The old wooden wheels rolled up and the down the pier each morning. Their unmistakable squeak marked every sunrise along with the clumsy shuffling and subsequent splashing of the blue-footed boobies. Behind walked Raleigh Darwin: the unrecognized and socially outcast accidental cross-pollination of the famous doctor. Born in Baltra, Eden of the Barrington Land Iguanas, local whispers trailed behind his slinky, spiked spine.

As he walked, he rummaged through the contents of his wagon: rubber bands, a jug of turpentine, sunflower seeds, mason jars, and baby finches pecking through assorted fish heads. His forked tongue clicked percussion behind their youthful songs. Sunlight shimmered off his iridescent emerald skin — smooth as mesh and tough as leather. He dove intermittently into the shallow bay, hunting for small fish and crustaceans.

The rancid brine finch wagon scent wafted directionally with the waves — through the cacti forest in the morning and well into the bay by mid-afternoon. This loathesome aroma kept the rice rats burrowed and mocking birds nested — no mating, no tourists. The lonely bark of the sea lion signaled the end of each day.

Together, the diverse animal population of the Galapagos ambled hand-in-hand toward extinction. Their unique and fragile ecosystem was a danger to all but the resourceful finch, which grew to thrive in the protective cloud of their own stench. Raleigh lived on to inherit a kingdom of passerine birds. They perched all over his shiny scales, shielding him from the sun’s unmerciful rays and feasting always from his battered wagon. Their sweet songs woke him at dawn and serenaded him to sleep at dusk.

The melodies lured eventual countless ships into the bay. Intoxicated with desire, sailors dropped anchor and began to till the land. But, the soil was barren and year after year, new colonists perished. Along creaked Raleigh and his burgeoning birds — untouched and unabated in an incubator ignored by time. Finch Island was born.