A scientist once wrote, "No place on Earth is quite like any other place, but the Galápagos Islands are less like all other places." I've come to love this thought. Obviously nobody has been to "all other places" for comparative purposes, but when I visit the Galápagos, I really feel that I'm in a magical kind of place. When the Smithsonian Institution and the IMAX Corp. teamed up to make a 3-D documentary about the Galápagos, I spent 14 weeks there during two research/filming expeditions in 1998 and 1999. The expedition cast me into the adventure of a lifetime -- scuba diving with hammerhead sharks and curiously aggressive moray eels, rappelling into volcanically formed lava tubes, and, the highlight, climbing into the Johnson Sea-Link submersible and then descending 3,000 feet into the ocean to study the deep-marine life there. Somewhere along the way, Darwin's "Enchanted Islands" and their charming inhabitants captured my heart. Now I go back each year to introduce others to this magical world. Last January, standing on a recently formed Galápagos lava field with waves crashing onto the rocks, sea lion pups frolicking in tide pools, flightless cormorants standing on the shore drying their shrunken wings and marine iguanas digging nests in the sand, a well-seasoned traveler who was part of the study tour I was leading exclaimed passionately, "This is the best place I have ever been in the world!"

There is no one thing about the islands that makes them unique; rather, it is a combination of features. Geographically, the Galápagos Islands are isolated. They are true oceanic islands separated from Ecuador, the South American country to which they belong, by about 600 miles of ocean. Even though the islands straddle the equator and the air temperature is very warm and tropical, the water surrounding the islands is unusually cold. So cold, in fact, that it's the only place even remotely close to the equator where you'll find penguins. The Humboldt current from the south and the upwelling of water from the deep bring cold water to the islands. Take a wet suit if you head down there to snorkel.

Geologically, the islands are volcanic in origin and very young. The oldest of the exposed islands is only about 3 million years old, so relative to the estimated age of the Earth, about 4.5 billion years, these islands are brand new. The islands sit on the Nazca Plate, a geological portion of the Earth's crust that is moving roughly eastward toward the South American Plate. As it passes over a hot spot in the Earth's mantle, the plate experiences volcanic eruptions, which have resulted in the formation of a string of islands. The volcanoes are still active on Isabela and Fernandina, the westernmost and youngest islands of the Galápagos Archipelago. About three weeks after our filming expedition, one of the volcanoes on Isabela erupted.

But it's really the biology of the Galápagos that sets them apart. Every major group of plants and animals that occurs in the islands includes some species that don't occur anywhere else. The many miles of ocean that isolate the islands have fostered the evolution of new species by all but ensuring that populations of organisms reaching the islands become reproductively isolated from the populations from which they came.

This is true of the Galápagos marine iguanas, 2- to 3-foot-long black lizards that Charles Darwin aptly named "the imps of darkness." They are so ugly they're almost cute. Once a day, unlike any other iguanas, these iguanas enter the ocean and feed underwater on submerged algae. After emerging from the cold water, they spend the rest of the day basking on hot lava rocks to regulate their body temperature.

The closest relative of the marine iguana, the Galápagos land iguana, is also unique to the islands. These animals are slightly larger, 3- to 4-feet long, and they make a living on land, particularly favoring giant prickly pear cactus flower buds, another of the islands' endemic species.

There are many endemic birds (doves, Darwin's finches, a hawk, mocking birds, an owl, etc.), as well as many endemic insects, mammals and plants.

Perhaps the most famous endemic residents are the giant land tortoises that were once abundant throughout the archipelago. These animals can weigh more than 500 pounds and live more than 150 years. The assault on the tortoise population began when those on early sailing ships began carrying the animals away as a source of food. Then those who colonized the Galápagos introduced the goats that now compete with the tortoises for food. Reaching a top speed of about .15 miles per hour means tortoises on many islands lost the food battle to the quick and agile goats.

A highlight of visiting the Galápagos is seeing so many creatures that don't live anywhere but these islands. Equally thrilling is the fact that in the Galápagos animals allow humans to get very, very close. I walked right by sea lions basking on the beach, stopped and admired sea birds such as boobies nesting at my feet, and stooped to within sneezing range of marine iguanas. Some animals actually take an interest in humans. On recent trips, I've seen a young Nazca booby pluck at the shoestrings of a tourist's boots, a young sea lion play games with a visitor's walking stick, and an owl fly into a group of people and land right at a woman's feet. Because these animals have existed for thousands of years without the threat that accompanies the presence of large mammals, they have never developed an instinctive fear of them -- including humans. In the Galápagos, we humans are the visitors and have entered their world. Do we amuse them or do they simply tolerate us? Whichever, we find them utterly charming.

I read a lot about the islands before making my first trip there in 1998. I had a good idea of what to expect to see on land, but I was less certain of what I'd see underwater. Simply put, Galápagos underwater is stunning. I've certainly seen a greater diversity of marine life in other tropical areas, but I have never seen greater numbers of organisms. The cold water that wells up to the surface around the islands is loaded with nutrients that form the basis of a food chain that supports an incredible amount of life.

Another surprising aspect of the underwater realm is that the underwater animals also don't seem to have any fear of humans. Large pelagic fish such as jacks come so close you can reach out and touch them. I've never had this experience any place else. While being photographed underwater for the IMAX film, I was surrounded by enormous schools of grunts, gringos, jacks, leather bass and salemas, and once found myself within a 30-foot-tall column of barracudas.

There were also memorable moments with sea lions; the young ones are every bit as playful as cocker spaniel puppies. Once, while snorkeling at the surface, I was surrounded by a dozen or more pups. When I lifted my head above the surface, I was face-to-face with sea lions; when I put my head underwater, I was face-to-face with sea lions; and when I dove down, sea lions swam in circles around me or buzzed by me kamikaze style, barely missing me by inches. I don't believe it is anthropomorphizing to say that they want to play and will go to rather bold measures to entice humans to join in the fun. Once I was collecting fishes along a vertical wall at about 30 feet and felt repeated tugs at my fins. I looked around and there were four adorable pups looking right at me expectantly. So I pushed off the wall and did some somersaults and dives while they cavorted around me.

Having underwater animals come close is only good depending on what's coming close. At the northernmost islands of Darwin and Wolf, every time I entered the water I was in the presence of almost 100 large hammerhead sharks. I had never been in really "sharky" waters, and I was intimidated by the hammerheads at first. But here in shallow waters, I noticed that they were not feeding on the smaller fish all around them. Instead they were docile as they allowed themselves to be cleaned of parasites by king angelfish. I was grateful, and in time became amazingly comfortable in their presence.

I cannot say the same for the moray eels with their sharp teeth and powerful jaws. A friend who was bitten by one said that if you lay your hand on a table and smash it with a hammer, that's what it feels like. That story came to mind while I was filming off Darwin Island 100 feet down and surrounded by aggressive morays. We used smelly fish parts to attract about a dozen 4- to 5-foot-long eels. My job was to swim into the area, study them for a bit and then swim on. It took several tries, because the eels came right
for my face every time I swam into the scene. I am not embarrassed to say that this was
not fun. I did what any sane person would do: I backed up to get away from them.
"Carole," I heard over the buddyphone in my ear, "you have to stay in the picture." Safe from behind his 2,000 pounds of camera equipment, underwater cinematographer Al Giddings urged me, "Get down, get down." I saw five big moray mouths opening and closing, opening and closing, but I swam into the scene and knelt, using my flashlight and a dip net to keep the eels off my face. I think I only managed this for about 10 seconds, but it is in the film!

My first trip to the islands was as a scientific adviser and "on-screen talent" for the film. To their credit, the producers actually filmed those involved in the activities rather than using actors. That said, I confess that the first time I saw the finished project, I was humiliated. Nothing could have prepared me for seeing myself in 3-D IMAX.

To begin our expedition, the film crew and the scientific team flew to the Galápagos and boarded the 200-foot Seward Johnson research vessel. Within hours of our being in the Galápagos, the ocean claimed the lives of four American tourists when their ship, the Moby Dick, overturned in uncharacteristically rough waters and sank. Our ship responded to the distress signal. By the time we arrived, about 20 passengers had been pulled from the water. Four divers went out in the rough seas to determine whether passengers were trapped in an air space in the hull. The divers had no luck, and moods were grave the next morning as we unpacked our gear.

The problems continued. Most notably, the boat on board the Seward Johnson that was to launch and retrieve the IMAX camera was too small, and the davit built for the replacement boat was too weak to hold the camera system. After we finally got the camera underwater, we found there wasn't a lot to film because El Niño was wreaking havoc in the islands during our visit. One impact of El Niño is the suppression of the upwelling that brings the cold, nutrient-rich water to the surface; then a mass of warm, nutrient-poor water moves into the area from the west. This disrupts the entire marine ecosystem and, as evidence, we saw dead or dying marine iguanas, sea birds, sea lions, etc. Basically, everything associated with the marine environment was suffering.

Things were to get even worse. I got up early one morning to watch pilot Bill Raisner and IMAX cameraman Noel Archambault take off in their ultralight for an aerial filming mission. The take-off was memorable, the colorful ultralight rose up from scenic Tagus Cove and soared into a gorgeous morning sky, but it did not return -- not after four hours when the fuel supply would have been exhausted and not four days later when all hope was diminishing. Everyone -- from the Seward Johnson's Capt. Vince to locals living on Isabela Island -- searched for Noel and Bill. I went up in one of the search planes, a Piper Seneca that bounced ominously amid the turbulence. Six days later, the wrecked ultralight was found. Noel and Bill did not survive the crash.

Even if the expedition had gone perfectly, filmmaking would have still been a challenge. The 3-D IMAX technology meant that a lot of heavy gear had to be carried up and down volcanoes and across lava terrain. It took four men to carry one piece of gear. Along with other crew members, I made three back-to-back trips up the steep slope to the top of
Bartolomé Island carrying about 80 pounds of crane weights in a backpack.

Another challenge: The camera held only three minutes of film. This meant that after only three minutes of shooting, the camera had to be reloaded. Reloading took about an hour,  and three minutes of film cost about $4,000. There was almost no chance for spontaneity with this type of format. We also spent some tedious time waiting for animals to do what we wanted. For example, we had the camera set up to photograph a pair of frigate birds. Males have a red throat pouch that can be inflated to almost hilarious proportions to attract a female, and this male was beautifully inflated. But before the crew got the camera ready to roll, the male deflated his pouch. We sat there for an hour or more just waiting for this bird to inflate his pouch. Nothing. But when he mistook a red baseball cap (being waved by our guide) for male competition, he immediately inflated his pouch, and we got the shot.

Despite the challenges, we ended up with a terrific documentary and educational tool that has played successfully in theaters throughout the world. Seeing the islands in 3-D IMAX is an excellent substitute for an actual visit. When I'm in the theater, I watch the audience instead of the screen. Kids and adults reach out to touch the fish or the scaly legs of a giant tortoise. When Mathias, our naturalist guide, and I throw our rappelling ropes into a lava tube, they drop right into the audience's lap. Everybody reacts. In this film, now available on DVD, you'll see so many things that you've never seen before or only seen in books.

Those underwater scenes came from a $500,000 camera system about the size of a refrigerator. Some days we couldn't get the camera into the water, and other days we had to protect the camera from strong currents, sea swells and surges. So you won't see iguanas swimming and feeding underwater, but trust me: It's really weird to come face to face with a big lizard underwater.

The marine iguana wasn't the strangest animal I saw. That distinction goes to any number of deep-sea creatures I observed 3,000-feet beneath the surface through the "bubble" of the submersible. Having the chance to get into the sub was the main reason I had agreed to do the film project. I had been working on deep-sea fishes for many years at the Smithsonian, but only from preserved specimens. I'd never had a chance to see any of these animals alive in their natural habitat. The four-man submersible has an amazing view through its 5-inch-thick acrylic sphere. It took about 30 minutes to descend 3,000 feet. On the way down, I saw all kinds of stunning pelagic organisms. Turning off the lights meant I also enjoyed descending through a luminescent "soup." While I had expected to see some bioluminescence, I was shocked by how much we encountered. Imagining a very dark summer night sky with billions of fireflies and you floating down through them will give you an idea of what it was like. It was mesmerizing.

Each dive lasted about four hours. Once we were on the bottom we had about three hours to work, which involved cruising around photographing, taking notes and collecting specimens. While the public thinks of me as a marine biologist, I am technically a systematic ichthyologist. Systematics is the study of the diversity of organisms and how they are interrelated genealogically. Ichthyology is the study of fishes. I can thank JMU botanist Norlyn Bodkin not only for my interest in biology, but also for my interest in systematics. He inspired me simply by enthusiastically running around the JMU campus pointing out trees and telling those of us running fast enough to keep up with him the names of the trees. As a systematic ichthyologist, I have developed the same kind of taxonomic expertise for fish that Dr. Bodkin has for trees.

Collecting specimens is important in my work for many reasons; for one, I can't name and describe new species without specimens because scientific names must be tied to physical specimens deposited in permanent archival natural history collections such as those at the Smithsonian. Unlike some of the other subs in use throughout the world, the Johnson Sea-Link is equipped for collecting biological specimens. For example, a funnel-shaped suction device known as an "upper critter getter" is excellent for capturing small squid and jellyfish. The most important piece of gear for collecting fish is a robotic arm that has a suction tube at the end; specimens are essentially vacuumed out of the ocean into a series of buckets set on a rotating table within the body of the sub.

The 15 dives I made were the most adventurous experiences I have ever had. Humans must be protected to survive the pressure in the deep ocean. That means that any damage to the sub's plastic sphere could have been fatal. The loud cracks and pops the sub made, as the pressure changed, was a constant reminder of how vulnerable we were. We tend to think of the human race as being so important, but looking through the sub's window at life forms thriving in an environment where humankind wouldn't last a minute was a humbling experience for me. The dives were also thrilling, because only the tiniest fraction of the ocean bottom has been seen by human eyes. I realized I was in a place nobody had ever visited, I was the first person to see it! At the risk of sounding a fraction of my age, that was so cool!

While I found the dives personally exciting, they were scientifically productive as well. Thanks to Associated Press reporter Randolph Schmid, newspapers throughout the world focused their news releases on the science: Biology Bonanza: Scientists Discover New Species While Making Film, Scientists Squeeze Research into Movie, New Sea Creatures Big Scene-Stealers in Galápagos Flick, and many others. In fact, we used the submersible on 15 days in Galápagos, and so far we've discovered about 17 new species of deep-sea fishes and invertebrates from those dives. That means that every day we took the sub into the deep, we discovered a new species of marine life; that's indicative of how little we know about the oceans. Oceans cover about 70 percent of the Earth's surface, and that isn't just a thin layer of shallow seas. The average depth of the ocean is about 12,000 feet, and the deepest point is about 36,000 feet. Oceans constitute about 97 percent of the living space on this planet, yet we've only explored a tiny fraction of this space because underwater technology is new and expensive.

I agreed to be part of the film so that I could dive in the submersible and advance marine science. But I must confess that the next most rewarding aspect of the experience is the contact I continue to have with students. Thousands of children have written letters to me after seeing the movie, and hundreds of little girls sign their letters "future marine biologist." One little girl wrote that she didn't think she was as afraid of the underwater world as she used to be; because when she saw the film in 3-D, she felt as though she was right there exploring the sea with me. And perhaps my favorite was from a little boy who said that his father is a space engineer with NASA but that was boring compared with what I do!
It seems from my mail that the world is well supplied with enthusiastic young people to lead us into the future of ocean exploration. 

About the Author:

South Carolina native Carole Baldwin ('81), above right with twin sister and fellow Duke Camille Richardson ('81), majored in biology at JMU and received her master's degree at the College of Charleston and her Ph.D. at the College of William and Mary. A systematic ichthyologist with the Smithsonian Institution, she has published more than four dozen scientific articles and discovered new species of fishes in the waters of six countries. She was the lead scientist on the IMAX Galápagos film. USA Today selected her Web
site, www.mnh.si.edu/expeditions/galapagos, as a "Hot New Site." She is the author of One Fish, Two Fish, Crawfish, Bluefish: The Smithsonian Sustainable Seafood Cookbook. She continues to lead yearly tours of the islands. Her next tour is scheduled for Jan. 24-Feb. 2, 2005.