Best Trip Ever
I was single, it was summer and I was an interested member of the Marine Mammal Stranding Center in Brigantine, New Jersey. They offered a trip that promised to give an up close and personal introduction to the plight of sea turtles and my mother and I jumped at the chance to join.This was not our normal vacation, in fact, we hadn't been on a bus trip since 1975. This didn't dampen our excitement. And, although this was the most low key vacation we'd taken since my brother and I were little kids, it didn't detract from just how special these few days were for us.
We boarded a bus outside the Stranding Center, in Brigantine and drove through the night to a barrier island in South Carolina. The island where we stayed was divided in half. The north half is referred to as Seabrook Island and is filled with hotels, shops, restaurants, condos, etc. It had been built up into a lovely seashore community. The south end of the island was Saint David's Island and the only parts of it that were at all developed were a camp. It was half a businessperson's Christian retreat and half a camp for kids. The closest we got to children campers was the sort of shared dining hall. The kitchen in the middle divided the two sides. There was a lovely club house with lots of windows and amenities. The lodgings were a sort of bare bones hotel/motel room. No television or telephone (this was a bigger deal then) , two beds, a bathroom, a table and chairs, clock radio and there were plenty of fresh linens available. No bells and whistles, but clean and neat and useful. My mother and I were very happy travel companions. We always got along really well, enjoyed each other's company and liked to share our common and individual interests with one another. We were always compatible, but not really very similar at all.
We saw everything turtle on this trip. As soon as we got to the island we headed out to check out the private beach and estuary just to the south of the camp. There were experts on hand to give us a tour and teach us about the turtles and their plight. We saw the tractor-like tracks showing that an adult female had been on the island to lay a nest. We saw the tiny tracks of little flippers showing that a nest had hatched out the night before. Then there were the tragedies, like the two-inch turtle that had been decapitated by a ghost crab, and the signs that a fox must have been watching as the female laid her nest the night before. His tracks and trail of broken eggs were left on the beach.
We spent the rest of the day on our own exploring the island. My mom and I sat and watched the dolphins playing in the surf and an adult female turtle swimming back and forth, waiting for the people to go away so she could lay her eggs. On the other side of the island we shopped for souvenirs in swanky little boutiques and had cocktails at lovely outside bars. Then we went back to camp for wonderful meals, prepared by an excellent chef, who was so happy to be cooking for adults. I'm guessing the other side of the cafeteria, although identical in seating and decor (or lack thereof) served strictly kid fare.
We woke the next morning in time to catch a bus to Kiaweh Island where we spent a few hours with their turtle patrol. That morning was so disheartening. As we walked up the beach to meet our guide we spotted a tiny newborn turtle, who had been inching his way toward the water since he'd hatched out of his nest the night before. Because adult turtles return to the beach they were born on, some 25 years later, to lay their eggs, you aren't allowed to interfere with their march to the ocean. Somehow, they memorize the beach and it's assumed they do it on the way to the sea. Since this little guy had made it halfway to the water and had probably been at it for almost 12 hours, we got permission to give him a lift. One of our group picked the tiny turtle up and swam it out into the ocean... where it was promptly snapped up, tossed into the air and eaten by a seagull flying past.
Dejectedly, we followed the guide up the beach, where she showed us a nest that was flooded out by the high tide, making none of the eggs viable. The second nest we were shown had been marked more than 60 days prior, which meant that it was overdue for hatching out. We watched as the nest was dug up to find that it had been attacked by fire ants, leaving no living turtles. Of course, these were all nature conspiring against the turtle, but we learned about all of the ways that people increase the sea turtle death toll, construction over the nesting areas, artificial lights which detract from the moon (they follow the moon to the ocean), fishing nets that trap and drown the turtles, litter on the beaches and in the seas, the list goes on.
A very sad band of travelers boarded the bus back to our island. The chef was seriously nonplussed when no one was interested in having lunch. We all found our way back to the beach. That's when we saw it. The sand was pulsing. There is no other word to describe it. You could watch the sand rise and fall, like it was breathing. While some stayed to watch, others went back to the lodge and notified the fish and gaming authority. Soon, the sand was beginning to crack and the majority of our group stood, transfixed by the scene. The chef was sending pleas for us to at least take turns watching and grabbing some of the food he had taken such pains to cook for us. He didn't have many takers. Our final message was that he wasn't keeping the kitchen open late for us and it was going to be our tough stuff if we didn't get there and eat.
A Fish and Game warden stopped by to see the scene and told us that it was the remnants of a nest which had hatched two nights before. Because it wasn't the first hatch, we were given permission to assist the remaining turtle hatchlings. Slowly we began to move sand out of the way, but as the day cooled and evening was turning to night, we began to really start moving the sand away, still being extremely gentle to avoid injuring the turtles. And then we hit turtles. They were out of their shells and their little flippers were going a mile a minute as they climbed up the sand, over top of one another and began boiling and roiling over the edge of the nest onto the beach.
Our amazement and wonder soon turned to extreme protectiveness. We began lining up to make sure none of the turtles wandered the wrong way, or met with any evil ghost crab shenanigans on their way out. We counted as they hit the surf, over 100 newly hatched loggerhead sea turtles made it to the ocean that night. As the light began to fade we watched as the last of their little heads bobbed in the sea, swimming for the Sargasso. Statistically, only one of those turtles will survive to sexual maturity, returning to that very beach to lay her first nest. I'd really like to return and see that. My mom wouldn't be able to join me, I lost her 5 years ago to breast cancer, but I'm pretty sure she'd be there with me in spirit.
We boarded a bus outside the Stranding Center, in Brigantine and drove through the night to a barrier island in South Carolina. The island where we stayed was divided in half. The north half is referred to as Seabrook Island and is filled with hotels, shops, restaurants, condos, etc. It had been built up into a lovely seashore community. The south end of the island was Saint David's Island and the only parts of it that were at all developed were a camp. It was half a businessperson's Christian retreat and half a camp for kids. The closest we got to children campers was the sort of shared dining hall. The kitchen in the middle divided the two sides. There was a lovely club house with lots of windows and amenities. The lodgings were a sort of bare bones hotel/motel room. No television or telephone (this was a bigger deal then) , two beds, a bathroom, a table and chairs, clock radio and there were plenty of fresh linens available. No bells and whistles, but clean and neat and useful. My mother and I were very happy travel companions. We always got along really well, enjoyed each other's company and liked to share our common and individual interests with one another. We were always compatible, but not really very similar at all.
We saw everything turtle on this trip. As soon as we got to the island we headed out to check out the private beach and estuary just to the south of the camp. There were experts on hand to give us a tour and teach us about the turtles and their plight. We saw the tractor-like tracks showing that an adult female had been on the island to lay a nest. We saw the tiny tracks of little flippers showing that a nest had hatched out the night before. Then there were the tragedies, like the two-inch turtle that had been decapitated by a ghost crab, and the signs that a fox must have been watching as the female laid her nest the night before. His tracks and trail of broken eggs were left on the beach.
We spent the rest of the day on our own exploring the island. My mom and I sat and watched the dolphins playing in the surf and an adult female turtle swimming back and forth, waiting for the people to go away so she could lay her eggs. On the other side of the island we shopped for souvenirs in swanky little boutiques and had cocktails at lovely outside bars. Then we went back to camp for wonderful meals, prepared by an excellent chef, who was so happy to be cooking for adults. I'm guessing the other side of the cafeteria, although identical in seating and decor (or lack thereof) served strictly kid fare.
We woke the next morning in time to catch a bus to Kiaweh Island where we spent a few hours with their turtle patrol. That morning was so disheartening. As we walked up the beach to meet our guide we spotted a tiny newborn turtle, who had been inching his way toward the water since he'd hatched out of his nest the night before. Because adult turtles return to the beach they were born on, some 25 years later, to lay their eggs, you aren't allowed to interfere with their march to the ocean. Somehow, they memorize the beach and it's assumed they do it on the way to the sea. Since this little guy had made it halfway to the water and had probably been at it for almost 12 hours, we got permission to give him a lift. One of our group picked the tiny turtle up and swam it out into the ocean... where it was promptly snapped up, tossed into the air and eaten by a seagull flying past.
Dejectedly, we followed the guide up the beach, where she showed us a nest that was flooded out by the high tide, making none of the eggs viable. The second nest we were shown had been marked more than 60 days prior, which meant that it was overdue for hatching out. We watched as the nest was dug up to find that it had been attacked by fire ants, leaving no living turtles. Of course, these were all nature conspiring against the turtle, but we learned about all of the ways that people increase the sea turtle death toll, construction over the nesting areas, artificial lights which detract from the moon (they follow the moon to the ocean), fishing nets that trap and drown the turtles, litter on the beaches and in the seas, the list goes on.
A very sad band of travelers boarded the bus back to our island. The chef was seriously nonplussed when no one was interested in having lunch. We all found our way back to the beach. That's when we saw it. The sand was pulsing. There is no other word to describe it. You could watch the sand rise and fall, like it was breathing. While some stayed to watch, others went back to the lodge and notified the fish and gaming authority. Soon, the sand was beginning to crack and the majority of our group stood, transfixed by the scene. The chef was sending pleas for us to at least take turns watching and grabbing some of the food he had taken such pains to cook for us. He didn't have many takers. Our final message was that he wasn't keeping the kitchen open late for us and it was going to be our tough stuff if we didn't get there and eat.
A Fish and Game warden stopped by to see the scene and told us that it was the remnants of a nest which had hatched two nights before. Because it wasn't the first hatch, we were given permission to assist the remaining turtle hatchlings. Slowly we began to move sand out of the way, but as the day cooled and evening was turning to night, we began to really start moving the sand away, still being extremely gentle to avoid injuring the turtles. And then we hit turtles. They were out of their shells and their little flippers were going a mile a minute as they climbed up the sand, over top of one another and began boiling and roiling over the edge of the nest onto the beach.
Our amazement and wonder soon turned to extreme protectiveness. We began lining up to make sure none of the turtles wandered the wrong way, or met with any evil ghost crab shenanigans on their way out. We counted as they hit the surf, over 100 newly hatched loggerhead sea turtles made it to the ocean that night. As the light began to fade we watched as the last of their little heads bobbed in the sea, swimming for the Sargasso. Statistically, only one of those turtles will survive to sexual maturity, returning to that very beach to lay her first nest. I'd really like to return and see that. My mom wouldn't be able to join me, I lost her 5 years ago to breast cancer, but I'm pretty sure she'd be there with me in spirit.
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