The First Santa Rosa Breach

If you've read recent posts, you may remember my unpleasant ride out of the park Wednesday night as the waters rose during the three hours I was checking nests and releasing emerging hatchlings.

I only had a chance to look at one of the breaches as I was focused on getting nests screened and assessed last night. I didn't want to be late meeting VIPs at Park East for a hatchling release.



This was the first breach I crossed, and mild in comparison to the ones further west.

Imagine this ditch, at 3am, full of water passing from the Gulf to the Bay, while you're driving down the road and beach on an ATV. Rogue waves crash on the asphalt, rushing across the island, as you're trying to find a safe path out, and there's no route, east or west, tide will rise for four more hours, and calling someone for help means putting them in danger too. Even last night, when walking over to take this photo, 100 pound little me was sinking ankle deep in the soft sand -- surely my ATV would have been mired as well.



I'd be mad at myself for being out there at all if I could have predicted how fast the water would rise, but I didn't expect this. I don't think any of us did, or we would have suspended nest sitting for the night!

I lead a very charmed life.

A Perdido Key Morning

The day started very early here... I had to be back in Gulf Breeze for the ridleys, so I started to Perdido in the wee hours. I had a turtle patrol to do, and two nests to assess.



I rode my ATV down to the east end of Perdido before dawn, checking for turtle tracks and hatchling tracks and signs of erosion. The surf was calm, but this chair was a little funny. I wonder what the story was there...



The first nest I assessed, PK6131 (a June 13th nest), had a fantastic hatch. I haven't crunched the numbers yet, but it will be in the high 90s. This one last hatchling was waiting at the very bottom of the 20 inch egg chamber. Now s/he's swimming happily in the Gulf of Mexico.



PK6071 didn't have any more hatchlings, but it looks like there was one very recently! Check out that lovely crawl. The hatchling crawled to the gulf on his own... Usually, we like to shepherd them, especially on a relocated nest as they are often over a hundred feet from the Gulf. That's a lot of sand to get lost on when your head is only a few centimeters off the ground!

It was a gorgeous start to a great day!

Loggerhead and Kemp's Hatchlings!!!

I'm so tired that I barely have words, but I had to post these... I haven't edited them at all yet, so they're a little rough. I'll work on them after I've had a little sleep.



A few of these little loggerheads (Caretta caretta) were waiting for me when I arrived at Perdido Key late yesterday evening.



Unfortunately, the tracks make it look as if some might have crawled the wrong way before I arrived. I tried to follow the tracks a bit, but had to screen all three nests (two Kemp's and a loggerhead) before the light completely faded.



I'm glad I did -- 34 little loggerhead later emerged, and I did find two loggerheads and two Kemp's (Lepidochelys kempi) wandering in the dunes as I was first placing the restraining screens over the three nests expected to hatch last night.



You can see by the light in the Kemp's photo that it was getting a little late to take pictures without a flash, but it's a necessity with any sea turtles -- no flash photography allowed, even for a turtle girl.



It's so rewarding to see them hit the water! It makes all the long hours, mosquitoes and hot weather worth it!



Just look at him/her reach for the sea!



And that tiny crawl... How cute is that? As adults, that crawl may be over three feet wide. Now, it's about an inch... OK, I admit it, I'm a turtle geek, but you already knew that, didn't you?

36 Nests....

Cathy Holmes called early this morning with her third nest this season... That makes 36 -- three times last years total, and we're still counting.



This short and lovely loggerhead crawl pointed us towards the eggs.



The eggs were a little close to the surf, but we were advised to leave them in place as we've moved a lot of nests this season. It's a hard choice to make, but we have to maintain a balance. Sea turtles, and their eggs, play important roles in the ecosystem that we don't completely understand yet.



As long as the tropical weather stays away, the little loggerheads should appear in about two months. Can't wait to see the little guys!

Sails, Skimmers and Sea Turtles

The day started bright and sunny, another day in paradise...



The Skimmers on Pensacola Beach were protecting their nests from me:



and from the gulls:



and carried food for their new chicks:



A dribble castle graced the Gulf shore:



We even had a new loggerhead (Caretta caretta) nest at Perdido.



My friend Larry, from NPS Law Enforcement, helped me move the eggs away from the rising surf.



Larry caught me on film too:



I checked on the other five (yes, 5) nests at Perdido. All looked good, especially the one Monica and I moved Thursday. Here's where our mama turtle laid the eggs:



And where we moved it. Isn't it gorgeous?



The point is notorious for eroding and accreting. Sand is often shared in a barrier island system with offshore sandbars and adjacent islands. The deep Pensacola Pass prevents some of the sharing, so the point isn't always as robust as it could be, but the eggs are safe for the next two months right where they are...

With so much good happening today, I hesitate to say anything negative, but the trash and cigarette butts and dog tracks on one of the nests, almost everyday, disturbs me.



When you see one of these signs, please remember, it's an endangered species.



We are so privileged to have them on our beaches in Florida, and to see them gracing our seas. If we all work together, we can keep the developing nests safe, and help these magnificent animals survive the dangers that face them in the modern world.



I think these little guys are worth saving, don't you?

Lighting Survey

Turtle friendly lights are hard to find, other than the sun and moon. Sea turtle mothers will often not emerge or lay eggs on a brightly lit beach. Sea turtle nests often hatch a few hours after sunset, though some will hatch at any time of day. Scientists theorize that hatchlings head for the brightest horizon, which should be the sea, reflecting moonlight and starshine through the darkest hours. Both the darkness and the sheer number of hatchlings making a dash for the sea helps protect them from predators. Right now, it's part of my job to protect them by working with local property owners to limit their lights, and carry out other sea turtle friendly practices on their beach front residences.



As 2007 was the worst year ever in the park, we are renewing and strengthening efforts to educate the public and encourage them to make some positive changes before nesting season begins again in a few months.



After spending the day at Fort Pickens learning about the plan to remove dead pines from the campground areas and counting shore birds, Monica, Andrew and I decided it was time to do another beachfront lighting survey. Lots of new construction has been completed since last turtle season, and a lot more will be done before May, so this is only preliminary.



We met at 6pm at SRIA to pick up their 4 person mule. Driving on the Pensacola Beach is never easy, and was worse than ever last night with so many tire ruts from construction vehicles and beach cleaning equipment. I think they haven't yet read the memo about vehicle use on beaches increasing erosion -- it will lead to yet another renourishment project soon, but that's another story.



I was surprised that the police didn't stop us. Traffic on the beach, especially at night, is very rare, and we drove right past the Pensacola sub-station twice. The mule is pretty quiet in the wind though and you would have had to look out at just the right time to see us. We did have permission as we're the biologist who assist the SRIA with their beach.



The lights seem to be the same problem areas from last year -- the Hilton, Portofino (but they're working with us to change :)), Tristan Towers, Days Inn etc. Tristan Towers was so bad in July and August that we had to move a nest almost a mile and a half away just to decrease disorientation issues. The new parking lot at the Dunes/Holiday Inn Express looks great. All post-hurricane rebuilds in excess of 50% are required to have turtle friendly lights, but some of the approved lights are not turtle friendly, which is odd, and puts us in an awkward position. How can we comment negatively on lights that passed through the alphabet soup of agencies, but are still bad?



I worry that people on the beach are weary of hearing about things they need to change on their houses to better help the environment. I know, given a chance, most people love to help sea turtles, at least if they've seen a nest hatch. It's harder and harder to facilitate that as our nest numbers decrease and hatchling releases decrease along with them. Who wouldn't want to help this little guy find his way home?



We have grants to help defray the cost of changing lights and fixtures, but we can't assuage the stress resulting from people hearing, yet again, that something has to change. I hope the cute turtles will win them all over -- that's my task for the next three to four months as we wait for the birds and the turtles to start nesting again. At least it's lots of indoor work!

Little Loggerheads on Pensacola Beach

At work last night, I was fortunate to witness a sea turtle nest hatch. This year, we've had the least number of sea turtle nests ever, so the experience has become even more rare. It may be buggy, sometimes wet, often muggy and at times, even a bit chilly, but seeing the little turtles exploding with energy and life makes you forget all of that as you're lost in the magic of the moment. I wish I could share the event with more people -- everyone falls in love with sea turtles when they see them! Then, like me, they see the value in protecting the sea, the beach, the rivers and streams. Sea turtles are charismatic megafauna that can teach us to first love, then protect, and in time, understand, the ever-changing world around us.

I sit alone on the beach, bowing my head towards the ground, as the cool damp breeze blows through me. I try to focus, listening to the night sounds. Sea oats rub against each other as their slender young blades carve wind-driven circles in the sand. The relentless crash, splash, swoosh of waves washing ashore soothes my jangled nerves. Rain drops splatter on my face, keeping me from sleeping as I strain to hear the one noise I am searching for - the shushing, scratching sound of tiny flippers deep in the sand.

The sound rises like the rush of an underground stream, thirty seconds worth of frenzied activity as dozens of hatchling sea turtles try to swim their way out of the nest. Tired, the hatchlings pause as a group, and the busy silence of night continues. A gull cries overhead, searching for his next meal. The incessant buzz of mozzies drives me to distraction. I feel a twinge of guilt each time I swat one that's landed on my exposed arms and legs. A distinct scuttle of feet betrays the presence of a ghost crab, stealing his way towards the intermittent noise of the nest in an attempt to capture a hatchling for himself. This, at least, I can prevent - the ghost crab will not snack on sea turtle tonight.

After chasing the crab, I return to listen to the nest, staring up at the cloudy sky, wishing the rain away. A sliver of moon peaks out from a break in the clouds, bathing the beach in a blue white glow. This is the light the hatchlings will seek when they finally emerge, though it may not happen tonight. It can take several days to escape their sandy nursery as they swim towards the air, the beach and the sea. That's the only thing they know - swimming - there is no parent to teach them otherwise. They will swim in their dry sea, pushing grains of sand out of the way, allowing them to settle beneath them. As they struggle underground, the displaced sand slowly raises the floor of their nest until the first hatchling's head nears the surface.

Just before 2 AM, a small hollow forms, as if a child has reached in and grabbed a handful of sand. At first, I'm not sure it's really the nest caving in - it could be the rain creating a pit in the porous ground, or my eyes, poorly adjusted to the dark night, playing tricks on me. I walk away for a minute, clear my head, and walk back. Small, irregular, dark patches appear within the hollow - I know that's a hatchling! The scout, the first to raise his head to the night air, stops for several minutes. Is he listening for predators? Smelling the salty tang of the sea? Checking for sunlight? It's hard to know. Whether he's resting or searching, he soon resumes his effort to free himself from the sandy playpen and wriggles onto the beach. His brothers and sisters boil out of the nest after him, shaking the damp sand off their backs in a flurry of flippers as they rush towards... whoops, not the sea, but the hotels on the beach.



This is why I'm here. Sea turtle hatchlings sometimes crawl towards bright lights on the beach, mistaking them for a more natural horizon. If the moon were not hidden behind a cloud, perhaps they would make a mad dash towards the sea, illuminated with moon and star shine, instead of the Hilton. There's no time to think about that though as I scramble to gather 75 silver dollar sized sea turtles before they escape in a dozen different directions on this dark night.

With a cooler full of babies, I head towards the sea, talking to them all the way. If they were not so disoriented by the lights, I would allow them to crawl the distance themselves, but I have to ensure as many as possible make it safely to the sea. I tell them this, and I tell them what to watch out for. Swim away from sharks and big fish, like tuna and marlin. Take a quick breath and dive deep when you hear a sea gull. Watch out for boats and men - they don't mean to hurt you, but sometimes, the propellers on their boats will cut you, and their fish hooks will snag you. I tell them to swim fast and far, out to the currents that will carry them to the Gulf Stream. They can hang out on the edges, finding good feeding and good cover in rafts of sargassum. There, they can grow larger than most of their predators. They can learn to swim well. In a few years, they can come back to feeding grounds close to shore; in twenty or thirty years, the females among them can come back to nest. There's a lot to try to teach a sea turtle hatchling. I know they don't understand I thing I say, but I feel compelled to say it anyway.

When I reach the water's edge, it's time to say goodbye. I lift hatchlings from the cooler, checking for signs of illness and injury, and feel the powerful pull of leathery flippers against my fingers. Like little wind-up toys, the turtles keep swimming frantically, even in the palm of my hand. The obvious strength in their tiny limbs will propel the hatchlings through the waves, into the reaches of the deep blue sea beyond. Their survival instinct seems immense.

As I place each one on the sand, gently redirecting the confused ones to face the sea, I say a blessing over them. Centuries ago, Columbus wrote in his journals that it appeared as if you could walk across this sea on the backs of sea turtles. Now there are so few that they are in danger of extinction. I wonder what the sea looked like then. I wonder how the turtles have survived so much change. I wish I knew how to help these 75 survive. In my mind, I know it is unlikely that any of them will, but I choose to close my heart to this; I choose to ignore the thought of hungry sharks swimming along the beach, and sea gulls skimming the water. I choose hope, as I watch these babies like a nervous mother, wishing only the best for these small creatures as I send them towards their watery destiny.