Sea Ballet in the Galapagos Islands

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I will begin by saying that the taking of shells, dead or alive, is forbidden where I was snorkeling. This type of law is in effect in all marine parks throughout the world. Though ridiculously easy to break, it causes enough people who visit these natural wonders to stop and consider what they are doing. "Take nothing but photos, leave nothing but bubbles" is a reasonable law for divers to uphold.

With a rare exception.

In my case, that rare exception began with an opportunity to photograph penguins in their natural habitat, a dream few will ever realize. An avid amateur underwater photographer at the time, I literally leapt at the chance.

Jumping from the liveaboard dive boat into the dinghy, armed with a loaded camera and my snorkel gear, we were off. We motored from our anchorage, just off a volcanic island rising out of the sea, and six hundred miles from the coast of South America. I gazed upon stark red rock with pristine white sand beaches. The water was an opal blue-green and dotted with boobies, pelicans, and the occasional wake of a sea lion.

We approached a little cove below Pinnacle Rock. This monolith juts out from the island like a king-sized lance thrown from Ecuador all the way to the Galapagos Islands by some crazed god.

The pint-sized penguins we sought were dwarfed in the shadow of the huge rock. They saw us coming and naturally headed into the water. The dinghy pilot, however, succeeded in outrunning the subaquatic flyers. The plan was to drop the snorkelers into the water ahead of them, and then let the penguins swim to us. It was a good plan, but as eight of us plopped into the water, we created a commotion that could have frightened off even the unflappable Galapagos Shark.

So I slipped away from the group.

Drifting, finning slowly and quietly back toward the rocky cove, I sighted a tiny body sunning itself and knew I'd found the penguin who would pose for me. James Bond would have been proud as I slid silently through the water. When the rock with the shy little penguin reached eye level, I raised the camera at a snail's pace and shot a few frames of my perfect subject. He decided I was scarier than he had first thought and waddled away with steady restraint until he hit the water, then literally flew past me.

I imagined that the gentle brush along my leg was from the current of my fins, as I swam in circles seeking my feathered quarry. And then I felt it again. Thinking the "S" word, I torqued around to find not the snorkeler-eating shark of my imagination, but a melt-your-heart, baby-deer-eyed, teenage sea lion.

"The next twenty minutes were filled with barrel rolls, head stands, cartwheels, nose kisses, and fin chases."

She was making passes along my body in exuberant figure-eights, welcoming this ungainly and bizarre animal to her cove and teasing me to stay and play. No words adequately describe the joy of playing with sea lions. Having been honored before with this magical interaction, I was thrilled to be chosen once again.

The rules are simple: No touching unless they touch you first - and no biting allowed by either party. After that, it's no-holds-barred. I set my camera up on the penguin's rock and flopped back into the water to see what the sea lion would do.

A natural mimic, she slithered up the rock, sniffed my camera, hefted it for weight, then flopped very gracelessly into the water. Truth hurts, she did a perfect imitation.

The next twenty minutes were filled with barrel rolls, head stands, cartwheels, nose kisses, and fin chases. A very patient playmate, she would hang upside down in the water, holding her breath, tail sticking out of the water, slowly rotating her body on a vertical axis, catching my eye on each rotation and waiting for me to get my uncooperative physique into the same position.

When I could hang like that for even ten seconds, the sea lion would shoot out of the water for a breath, then dive around me, circumscribing spiral doughnuts from ankles to nose. At one point, I reached out my hands to paddle furiously underwater in a somersault. This motion was arrested by her taking my wrist in mouth and gently flicking me head over heels. She loosed childlike shenanigans in me that were too much fun to ignore.

But, when I heard the dinghy returning to the boat, I knew it was time to go. What an excuse... the fact of the matter is, sea lion play is exhausting.

I retrieved my camera, disinterested in the bevy of penguins now littering the rock, and began to swim backwards so as to say goodbye to my friend when she surfaced. She made her appearance by sliding up my body, starting at my fins in a long caress until we were chest to chest, with a pencil-stub urchin held in her lips.

This she dropped between us so that it caught at our waists. I grabbed it thinking she wanted me to throw it. With a toss, I thought she'd be after it, but instead, she locked on my eyes, holding me in her fathomless stare, and let it drift to the sand twenty feet below.

Then she was gone.

I slowly continued the long swim back to the boat when I felt her coming up beneath me. I stopped, hung quietly, and watched as she carefully lifted a sand dollar with her teeth from under her forward flipper. She came chest to chest with me and gently let it slide down between us.

This was not your average sand dollar. It was as big as a saucer, as delicate as Limoge china, and flawless on every edge. I, in all my human stupidity, thought,..."oh, she wants to play Frisbee," and gently flicked it skimming across the water. I swear she hung her head. Her very serious eyes bore into mine and the message finally got through.

As she took off again, I just waited, hoping, knowing she was coming back. I stuck my masked face under water and watched as she searched around, retrieved the same shell, tucked it carefully under her arm and made for the surface.

This time, when we were eye to eye, I took the gorgeous shell from her dainty mouth and made an exaggerated display of tucking it carefully under my forward flipper. She looked at me and winked. Then she was gone for good.

Now I can tell you, without qualms, that I have that shell. I kept it. Wouldn't you?