Timothy M. Smith Inspiration through Exploration Award
Wait!” I yelled as I tried to steady my breathing. I could hear the waves crashing behind me against Isla Tortuga, a collapsed volcanic island in the Galápagos where, in just moments, I would find myself alongside its walls thirty meters deep. “Wait,” I repeated. “Help the niña pequeñita” I heard Harry, our dive instructor, call out. The tiny little girl, a nickname given to me only minutes prior, as all the smallest dive gear was passed my way. I put the regulator in my mouth and took three deep breaths as hands reached over to help me tighten my buoyancy control device. Just as soon as those hands were steadying me, they were pushing me as I rolled backwards into the water waiting below. You would have never guessed that only two days before I had embarked on a long chain of flights, buses, boats, and a nearly missed two and a half hour long ferry that left me trekking to my hostel on a quiet dirt street on Isla Isabela.
When the opportunity to apply for the Timothy M. Smith Travel Through Exploration Award presented itself, I was finally able to turn my immense fascination with the marine world into reality. A reality where I could explore the world I had spent the better part of three years learning about, working my way through the islands with unique species that I had only heard documentaries describe. My favorite of these species, the scalloped hammerhead shark, is known to form some of the largest congregations where, in just moments, I would be submerged. I remain incredibly grateful to the family of Timothy M. Smith, and the University of Tampa Honors Program, for allowing me to pursue this. At the University of Tampa I fly drones and work on a machine-learning model that identifies shark species from aerial imagery in Tampa Bay’s waterways. However, despite all of the time I dedicate to sharks, I had little experience with them off of a screen. Through a screen, it’s easy to reduce these animals to just an image or data point we are disconnected from. I felt compelled to prove, mainly to myself, that this was a far cry from the truth; that we are connected to these organisms and the research does matter. I had to find what was missing, and to do so, I knew I had to get in the water.
The water off of Isla Tortuga was colder than I had imagined as we began to descend. I struggled with the strong current that swallowed me as soon as I was off the boat. I was not only the smallest in our dive group, but also the youngest, most inexperienced, and the only American. I struggled when the realization came that my dive weight would be measured in kg, not lbs, and my pressure gauge would read atm, not psi. My nerves were high and I could feel adrenaline pumping through my arteries as I watched my fins glide through the blue nothingness below me. In just moments I saw my first shark of the trip. A moment more and my dive buddy signaled that there was a hammerhead approaching from ahead. One turned into two, which turned into nearly twenty.
That evening I sat watching the sunset from a local bar as I tried to put my experience to pen and paper. Ironically, the band that was playing began singing about blacktip reef sharks, and my struggle with literary inspiration turned comical. It then dawned on me that this story is not about sharks at all. Well, it is a little, but give me the chance to explain myself. I am no expert, and though local knowledge transcends anything I could tell you about Galápagos shark species, I will do my best. I spent the better half of the boat ride to our dive site hearing Harry, my dive master, speak about the reef community. Sharks, among other animals, are not only an integral part of the Galápagos ecosystems, but part of the identity, culture, and pride of Ecuadorians from the Galápagos. Most Galápagos naturalists are born and raised on the islands and, as such, have a deeper understanding of the wildlife there. One snorkel guide I spoke to had even formed relationships with the sea lions that we swam with. Moreover, I was told that as many of the species in the Galápagos are endemic, so too are the people.
The next evening I bought a handmade necklace carved and shaped from a Tagua nut from a local family who had set up a shop on a side street near my hostel. My Spanish classespaid off as we exchanged pleasantries that turned into life stories. The woman who made the necklace grew up on the islands and explained to me that the nut she used is native to Ecuador. Subsequently, the jewelry made from it is ecoamigable: eco-friendly. This is just one example of how deep-rooted the respect for the environment is in the local community. Her pride was obvious as we spoke about the beauty of her home and she even took the time to offer me directions to a local snorkeling spot where, later in my trip, I swam with marine iguanas.
My travels were filled with days of listening to guides whose lives were tied to the very existence of the species I photographed. Locals invited me into conversations – offering to share their homes for a meal, to see paintings they made from coffee grounds, or show me photos on their phones of the sharks I had come to swim with. The physical Galápagos islands and the people born and raised there are one, tied together through heritage and land. It could not have been more obvious to me that I was told right – the people are endemic. Over the course of the 12 days I spent exploring the Galápagos, I came to anticipate the friendly greetings when I stopped in the local tiendas to buy snacks, and the slow evenings where neighbors chatted while their children played soccer. Though initially embarrassed, I came to appreciate how Harry held my hand and pulled me along when the current was toostrong for me to swim through. I appreciated the way a boat captain let me sit with him on the top deck so that I could photograph the remote islands we passed in the middle of the Pacific. I listened and learned from volunteers at the Darwin Research Center and Galápagos Conservancy. I turned my focus once again to gathering information on sharks and drone management techniques and wandered to remote islands to document diverse spaces.
With every conversation I learned to open myself to strangers, and in doing so, gained laughter, perspective, and understanding. I humbled myself in the presence of species that have been on this Earth evolving for far longer than I can fathom and came to appreciate the sovereignty of the marine world that is acknowledged and respected on the islands.
Leaving the Galápagos Islands, I knew that I wanted my work with the environment, andparticularly with sharks, to continue. I began my trip as the niña pequeñita, having gone to the Galápagos with the notion that getting in the water would help me interpret sharks better. One of the most important lessons I left with was learning that organisms and ecosystems cannot be understood without understanding the people who live alongside them. Learning from them is the greatest gift I received.
