela, in the morning of the fourth day. The field runs between the Sierra Negra and Cerro Azul volcanoes. The flows are about 1000 years old and broken fragments often make a metallic sound when you step on them. These fragments are known as clinkers. Candelabra cactus (Jasminocereus thouarsii) in the foreground.

However. The crew were amazing, working so hard through the night to try and fix it (they didn’t). On the first night without power they took our dinner by panga (aka dinghy/zodiac) to our sister ship, The Passion, cooked it and brought it back. We ate dinner under the stars with no noise apart from desultory chatting. It was stressful (what’s going to happen, how do we cope with this) but beautiful. At the end of the evening, though, even the emergency lighting failed, and we felt our way gingerly down the steep steps to our cabins. At this point it was very, very quiet and very, very dark. I was glad of my £2.50 LED camping torch, thrown into my luggage at the last moment.


The following morning a power line is somehow rigged between us and the Passion, and the emergency lighting and water are back on. Huge inward sigh of relief. In the afternoon a spare part arrives by speed-boat. But will it work?

The Post Office beach, Floreana. Annie.

By the evening, still no power, so we are panga’ed over to the Passion and for a joint meal with the passengers there, the wine flowing freely in more than one sense. It was really interesting to see the inside of a modern boat: very beautiful, a lot more spacious than ours – but, to me, Passion-less. As a fellow traveller murmured to me,’ It’s just like being in a large apartment’. Our boat is a proper boat – if only it was working. Then, the lights flicker on across the water. It’s fixed! Another, happier, panga ride under the stars, spotting the southern cross and enjoying the breeze on our faces, and a release of tension as we boarded and made our way to cabins with lights and taps and toilets that worked.

Those two days were an object lesson in how much I rely on creature comforts. I wasn’t the only one, there were others arguably more stressed-out than me. But I have to acknowledge that this is how I am now, no matter how much I would rather believe otherwise. That’s a challenging pill to swallow, particularly when I look at the wider world and how much hardship others are enduring on a daily basis. I am not proud of myself. And maybe I can change in the future. But perhaps, for now, I can just accept that I am who I am, and that’s ok.

See my website for more Galapagos images or contact me for licensing. All words and images ©Annie Green-Armytage. Re-blogging and link-sharing on social media is permitted with full accreditation; no other reproduction of any kind permitted without written permission.

Floreana – the best bits

Over the next few days the time seemed to expand and contract simultaneously. The days went fast but we saw so much, did so much, ate so much… the food on the boat is really good. So much for the diet. But with two walks and a snorkel most days, at least I’m balancing the calories to some extent.

Did I mention I learned how to snorkel for the first time in my life? Not so shabby for a fifty-something. And it’s so, so beautiful, moving slowly or just lying flat in the water above shoals of scorpionfish, rainbow wrasse, pufferfish and yellow-tail surgeonfish. Spotting a green sea-turtle for the first time swimming below me, and following as it rose to the surface, so effortlessly and with such grace. It looked as if it was in slow motion. A magical moment. And if I definitely had go-pro envy at this point as number as of my boat-mates had underwater cameras and videos, there was another side to it too. As a professional photographer, it was actually a real release  (once I had let go of the envy) to be allowed to just ‘be’, experiencing everything as it happened without having to try for the perfect shot. Note to self: don’t let my other half know this – it’s what he’s been telling me for years, dammit.

Floreana at dawn.
Floreana at dawn.

Floreana island is one of the inhabited islands, originally colonised by diverse adventurers, including a drunken Irishman, a self-titled Baroness who disappeared in mysterious and unexplained circumstances, and various political prisoners who were shipped over here in the nineteenth century. The Wittmer family arrived in the highlands in the late 1920s, and their descendants are still living on the island: a testament, according to Silvia our guide, to the pioneering spirit of the people settling here. ‘There was nothing, only one freshwater stream,’ she told us. ‘And Margaret was five months pregnant when she arrived.’ I thought back to my pregnancies, full of complications, check-ups and medical interventions. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Galapagos sea-lions, Zalophus wollebacki, relaxing on the quay at Puerto Velasco Ibarra, Floreana.

We docked at the little jetty, avoiding sleepy sea-lions and wondering at innumerable sally lightfoot crabs massed on the quayside wall.

Sally lightfoot crabs (Grapsus grapsus), gathered on the wall of the jetty at Puerto Velasco Ibarra, Floreana island.

Into an open-sided bus and then a bone-rattling journey up to Asilo de la Paz in the highlands, which brought more tortoises, flocks of ground finches, pirate caves and a spoof ‘primitive head’ carved by one of the Wittmer family and passed off as an ancient artefact to Thor Heyerdahl, the explorer, who was completely taken in, apparently. When the joke was explained he was not so amused.

Our tour group setting off in an open-sided bus for ‘Asilo de la Paz’ in the highlands of Floreana.
The ravines and caves at Asilo de la Paz, in the highlands of Floreana. These lead up to the only freshwater spring in the whole of the Galapagos island archipelago.
Spoof primitive head, or ‘ancient carving’, Asilo de la Paz, in the highlands of Floreana. It was actually created by Rolf Wittmer in the 1930s.

Back on board the Mary Anne, having first swum off the beach above actual sharks – small black-tipped reef sharks, non-aggressive, so I’m told. An interesting moment.  Some of the sails went up for the afternoon trip, assisted by the more able and willing of our party. I was neither, with back, knees and more recently thumb joints that come with an ageing body. It was fun watching them sweat though.

Putting up the sails

The boat was a lovely sight as we travelled to Isabela in the afternoon, although it was an abiding disappointment that the engines were never cut. But it looked beautiful. In fact, every time we anchored and went ashore, there was a little rush of pleasure on seeing our boat looking like a proper boat amidst the luxury launches and cruisers that populate the island harbours.

The Mary Anne in partial sail, with Floreana island in the background.
The Mary Anne in partial sail, with Floreana island in the background.

And as for living-on-a-boat: I wasn’t seasick, or dizzy, or dehydrated, although I did drink an awful lot of water. Turns out February is one of the hottest months in the Galapagos, which clearly I didn’t pick up online. Silvia reckoned it was actually pretty temperate at the moment, more like May. Which sparked off a discussion which recurred many times througout the trip: is this an El Niño year or not?  Many experts think yes, but Silvia disagreed – not enough rain, she said.

It was great being part of a small group, having discussions and joking around. It brought a sense of belonging that is the polar opposite of the loneliness I had expected to feel as a solo traveller. For me, it was the ideal size, 12 of us plus Silvia, plus the crew. Small enough to feel familiar, large enough to be able to take time out to be alone. And with a really friendly and knowledgable Galapaganean guide available pretty much 24/7 the insight into the islands and their ecosystems was amazing. It was quite surreal to realise that it was only the end of the third day.

Sunset en route to Isabela island, 15th.
Sunset en route to Isabela island
See my website for more Galapagos images or contact me for licensing. All words and images ©Annie Green-Armytage. Re-blogging and link-sharing on social media is fine with full accreditation; no other reproduction of any kind permitted without written permission.

Galapagos- a dream destination?

The Galapagos. Bucket list territory for me over many years. So when I won some money on a raffle, it seemed like a moment of opportunity.  I could add it to my meagre pension savings. Or I could do something memorable.

You can stay on the main island, Santa Cruz, and take day tours, or you can take a boat tour, which travels the eastern islands for seven days and the western isles for the same time. I couldn’t afford both so I opted for the western islands, aboard the Mary Anne, an old-fashioned sailing boat, with its own tale to tell, of which more later. My other half gets sea-sick in the bath, so he declined to accompany me on this occasion. So this was a Big Solo Adventure.

The Galapagos is a collection of volcanoes erupted over millions of years from the Pacific Ocean floor, in a hotspot where tectonic plates meet. The islands each comprise one volcano (apart from Isabela which is a conglomeration of six) and they drift inexorably eastwards away from the hotspot over thousands of years where the volcanoes eventually fade and go extinct. For this reason the hierarchy of age moves more or less from east to west: San Cristobal and Espanol at somewhere between 2.5 and 4 million years old, through to Isabela and Fernandina, relative babies at around 700,000 years. These two are still active: the last eruption was from Wolf volcano on Isabela, in June 2015.

The collapsed half of the caldera of Volcano Ecuador, Isabela.
The collapsed half of the caldera of Volcano Ecuador, Isabela.

This geology is one factor which makes the Galapagos so unique; another is the different currents which bring a huge diversity of sea-life to the islands, including penguins, sharks, sea-turtles and fur-seals as well as all those beautiful shoals of exotic little fishes you see in Disney cartoons. For me, the main draw was the Darwin legacy: all that history, all that research, all that incredible science. Turns out he was only 26 when he visited the Galapagos, and he was not impressed, writing as the Beagle landed: ‘Nothing could be less inviting than the first appearance. We fancied even the bushes smelt unpleasantly.’

I beg to differ. Arriving on Santa Cruz, I was prepared for the barren landscape, the flatlands of lava flows and ash, but not for the lush highlands where we were immediately whisked off to see  – it had to be – giant tortoises.


Giant tortoise (Geochelone nigrita) wallowing in the muddy margins of the Red Lake, Laguna Roja, in the highlands of Santa Cruz, Galapagos. 

February is the end of the rainy season, so I was lucky to catch the islands in possibly their greenest state, although this varies from year to year. The tortoises were literally awesome, roaming around in their wild habitat with little or no regard to their human gawpers, basking in the mud of a pool, chomping on grass, and generally doing tortoise-like things. It was great to see this on the first day, almost to take the pressure off – it felt like this was the one ‘must-see’ in the Galapagos; now I could relax, anything else was a bonus.

The Mary Anne seen from Post Office Bay, Floreana. Vocanic lava rock in the foreground.

We joined the Mary Anne in the early evening, the second contingent of the group who would be travelling together for the next seven days. This was not ideal, as the first party had already been together for a week, leaving me feeling a bit of an incomer, but I was really lucky with the group; everyone already there was very welcoming and inclusive, and us newbies soon bonded over a beer or three. So end of day one, exhausted, excited, and everso slightly anxious for the whole living-on-a-boat thing: would I be seasick? sleepless? dizzy? dehydrated? Time would tell.

See my website for more Galapagos images or contact me for licensing. All words and images ©Annie Green-Armytage. Re-blogging and link-sharing on social media is permitted with full accreditation; no other reproduction of any kind permitted without written permission.

Focus, woman, focus

I have been silent on this blog for a while now, partly because, as I suspected it would, real life got in the way, and partly because I have been trying to decide whether/where to go with it.

Although my expressed intent was to share all sides of me and what I do, after a couple of posts it seemed to me, I don’t know, a bit directionless. So, as this year is a sabbatical from the Matthew Project, and all about travelling and developing that side of my photography, that’s where I’m going with it.

In particular, I am asking the question: can I be a 50-something woman who’s not particularly strong or brave, travelling around largely on my own, lugging around camera equipment and suitcases? Or perhaps, what do I need to do this successfully?