I clear my throat. “Where do you want to stand for a picture? Maybe over there so the sun isn’t behind you?” I motion toward the waterline, and we amble over, careful not to step on any tails. I end up taking several dozen pictures of Sharon, who gleefully poses a few feet away from a couple of marine iguanas and a sleeping sea lion.

About twenty minutes later, we leave the cove to continue our hike.

Sharon and I chat as we walk, and a pair of middle-aged sisters traveling together migrates into our conversation. As it turns out, Sharon is from Pennsylvania, twice divorced, no kids, and she’s been saving up for this trip for years.

Guilt crawls up my spine. Here I am, put out that I was talked into doing the long hike on a free cruise (thanks, work), and here’s Sharon, grateful for every second of this (expensive) once-in-a-lifetime trip. I shouldn’t forget that I’m damn lucky to be here. I still have work to contend with, but I can make adjustments to take advantage of the full Galápagos experience—and be grateful for it.

After a while, the path inclines and turns rocky. Conversations dwindle as we all focus on not twisting an ankle on the uneven terrain. My muscles burn and sweat trickles down my neck as we climb.

It feels… good. How long has it been since I’ve been on a real hike, not cutting through a city park or traversing a concrete sidewalk? Walsh and I grew up spending a lot of time outside. Building backyard forts. Camping with our parents. Hiking down shaded trails until the sun faded and insects sang their nighttime songs.

God, I miss it. I love Seattle, but it’s been way too long since I was out in nature like this. Maybe once I finish my MBA program and land this promotion, I’ll actually take some time off. Maybe head out to Mt. Rainier for some hiking.

Maybe.

We hear the seabird colony before we see it. A cacophony of honking, whistling, and screeching grows louder with every step. Most of the birds dotting the cliffs are black-and-white Nazca boobies, which are, for the record, patently ridiculous. They have beady eyes, long beaks, and clownish expressions. I make a point to snap more pictures of Sharon, who is positively gleeful when Juan Luis spots a pair of Blue-footed booby, the rarer cousin of the plentiful Nazca booby.

We all gather around to watch as a male lifts one bright blue foot, then the other, in a mating dance. He bobs his head, fans his tail feathers, and circles the female, who seems wholly uninterested in his romantic display.

“Like most males, they are willing to do anything, even look very silly, to capture a female’s attention,” says Juan Luis.

Isn’t that the truth. The group chuckles.