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.]
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