Nights and Days

Sleep
Day One

My first sleep at La Tortuga Feliz takes place in a hammock, which is appropriate. The outdoors is cool and comfortable relative to the stuffy cabins. When I do go to bed, my first 4-hour beach patrol has sufficiently prepared me to sleep anywhere, so I sleep from early morning to slightly later morning.

Day Two

I go to bed at 8:30pm in order to try and sleep five hours before my shift. I am not successful. The fitful toss and turn of the hot cabin shared with 5 other volunteers, all with different schedules, makes it a challenge to fall into and stay asleep. When I return at 6:00am, I once again sleep in a hammock for two hours, which gives me an aching back and hips.

Day Three

"Relampago." This is the word for lightning that I have just learned. Last night there was a tremendous storm, the loudest thunder I have ever heard. It rumbles and then grows to a shaking crack, and the flimsy cabin I am sleeping in shudders with the sound. I brace myself after the bright flash, but despite this warning, a frightful gasp escapes my lips after another epic burst of sound. My scared noise is drowned out by the next round of thunder which comes immediately afterwards. It is a brilliant storm and I sleep between thunders and downpours, dreaming we float away, sitting bolt upright when the sound is too much for stillness. In that sound is ancient power, grinding electricity, a chorus of monsters snarling. It is audible fear and the promise of destruction.

Day Four

This sleep is the best I've had since entering the country. I am finished with all work by 10:00pm, asleep by 11:00pm and stay soundly asleep for a full night. I've grown more accustomed to the heat and the bugs do not bother me. It was wonderful, beautiful sleep with adventurous, fanciful dreams.

Day Five

I am apparently much more used to the heat and can now sleep fairly comfortably. Sleep is still broken by duty, but is otherwise lovely and no longer of note.

The Beach
From the common area, you can see the ocean and from all parts of the project, you can hear the constant sound of the waves. The sand is dark, volcanic (I assume). The water is so much warmer than the water of home that I am used to; instead of icy, prickling cold, my toes are met with bath water that has been left to cool for a little too long.

There is a startling amount of trash on the beach. Instead of taking a shell, I decide to take a small, blue child's spoon that's been discarded, helping with the litter and getting a beach souvineer in the deal.

I've been warned not to go into the ocean deeper than my waist due to the bull sharks lurking beyond the breaking waves. They wait there to eat the baby turtles we are trying so hard to save. Due to my intense, passionate fear of sharks, I'm pretty much only willing to go in shin-deep.

Patrol

Primero Patrol

After a bombardment of information and warnings from the project leaders, I fall asleep in a hammock outside, trying to get a nap before my first patrol at the project. I awaken after two hours in the hammock, and prepare for my 4 hour walking patrol on the beach. I change into dark clothing because the turtles are very sensitive to light and could be frightened off by reflective clothing. The turtles use the more reflective surface of the ocean to navigate their way back to it, which explains the cases of sea turtles found in swimming pools or in yards due to lighted signs too near the ocean. Because of this fact we are also not allowed to use flashlights on the beach, only red light can be used. We are meant to follow directly behind the local guides for this reason, following their more experienced steps to avoid logs that have been washed up onto the beach or falling into emptied nests.

This initial patrol is scheduled from 10pm to 2am, but patrol length can change depending on whether or not a group finds a turtle. We have to wait for the entire process that the turtle goes through: walking up the beach, looking for the ideal nest spot, digging the nest, laying eggs, and walking back into the ocean. It's our job to make sure that she and her eggs are safe, and some patrols can apparently last up to 6 hours with the entire process, including bringing the eggs to the hatchery and digging a new nest.

Our local guide is named Ramon, and he was in the Coast Guard for 15 years, trying to prevent poaching in a very different way. We have four volunteers total walking this shift, two of us from La Tortuga Feliz and two from another project down the beach. The other two volunteers have been here for several weeks, and so walk apart and sometimes ahead of Ramon. He seems caught between the rules of the project and the behavior of the volunteers. On our way out he walks more slowly and allows more time to see the turtles and not scare them. But when the volunteers walk faster, he picks up his pace. "They don't understand," he tells me. "It's better for you and for the turtles if we go more slowly."

I am lucky on this first night because the sky is clear. It's much easier to avoid the beach hazards, and the sky is absolutely stunning. I am, for the first time in many years, able to see the dusty bands of the milky way and layers of stars. Halfway through the walk I have already counted about 5 shooting stars.

We don't see any mother turtles this night, but we do see three poachers. Also, we see a lot of the Costa Rican version of lightning bugs. Many rest on the sand and seem to be inspired to light up when shaken by the movement of our feet. It is is bit like kicking up white embers as we walk, creating the illusion of walking on a reflection of the sky - an expanse of darkness with fleeting points of light.


Segundo Patrol

My second patrol is the 11pm to 3am shift. After the 2am to 6am hatchery guard shift the night before, it is understandable that I am a zombie by the second half of the walk. I am completely fixated on the legs of Hernan, the guide who walks directly in front of me. I have decided to become a machine, my mind the motor and my legs the mechanism.

I no longer wonder if we will encounter a turtle, do not consider how much more time until I reach my unwelcoming, necessary bed. I ignore the twinge of my right ankle with every step on unsteady sand. I do not allow myself to think of the hours of semi-sleep I've struggled through so far, nor the laundry I hung two hours before it began to rain, nor the layers of sweat on my body, unused by the the humid breeze. The only thoughts I allow space for concern the legs (they are no longer Hernan's legs, only "the legs") and for writing - how to translate this experience into words.

The legs and the words. Left Right Left Right One Two One Two. The legs and the words. Follow the legs to find the words.

[Repeat the words.]

La Tortuga Feliz

Surprisingly the thing that has struck me most now that I have returned from the remote project site of La Tortuga Feliz is the presence of mirrors. The space above the sinks in the outdoor bathroom of the project site was devoid of walls, let alone mirrors. As I brushed my teeth, flashlight propped against the edge of the sink, I would gaze out into blackness. The bathroom in my hostel in San Jose is full of mirrors and I'm shocked to see myself once again.

There are so many things that I take for granted where I live. I both enjoyed the break from them and relished my imminent return to convenience while at the project. Things like dryers and a lack of sand and hot water were both sorely missed and marvelled at in their lack of necessity. There was nothing dire about where I was, it was luxurious camping, but I found myself wishing that my clothes would ever be completely clean and dry, that I wouldn't have to sweep the sand off of my feet before falling asleep, or stand the extra heat added by my mosquito net, or concentrate very hard on not scratching the bug bites. I actually quite enjoyed the cold showers as it was a pleasant break from the constant humid heat.

I have so much to tell about the project that it is going to take numerous posts to cover it all. In my own journal, I mainly focused on different aspects of the volunteer and living experience and plan to organize my posts this way as well. When I start talking about a new part of the trip, I'll tell you. Otherwise, the following posts will be reflecting on my experiences at La Tortuga Feliz. Ahora I am too tired to write mas por que I woke up at 4:45 this morning to catch the boat back to Bataan then sat on a bus for three hours to get back to San Jose. Enjoy the Spanglish, folks, I'm starting to think a bit en espanol.

Pura vida!