Hot, cold, wet, and naked.

It had been a Tepic day, the usual winding climb to the state capital of Nayarit to spend time in the Environmental offices of the state, working on the land use plan for the Custodio watershed. Tepic was hot and muggy, and we had what I would call a 50% Tepic day. I should explain.

Doing business in Mexico requires a different strategy than we gringos are used to. Back in Washington State, were I to have to drive to Seattle (3 hrs) on business, I would make an appointment, get there on time, do my business and go home. Tepic is only a little more than an hour away, but if I have to go for one purpose I have a good chance of coming back with a 0% day, as each appointment has only a 25-33% probability of occurrence. This is a well- studied fact and reported in the litertrure, although the exact scientific journal slips my mind. So we try not to go to Tepic without at least 4 different possibilities. We have had a few 100% days, but not many. A 50% day is not bad.

Tepic was warm and we managed to get done what we could before "siesta", which would require another story. As we drove down the winding road toward the ocean, we could already see the thunderheads forming over the Volcano San Juan, and knew we could expect the usual storm that night. That meant good and bad news. The good news was that the turtles like coming up on the beach more on rainy nights, and we had scheduled ourselves in for patrol tonight. The bad news was that it would be raining.

At dusk we prepared our gear for the normal estuary crossing by canoe to go on turtle patrol, gathering our rain gear, flashlights, and water, and walked down the trail to the canoe launch site. We were a little late and there was no moon, and the tide was high and rushing out. There must have been a storm out at sea, because the swells were coming all the way into our protected little cove. This was the only day of the summer when we decided it would be worth the hour to drive around the estuary, rather than risk tipping the canoe in the dark.

The drive was not much less of an adventure, as the previous week’s rain had left the road to the beach inundated with water, and were it not for the trusty Toyota 4-runner, we would have turned back. There is one stretch of road that always gets completely covered with water, and especially in the dark, it appears as though you are about to enter a large lake, whose distant shore is not visible in the headlight beams. Were it not for the guiding fence posts on either side, there would be no hope. The beach stretch itself was fairly dry, with the only nuisance the multiple barbed wire gates that had to be opened and closed. The beach areas were used by local ranchers to graze cows and horses during the summer rains.

By the time we arrived at turtle camp, we could see lightning over the mountain passes to the south, and a gentle, but persistent breeze was blowing from that direction, almost assuring us that a storm was on its way. We were slated for the second patrol that night, and waited in the candle-lit camp kitchen for the 4-wheeler to return from its first run. Before long we saw the bouncing headlamp approaching camp from the South and Victor and Chuey (Jesus) pulled up to the camp. They had encountered two turtles on this first pass and collected both nests, returning with two bags of 100 or so eggs each, which they would now settle into the styrofoam ice chest filled with sand that would be their artificial nesting chamber for the next 45 days.

We checked the equipment on the "motor", as the vehicles are referred to, and headed out, first making the loop North to the Boca (estuary mouth), just 500 meters away. We had not gotten 100 meters before we encountered the first tracks, and rather than ending in the sand, the tracks continued up into the grassy area above the high water mark. Since there were no retreating tracks, the turtle was still there, and we quickly turned off the motor to wait. Normally the turtle would be digging its nest in the sand and we could tell by careful use of our mini-flashlight when a chamber had been dug. Once the turtle has finished excavating the chamber and begins to lay the eggs, she will no longer be disturbed by our interference, and will continue to lay the eggs, even as we collect them as they drop into the chamber. But a turtle digging a chamber can be spooked, and return to the sea. Not quite sure what to do, we returned to camp and asked the camp director, Jesus. He immediately got extremely excited, and ran after us back to the location of the nest. Once we saw that the turtle still had not returned to the sea, he explained that it must be a Carey (Hawksbill), one of the rarer species, and the only one to make a nest in the grass above the beach.

After a considerable wait the turtle made her exit to the ocean, and it was a Hawksbill. It was the first that Jesus had ever seen, even though he had worked at the camp for three years. Normally less than ten nests of this species are found, so it was even more important than the Golfina (Olive Ridley) which is the predominant species to nest at Playa Custodio. The other aspect of the Hawksbill is that it makes several false nests, and Jesus and Victor stayed to poke around (literally) while we went off on the patrol.

The wind was now no longer gentle, and the lightning flashes were more frequent and much closer. It was just beginning to rain as we headed South away from camp. The next turtle was no more than 100 meters in that direction, already in the process of laying, so we dug behind her and collected her eggs, measures her vital stats (size of shell), checked for tags on her front flippers, and left her to pack down the now empty nest and go back to the ocean.

Gentle wind and rain had turned to abrasive pounding, as the not yet saturated sand was lifted off the beach and thrown in our faces. Within another hundred meters we had found a completed set of tracks up and down, and a nesting bed, and we pulled out our trusted poking stick, and began probing for the chamber. After laying her eggs the huge turtle uses her weight to pack the sand solidly over the nest. It is a strange sight as the turtle actually lifts herself off the ground with her flippers, and then drops her weight over the chamber, following this with bringing in more sand and repeating this dance over and over. Because the eggs do not have a hard shell, even when they are packed in, there is a lot more "give" to the egg chamber than the surrounding sand, so beginning with the center of the "bed" we "poke around" until the stick finds the soft spot, trying to be gentle so as not to break any of the eggs.

After our third nest we ran across the Mexican marines, who patrol the beach to counter poaching, and they had discovered a turtle, and were proudly waiting at the nest for us to collect the eggs. They came every night from a small base near Platanitos, crossing the estuary in a small boat, and spend the entire night at various locations along the beach. Tonight was going to be a night for them to find a large palm tree and try to stay dry.

The patrolled beach is 8.5 KM long, and by the time we had reached the half-way point we had collected six nests, and the storm was upon us in with full force. Although the sand was no longer aloft, the drops of rain were not falling but flying parallel to the ground, and combined with the fact that we were driving against the wind, made it impossible to see ahead, and we were now surrounded by sheets of lightning followed by incredible rolls of thunder, and every few minutes a bolt would strike the ocean not more than a few hundred meters offshore, blinding us even more than the rain. We had long before donned our rain slickers, but they were only slightly helpful, as we had been wet to begin with. The wind now was making us cold as well, an amazing thing to say here in the tropics, where we spend most days looking for the coolest spot. Mona was hanging on to me both to keep warm, and because the lack of visibility kept the motor jumping over mounds and logs. Each time we found a turtle, we hoped it would be almost done, but, of course that rarely happened, and it was a good hour before we reached the turn around point at the Rio Zacualpan, our basket now loaded with 8 bags of eggs.

Normally we would have spent a few lazy minutes on this end, having a snack and a drink before making the run back, but we were both shivering, and must have looked like a couple of pretty pathetic yellow-clad something-or-others. By this point the sand from our various diggings had worked its way into every possible body nook and cranny, and just standing in place shivering was chafing. We decided to head back and let someone else suffer in our stead.

Finding turtles is always exciting. Finding a lot of turtles is a real treat. But tonight, by the time we reached the camp with over 1000 turtle eggs weighing down the motor, shivering, teeth chattering, and literally covered within our raingear with a layer of sand, the next turtle we would have come across would have been in great danger of being run across. Jesus and Victor were happy as clams, having seen their first Hawksbill turtle, and sitting cheerfully playing cards in the camp kitchen, dry as could be. They at least knew better than to ask if we wanted to stick around for another patrol. We filled out our paperwork, left them with the eggs and then….

Yes, now we had to get home. We had both forgotten we had the Toyota, and were not simply crossing the channel in 5 minutes to a hot shower. We had also forgotten a change of clothes, or anything that would help us get clean and dry and warm with the exception of one pitiful towel. The wind had died down, but it was raining harder than ever. At least we could get de-sanded, which we did by stripping naked and standing in one spot for a few seconds. Not a hot shower, but a shower. We shared the towel – really pitiful – and Mona jumped into the driver’s seat, and off we went. I did not realize that it was not really the driving part she wanted until we reached the first fence that had to be opened, and I was out and wet again, and then again, and again.

It was not until after the second stop for a gate that we realized that the marines often patrolled this road as well as the beach, and that what we had here were two totally naked gringos driving a road from a place they were not supposed to have been, or at least that would take some explaining. On the positive side, we would be certain to avoid being patted down for weapons. Well, no patrols were out, but when we hit the main highway, we are sure that there were a few passing drivers who went home not quite being sure what they had seen passing them in their headlights.

Finally a hot shower. Finally no sand. And we were both sound asleep long before we realized that it was hot, not cold.

Min – June 1996

In 2000 the funding was taken over by a foundation called SELVA NEGRA, which was funded by the Mexican musical group Mana. The local environmental government organization still oversees the project and the last few years have once again been very productive, with numbers increasing yearly. Many volunteers, mostly young adults from Europe, have put in those long patrols at night that will eventually lead to the recovery of the sea turtle after years of decline.

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