It's a windy night on the beach, and the waves are starting to pick up, with a strong pull to the west. The Park has put us on Hurricane status III, which doesn't mean much; there isn't even a storm yet, though there may be over the next few days. If so, it's likely to be tropical storm at worst. We will, however, have high tides and flooding by tomorrow. So, it has been a long and fun day getting ready.... The best part was helping more hatchlings get to sea.
We have two nests that are hatching tonight. Normally, we let them hatch at their own rate with no interference, but in some circumstances, we may have to move a nest just before hatching to prevent hatchlings from flooding in a storm event. One of these nests hatched on Monday, so it was time to check for stragglers anyway. The other was due to emerge tonight or tomorrow, when the weather is supposed to be bad, and it may be impossible to reach the nest as the sea tends to breach the island. We spent the evening checking these nests and others to make sure we gave these endangered creatures every possible survival advantage.
Turtle hatchlings are tiny beings -- at times tonight, I had 8 or 9 in my hand, as I reached into the nest, boiling with wee loggerheads, as they struggled to reach the beach and the sea. We took these turtles a little closer to the water to let them go, to give them a head start before the tides and waves grew too strong for their miniature flippers. Eighty-four little loggerheads and 20 big (in comparison) greens reached the relative safety of the Gulf of Mexico tonight.
As they headed to the sea, the turtles first found a light on the horizon. Some chose the quarter moon, until it slipped behind the growing cloudbank. Some oriented towards Portofino, a four-towered condo to the west, and some headed east towards the urban glow from Navarre. Town lights reflected off the low-hanging clouds, bouncing light back to the ground, creating an eerie grey ambience in the evening mist. Time after time, I picked up a wayward turtle and turned it towards the south and the Gulf of Mexico. When there are 84 turtles on the beach, that can be a constant job.
We have two nests that are hatching tonight. Normally, we let them hatch at their own rate with no interference, but in some circumstances, we may have to move a nest just before hatching to prevent hatchlings from flooding in a storm event. One of these nests hatched on Monday, so it was time to check for stragglers anyway. The other was due to emerge tonight or tomorrow, when the weather is supposed to be bad, and it may be impossible to reach the nest as the sea tends to breach the island. We spent the evening checking these nests and others to make sure we gave these endangered creatures every possible survival advantage.
Turtle hatchlings are tiny beings -- at times tonight, I had 8 or 9 in my hand, as I reached into the nest, boiling with wee loggerheads, as they struggled to reach the beach and the sea. We took these turtles a little closer to the water to let them go, to give them a head start before the tides and waves grew too strong for their miniature flippers. Eighty-four little loggerheads and 20 big (in comparison) greens reached the relative safety of the Gulf of Mexico tonight.
As they headed to the sea, the turtles first found a light on the horizon. Some chose the quarter moon, until it slipped behind the growing cloudbank. Some oriented towards Portofino, a four-towered condo to the west, and some headed east towards the urban glow from Navarre. Town lights reflected off the low-hanging clouds, bouncing light back to the ground, creating an eerie grey ambience in the evening mist. Time after time, I picked up a wayward turtle and turned it towards the south and the Gulf of Mexico. When there are 84 turtles on the beach, that can be a constant job.
For nearly an hour, I watch as turtles crawl over the berm created by the rising tide, flip on their backs and flail, waving one flipper in the air as if asking for help, until they right themselves and crawl seaward once again. Some capricious animals try to crawl back UP the beach, perhaps to the safety of the known world in the nest they've left behind. In the crowd, turtles bump into each other, crawl over the heads and flippers of their siblings and disorient in new directions. It's like watching the Three Stooges as these animals strive to understand this new world above the earth, hearing the crashing waves, smelling the fresh breeze, and learning to crawl.
As soon as they have these lessons down pat, they are rudely awakened by their next, imperative lesson -- they must learn to swim. As the first wave washes over them, nudging them a foot or two back up the beach, it threatens to drag them into a new, watery world. Startled, the turtles seem to shake off their salt-water baptism and search for the horizon once again. A few recalcitrant animals seem even more determined to crawl back to the known elements on land, as if they fear the sea. With gentle prodding and redirection, they eventually learn to swim into an oncoming wavelet at the sea's edge.
What a difficult start to life! I think that's part of why these animals fascinate me so much -- they are so determined to survive, though they face nearly impossible hurdles in their first few days of life. After finally reaching the sea, they must swim for miles, evading predators, until they reach the deep sea currents where they can eat, find shelter in floating rafts of sargassum and random debris, and grow for years until they return to near-shore habitat as juveniles.
I crawled along on my knees for almost an hour, paranoid about the possibility of crushing a turtle under my boots if I walked along the shore. By the time the last turtle reaches the sea, my pants are soaked, there's sand in my ears and bellybutton (don't even ask), and my hair is a tangled mess that I consider cutting when I think of the time it will take to tame it. But, it's all in a days work as a turtle girl.
No comments:
Post a Comment