Isla Isabela

21 50.5 N 105 52.9 W

We had read about Mexico's Grand Canyon named Copper Canyon and had a printout of how to see the area using local transport and accommodation.  We were both looking forward to making the trip which included a 5 hour bus trip and 7 hour train ride with livestock- the bus we had already been on was like a very old school bus that was almost Fred Flintstone style - and had very hard seats !!  5 hours on a similar bus was not my idea of fun but you have to give it a go - the trip consists of long trips and local accommodation, often without electricity or water but clean. 

Unfortunately I got a stomach bug and couldn't manage the trip nor the aroma of the sewerage plant so we pulled up anchor and headed for Isla Isabela - a tiny island which is a bird sanctuary.  It has been featured in National Geographic and other documentaries.  We hiked over the island and watched in wonder at thousands and thousands of birds flying, nesting, feeding.  Frigate birds with wing spans of over 1 metre nesting in spindly branches of trees at our height.  The males have a red balloon (or that is what it resembled) which they could inflate to attract females - it reminded me of a bright red heart pulsating on the outside of their chest.  Yellow footed boobies were nesting along the cliff ledge - some with eggs others with large balls of cotton wool posing as a chick - totally helpless and so funny.  I was amazed that none of these birds thought of us as a threat - only one mum made a guttural noise in her throat as a warning that we were too close.  We were very careful to keep our distance and not disturb the birds. 

Along a track I was careful not to stand in what I thought was dog poo - on a closer inspection it was an iguana.  These poor things are muddy coloured (I believe they have the ability to change colour with their environment) and very old and wrinkled - I know how they feel !!!  I hoped that the scuttling and noises we heard whilst walking hip deep in grasses were iguanas moving out of our way although the ones we did see just stayed exactly where they were, presuming we noticed them and would not tread on them.  The local fisherman stayed in ramshackled tin lined huts whilst fishing and were quite happy to watch our dinghy escape from its rock anchor on shore and calmly make its way back to the boat without us.  Don had to jump in and go for a swim to retrieve it.