I reach for my phone again. He tilts it away from me and beckons with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Go on,” he mouths.

“Fine.” Throwing my arms out, I suck in an exaggerated breath through my nose… and immediately gag. “Oh God.” I cough. “What is that? It smells like a snail snotted on a turd.”

“That is the sublime scent of the marine iguana,” says Juan Luis.

My cheeks flame as I realize that everyone, yep, everyone, in our group just overhead my outburst. All eyes are locked on me. Graeme’s lips are pursed, but his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

Snatching my phone, I clear my throat. “I’m not sure if ‘sublime’ is the word I’d use,” I mumble.

Juan Luis chuckles. “No, you are right. The marine iguanas are quite pungent, yes? Like a mix of saltwater, fish, and manure. But they are also incredibly special. They are the only species of iguana on earth that feeds underwater, and you can only find them here, in the Galápagos. Ahhh, look at this big guy.” He strolls over to the marine iguana that sneezed on me. “He is posing so nicely for us.”

The other hikers gather around to snap pictures.

One of the younger female guests wrinkles her nose. “How is it that one iguana can smell that bad?”

Juan Luis’s deep brown eyes twinkle. “There is not only one. Come. You’ll see.”

He leads us around a bend, and not twenty yards away the path opens up to a wide cove along the shore. There are marine iguanas everywhere. Marine iguanas on rocks. Marine iguanas lying in massive piles, clumped together in the bone-strewn sand. Marine iguanas slinking into the frothy surf next to sea lions lumbering down the beach.

The smell might be overpowering, but the sight is incredible. Like something out of a nature show.

“Just remember, the wildlife may not be afraid of us, but please give them at least six feet of space so you do not disturb them. And especially watch out for tails,” Juan Luis reminds us as guests begin meandering around the beach.

Pfwwwth.

Another marine iguana lets loose a sneeze not ten feet from my foot. I jolt, and nearly drop my phone again. This time, I slip it into my back pocket for safekeeping.

“It’s the salt.” An older passenger standing nearby nods at the marine iguana, her hands clasped on top of her metal walking stick. “They ingest a lot of saltwater when they dive down to feed on algae, and they have special glands to help them sneeze the salt out when they’re back on land. Cool, huh?”

Through the chatter of guests, snapping cameras, barking sea lions, and trilling birds, I catch the sound of periodic sneezes all around the cove.

“Incredible. How did you know that?”