Overlooking a pock-marked landscape dominated by grim volcanic scoria—partially covered by a crust of scrubby verdure and rimmed with a thick band of maroon sand—for a moment I felt like a visitor to the strange red planet now prominent in North Carolina’s evening sky. Instead, I stood firmly on Rábida, a tiny island (less than two square kilometers) in the heart of the Galápagos archipelago.
In March 2004, Rábida presented itself as both stark and mesmerizing: rust-dark scoria underfoot, crabs scattered along the shoreline, and an interior that seemed scorched by sun and salt. Hiking inland, Opuntia cacti and sparse palo santo trees offered only modest refuge from the mid-morning heat. Lava lizards, their coarse russet scales echoing the island’s palette, seemed to melt into the ground. A small, slender brown snake—a type of West Indian racer, with pale yellow stripes running the length of its body—slid away, doing its best to avoid our gaze. Slightly intimidated by the island’s desolate, parched feel, we made our way back toward Red Beach.
There, Galápagos sea lions (Zalophus wollebaeki) welcomed visitors in two very different ways. In the water they moved with agile ease, surfacing and diving with a kind of playfulness, punctuated by intermittent, dog-like barks drifting across the beach. On land, some couldn’t have cared less about welcoming—barely lifting their heads as they slept on the warm, brick-red sand.
As my family and I began exploring the iron-dyed beach, my attention fixed on a large male: thick-necked, hulking, with the prominent forehead bump that marks his sex. Male Galápagos sea lions can reach seven feet in length and weigh up to 800 pounds, built to intimidate through sheer bulk. I took a step back and scanned the rest of the shore. Along the roughly 30-meter stretch of beach, smaller sea lions lounged in the sun, and a few mothers rested with pups nearby.
Sea lion pups are magnetic. Like puppies and kittens, their big dark eyes, short whiskered muzzles, and unguarded silliness make them almost impossible to resist. I found myself drawn to one pup, nursing earnestly from her large, dozing mother. I edged closer, aware that I’d been granted a rare privilege—and just as aware that I was intruding on something intimate. I backed away, caught my husband’s eye, and wondered if someday I, too, would experience that easy tenderness between mother and child.
Sense of Place 