Return Of The Turtle

(Left) Loggerhead turtle lays her eggs as children watch in fascination.


We went to Mon Repos Conservation Area, near Bargara, on the beach near Bundaberg, to watch returning loggerhead turtles lay their eggs at the beach. The annual spectacle is popular, as is the hatching of the eggs, which starts in January, after 6 weeks gestation on the beach. The staff at Mon Repos take reservations, log people in, and divide them into groups of about 70 people each, taking each group to a turtle as radio reports come in about turtles arriving. Some nights, especially when the hatchlings appear, as many as 1000 come out to watch (not that busy tonight).

Years ago, I remember seeing a National Geographic or Jacques Cousteau television special about these exact same turtles. Loggerhead Turtles are large and long-lived, taking 30 years to reach maturity. After the baby turtles hatch, they scramble for the surf in a mad rush, and disappear for 17 years into the vast South Pacific, before settling into more-shallow areas. They wander far - tagged Australian loggerhead turtles have been logged as far away as Peru. Only one in a thousand hatchlings reach maturity. Numbers have been declining, reaching a low of only 100 nesting females at this beach in the mid-1990's.

Since the 1970's, a variety of preservation methods, including the trapping of predatory foxes and changed fishing practices have helped - last year, about 300 nesting females were observed here. Still, given their long life spans, it can be decades before changes in practices have their effect on turtle numbers. Their efforts have definitely boosted the survival rate on land, however, always among the most-dangerous place for turtles in the natural world.

Sand temperature determines sex: above 28.7 deg C, eggs produce females: below, males. On darker, warmer beaches like Mon Repos, females predominate. Over roughly a month-long period, females lay several clutches of eggs, roughly two weeks apart per clutch, fertlizing each clutch with stored sprem.

Saturday night, 200 of us assembled at Mon Repos, and we were divided into three groups. We were in Group 1, and we waited for our turtle. We ate a snack, but had to hastily finish when reports came at 7:30 p.m. of a turtle on the beach. Occasionally stumbling over grass and rocks, we were hastily marched eastwards along the beautiful, pleasant, breezy beach in the dark. I was towards the back, and like the Sermon on the Mount scene in Monty Python's 'Life of Brian' I frequently couldn't eaxctly hear our guide against the sound of the crashing waves.

Turtles guide themselves by light, and we were warned not to take flash photos until given permission. City and seaside lights can confuse them. Once the turtle had laid 20 eggs or so, and had gone into a kind of trance, we could take photos as we pleased, until it was time for the turtle to return to the sea. Turtles navigate by dark horizon (land) and bright horizon (surf).

Suddenly, our guide said stop. Based on radio reports, she said the turtle was on the beach directly above us, and facing our way. Since she could see us quite well in the light of the crescent moon, in order to avoid making her panic, it was imperative we remain still and act like a rock. So, we 70 strangers stopped and awkwardly tried to pretend we were a rock. To pass the time, the guide asked us to find the constellation of the Turtle in the beautiful northeastern sky. In the northeast, Orion was rising from the sea. The beak of the Turtle seemed to be in-between the left flipper (the Pleiades) and the right flipper (near Orion), with the bottom of the turtle still in the water (not sure I have this right, but it's easy to see what you want sometimes among the connect-a-dot stars).

Then we were given the go-ahead: the turtle was now facing west and laying eggs. The 12-to-15 kids were allowed to approach first. The turtle was laying her eggs in a chamber she had dug deep in the sand. They had placed a small light at the chamber's mouth so we could see the eggs falling into the chamber (the eggs are leathery and resist fracture). Then we were given permission to take photos, and it was as if a celebrity had arrived, all the flashes going off at once. Mon Repos staff measured her size and took notes. A cheer went up among the staff when her tags matched their records - this turtle had laid eggs previously here in 2002 and was about 40 years old. A woman next to me looked at the spectacle and remarked "can I get a job?" I laughed, then agreed with her that this would be an excellent job indeed.

After Mama Loggerhead had finished laying eggs, she buried the chamber with her back flippers at seemed to almost bury herself at first. Then, following the guide's light as a lure, she slowly made her way back to the bright surf as we eagerly followed behind.

Meanwhile, Mon Repos staff had determined the egg chamber was too low on the beach to avoid the egg-damaging water of high tide (same as had happened with two turtles last night at this beach). The staff had already dug their own chambers in the sand higher up the beach, so they excavated the egg chamber, counted the eggs (137), and utilized our group to help transport the eggs.

As we cupped our hands together and lined up to take turns carrying eggs, Andrew remarked "it looks like Holy Communion!" It was a little scary, as I first carried one egg, then three, stumbling in the dark over pits in the sand, and hummocky grass, knowing that all of us, kids included, carried The Future of the Species with us.

As we walked back along the beach, The Turtle Constellation had fully risen from the surf in the velvety-black southern night sky. Gorgeous!

The Spirit of the Turtle reigned triumphant tonight!