Marine iguanas have a natural camoflague with the basaltic rock of the Galápagos. On the young lava fields of Fernandina the walking is tricky; a misplaced foot can cause the thin layers of basalt to collapse. When they do, the metallic rocks ping against each other like wind chimes. In places it seems boulders flung during eruptions landed in still-warm lava, the molten rock then cooling in mid-splatter. These grotesque forms catch the eye. Some are easily confused for the stoic iguanas — as if the lizards oozed forth spontaneously from the stone. Scientists hypothesize that the ancestors of today’s marine iguanas traveled to the islands on mats of vegetation torn up and set afloat during hurricanes. Some believe that land iguanas from the mainland of South America populated those old Galápagos back when the islands were closer to the continent. The swift violence of ocean storms, along with a nearly unfathomable piece of dumb luck, delivered the iguanas from old islands to younger ones. The two cycles — one geological, the other ecological — worked in concert and yet were oblivious to one another. One cycle worked in an easily tangible time; a storm carried debris that happened to contain an iguana or two. The other cycle worked in a different time — geologic time — which existed on a scale well beyond storms. But not, it seems, beyond iguanas. The marine iguana’s habitat ends several steps away from the wave’s splash zone. Its lava-dwelling cousin, the other species of iguana on the islands, lives out on the more arid broken flows. These two species, separated by a short stroll and roughly 15 million years of evolution, occupy well defined niches. Iguanas share the lava rock coasts with other sun-seeking animals. The marine iguanas graze just off the shore during the lower tides. After storing the sun’s heat, they walk directly into the cold surf. With their breath held, they munch on the fields of short algae growing on the lava rocks of the inter-tidal zone. The dense colonies of iguanas, with their stubby faces, clip the algae like a flock of heavily armored underwater sheep. The larger iguanas, which store more heat, can eat in such a manner for up to 40 minutes at a stretch. If they become too sluggish from the cold, they will not be able to flee from predatory sharks. Before that happens, or before they simply run out of breath, they crawl back out of the sea and warm themselves on the shore. They sneeze salty gunk from their noses, waiting while the sun once again raises their bodies’ temperatures. These strange creatures can grow up to 4 feet long. Their size seems to depend on the temperature of the water, which varies from island to island depending on the current. On the northern island of Genovesa, where the water tends to be warmer, the iguanas are more petite. On the southern edge of Fernandina, where a cooler current flows, they are quite a bit larger. The sizable iguana’s thick tail makes them strong swimmers, and they have been seen swimming as far as half a mile off shore. The animal’s vigor is apparent, but its strength lies beyond the day to day physical; its true strength as a species lies in its adaptability. With the onset of El Niño, a periodic shift in ocean currents, scientists have observed the iguana’s uncanny ability to adapt to environmental change. In the Galápagos, El Niño means a rise in water temperatures. The warmer water, not as nutrient rich as the colder water, can’t produce a strong crop of red or green algae, the favorite meals of the iguana. The iguana, skeleton and all, will shrink as much as 20 percent if foraging conditions are poor. The ability to change size allows it to become smaller and more efficient if necessary, depending on the availability of algae. The reptile’s adaptability has allowed it to survive the fluctuations of the Earth’s oceans for millennia. Here in the Galápagos Archipelago, an unbroken chain of iguana evolution transcends the creation and destruction of the islands. Storms bring the ancient creatures to each new island that forms, while others fall into the sea with the old islands. Geologists believe a new island may be forming off the western coast of Fernandina. It boils up from beneath the sea, slowly, layer by layer, approaching the surface. There is little reason to doubt that marine iguanas will eventually sun themselves on its shores. They will arrive at their new home the same way they arrived at the early Galápagos: Storm and sea will carry them, and out of the brine will climb an animal older than the island itself. Chris Bryant, a Professional Master's student at the University of Oregon School of Journalism and Communication, promises that no marine iguanas were harmed in writing this story.