During Spring break 2002, I had an experience which made me rethink the definition of happiness. My daughter and I signed up for an EcoTeach adventure to Costa Rica. This is a trip for kids and their parents, which is more of an educational/hands-on journey than a tour. One of the hands-on tasks was to assist in the extinction prevention in Costa Rica of the endangered leatherback turtle.
After thirty hours on a plane and a brief respite in the capital, San Jose, we were whisked away down through the Cloud Forest to our second destination, Tortuga Marina, a turtle station amongst the jungle clime on the eastern coast of Costa Rica. We arrived near dusk to find a primitive headquarters built for low environmental impact. There was no electricity and each pair of bunk bed rooms shared a simple bathroom with “sensitive toilets.” By the end of our stay, we were four rooms to a bathroom rather than two. Each room was equipped with a candle and each bed with a thin blanket. Since I had been sweating all day from the heat and humidity, the need for a nighttime cover was the furthest thing from my mind.
As we groped around for matches, lit our candles and found our flashlights, we quickly settled in and changed to long dark pants. Though not bunking with my daughter I requested a turtle patrol shift with her. Our shift would be after dinner from 8 p.m. to midnight. Our small group of five would be led by devoted patrollers who as conservationists volunteer to do this every night.
During a simple dinner of rice, beans and fruit, we began noticing a gathering of clouds and the darkening of the sky. As our eating was accompanied by constant sweating, both my daughter and I ignored the idea of bringing our rain ponchos on the patrol. What’s a little rain! It would be wonderful to be wet and cool.
Our dark pants and shirts would be our beach camouflage. Flashlights were also not allowed; only patrol leaders carried small darkroom red lights. Among the interesting facts we learned that night was not only do these leatherback turtles come back every three years to the same beach to lay their eggs, but they can be misdirected away from their return to the shore by bright lights or bright colored fabrics. It is the night’s naturally lit reflection on the foam waves that guides them in to this home from deeper waters.
We excitedly gathered with our leaders to exchange “holas” and to receive our safety briefing. The nighttime patrols' main purpose was to discourage poachers from harvesting the newly laid turtle eggs, or even killing the turtle for meat. With the establishment of this station five short years ago, poaching has been cut in half in this part of Costa Rica.
Our leaders instructed us to stay together as a group, with several leaders in front and one leader, called a guard, walking near the edge of the coastal woods. If we were to see a turtle, she must always be approached cautiously from behind and never from her front. Under a quiet, blackened, impending stormy sky, we were ready to begin our patrol.
Though I had been exhausted after only a few days of non-stop activities, once my feet hit the sandy shore, I felt invigorated. We walked cautiously, chatting sparingly, attentively listening to our patrol leaders. The gray sky made the night quite dank, and without flashlights we stumbled over driftwood. About twenty minutes into our walk, the front patrol leaders made a rush forward. Possible poachers were sited a few yards ahead. We waited while our leaders confronted them. The moisture collected above us and we felt a few drops of welcomed rain. This impending storm only seemed to increase the night's drama. The poachers were peacefully directed away from the beach, and we continued walking.
The rain pelted us steadily, the wetness replacing my perspiration. My daughter and the others seemed totally focused on their mission. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity. Patrol leaders were running back and forth and up ahead there was a flicker of something moving in the foggy darkness. Our main leader, Juan, returned and said a leatherback was a few yards away. Our hearts beat faster. We gathered together and sat on a nearby log. Other leaders came with further news: the leatherback was digging her nest in the sand and we would be able to see her laying her eggs. Juan explained our tasks and asked for volunteers. He needed two people to measure the turtle, a person to record this info and two people to catch and count the eggs. Alison and I volunteered to be turtle measurers and my daughter Aspen and another girl Arab would be catching the eggs. We had hit pay dirt!
Turtle eggs are considered by many in Costa Rica to be a delicacy. To preserve the leatherback, eggs are collected in March and put in incubators to insure the hatching of as many leatherback babies as possible. During the month of June these babies are then returned to the sea as if they had hatched naturally in their sandy nest.
Suddenly the storm exploded and we were drenched. I welcomed being clean after a hot sweaty day, but slowly I caught myself shivering. All our energies, however, were focused on the adventure at hand. Juan repeated his request to only approach the turtle from the rear. “She must not see us,” stated Juan. Being in a trance the leatherback would not even know her eggs were being taken. She would assume her eggs lay buried in the sand.
We crept forward to where the turtle continued to dig her nest. My eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and when I finally could see the mother turtle I was completely taken aback. She was gigantic! Looking through the sheets of rain she appeared to take up half the beach. She had dug a fairly large hole. Arab was down in this hole holding back the turtle’s flipper while my daughter held a long plastic bag and was helping to catch the eggs as they were being laid. Another patrol group had been radioed about our turtle and was now standing next to us.
As I stood behind Aspen and Arab with the windy showers blowing in my face and with my soaked shirt and pants clinging to my skin, I felt connected to a universe that had been existing for millions of years, before the dawn of humans. The waves were pounding against the shore, the foam was being lit by a soft, barely visible moon and my daughter who was now knee deep in mud turned around while still maintaining contact with the turtle and said, “Mom this is the most incredible experience I have ever had.” Tears mingled with rain as I realized this was a moment of bliss that could never be bought. This was a moment being lived.
Some of the group signaled their need to return to warm lodging. Aspen, I and several others echoed our commitment to staying. We did not want to miss seeing this mother turtle make her way back to the sea. Her egg laying finished, she appeared to be resting. Juan said it can take a leatherback hours to return to the ocean waters. We continued our patient, reverent watch. Steadily this huge, sometimes awkward, but deeply graceful beast swirled her enormous flippers through the sandy terrain.
I found myself inside a capsule of stalled time. I heard each breath I took; I felt each drop of rain as my eyes followed this creature's every movement. I felt incredibly honored to be alive, standing on that Costa Rica beach. My daughter and I held hands as the swooshing of this leatherback's powerful flippers inched her towards the sea. She got to the water, the clouds parted, the rain stopped, the moon flickered and she dove and disappeared. We saw no other turtles that night, but we needed only our one miracle. And with this one miraculous experience my daughter and I have been filled with a life time's worth of happiness.
© 2011
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