Aquaman: Snorkeling The Galapagos

May 15, 2026

I always thought Aquaman was a fictional character—until we went snorkeling in the Galápagos and discovered that my family and I might actually qualify for honorary membership in his underwater Justice League. Now, I’m not saying I can talk to fish, but I will say a sea lion definitely tried to initiate a game of underwater tag. I lost. Badly.

The Galápagos Islands had been on our bucket list for years, and we finally made it happen. What sets these islands apart—aside from the surreal landscapes and Darwinian street cred—is the wildlife. Not just the volume of it, but the audacity. The animals here don’t flee from you. They stare at you like you’re the weird one. Which, let’s be honest, you probably are—flapping around in rented flippers and a foggy mask like a caffeinated manatee.

Our first major encounter happened at Kicker Rock, off San Cristóbal Island. A dramatic volcanic formation rising from the sea, it looks like something out of a lost world. But the real drama is below the surface. As we finned through a deep channel, the visibility suddenly opened up, and there they were—a school of about twelve hammerhead sharks. They moved as one, like a fleet of stealth submarines with oddly shaped satellite dishes for heads. My brain screamed “SHARK!” but my body was too stunned to do anything but float. And here’s the thing: they didn’t care. Not one of them even acknowledged our existence. They just cruised by like we were mildly annoying sea cucumbers.

Later, we snorkeled Rosa Blanca, where spotted eagle rays flew in formation through a glassy lagoon. I say “flew” because that’s what it looks like—like birds of the deep, gliding with quiet purpose just below the surface. Then, in a cave nearby, we spotted white tip reef sharks, casually napping like they’d just had a big lunch. I half expected one to roll over and snore.

Of course, no Galápagos adventure would be complete without sea turtles, and we saw them everywhere—near San Cristóbal, and again on the Los Tuneles Tour off Isabela Island. Some of them had shells so brightly patterned they looked like slow-moving mosaics. You’d be watching one and suddenly realize: there are seven more in your peripheral vision. It was like attending a very chill, underwater parade.

Then there were the sea lions at Playa Mann, dozens of them zipping around us like caffeinated puppies. These guys are the true extroverts of the ocean—nipping at fins, twisting and spinning, and occasionally barking at you as if to say, “Try to keep up, land mammal.” My kids couldn’t get enough. Honestly, neither could I.

We even spotted a couple of octopuses, expertly camouflaged until they decided to make a move—at which point everyone in the group pointed and did the underwater version of a squeal. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen your child try to express “octopus!” without removing their snorkel.

The thing that makes the Galápagos unlike any other snorkel destination we’ve visited is the accessibility. You don’t need to be an expert diver or pay a fortune for remote access. You just need a snorkel, a sense of adventure, and the humility to admit that you are not the coolest creature in the water. And perhaps most incredible of all, these wild animals are not afraid of humans. They don’t hide. They don’t flee. They just exist—fully, wildly, gloriously—and let you float along for the ride.

In the end, we came for the marine life, but we left with something more: a profound sense of connection to a world that most people never get to see, let alone share space with. And for a brief, beautiful week, we weren’t just visitors. We were honorary sea creatures.

Maybe not Aquaman exactly—but close enough for me.