The Island in Galapagos that Breathes Fire

Fernandina Island of the Galapagos

Fernandina Island is alive — breathing, crackling, hissing through its lava veins. As does its most famous denizen – the Short-eared owl.

Among the rocks lie skeletons of iguanas, remnants of life’s endless recycling. The circle here isn’t poetic — it’s literal. Everything that dies becomes dinner or dust.

There’s no pretense on Fernandina. Only raw existence — molten, merciless, magnificent.

Lava plains of Fernandina

It’s also home to one of the strangest predators I’ve met: the diurnal owl. Yes, an owl that hunts in daylight because it can.

The Fernandina Island Short-Eared Owl

This is the Galapagos’ own silent assassin in feathered nightwear. If the Blue-Footed Booby is Travolta on a dance floor and the Giant Tortoise is a monk on edibles, this guy is the slick hitman from a noir film. Think Jason Bourne, but with better night vision and less small talk.

Unlike its mainland cousins who prefer moonlit ambushes, this owl hunts in broad daylight. Because, frankly, on Fernandina, if you wait till dark, the lava lizards and marine iguanas have already clocked out. So it struts through the volcanic landscape — eyes blazing yellow, feathers camouflaged like molten rock — and snatches up its prey with the cold precision of a creature that doesn’t need sleep… or remorse.

No trees here to perch on, no cozy branches to brood from — Fernandina’s a raw, rugged land of lava and wind. So the Short-eared owl has adapted beautifully: ground-hugging, heat-resistant, and patient as a tax auditor. It can vanish against the basalt, then explode into motion when an unsuspecting lava lizard wiggles too confidently.

And mating? Let’s just say it’s all about skills. Nothing turns a Fernandina Short-eared owl female on more than a male who can nail an iguana mid-run. Courting rituals are brief — a quick call, a proud presentation of dinner, and it’s game on.

In the grand Galápagos lineup, this owl is the anti-hero — aloof, lethal, and gloriously low-maintenance. The island doesn’t tame it; it wears the island like attitude.

Standing there, I thought of the pirates who once whispered, “Thar be dragons.” They weren’t wrong. The island still roars softly under its crust, and its inhabitants — owls, iguanas, crabs — all play their part in that slow symphony of survival.

It’s not comfortable. But then again, comfort rarely births legends.

This was Part of the Galápagos Creature Chronicles — snippets from the wild classroom that inspired Darwin (and humbled me). Read the full travelogue here… 

Want to head to the Galapagos? Contact Beyonder Travel…