How I Fell in Love with Sea Lions

I expected the Galápagos to be about wildlife. I didn’t expect to fall in love with sea lions.

My first sighting of a sea lion was at the dock where we boarded our boat, the Samba. It felt almost too casual—like this incredible wildlife experience had started before we had even left the harbor.

Sea lions are everywhere in the Galápagos. They’re completely unbothered by people, as if we’re just another part of the landscape. You see them draped across benches in town, stretched out along docks, or piled awkwardly onto the sides of Zodiac boats.

On land, they look almost comical—clumsily hauling themselves out of the water and flopping into place to bask in the sun. It’s hard to imagine, watching them like this, that they become something entirely different the moment they slip back into the ocean.

Mosquera: My First Real Encounter

My first true experience with sea lions came on the small island of Mosquera.

Unlike the towns, Mosquera feels raw and untouched—a narrow stretch of sand and rock surrounded by open ocean. And everywhere you look, there are sea lions.

They aren’t just scattered around. They’re everywhere—resting, barking, shifting positions in the sand, completely at ease in their environment. Some barely acknowledge your presence. Others lift their heads just enough to watch you pass, curious but relaxed.

Walking among them feels surreal. There’s no barrier, no sense of separation. You’re simply sharing space with them, moving carefully, quietly, trying not to disturb the rhythm of their world.

Up close, you start to notice the details—the texture of their fur, the way they stretch and yawn, the occasional burst of energy as one suddenly lumbers toward the water. They still look awkward on land, almost lazy, but there’s an underlying sense that you’re only seeing part of who they are.

Espinosa Point: When “Amazing” Isn’t Enough

If Mosquera was my introduction to sea lions, Espinosa Point was where everything escalated.

The moment I slipped into the water, I was surrounded by life. Within seconds, I counted five green sea turtles gliding effortlessly below me. Calm, unbothered, completely at home. I remember thinking, this alone would make the snorkel unforgettable.

Look at this tail!

So old he's got barnacles!

And then the sea lion pups showed up.

They didn’t just swim by—they came to play.

They twisted through the water like acrobats, darting straight at me before veering off at the last second. Sometimes they’d flip upside down, spinning and circling back as if to say, watch this. Every time one rushed in close, I couldn’t help it—I’d squeal like a kid, completely caught up in the moment.

It didn’t feel like observing anymore. It felt like being chosen.

Chaos in the Best Possible Way

Just when it seemed like it couldn’t get any better, I started noticing the marine iguanas.

They were everywhere.

Dozens of them moving through the water, clinging to rocks, feeding below the surface. It was such a strange, almost prehistoric scene—these creatures that look so out of place on land suddenly becoming graceful underwater.

And then it turned playful again.

The sea lion pups began interacting with them—nipping at their tails like they were toys, darting around them with that same mischievous energy. The iguanas mostly ignored it, completely focused on their own rhythm, while the pups treated the whole thing like a game.

It was wild. Surreal. A little chaotic. Completely unforgettable.

“That Was the Best Snorkel Ever…”

When we climbed back into the boat, everyone had the same look on their face—the kind that says did that really just happen?

We all agreed: that had to be the most incredible snorkel of the trip.

There was no way anything could top it.

At least… that’s what we thought.

The next day proved us wrong.

The Morning That Started Quiet

The next day didn’t begin with chaos or adrenaline. It began slowly.

We set out early in the morning, kayaking along the southeastern edge of Isla Fernandina. I won’t say exactly where—some places feel too special to name, like they deserve to stay just a little bit hidden.

For about an hour, we paddled along the shoreline. The water was calm, the light soft, and everything felt still in that way only early mornings can offer.

The volcanic coastline stretched beside us—dark, jagged lava meeting the sea. Every so often, we’d spot flightless cormorants perched along the rocks, wings slightly outstretched, drying in the morning air. They looked almost prehistoric, perfectly at home in a landscape that felt untouched.

It was quiet. Peaceful. Almost meditative.

Video by Hugh Rose Photography

Into the Mangroves

Eventually, we rounded a bend and entered a completely different world.

The shoreline gave way to dense mangroves—thick, tangled roots rising out of the water, creating a maze of narrow channels and hidden spaces. The light shifted here, filtering through the leaves in soft, dappled patterns.

It felt enclosed. Protected. Like we had slipped into somewhere we weren’t entirely meant to be.

We slowed our paddling, almost instinctively, letting the kayaks drift as we took it all in.

This was the kind of place where you start to feel like something is about to happen.

And it did.

The sea lion pups found us before we ever expected them to.

At first, it was just a couple—curious shapes gliding alongside our kayaks as we drifted through the mangroves. They moved effortlessly, keeping pace with us, popping up now and then as if to check us out.

Then there were more.

Before I knew it, eight of them were swimming with me.

We followed a narrow, brackish stream deeper into the mangroves, the water turning calmer, quieter, more sheltered. And the sea lions followed us. Not just the same ones—more kept joining. It felt like

we were being gently escorted somewhere.

Fifty New Friends

Eventually, we reached a protected lagoon, tucked away inside the mangroves.

That’s where everything changed.

We slipped out of the kayaks, grabbed masks, snorkels, and fins, and eased into the water.

And suddenly—we weren’t alone.

There were sea lion pups everywhere.

Video by Hugh Rose Photography

I’m not exaggerating when I say there were dozens. Fifty might not even be a stretch. They surrounded us, weaving through the water, darting in and out, twisting and turning like underwater acrobats.

It was pure, unfiltered play.

I’d swim for a few seconds and realize—wait, where did they all go? Then I’d spot a cluster of them off to one side and head straight in, and just like that, I was back in the middle of it again.

I would lock eyes with one pup and spin around him while he spun around me--like we were dancing underwater, completely in sync for those few seconds.

They’d rush toward me, spin away, come back again. Curious. Playful. Completely fearless.

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that much in the water.

The Send-Off

Eventually—far too soon—it was time to go.

We climbed back into the pangas, not quite ready to leave, still riding the high of what had just happened. We were saying goodbye to all the sea lions and saying we'd miss them.

But the sea lions weren’t done with us.

As we pulled away from the lagoon, the water behind it came alive. The water was literally roiling with sea lions.

Dozens of sea lions followed us out into open water.

They surged forward in waves, leaping and porpoising through the surface like dolphins, weaving alongside the boat, keeping pace as if they were seeing us off. We were waving at them and telling them we loved them.

It was wild. Joyful. Almost unbelievable.

This video taken by Sylvia Hill shows the send-ff. It is far too short, only five seconds, but you will get a sense of how awesome it was.

Hooked for Good

That was the moment it clicked for me.

I was completely, hopelessly in love with sea lions. f you know me, you know I have a fondness for other animals—donkeys, marmots, pika—that borders on strange. We can officially add a new one to the list.

Maybe it was the way they looked right back at me, or the way they played without hesitation—inviting me into their world as if I belonged there.

For the rest of the trip, I didn’t think twice about getting in the water. If there was a chance—any chance—that a sea lion might show up to play, I was in.

No hesitation.

Because once you’ve experienced that kind of connection… you can't get enough. What's not to love.