A wren sings merrily from a roof ridge, as if celebrating his spectacular view. We're pleased to see (and hear!) wrens at this spot, because they almost don't belong. Wrens are a New World group, most diverse in the tropics of Central America. We enjoy puzzling over their variety in Costa Rica, or marveling at their rich flutey songs. Just one little wren was so bold as to conquer Alaska. We often see it perched jauntily on some understory promontory deep in the rainforest of Southeast Alaska. From the Far North the wren hopped over to Siberia, and thence (skipping a step or two) to Ireland!

On a whim we stopped at the Blasket Islands, a place that, to our knowledge, the ship had never been before. Some say these islands are so remote that even the Irish don't get there. Fortunately we found that not to be completely true. We were helped ashore by a friendly young man, the local ferry captain. Strolling up the grassy roads, passing satisfied-looking sheep, we came to a caf‚. This was not much more than a home kitchen and a couple of outdoor picnic tables, but as the weather was brilliantly sunny and practically hot, there was no place we would rather have been. We ordered up cake, coffee and tea for everyone and talked with the locals. Our view was of scattered islands, each ragged and jagged from arguing with the sea. Below us were houses, abandoned since the 50's. And there sat our wren. Remarkable bird! Westernmost of his kind! For the Blaskets perch on the continental shelf, at the western edge of Europe. One chancy flight and he might complete his species' global circumnavigation!