It was a slow weekend—good for things like sloths,
tortugas (turtles), and manatees. And,
indeed, we saw them all, at least a little.
We took a weekend excursion with other Habla Ya students to San San Pond
Sak wetlands, where we visited the research and tortuga protection programs
being carried on there by AAMVECONA http://www.aamvecona.com/en/index.php?p=1. On Saturday morning, after taking taxis from
the school to the dock, 11 of us boarded a water taxi for the 25 minute ride
from Bocas del Toro to Almirante. There
a bus was waiting to take us 24 kilometers up the coast toward Costa Rica past
the town of Changuinola, home of the Panama Baseball League 2012 champions Los Tortugueras
(The Turtle Men) of Bocas Del Toro. We stopped at the San San River bridge, and
there we boarded a wooden launch to motor about 45 minutes down river to the
camp on a narrow peninsula between the river and the Caribbean Sea. En route we encountered some heavy rain, so
much of our stuff was wet when we arrived.
My once shiny Panama Birds book now looks worn and formerly wet.
Our rustic accommodations did include a comfortable
double bed, with mosquito netting, in a private room, so it was really just
right. The shower was downstairs and
cold, but in the intense heat and humidity it was a pleasure to take any kind
of shower.
When it stopped raining, we started exploring. And napping.
While I napped, Peggy found a sloth—I think it was a three-toed sloth,
but don’t know for sure. She woke me up
and we went together to look at it. The
hike was about 50 meters. While we were
looking at Peggy’s sloth, I found two others.
They all were completely motionless.
They looked like messy balls of wet hair stuck to the tree branches. Beyond that we really couldn’t see anything
else, except on one of them we could clearly see some toes. So I guess that settles it—we saw three toed
sloths.
One of the featured highlights of this weekend trip
was the hope of seeing giant leatherback turtles, the tortugas for which this
spot is famous. A female will lay her eggs
on the beach nearby, and about 60 to 63 days later, they all hatch and the
babies emerge at the same time. As many
as 60 or 70 dig out from the sand nest within just a few minutes. Except here there is a lot of human
intervention in the name of science and protection of this vulnerable
species. During breeding season, from about
February to August, teams of workers (los tortugueras) patrol a 5 kilometer
stretch of the beach looking for female turtles and the nests where they
deposit their eggs. The eggs are all
collected, moved to fenced enclosure near the research center, and reburied in
the sand in a man-made nest of the same dimensions as the female’s natural
nest. Dozens of these relocated nests
are in the fenced enclosure where a small wire and bug-netting canopy is placed
over each nest. Here a person and a dog
named Mike keep constant vigil over the hundreds of precious tortuga eggs,
protecting them from predators both wild and human. We were told we would have a chance to see both an egg-laying female and the hatching of a nest full of eggs, if we were lucky. The plan was to look for both after dinner.
But at dusk, before it was even time for dinner, we
got word that there was a hatching underway.
So we trotted down to the beach were we saw two people catching the
little tortugas as they escaped the nest.
Each was placed in a wheel barrow that was teaming with 3 inch long
tortugas trying to scramble out with their little flipper/legs. They asked us each to put on a surgical
glove, and then they let us help pick up the little rascals and put them in the
wheel barrow. I (and others) managed to
snap off a couple of photos before they said no flash photography—it might disorient
the little guys. When the workers were
confident that all the babies had been collected and no more were coming out of
the nest, they wheeled the barrow about 100 meters down the beach and then, one
by one, we put the tortugas on the sand and watched as they scurried to the water’s
edge. They carefully counted as each was
released. My tortuga was a strong little
guy, number 8, who immediately headed to the water. Peggy helped a set of twins, 18 and 19, get
on their way. If they make it, the
females from this brood will come back to the same beach in about 20 or 25
years to lay their own eggs in the same sand.
It was a moving experience to hold the little tortugas and help them
start their dangerous life-long journey in the sea. It’s so dangerous that the workers waited
until all the babies had made it into the water, preventing unseen predators
from getting them before they made the first short walk to the sea.
After that excitement we had dinner and by then it
was about 9 PM, time to go on the beach patrol looking for a female laying eggs. No lights, they explained, and it would be
about a 4 kilometer walk one-way with another 4 kilometers back. So off we went, walking the beach in the dark
with no moonlight to guide us. Although
we all stumbled over something sometime, amazingly no one got hurt. We all just got really tired. By the time we got back to the camp, it was
after midnight, and we had not seen a single tortuga on the beach. Sometimes that happens, they explained,
especially now as the nesting season is starting to wane. So hot, tired, and disappointed, we all went
to bed, only to be aroused minutes later by the cry “la tortuga!” A female had been spotted about 2 or 3
hundred meters from camp, but in the other direction on the beach. So we all got up and out again, hopeful and
cheerful. But when we got to the site
just a few minutes later, the tortuga was gone.
The workers were looking for the nest, so we stayed to at least see the
recovery of the fresh eggs. They
explained the tortuguas will lay the eggs in the nest, and then create several
false nests to try to deceive any predators who may be looking for the tasty
eggs. To find the nest one experienced
worker used a metal rod about 3 or 4 feet long to probe into the sand where the
tortuga had disturbed it. They explained
that the probe slides easily into the looser sand of the nest, and rarely do they
damage an egg looking for the nest this way.
Nevertheless, one time the man with the probe pulled it out of the sand,
and then felt the tip of the probe and smelled it, suggesting that sometimes
they do puncture an egg. Tonight,
however, they found nothing. Sometimes
that happens, they said. The tortuga may
get disturbed and leave before the eggs are laid.
So, disappointed again, we trudged, very tired, back
to our rooms. I didn’t have the energy
to look at the clock, but I guessed it was about 1 AM when we climbed back in
bed, me first, then Peggy. Peggy had
barely pulled up the sheet when another cry came, “la tortuga!” Peggy was out of bed in a flash, but me—“I can’t
go out,” I said. “I’m beat.” So I slept.
When Peggy got to the nest, again not far from camp,
the tortuga had already finished laying the eggs. But she was still there. Peggy said it was enormous, with a very large
head and bulging vitrous eyes that appeared to be crying. The workers allowed her to touch the soft
leathery eggs that had already been placed in a plastic bag for transport to
the nursery. They measure not only the
mother tortuga, but also the size and depth of the nest so they can replicate
those dimensions back at the nursery.
They record not only the date and number of eggs, but also the exact
location of each nest. Sometimes they
get a 60% hatch rate, beating an average hatch rate of about 40% in natural
nests.
I managed to wake enough to ask Peggy about it when
she returned at who knows when. I think
I remember her answering before I fell back asleep again.
The next day we went out in a small boat into the
mangrove swamp near the river’s mouth, not far from camp. We managed to find a few birds, though seeing
them in the dense leaves of the swamp was difficult. While doing this, I spotted a manatee surface
not far away. Neither Peggy nor the
boatman saw the manatee, but we could all see the surface of the water ripple
as the manatee swam under the surface closer and closer to us, finally passing
within just a few feet of the boat before continuing out of sight into the
distance.
As for the birds, we found these 4 new ones: Collared Plover, Black-cowled Oriole,
Olive-backed Euphonia (we heard lots of these singing before we finally saw
one), and Blue Ground-Dove. Got quite a
few bug bites, too.
Exhausted, we are now back at home and eager to get
more sleep. It was a really great trip.
Introducing ourselves to Nicaraguans, in Spanish of
course, has been interesting. Although
some people have trouble with Peggy, most get it right away. But when I introduce myself as Gordon, I most
often get silence and a wide-eyed blank look in return. I can’t tell if it’s my accent (but Peggy
says it’s pretty good), or if it’s actually my name that causes this palpable
hesitation. But I am now thinking they
just can’t believe their ears—because in Spanish “gordo” means “fat.” In other words, I think they think my name
is, well, Fatty. So I play along a
little. Sometimes I add that it is like
“gordito”—that being an affectionate nick-name you could translate as “dear
little fatty.” Then the wide-eyed blank
stare turns into a wide grin. I think
they will remember my name after that—or at least have a memorable image in
their minds when they see me later. 
