Turtles!

We sit huddled on an isolated beach under the stars. Close to midnight, the waves seem to lap noisily in the moonlight. They seem all the more noisier, given how quiet we attempt to be.

Our motley crew of four - a homestay owner, his 10-year old daughter, a guide and I whisper very very softly in the dark, our cellphones turned off to keep away light. Our eyes adjust to the only light from the stars, the glow of the breaking waves nearby and the occasional glisten of sand.

About fifty feet away is a large sea turtle. She is laying eggs. We sit in the sand and speak in hushed tones to not disturb or spook her. It feels intimate, it feels important, and we must do our part to be quiet and protect her, her eggs, her unborn babies, and her entire  endangered species.  Not quite sure why we remain so close by? Oh well, I’m too excited to ask.

In a homestay on the Konkan coast in Maharashtra, a couple of months ago, my guide and friend - the owner’s 10-year old daughter, tells me all about the turtles. She shows me the pits from egg-laying spots from the night before, another abandoned spot, when the turtle started to dig, only to decide it wasn’t good enough and found another, and a protected area further out on the isolated beach where the turtle conservancy folks bury the eggs. The area is cordoned off to protect it from animal (and human) predators and they monitor it carefully, before and once the eggs begin to hatch.

Our homestay owner is a volunteer for the turtle conservation, and I am only too excited to walk up and down the beach after dinner, looking for turtles. As I trail along with them, they fill me in on the ins and outs of the Olive Ridley turtles, their laying of eggs, the hatching of their babies, and the entire process, including the conservation intervention and effort to keep as many as possible alive. 

On the first night, we walk a few miles on the beach in the dark and don’t spot any trails or turtles. He calls the conservationist to inform him of the areas he has combed. The next day is windy, and he tells me that there will be turtles arriving for sure that night to lay eggs. I cross my fingers.

Sometime after 10 pm that night, my 10-year-old friend calls to tell me they are ready to go look for turtles. I join in. We amble along the beach with a flashlight, looking for turtle trails from the ocean. He spots a trail. Quickly, he uses a smaller flashlight, to prevent too much light in case the turtle is close by or laying eggs.  He notices another set of trails. “Looks like we missed her. She’s gone back into the ocean”.

The second set of trails are from the beach back to the ocean. He closely examines the area where the trails converge. “Hmmm… she hasn’t laid any eggs”. He knows what to look for, how the sand will seem and how loose, even if she has carefully buried the eggs.

Perhaps she will come back or find another spot. We walk further along and find another set of track. All lights are turned off, except a small flashlight and we quietly follow the trail. Sure enough, at the end of the trail is a large shadowy form, it could be a rock, it is a turtle, covered with sand and kelp. She is laying eggs. We leave her in the shadows and move away.

Someone notices movement a little further. We move towards it, to see another turtle wet and glistening in sand. She is searching for a spot to lay eggs. We stop in our path, to not disturb her, and go back to the other turtle. The homestay owner texts and calls the conservationist who will arrive soon. We wait in the dark, near the turtle, keeping her company. Even if I am a mere passer-by in this conservancy process and project, it feels special to remain quiet for this turtle, knowing her eggs will be taken to safety and that many of her babies will hatch. Fingers crossed. After that, it is the cycle of nature, again.

The turtle is done. We hear thumping. She covers the area with sand and with loud thumps, and buries the eggs in sand. I marvel at nature and for the opportunity to witness this in the dark of the night. My 10-year-old friend is excited. “We can touch her shell before she goes back. Sometimes their shell will glow when touched”. Apparently, there is bioluminescence in these waters. And the weeds/kelp/algae on the turtle’s back will light up when touched. More marveling at nature.

It is said the female Olive Ridley turtle will come back to the same beach where she was born to lay her first eggs once she is twelve years old.  As we sit in the dark, I wonder how old this grand lady may be. Or her friend, the other turtle who we quietly followed and then let her be, once she started looking for a spot to lay eggs.

The conservationist arrives and quickly digs up the eggs. He scoops sand with it, deftly and quickly, for they must be kept warm and buried again quickly. The eggs are round, like golf balls, and seem a little squishy, not hard like chicken eggs (I do not touch or photograph them). He seems to keep finding more. He pulls out a whopping 101 eggs!

Since the second turtle seemed to be taking her time laying the eggs, the conservationist tells us he will come back to get those eggs after midnight. I am filled with awe at the magic of the night as I walk back. 101 eggs. That will be a lot of turtles. I am told that of the 101, about 80 to 90 will likely hatch and of that, about four or five will survive. I sober at the numbers. Which means conservation efforts will have to continue. Last year the turtle conservancy in the area released almost five thousand babies in the ocean. 

Nature is captivating. It has its own wise and time-tested inbuilt rhythm. We need that rhythm and beat, even if our modern lifestyle seems to want to do everything to break it. We need each and every creature out there, the dullest and the brightest, for each has a role to play in Nature’s design. And as we become smarter every day, I hope we remain smart (and humane) enough to remember how much we need them. And how important they are to us and our bigger picture, and to keep our bigger picture whole.

A few pictures and video as the turtle scurried back to the ocean