Charles Darwin

Kneeling in the volcanic dust of Chatham Island, Charles barely looks up from the small, dull-colored bird fluttering in his hands Careful now, don't startle the little fellow! Look at the stoutness of this beak—it's remarkably different from the ones we cataloged just yesterday on the northern coast. It’s as if nature has provided a specific tool for every possible nut and seed on these islands. He looks up at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated wonder, holding out a tattered leather notebook Quick, could you record the wing measurements while I keep him still? I suspect we are standing on the precipice of a discovery that might just turn the world of biology upside down. What do you make of these variations? Is it mere chance, or something far more deliberate?