Tortugas

Last night on the beach was pure magic. Another one of the 99 reasons we moved to Costa Rica was so our kids could observe the wildlife here before it is all gone. Sound gloomy? Sadly, it is a fact. Most of the wildlife here is, indeed, endangered and it could disappear in their lifetime. Andy and I actually beat the bush at Monteverde in 1987, our first Pura Vida visit, until we found the Golden Toad, a fluorescent orange beauty endemic to that cloud forest and never seen again in the years that followed. So we take no creature for granted, taking advantage of our time here while we can, and try not to hasten the decline. We have spent many, many magical moonlit nights on one gorgeous beach nearby watching the turtles lay their eggs under the stars and praying the US owners of the property never develop it. Some months have been busier than others, but every night there is evidence of turtle activity on this beach. Olive ridleys were abundant in the fall and now there are one or two black turtles, tortuga negra, as they are locally known lumbering up the beach nightly to ensure the survival of their species like this one from last night's adventure.

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We have seen the wide tracks of giant leatherbacks twice on our beach but have not been lucky enough to see them heaving themselves across the slippery sands. We did, however, pay $50 to see one 500 pound sheila on Playa Grande in December during their nesting season. She was a small one for her kind. Playa Grande is a national park for las baulas, the leatherbacks, and the park rangers do a good job of patrolling and keeping people off the beach at night. It is one of the most important nesting sites for these behemoths of the turtle world and controversy rages as the government allowed lots to be purchased and houses built within the park boundaries. Artificial light is one of the biggest enemies of sea turtles and the houses create illumination problems. Where thousands used to arrive, now they are lucky to see one hundred.

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On our beach there are one or two guards and sometimes people camping at holiday times like now, Semana Santa, Holy Week. Otherwise we are usually the only ones enjoying the warm nights walking in the shallow waters along the tideline, our feet kicking cascades of phosphorescent creatures sparkling like a tiny bioluminescent light show before our happy feet. Last night we brought our friends and watched this black turtle throwing sand on everyone, digging herself in deeper and deeper. You have not lived until a sea turtle has flung sand on you with her powerful flippers perfectly proportioned for both swimming and digging in the sand. We have found this type of tortuguero to be quite skittish and sure enough, after captivating everyone's attention for an hour she ultimately decided not to deposit her clutch of about 100 eggs and headed back for her saltwater home instead. (The photo above is an olive ridley laying in September) Perhaps she returned later when the smoke from the campfires did not assail her sense of smell and the onlookers were dreaming in their tents. Perhaps she will wait for another night. It was a rare opportunity nevertheless for our friends to witness this spectacular creature toiling away so earnestly out of her natural liquid environment.

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While they observed, I spread a large cool cotton sheet out on the sand and Bella, Isaiah, and I had a moonbath. The moon was nearly full and the stars were dull in its light but we could pick out the big dipper anyway. Usually the constellations are numerous and the milky way an easily discernible band of densely packed lights. But any night on the beach is special. And laying on a white sheet in the moonlight with the sounds of the surf and a sea turtle flinging sand nearby and the warm bodies and questions of my children next to me is pure magic. They have each watched so many sea turtles do their thing on the beach in the past 8 months they could easily lead guided tours and answer any questions that might arise.

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The only stage of the process we are still hoping to witness is the hatching out of the chicas, the perfect tiny replicas of their moms, all of the same sex depending on the temperature of their sandy womb. We have seen the evidence they leave behind, the dry leathery egg shells and the many little tracks radiating out from one small spot in the sand and we have followed their sometimes misguided attempts to reach the sea, picking one track and observing its meanderings with a sigh of relief when it evidently reached its new saltwater home. We lay on our sheet and the world fell away around us. The moon was bright, the night was sweet and warm, and we were content, needing nothing more.

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I should mention that we joke that the guard job at this beach includes all the turtle eggs you can eat, but it is not funny. The guards and some of our neighbors do, indeed, wait on the beach for these mamas to do their thing, waving goodbye to them as they head back to sea with salty tears running from their eyes, leaving their offspring to meet their fate. Then the hungry onlookers simply follow the telltale road map left behind by flippers and shell which leads them straight to the nest where they neatly dig up the ping-pong ball-like eggs still warm and covered in the liquidy lubrication from their mother's bodies. They eat these eggs raw and rubbery before the shells begin to form, selling them to the local bars where they are served in shot glasses with tomato juice for a serving of protein and "Mas Fuerte" with the flowing beer and guaro. Mas Fuerte means more strong, and of course they view these reptilian delights as powerful aphrodisiacs like the body parts or products of so many other endangered species around the world. Think bear gall bladder, tiger pee, rhino horn... sea turtle eggs, all of which leave me with one giant vote for Viagra as the most unlikely solution to saving these species! As if our world needs Mas Fuerte. What other species on the planet has been more successful in their efforts to reproduce and fulfill their biological purpose than homo sapiens?

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I lay on my tropical cotton island with two of my own five living children, gazing up at the heavens where perhaps the rest of my children who have gone before us were swinging on the stars. I thought of the Native American saying, "We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children." I sent up a silent prayer to the twinkling stars that my fears never come to pass and that the two children snoring gently beside me in the warm night air can some day bring their own offspring to that same spot, spread out a sheet of their own choosing and listen to the same sounds gently ushering them off to the land of their dreams - the warm waves gently kissing the shore and a mother sea turtle sighing softly with the effort laying her eggs.

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K3