Designer
Yesterday, I took a shot on my iPhone that captured the decisive moment when a {blue-footed booby} took off, prompting a “Damn!” from our famous photographer. That reminded me of when I went for a walk in the park one morning in Japan, I was greeted with the sight of all these retired guys, clearly photography buffs, gathered around a pond with huge telephoto lenses attached to their cameras. They were all aiming to get the perfect kingfisher shot. I couldn't help laughing a little, but I can understand how they feel. Getting that perfect shot of a kingfisher alighting on a branch and looking so alive brought them genuine happiness. After working for decades, they’ve finally retired, realized how beautiful nature is, and can’t get enough of it. I wanted to bring them all to Galapagos to photograph the bird life here. I get the feeling that such things could change the world.
Photographer
I'm fascinated by the attitude of the Galapagos animals to us. They're not in the least fazed even when something as foreign as us approaches. For all we know, they may be taking it all in, but to us, they look totally unfazed. I think it could be because they're on their own territory, and it's us rather than them who should be exercising restraint. But seeing them behave like that is a happy thing indeed. Animals normally get uppity and escape when approached, unless they're accustomed to being fed, in which case it's the opposite, and they get annoyingly close. So when they just act nonchalantly, it really gets you thinking.
Biologist
Yes, they’re astoundingly unafraid of people, aren't they? I too long felt that the natural world sees humans as, if anything, inherently evil, as an enemy, But I changed my mind on seeing penguins in the Antarctic. They have no fear of man. They even come to you, in fact. I thought that Antarctica might be the one exception, and never imagined that Galapagos would be so brimming with belief in the inherent goodness of man. I mean, the {mockingbirds} come right up to you.
Photographer
Yup. I approached to within about 2 m of some {flightless cormorants} the other day. They were so relaxed that it was if they hadn't seen me, as if I were transparent. That's happiness. If they change their behavior when you approach or do something, you feel guilty of disturbing them. If it were at all possible, I'd like to become totally transparent to photograph them.
Photography is a constant struggle in that respect. The moment someone notices there's a camera pointed at them from the left, that they're being watched, the skin on the left side of their faces changes. Whether it's animals or people, it's the same. The minute that something catches your eye and you approach, whatever caught your eye disappears or changes into something different. The only thing that doesn't change is landscape. Usually, you work slowly to try to mitigate the impact, but that's not necessary here. It was pure delight to able to approach the subjects so easily.
Designer
Normally, it's as if the camera’s exerting pressure that causes the subject’s skin to distort. I think that the people of Ecuador and Galapagos are trying to protect the balance here not only because it's a unique and precious ecosystem, but also because they too are amazed by the attitude of the wildlife. The fact that these animals don't fear people is, after all, astounding.
Biologist
Considering they can't fly, flightless cormorants in particular should be really wary of intruders, especially when something is approaching their nests. Normally, you'd expect them to put on a threat display.
Photographer
Yes, the more you think about it, the less sense it makes, the way they do nothing to protect themselves. They have chicks hatching out in their nests, after all. When something strange approaches, I think it would be only too natural to think they're up to no good.
Biologist
Galapagos really does seem to symbolize the inherent goodness theory. In physics, they use this term {observer effect} to describe the way simply observing something can affect its movement or position. It's something that cannot be avoided in physics, so we see it as fate. It means, in effect, that we can never observe things as they really are. But Galapagos appears to confound the observer effect. Our schedule has these blocks of time labeled "shooting” set aside for photography, and that word “shooting” gradually began to grate. Shooting implies capturing rare moments, but here it's the opposite. It feels like you’re sitting in the palm of Buddha's hand and being told, “Give it your best.”
Photographer
Yup. It's as if they're saying, “We’ll show you everything, so make sure you get some good pictures.”
Designer
As if they're serving everything up on a plate. In the past, {giant tortoises} were killed in their tens of thousands for their meat and oil, and they probably put up no resistance as they were carried away. I get the impression that it's maybe remorse over the overwhelming sacrifice made by the tortoises that has built present-day Galapagos. They didn't fight back, and the only way they could get back at man is to make the ultimate sacrifice and become extinct. Galapagos gave birth to the theory of evolution, but it also gives the impression of being a rare place where the balance has remained unchanged. It’s easy to assume that you can take as much as you want, since Nature keeps on producing more. But when you actually do that, it disappears with consummate ease.