Seen from a summit of brown lava: a green isthmus between two pale bays of turquoise water, a dark spire of rock standing at the edge of the nearer bay, and bare volcanic cones beyond

Galápagos

Nothing here moves away.

Island to island by small yacht, with a naturalist guide. By private arrangement.

Two bays and a spire of lava, the Galápagos

Season: All year, in two seasons
Length: Around eight days
Party: Two to sixteen, with a naturalist guide
Held in the arrangement: A small yacht and her crew, your naturalist guide, every landing and every swim, and the flight out from the mainland

The place

A thousand kilometres out in the Pacific, nothing learned to be afraid.

The islands came up out of the sea as bare lava, a long way from anywhere. Whatever reached them swam, flew or drifted, and found almost nothing on shore to run from.

So nothing runs. A sea lion sleeps where you meant to walk. An iguana watches you go by and does not get up. You are the one who gives way.

A steep slope of dark lava falling to the sea, white surf breaking over black rock, a small pale beach, and a spire of rock and rust-coloured cones in the distance — The lava coast of Bartolomé

The days

A sea lion asleep on black lava, eyes shut, whiskers on the rock, while a red crab walks past a hand's width from its nose — A sea lion asleep, a crab passing. The Galápagos

The landing

You step ashore, and then round a sea lion.

The small boat noses in to black rock. Somebody large is asleep across the way up, with a crab walking past its whiskers. Your guide steps round. So do you.

On the lava

Some of this rock is breathing.

Marine iguanas, heaped on the lava they match, salt drying white on their heads. Further along stands a booby, on feet a blue you would not have believed. Crabs the colour of fire go about their business between them.

A marine iguana at close range, its blunt head crusted pale with salt, resting its chin on the tail of another; both are the grey-black of the rock — Marine iguanas, the Galápagos

A blue-footed booby on the lava shore

Three red and orange crabs with pale blue undersides on dark volcanic rock, the sea out of focus behind — Sally Lightfoot crabs on the lava

And the rule Two metres. It is a rule for you. The park asks you to keep that far from every animal. Nobody has told the animals. Come closer

A sea turtle swimming towards the camera in deep blue water, front flippers spread wide, a dark wall of reef to the left — A turtle beside the reef, the Galápagos

In the water

Then you go over the side, and it happens again.

Mask, fins, green water. A turtle comes up beside you and keeps your pace for a while. A sea lion comes a good deal closer than two metres, turns over, and comes back for another look.

Seen from just under the surface: a sea lion gliding past in green water, trailing bubbles, the underside of the waves bright above it — A sea lion under the surface, the Galápagos

If this is the one, tell us when

A sea lion under water, turning towards the camera at close range, sunlight rippling over the rocks below

Under the surface Now you are the one being looked at. It turns towards you, and does not move aside. Go in, and see who comes Under water, the Galápagos

The next island

Each island is its own world.

They lie hours apart by sea, and no two agree. One is black lava with nothing growing on it. The next is green and in cloud, and giant tortoises cross the track ahead of you in no hurry at all.

A wide volcanic crater floored with black lava under low grey cloud, its near rim green with ferns — Cloud over a caldera, the Galápagos

A walker seen from behind on a stone path between a wooden rail and wet scrub, green hills ahead going up into mist — The path to El Junco lagoon, San Cristóbal

That is the shape of it: about eight days, a new island most mornings, ashore and in the water every day. The order of the islands is drawn with you, and with the season.

Plan your journey Choose your season

The yacht

You live aboard, and wake somewhere new.

A small yacht, sixteen guests or fewer, chosen with you or taken for your party alone. She makes her passages between islands while you eat or sleep, and most mornings you come on deck to an anchorage you have not seen before.

Sixteen is the most that one naturalist guide may take ashore, and nobody lands here without one.

A brown pelican standing on a rail above a grey-green sea, both wings held half open to dry, its head turned to one side — A brown pelican drying its wings, the Galápagos

Looked after, by people who know the animals' hours.

Your guide is a naturalist licensed by the national park. They know which cove the turtles keep to and what the tide is doing at the landing, and when to say nothing at all. The crew have the small boat waiting at the stern, and something cold poured for when you come back salt to the eyebrows.

Field notesThe figures, for those who like them.

Daylight there today
The islands: On the equator, near 090°30′W
From the mainland: About 1,000 km
The rule ashore: 2 m from every animal
Ashore with one guide: 16 guests at most
Warm season: December to May
Cool season: June to November

Choose your season Come closer

Still, clear blue water between low shelves and arches of black lava, tall cactus standing along the shore under a wide sky

Your invitation

How close would you come?

December to May for warm, calm water and the islands in leaf. June to November for cooler water, with more life in it.

Plan your journey

Eight short questions, about two minutes. Then a letter in your own words.

Still water among the lava, Isabela