Mobile Bay / Summer 2009 / Turtle Spirit

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Turtle Spirit

Every morning, from May through the end of August, Share the Beach volunteers patrol 45 miles of Alabama sand to find and protect sea turtle nests and assure that hatchlings scurry safely to the Gulf.

In native legend, there once was only water. The wife of a powerful chief fell through the clouds of Skyland, tumbling into the rolling sea. Knowing she would not survive, Turtle brought Earth from the bottom of the oceans, carrying it on his back so Sky Woman could live. The Earth spread to form Turtle Island, the continent of North America. The Turtle Clan, legend continues, has cared for Mother Earth and her resources ever since.

In our corner of the island, a determined group of volunteers is returning the favor.

THROUGH CHILD EYES

Peighton Langston, right, is not an average nine-year-old. At age four, she was already mesmerized by aquatic critters. Her family’s migration to Orange Beach intensified her interest. Her Bear Point finds – a baby flounder, shrimp, puffer fish and pipe fish – populate her aquarium.

Two summers ago, Peighton became a Share the Beach volunteer. Once a week, she and mom, Brenda, patrol the walk-line, the high tide mark on their mile of beach. It is in this scrunchy, sink-to-your-ankles sand that a mama turtle’s tracks to her nest may appear.
In two seasons, mother and daughter have not happened upon a nursery, but their teammates have. Once a nest is found, Peighton immerses herself in adopting 100 potential lives. The night before the hatchlings appear, she joins the adults as a nursemaid. She takes her turn lying on her belly in the sand, listening to nest activity with a stethoscope.

A crowd of the curious forms around the clutch of bright green t-shirts, and the nine-year-old seamlessly shifts roles. She talks of sea turtles returning to the beach where they hatch, the number of eggs a female lays and how many hatchlings will survive. The budding marine biologist educates spectators three generations older.

REPTILIAN MYSITQUE

Californians Neal and Fran Shults led nature hikes in the Channel Islands and answered blue whale questions on Pacific excursions. They arrived in Wolf Bay hungry for a species to champion.

The amateur naturalists have wrangled turtles for four nesting seasons, helping, for example, dig trenches, left, so the nurslings do not get waylaid. Neal’s enthusiasm boils over, like hatchlings evacuating a nest. “I get so excited about the mystery of it. How do the mothers travel as far as the Mediterranean and find their way back to their natal beach? How do the babies know to dig up, not down? How do they know not to come out of the nest until night?”

“Penguins, birds and even gators have someone to help them out. But the turtle mom plunks eggs in a hole without ever looking at them, covers them with sand and lumbers away — motherhood over!”

HEALING TOUCH

On Ono Island, volunteer Gwen Keith talks casually of territory few dare visit, her mortality. “I go to the doctor every six months to see if I’m going to live or die.” The cancer survivor has learned to appreciate the beauties of now and sees moments as opportunities. Turtling is her metaphor for personal restoration. Guiding each turtle to water, she helps it beat the thousand-to-one odds against reaching reproductive age.

Keith notes little things. On Orange Beach patrols, the dawning pink cast of sand reminds her of the Alpenglow in the Canadian Rockies. “‘Beachenglow!’” exclaims the retired school principal. “What a wonderful way to start the day! Mama Nature’s painting white sand, not white snow.”

While radiation and chemo robbed her tolerance of sunshine, they offered an opportunity to nest-sit. Keith patrols the beach at daybreak and nest-sits at night. “It is the most incredibly healing process. Sitting up all night, with a purpose, makes it okay to sleep all day. I can continue to do my life.”