“So there was a Mexican, a Canadian, and an American sitting around a loggerhead turtle nest…”

Okay, the experience was definitely no joke, and least to say my joke (credit goes to biologist, Carlos Richardo Peralta Muñoz). 

I’ve been visiting the island of Cozumel, Mexico, since I was nine years old. Each year, my family and I take a trip over to the quiet side of the island, the side that borders the Atlantic Ocean. It was only recently that I noticed countless black marks painted on the now-paved road that stretches along 20 kilometres of white sand beach.

It turns out this beach is the nesting ground for ancient marine reptiles – the loggerhead (Caretta caretta) and green turtle (Chelonia mydas). Both species are listed as endangered under the IUCN (International Union for Conservation of Nature) Conservation Status.

Predation, poor fishing practices, habitat loss and floating garbage (mainly plastic) are the major threats to these turtles. And human consumption of turtle meat and eggs continues in countries where worldwide legislation protecting turtles is not enforced.

Recently, I spent 10 days on the island, this time volunteering with the Cozumel turtle rehabilitation program. I became a “night owl,” as nightly nest monitoring shifts ran from 9:30 pm until around 4:30 am, the time when, guided by the moon, the turtles venture on shore to lay their eggs. 

A core team of volunteers has been performing this ritual—caring for Cozumel’s nesting sea turtle population—for 20 years, since the turtles were listed locally as endangered. These efforts have been led from the beginning by one key individual, Jose Martin Coral Perez, known to most as “Pantera,” and to us, affectionately, as “Papa Tortuga.”

To help the team’s efforts, municipal police close the road at 6 pm and monitor it all night. Each night we checked in with the police on duty, before covering the truck headlights with red plastic so as not to disturb the nesting turtles with the otherwise obnoxious white lights.

The team meticulously marks each nest, measures the distance to the road and then paints the nest number and turtle species on the road. Each year the numbers are painted over with black paint, so another turtle season can be documented. 

When choosing nesting sites, mama turtles search for just the right moisture content in the sand. This year, with the rainy season delayed, many nests were laid too close to the sea, which invariably would be washed away at high tide. Because of this, though not a common practice, many nests needed to be moved to higher ground. A new nest would be dug out, just the right depth and circumference, and we would, methodically move the 100-150 ping-pong sized eggs.

The first Loggerhead turtle nest of the season was laid and marked on April 6, and the first hatchling emerged on my first night of turtle duty. With very little moonlight to guide the baby turtle, Papa Tortuga used his headlamp to show the hatchling the way to the ocean. It is important that this turtle make its own way to the ocean because, if female, she will return close to 20 years later, to this very same beach to lay her own eggs. If male, the turtle will never return to land again. The following night the rest of the nest—all 111 hatchlings— made it safely to sea for the long journey to their feeding grounds, though many will invariably become prey along the way. 

Favourable nesting sites are found above high tide, on flat, sandy beaches that are clear of debris and large rocks. But these areas are also highly valued by humans. Therefore, human destruction of sea turtle nesting habitat is common around the world. 

The story of a human need to wipe away that which nature built, to construct our own docks, retaining walls, marinas or other shoreline developments, felt all too familiar to me having come from the British Columbia interior, a lake-land recreation destination.

But the turtles feel only the need to nest, to rest, to breed and to feed. And watching them, helping them, grounded me in a truth of what it means to be part of an ecosystem, not separate from it.

To see a mama loggerhead labour for hours, to know that she had tried two other sites before settling on THIS site; to learn that sometimes she will give up and return to sea, exhausted (a ‘false’ crawl); to feel her emotion, watch her “turtle tears” run down her face as her body rids itself of excess salt accumulated from months at sea; to watch the first hatchling emerge; and, to feel the absolute love for these turtles that the tireless volunteers, even through a language barrier still clearly convey. This is the feeling that drives the volunteers who return year after year to help these turtles.

Last season, 4,295 black marks were painted along the road that follows the beach; marking the total number of nests counted in 2010. Of these, only 256 were loggerhead nests, the remaining belonged to the green turtle. The nests had a total hatch rate of 89.25 per cent, meaning during the largest recorded nesting season on Cozumel, an estimated 460,000 eggs were laid, and with survival rates so low, it is likely only 460 baby turtles will survive to adulthood 

I have been visiting Cozumel for a little over two decades. But the turtles—they have been finding their way home to nest on this beach for millions of years.

Author’s note: The Cozumel turtle rehabilitation program is volunteer run and they rely on donations from individuals and organizations. Some of the items they are in need of are measuring tape, headlamps, and batteries, among others. I want to thank the Focus Corporation - Invermere for donating much needed supplies. I also want to thank Chopper’s Pet Supplies for sending me with items to give to Tierra de Animales in Cancun. I feel so fortunate to live in such a generous community that understands the value of contributing to worthwhile causes, whether they be close to home or across the ocean.