My father was a science writer who talked about biology the way I imagine most dads talk about baseball. As a result, I now know nothing about curveballs or batting averages but can remember every detail of his stories about an island filled with creatures that don't fear humans. To a boy who would sit for hours with a handful of birdseed, hoping some jaded suburban cardinal would alight on my arm, the idea of such a place's existence was especially magical.
Thirty-five years later, I finally got to see this wonderland for real when my 11-year-old son, Danny, and I visited the Galápagos Islands. The 19 volcanic islands, which cover a 20,000-square-mile area in the Pacific off the coast of Ecuador, are home to thousands of especially diverse species. Explaining the trip to Danny, I stressed how lucky we were to be seeing the place where Charles Darwin formed his theory of evolution. But Danny could only process it as animals, lots of animals—like the Bronx Zoo on steroids.
After a 12-hour flight from New York City to Quito, we were whisked into the genteel world of storied outfitter Abercrombie & Kent, starting with a warm welcome from one of its naturalist guides. Danny was thrilled to learn that seven of our 37 fellow travelers were boys, ranging in age from 5 (the minimum) to 11.
The next day, our group flew to Baltra Island and boarded a 26-cabin ship for a weeklong cruise around the archipelago. When I saw our cabin, I felt a pang of guilt: From the brass-trimmed portholes to the crisp linen, the MV Eclipse is the quintessence of luxurious ocean travel and my wife's idea of heaven. (She was staying home with our younger son.) For his part, Danny was more excited by what was happening outside the ship. With Steve Irwin–esque enthusiasm, he started pointing out animals, giving our travel mates—who ranged from CEOs to NYPD—quite a start. Soon, however, even the most reserved were joining in.
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