Touché Turtles

Patrick – aka ‘Shademan’ – crackled over the VHF. “We’re going to see the turtles on Thursday,” he said, “I have seven passengers, so if you’re interested, now’s the time to sign up!” Carol and I looked at each other and thought about it for a bit.

You see, we’d been up to the northeast corner of Grenada 10 days ago, with a rental car. We found turtle beach. It’s one of the few sites in the world where leatherback turtles reliably nest. Of course we arrived mid-afternoon when all there was to see was some bracken and a couple of guys drinking beer. Not to mention, we were at least a week or two early. Turtles wait until April before they start coming ashore and laying their eggs. For sighting turtles, we drew a big fat zero that day.

That made Shademan’s commercial for an evening’s drive and turtle watching all the more attractive. We really wanted to see the turtles and I really didn’t want to drive the mountain roads late at night. We’re not naïve. Not really. Not when it comes to observing nature at the hands of tour guides. Crossing Stellwagen Bank last summer and grooving alongside Right Whales in our own boat was awesome. Especially (smugly) observing the crowded, noisy, smelly whale watching tour boats out of Provincetown. We knew there was no guarantee we’d see a turtle, but we figured the odds were in our favor. After all (did I mention this already?) Grenada is one of the few places in the world where turtles, especially leatherbacks, nest consistently.

Decision made, Emma, Carol, and I dressed variously for the adventure. Exposed to the Atlantic, Grenada’s northeast corner runs a might cooler and windier than the southern neck of the island. We were advised to bring red lamps, if we had them, because camera flashes and white lights disorient the turtles. Leatherbacks aren’t small creatures. I had visions of King Kong-sized reptiles enraged by flashing iPhones. Childhood memories of Gamera, that gigantic, fire-breathing Japanese terrapin, crossed my mind. Besides, any bright light shone in the dark of a new moon is just plain obnoxious. We dug up a red-capable headlamp and packed it along.

The nighttime is the right time for turtle watching. Mommy turtles come ashore in the dark to avoid predators like sea birds, stray dogs, and humans. She works her way slowly up the beach and once she finds firm, moist sand will settle down to work. Digging methodically and carefully, she shapes the nest with her hind flippers. When complete, her nest is a smooth bowl about two and a half feet deep.

Our guide gathered us into a group and said, it’s time. Faint starlight cast just enough shadow for us to find our way west along the beach for a half mile. A stiff onshore breeze swept any biting bugs away. In the distance we made out a clutch of red lights with people standing around in silhouette. We were finally invited forward and in the monochromatic gloom we oriented ourselves.

Ms. Leatherback was a good five and a half feet long. She had already dug her nest and was busy laying eggs when we pulled up. Two researchers were kneeling on the sand at her stern, one counting eggs, the other making notes. Researchers, mostly volunteers, spend up to six months tracking incoming turtles, tagging the untagged, counting eggs, and marking nests. Work starts at 7:00PM and ends at sunrise. We stood around, momentarily awkward in what we imagined as a moment of turtle-ish intimacy. But Ms. Leatherback and the scientists were all business, so we relaxed.

A hundred and eight eggs, a little larger than jumbo chicken’s eggs, dropped into the nest. Once laid, it was time to cover her eggs over and protect them. Ms. Leatherback scooped the sand and pressed it over her offspring, tamping it down firmly. As she worked, we were each allowed a moment to stroke her ridged carapace. When the nest was fully compacted, she flicked dry sand as she turned around and around for the next 20 minutes. All that flicking disguises things to the point that researchers drop a length of rope into the nest before it’s covered over so they can find it again. Some seventy days later, tiny turtles emerge and start their long, lonely trek towards the ocean.

During our briefing earlier in the evening, we learned leatherbacks can swim 10,000 miles in a year. Despite all that exercise, Ms. Leatherback clearly found the entire hour-long birthing process exhausting. Every few minutes she’d stop digging and catch her breath. Then start again.

Eventually, she decided that she had had enough. It was time to head back to the water. She turned towards land and we thought she’d become confused. Our guide assured us she knew where she was going, but asked us to turn off our lights anyway. Slowly she made her way down the beach towards the surf. Waves rolled in and gently buoyed up her 2,000-pound body. Then she was gone.

Further up the beach another turtle had arrived, but it was already pushing midnight and time for us to head home.

Seeing in real life what you only get a sense of on television is forever rewarding. As graceful as any sea creature, leatherback turtles clearly only come on land when they must. Leatherbacks are critically endangered in most parts of the world. We most humbly accepted the gift of this rare experience. Thank you Ms. Leatherback, may you live long and prosper.

* All photos by Emma