“Dear God, they can swim!”

I screamed and almost drowned myself.

Anyone who knows me knows I am not particularly fond of reptiles— Especially the ones without shells. When I lived in SoCal, a lizard once pranced its way into my office. I took off running into my boss’s office, closed the door behind me, made sure it was locked, and made myself a human barricade to save us both from the vicious animal.  My boss looked up from his work, half concerned, half aware that I’m prone to goofiness.  I informed him of the situation. He went to rid my space of the intruder. I may have grown up in the country but crossing paths with snakes and lizards never grew on me.

Fast forward a year from that incident, I was enjoying a day under the San Cristóbal Island seas, and learning first hand that the iguanas I tried to avoid sunbathing on rocks, could swim. Go figure, the Galapagos Marine Iguana is the only sea-going lizard in the world. According to Charles Darwin, swimming may have become an adaptation of land iguanas that apparently drifted out to sea on logs and landed in the islands. For the iguanas, it was either adapt or die. So they evolved into swimmers.

A huge, lava-ash colored lizard with a spiky back and bumpy head glided through the crystal blue waters swishing her tail behind her like a mini crocodile right past my face, unconcerned. Iguanas have no natural predators in the water. I, on the other hand, was concerned. Convinced that this unsightly creature must be a predator to me, I momentarily forgot I was indeed not a mermaid and opened my mouth to squeal, taking in all of the salty ocean into my lungs. I had to come up for air.

Popping my head out of the water, coughing and gasping for air, I regained my composure.  I watched another iguana, camouflaged on a black rock, hop into the sea and paddle nonchalantly with its head barely above the water. I was really ready to end the beach day right there.  Swimming lizards wasn’t something I was prepared to experience. I read up on swimming with giant Galapagos turtles but somehow missed the part of marine iguanas. 

With the exception of a three-person family down the beach, I had the beach, Playa Punta Carola, to myself. That is of course, with the exception of the small family and huge iguanas. With the pristine white sand blazing, I packed my beach tote and left on a hunt to find a lizard-free beach. Perhaps a more populated beach would clear out the wildlife. Through paths lined by tall, lush vegetation I eventually made it to the Charles Darwin statue. The area had charming little coves and gentle waters.  I figured I can snorkel here.

However, I had to get past the crabs that covered the rocks leading to the pool and seemed to do karate kicks into the ocean. Swimming iguanas and jumping crabs, great!  I could just imagine my foot getting clipped by a crab and oozing out blood, making the long, hot walk along the equator back to my hotel miserable.  A cozy corner of the cove against the shady mountainous cliffs provided a bed to sleeping sealions.  San Cristóbal is a quiet island in the first place, but being in the off season left most beaches unoccupied by humans. Perhaps if I was there with a friend I could have been convinced to make the plunge, but I couldn’t convenience myself. I continued my search along the shore. Other beaches were overrun by wet-dog smelling sea lions.  I was finally forced to accept that I was going to be hard-pressed to find a shore without aquatic lizards.

This is what happens on a conservation site. 
In the Galapagos, animals are free to roam and be animals. They’re not confined to a location for the sake of human comfort and development. This is nothing like the beach environments I’ve been used to in South Carolina, Virginia, SoCal, Massachusetts or Florida.  Like the lizards had to evolve or go extinct, I needed to adapt or live a less adventurous vacation.  

I had to recognize, I am the intruder interrupting their beach time.

Iguanas look scarier than they are.  Animals that feed on algae growing on rocks do not eat or attack humans. Just like most people, if you mind your own business, animals are just as nice to you as you are to them.

We’re just going to be two predator-less creatures swimming and enjoying paradise together.