My alarm went off at 4am and I stumbled around my cabin with a flashlight. I gathered my camera, shoes and granola bar and headed out into the jungle. I followed the almost invisible path down to the central area of the village and looked around. I checked my watch and it was 4:30, the scheduled meeting time to go see the Arribada. The sign had appeared the evening before, since no one could predict when the turtles would arrive, and they only came during the night. I was so excited that my time in the small town was granted with the arrival of the sea turtlesto lay their eggs and signed up immediately for the ride to the beach. I expected many people to take the opportunity but it was just myself and a German family with two young, blond-haired children, one of which was a girl and the other one I wasn’t sure of its gender. We piled into the pick up truck and Videep took off rambling down the dirt road.
He parked the car and we ventured down the road which lead to the beach, just barely able to see the ground in the early morning light. Many of the villagers were walking to and from the beach, adults and children alike, wide awake as if it were a usual time to be up and about. A black pick up truck had its back facing the beach and young men were heaving potato sacks filled with something into the bed of it. We were told to remove our shoes and left them waiting at the edge of the sand. The twilight was tinged blue and we walked out onto the beach. Dark shapes covered the sand ahead of us but I couldn’t make out anything more than round, two foot shadows. I followed Videep towards the ocean and minute by minute the darkness was pushed away by the arriving dawn.
As my eyes began to identify what was in front of me I was struck with awe. Sea turtles covered the beach, ambling awkwardly through the sand away from and towards the water. They were grayish green and their large flippers left an odd track in the sand. Their hard shells were shaped in hexagonal tiles and their heads were curved at the snout and held one big black eye on either side. I nearly stepped on one as she bumped into my ankle, as if annoyed that I was in her way. The turtles made their way anywhere from 20 to 50 feet up onto the beach and then began to dig a hole. The holes were about a foot deep and wide and the turtles would scoot themselves up a bit and begin to lay their eggs. The eggs looked like ping pong balls, only the shells were soft, and dented with pockmarks where they fell. The mother turtles would flap their back legs in an effort to cover the holes again with sand, but did not do an effective job. Then they would pull themselves tediously around and inch back towards the water.
No one knows when or why La Arribada occurs. Experts speculate it has to do with the moon, somehow it calls out to the turtles and they all know somewhere in the depths of their beings that no matter where they are in the vast ocean, that it is time to return to the beach. It happens once in awhile, and the hundreds of turtles begin appearing, swimming until they are forced to pull themselves through the sand, vulnerable, out of their element. They do not seem to interact with each other, each one arrives, does its duty for the species of laying eggs, and returns to the water to continue its life. Some of the turtles ran into obstacles in the form of logs or large stones. They continue churning their short limbs through the sand, making no headway, for quite awhile. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw one such turtle that was stuck and determinedly trying to force its way through a large piece of driftwood. I was tempted to move the branch to help it out but it then turned sideways and scooted over and began to dig its hole there. Some of the turtles ran into each other and climbed right over one another, tipping forward into the sand before continuing on their way, unabashedly kicking sand in the lower one’s face.
I looked out over the beach for it was now light enough to see farther. The sky was streaked in different shades of blue, some of the turtles were heading out to sea. They seemed to be filled with life again as they touched the ocean. The waves washed over them, parting at the top of their backs and cascading over their smooth shells. The turtles increased their pace, eagerly pushing the last steps through the sand until they reached water deep enough that they were free. Their limbs became powerful in the deeper water and they quickly vanished into the blue black sea. And still new turtles arrived. They emerged out of the ocean with an entrance worthy of a movie star and their dark shapes took form as they waded out of the surf. I marveled at this epic occurrence, honored to be a witness to this natural continuation of the species.
The villagers were now filling the beach with potato sacks in hand. They reached into the holes and scooped out hundreds of the eggs and put them into the bags. I felt so indignant even offended that these people would undo the hard work of the turtles. I literally felt embarassed when some of the people would start removing the eggs while the turtle was still right next to their hole! I asked Videep what was going on. He explained that only the locals of this small town were allowed to collect a certain amount of eggs. He assured me that it did not hinder the turtle population because the reason so many eggs were laid was because only one in one thousand survived to become an adult turtle. The villagers removed only a portion of the eggs which wouldn’t have all hatched anyhow and definitely would not all have survived to become grown turtles. The villagers wanted to make sure that the turtles survived as well, it was a symbiotic relationship. Turtle eggs were believed to be an aphrodesiac. According to tradition they supposedly acted as a male enhancement and were sought after delicacies in the country. The eggs could be consumed in a single shot but also commonly were used for turtle egg soup. The village exported the eggs around Costa Rica and shared the profits to benefit the entire town, it was and always had been part of their livelihood.
I turned away from the villagers collecting eggs on the beach and ambled toward the water where a small crowd of children was gathered. I peered over their heads to see what they were watching. A tiny baby turtle from the last round of laying was making its way towards the ocean. The miniature turtle was no bigger than a cracker, it would have fit with room to spare in my palm. It was a dark green almost black and had a thin shell. Its tiny flippers pulled it centimeter by centimeter forward. A bird flew overhead and one of the little boys shouted at it and threw a fistful of sand upwards. I imagined that for the bird this baby turtle would be a tasty and easy snack. The little creature continued trudging towards the water, unaware of the dangers which lurked above. It looked so miniscule compared to the vast ocean laying ahead of it, but flipper after flipper it moved itself closer. It finally reached the wet part of the sand, and moved more efficiently on this smoother part. It progressed a foot then two as we watched when a wave lazily swept the ground and sent the tiny turtle five feet backwards. Unphased, the baby continued trekking on its path and another wave, stronger this time, lifted it off the sand and it disappeared from sight. As the water receded, we saw its tiny body ten feet over to the right where it had been left and I worried it had not survived. The little troup of Costa Rican children and myself scurried over to it and one little boy bent over to examine it. “Esta viva!” he shouted; “its alive!”. Sure enough, the little turtle picked up one flipper and the other and continued on its seemingly impossible quest to reach the ocean.
Videep arrived and I asked him why people didn’t just pick it up and put it in the deeper part of the water. I lamented that it would never get there with each wave sweeping it backwards, concerned that it would become lunch for some eager predator or give up in exhaustion. It would be so easy to gently scoop it up and deposit it a feet or two into the ocean. “You mustn’t do that” warned Videep. “The turtles instinct is to go towards the ocean from the second they are born. But they are unprepared to survive in the water. They have to go through these trials or they will not develop the instincts and skills they need to become a grown turtle. If you ‘help’ the baby, it will never learn to return to this beach for the Arribada, to lay its eggs. It is a challenge yes, but it has to go through it or it will not survive, so although you think you may be helping it right now, in reality you would be doing it a disservice” explained Videep, wisely. I considered the plight of the baby turtles, and my own instinct to help them. The lesson I learned from them I have applied in many areas of my life. Sometimes you want to help someone, to tell them what to do or how to do it, to take their hand and make it easier for them, but that may be a disfavor. Some lessons have to be learned through first-hand experience. You can tell someone the lesson over and over but without learning it for themselves, they may not be prepared for the next trial life throws at them, when you may not be there to hold their hand. As easy as it would be for you to pick them up and carry them over the obstacle, they may not then know how to survive when they get there. All you can do it watch over them, scaring away the birds that may want to eat them, and ensuring that they are ok after each wave sweeps them back. But you cannot do it for them, some lessons you have to learn for yourself, the hard way, in order to know how to survive on the other side, and to know how to come back, to pass on life for the next generation.
Reading this returned my memory to Ostional. Thank you Lolly.
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