The first time I met a sea turtle was when my friend Jerene took me snorkeling in Hawaii. Schools of Yellow Tangs and Racoon fish swam around the lavender coral.  But in my peripheral vision I saw something much bigger and closer to me
than the fish.  An adult sea turtle was making her way to the surface.  She seemed to fly like a giant bird, each stroke of her flippers taking her much farther than the constant flutter of the small fins of the fish below me. When she reached the surface
she tipped her head to take a few breaths of  air.  Then she parted the water with her
fins and moved into the deeper ocean, fortified with oxygen that could last her for another hour.  Sea turtles can
live to be 100 years old.  Their lineage dates to the time of the dinosaurs when it was believed they were land
creatures who took to the sea at around the time dinosaurs became extinct, trading their capacity to hide for the ability to swim great distances. The Mayans believe that the creator god was birthed from a sea turtle carapice.  When I snorkeled, I I found that the turtles would look right at me.  I moved to Hawaii because I fell in love with them.  

It was not possible to see a baby turtle in Hawaii as the mother turtles do not nest on the major islands. 
And so I was very excited when I learned that Guatemala’s Pacific Coast iss a major nesting area for Olive Ridley and Loggerhead sea turtles. Sea turtle reserves, tortugarias, dot the coast, but the reserve at Monterrico, which also rescues endangered iguanas and alligators, was the most accessible for me.  

Baby sea turtles hatch after about 40 days. 
I heard there was to be a release of baby sea turtles at 5:30 that
afternoon at the Monterrico reserve. 
When I arrived at the reserve, which is only a short walk down the beach,
I was led to a pool where 25 baby turtles were swimming, some of them very
rapidly. Unlike other animals which assume an adult shape only with maturity,  baby sea turtles are perfect miniatures of the adult .sea turtles.   As they scampered in the still water of the pool, waving their tiny flippers energetically, they resembled  migrating butterflies.  I felt a great fondness watching them and imagined sending them love and protection for their perilous journeys to adulthood.

The tortugaria staff told us to head for the beach in front of the hatchery.  We peered in through the mesh surrounding the hatchery, where rows of marked PCP pipes indicated the reburied nests.  Then baby sea turtles from the pool
were carried in a dry bucket to within 6 feet of the ocean wash.  The turtles need to be released on the sand and to enter the sea by land.  

I paid 10 quetzales and received a ticket which allowed me to
dip into the bucket with my hands and bring out a baby turtle. 
Unfortunately, there was little in the way of education about the baby
turtles and no guidelines for the release, so the turtles were taken from the
bucket with varying degrees of consideration. Later, I talked with a woman who
works at another reserve and I heard there was criticsm of this reserve because
they sometimes held the turtles for a day or even two days after hatching, so as
to have a sufficient number of turtles for tourists at the late afternoon
release. She said that  research done at her reserve suggests that the baby turtles have only two days of  enormous energy before they become lethargic and so it is important that they are released within an hour of being
hatched.  She proposes that people sign up to participate in the release so that people could be notified of the
release shortly after the turtles hatch.

I was immediately aware of how mighty the little turtle in my
hand was, so much stronger than a baby bird or a kitten, repeatedly flexing her
fins as if she was already making her way through the waves. 
I quickly said a prayer to Gaia on her behalf and gave her a little reiki
before setting her on the sand.  

On the vast beach she looked small, only slightly larger than a
pebble.  But she moved determinedly
towards the water, hoisting herself forward with her flippers until she caught
the wash of an incoming wave.

I  have thought of “my” turtle many times since that day. 
After the release I checked my email at the hotel and found that my
dearly beloved cat, Frankie Topaz, had died that afternoon at nearly the same
hour that I released my turtle into the sand.  I called in my mind to my baby
turtle.  I said I would name her Topaz in honor of another fine animal. 
 Perhaps like my beloved cat and like the sea turtles I swam with in Hawaii, Topaz the Turtle will also
survive into maturity and one day open the heart of a human who chances to travel beside her.

                The day was sunny and clear as I set off for Monterrico in a shuttle from Antigua.  There was plenty of room on the mini-bus this Friday as Guatemala’s national elections were to be held on Sunday, September 11.  By law, no alcohol can be consumed the day before the election or on election day itself, so Pacific Coast holidays on this particular weekend are limited to those attracted to the other wonders the coast offers.  In addition, campaigning for four days preceding the election is prohibited, so for the first time in many days, the morning was free of amplified pickup trucks touting their candidates. 

                It was my first view of one of Guatemala’s three active volcanos, Pacaya.  With smoke rising from her peak, she was easy to follow among the neighboring mountains which dominated the first hour of our journey.  As we got closer to the coast, we passed many trellised loofa plants, the long green loofa hanging below the yellow flowers of the plant.  The loofas are hung to dry ibefore they’re eventually sold for use in scrubbing the skin. 

             In contrast to Antigua, Monterrico was hot.  I was happy to change into a light dress I’d brought from Hawaii.  In Monterrico, the beach is dotted with small hotels, restaurants and tiendas.  There are no big resortswhich disfigure so many vacation areas. I was immediately approached by two friendly local guides who were offering eco-tours of Monterrico.  I signed up for a non-motored boat ride through the mangrove canals at sunrise.  But over dinner with two French women travelers who had participated in the mama sea turtle tour the night before, I was persuaded to set off at 8PM that night with Eleazar.

                Selene and Catarina had warned me that the two hour beach walk  would be “difficult,” though Selene was willing to do it again, having persuaded Eleazar to let her come along a second time for free.  I was certain I would get soaking wet as the sky was heavy with clouds.  In the distance, lightening would illuminate the ocean.  The next night I would sit in a chair on the sand and watch the sky for two hours, as the streaks of lightening shot into the ocean and others crossed the sky horizontally like arrows.  

I soon understood why the walk was considered difficult.  The sand was soft, making each step a meditation on the challenges  of moving forward.  I was soon drenched with sweat, (but not rain, as I searched fruitlessly for more solid footing.  We walked in the dark, passing groups of men and boys who stood motionless as they stared at the incoming waves. The watchers were local residents, many of whom are fishermen no longer able to make a living from fishing, due to the diminishing fish population.  Now they stay up until 1 or 2 AM, watching for a solitary female turtle to emerge from the sea and come far up on the sand in order to lay her eggs.

In the past, they would have sold the eggs as food.  Considered a delicacy, sea turtle eggs are believed to be aphrodesiacs.  In addition, dogs and beach vehicles take a considerable toll on the eggs.  Now that sea turtles are an endangered species in Guatemala, the tortugarias which line the coast pay local residents to sell the eggs to their reserves, where they are reburied in a protected area.  The babys are released closer to the sea to protect them from the perilous journey on the beach.     Even with this additional protection from predators, it is estimated that only 1 in 100 to 1 in 1000 baby sea turtles survive into adulthood.  

As we walked, moving away from the lights of the hotels and houses, I began to realize that finding a lone turtles as she made her joumey from the sea to make a nest was an improbable trek.   It was possible that as we walked onward, a sea turtle had come out of the water behind us.  Or that she might wait until midnight, or tomorrow, or even next month.  But we were lucky.    Eleazar spotted the butterfly tracks of the mother turtle.   We were joined by the small group of egg collectors who had been watching this part of the beach.  “See, she’s up there, searching for the right place to bury her eggs,” they told us, pointing into the darkness.  I could only marvel at the acuity of their night vision as I could not see her. “Now we wait, maybe half an hour, until she finds just the right place to lay her eggs and then digs a hole for the eggs.”  For the mother turtles walk and walk searching for the place that is right, though they have no "legs," only flippers for swimming in the sea.

I gratefully sank into the sand to wait.  Perhaps it was fitting that my beach hike too had been strenuous.  

Sea turtles return to lay their eggs on the same beach where they were born beginning when they are 25 years old and continuing every year after this.  Sea turtles are also know to travel up to 10,000 miles a year.  While they are astonishing swimmers they are also capable of resting on the sea floor.  But as land reptiles which adapted to the sea at about the same times the dinasaurs began to go extinct, the sea turtles needs to breathe air, at least once an hour.

Eleaza motions to us to come.  Our turtle has already laid over eighty eggs, which have been scooped out of the nest through a second hole that the collectors have dug in the sand.  The eggs are glistening white and seem to glow in the sand.  As she lays her eggs, tears seem to pour down her face.  Later I learn that sea turtles are known for crying, which is believed to allow them expel excess sea water.

 I know that taking the eggs to the hatcheries will increase the chances for their survival.  Still, I am sad thinking of the care the mother turtle takes in locating her nest and the arduous task of coming so far up on the sand.    She closes the nest by raising herself up and stomping the sand mightily with her flippers.    Then she returns to the sea, her journey only slightly less arduous as she moves down the bank of sand and catches an outbound wave.

Sea turtles live their lives as orphans.  The mother will likely never see any of her babies, nor know if any live.  The egg collectors tell us she had 92 eggs and they are happy because with the money from the hatchery they can buy food.  The walk home is an eternity.  The moon becomes an egg in my mind.  It is midnight and I will be rising at 4:30 AM to watch the sunrise from the mangrove.