The Elusive Leatherback
This is a tale of an epic journey to observe one of nature's miracles.
By my brother, Justin Whitsitt.
Sandra and I were staying in St Lucia (South Africa) last year when we deceided to go on a night drive from Cape Vidal along the beach almost until Sodwana in search of Leatherbacks.
We started in the late evening, around 8, and it was still quite muggy, it had been a hot day and that afternoon had produced a short but heavy downpour. I was very excited, as I had so enjoyed the trip up the beach those many years before and this had the bonus of getting a night drive on the way through the reserve. The most exciting part was the prospect of seeing leatherback turtles.
We were the first to be picked up and we piled into a long wheel base land cruiser. I chose the back as we would be perched up high and have a good view. I did notice, upon clambering on board, that there were piles of blankets at our feet. I didn’t give them a second thought as they looked dusty and scratchy and the evening was pleasantly warm. I even opted for jumper, as a jacket seemed too warm. We hoped on board Sandra and myself at the back with Inge and Bridgette (Sandra’s Mother) in the seats in front of us.
We stopped once more to pick up a quiet English couple and once we were there our Guide welcomed us. He seemed like a nice chap although not as professional as the old Natal Parks board guides then again I suppose that has something to do with the uniform. We were soon on our way through street of St Lucia, past the crocodile farm and into the bush. We cam eto the reserve gate and tour guide opened up for us. It wasn’t long before we started to see game, impala, zebra, reedbuck, kudu etc. All the same stuff we had seen during the day. It was only later that things got exciting when we saw a Hippo charge out the bush and run across the road in front of us. We all gasped in delight and I did think how lucky it was that it ran in front of us and not into us. This was the first time and not the last time that evening that I had second thoughts about sitting on the rear most seats.
We soon came to the Cape Vidal car park and stopped to stretch our legs, change the wheel locks to 4x4, visit the loo and be given a brief talk by our Guide about what to expect. Our evening was to consist of driving up the beach for about 10 kilometres and back again. If we were to do this we will find leatherback turtles. He then added to our anticipation by regaling a few tales of how the people on the previous drive couldn’t see the sand for turtles, they were everywhere. We jumped into the vehicle and were set for our turtle bonanza. As soon as we drove out onto the beach we were greeted by a slight wind. It had been pleasantly warm behind the dunes and the shelter of the trees but out on the beach it was quite cold. To add to the winds’ already cooling effect was the salt spray and, that was slowly saturating everything.
We were soon racing and weaving up the beach, the guide had said that he needed to keep a constant speed up or we would sink. This meant that we should make very sure we had seen a turtle before asking him to slow down. Very sensible, the problem was that every outcropping of rock looked like a turtle. It was quite dark at the time and I was seeing turtles everywhere. I soon realised that this wouldn’t be as straightforward as I originally thought. The slight wind was getting a bit stronger and damper and the whole chill factor was being added to by the speed we were going. On and on we drove colder and colder it seemed to get, our hopes were still high and we all knew there would be a turtle just around the corner, hell it looked as if they were everywhere. After about 5 kilometres our eyes collectively moved to stare directly ahead to duck and peer through the windscreen at the narrow strip of illumination in front of us. The headlights quite clearly picked up the deceptive rocks and driftwood and the ducking down helped a bit against the cold.
Then into our field of vision came tracks, turtle tracks by the looks of it. Well it looked like someone wearing flippers on their hands and feet and lying on a boogie board was trying to make their way up the beach. Our guide stopped and jumped out of the vehicle and disappeared into the darkness. We were very excited at this point and were readying ourselves to get off and witness the miracle that is a leatherback turtle laying eggs. Our guide soon returned and said that we were out of luck as the tracks were those of a returning turtle. He had found the exit tracks left earlier but slightly higher up when the tide was in. We were a little disappointed but at least we knew that they were there.
We continued up the beach, all eyes forward, rattling around in the back. We then came to some undistinguished point where we turned around and continued back towards Cape Vidal. We were told to keep an eye open for more turtle tracks. The weather wasn’t helping much as the wind was getting stronger and wetter and the weaving of the truck was getting a bit much as one had to hold on constantly for fear of being flung out. The entire journey up the beach had taken about half an hour, which was more than enough time for turtles on the other side to be dragging them selves out of the surf and up the beach.
The cold was worse on the return journey because now we were heading straight into it and not driving along with it. The dusty blanket at my feet was soon taken up and wrapped around Sandra and myself. The only problem was that the wind cut straight through it. It wasn’t long before the blanket was over our heads and we were peering through a small hole we had made for breathing. It also took a concerted effort from both of us to hold the blanket down around us to prevent any unwanted drafts. We continued like this for sometime until we stopped suddenly, turtles we thought. Our guide hopped out the cab and proceeded to take a cooler box out the back and asked us to disembark. I was quite glad to have a nice hot cup of coffee and an assortment of biscuits. We all made small talk most of which was focused on turtles, when was the high season? How many had he seen on previous trips? What was the likely hood of us seeing turtles tonight? To these it seemed we get the expected replies, he had obviously fielded these questions before.
As we stood and drank our coffee huddled behind the vehicle for shelter I did notice the lack of anything on the beach, usually it would be an abundance of ghost crabs scuttling around but I think even they were sheltering away from the freezing wind. It then came to my mind that if these turtles are going to spend a few hours every year out of the ocean they were going make sure it was a pleasant evening. We climbed aboard and resumed our position and roared off down the beach again. What seemed like a long time later we reached Cape Vidal and our moods lifted. To our horror instead of driving into the car park we turned around and started once more up the beach, yes our turtle tour was not yet over. We sat huddled and braced as we continued up the beach a moment’s elation faded as we realised that those were the same turtle tracks we had seen on the drive up. On and on we went by now our blanket was cocooned around us and we had forsaken our peephole for warmth and the heat from our own breaths was most welcome.
The driving went on and on for what seemed like hours. We then turned around and drove back into the wind and ducking further and further down behind the seat. My back was aching by this time and I was cursing my own stupidity for putting aesthetics before function. I will always think twice before choosing the back seat again. We bumped and swerved all the way back to Cape Vidal. At this point if there were any turtles I hoped we had run them over because I didn’t want to stop or even contemplate making this torture last any longer. When we did eventually arrive back in Cape Vidal, sometime after 12. We emerged from our chrysalis blankets into the muggy warmth of the dune forest. Our driver got out took the wheel locks off and went to the loo. He came back to roars of laughter in his truck.
It was an inside joke. We had had a pretty eventful trip thus far, I had fallen off a horse, our car had been reversed into and now the “turtle tour”. Brigitte had turned to Inge, as Inge had been saying something about the evenings’ events, to say “Denk Positive, Inge” (Think Positive). This had been our unofficial motto but was no resolutely set in stone. We all roared with laughter at how apt this message was, as all we had left was our positive thoughts. Well that and mild hypothermia. Our Guide soon ruined it by commenting that we were in unusually high spirits, as most of his guests had wanted to kill him by this stage. An absolute give away that the turtle tour had not always gone according to plan and we were not the only ones to be driven up and down the beach in the freezing cold.
THE END
And here's the article from our Mama, which prompted the sudden outburst of literary skill from my sibling. You kind of get an inkling of what's going on inside the mind driving 4x4 during the journey.
Fiona Timms
I enjoyed this article form the Natal Witness. I knew Jeff when I was secretary of the Natal midlands Bird Club, and also had quite a lot to do with him when I was an Hon Natal Parks Board member and we were doing game capture in Umfolozi.
D'you remember the time we spent a weekend with Chris Black in the staff accommodation at Sodwana And drove with him all the way up the coast on the beach to the pace where they do all the diving on the coral reef (I can't remember the name)
.... and all the ghost crabs?
Cheers for now,
Lots of love from,
Da Mama
XXX
JEFF GAISFORD Frenchmen, red wine and sea turtles
The lights of the double-cab 4x4 swept across the glistening sand, flicking momentarily over the flash and sparkle of the surf as we drove onto the beach at Sodwana Bay. It was 1994, a humid January night on the Zululand coast and it was sea-turtle breeding time. I was once more guiding a film crew along the beaches of Zululand to witness this wonderful occurrence.
In the cab of the 4x4 were crammed five large men: one South African
(me), three Frenchmen and a German. Pierre Mann, a retired banker from Strasbourg in Alsace, France, whose passion in life is making wildlife documentaries, sat beside me in front while the others sat hunched together in the back. I had met Pierre in Umfolozi the previous year when he had come to the park to film at waterholes at night. Due to a happy misunderstanding, we had shared a staff accommodation unit. The Frenchman had sniffed my offering of box wine suspiciously and then pronounced it okay. Later that evening I had mentioned to Pierre that summer brought the great sea turtles to our beaches every year. He had not slept a wink, spending the night wrestling with the thought of making a film about them.
And so, some months later, we were driving south from Sodwana, heading towards Leven Point. In the late afternoon, a typical Zululand thunderstorm had lashed us before moving out to sea. Now, at 7 pm, the night was pitch-dark, with great flashes of lightning still lighting the towering clouds that hung low over the coast and the night. We drove in silence for a while, me concentrating on avoiding the occasional outcrops of rock that often jutted from the sand. A light sea mist hung over the beach, causing these potentially dangerous hazards to appear suddenly. Myriads of pale ghost crabs scuttled towards the water's edge as the vehicle eased past and the occasional more powerful waves sent fingers of white water shooting across the sand in front of us. As the kilometres swept by, I could sense a growing scepticism in the cab. We had not seen a single turtle yet. In the glow of the instrument panel I saw Pierre turn his shaggy, bearded head towards me, his eyes thoughtful. We passed Liefeldt's Rocks, Adlam's Reef and Kingfish Bay with the hum of the transmission the only sound. Then we were past the beacons marking the St Lucia Marine Reserve Sanctuary. Easter Camp came and went and the site of the wreck of the Italian ship "Timavo" beached in the early days of World War 2 and, finally, the sweep of the bay at Leven Point, itself some 50 kilometres from Sodwana. I eased the 4x4 to a stop and we climbed stiffly from the confined cab, the Frenchmen muttering among themselves. The great thunder storm still played out to sea. One by one the Frenchmen joined me where I stood on the rocks and together we watched the grandest electric light show I have ever seen. The cloud base had lifted and, out over the horizon above the Agulhas current many kilometres to the east, vast banks of cumulus clouds were piling into massive, contorted shapes. Great flashes of lightning lit the pale clouds, lighting them internally in fantastic, flickering bursts of pale green and blue and pink and red. Immense tongues of vivid lightning forked and flickered - flashing great shafts of energy that connected sea and sky.
The heavens sparkled and glittered with each burst of power and the vast shimmering sheets of colour inside the clouds continuously flared and burned. It was eerily silent but for the continuous hush and suck of the low surf among the rocks in the darkness around us but in the humid night we could feel a trembling on the still air as the great thunder storm raged in the distance. The Frenchmen were transfixed. Nothing they had ever experienced could ever match the wonder of this Zululand night. Pierre had a camera out and was trying to catch the splendour of the moment, although he admitted that it was far too dark. It was a more excited group that later wedged themselves into the 4x4 once more as we began the trek back to Sodwana.
There was much chatter in the cab as we drove and, not understanding French, I was able to concentrate on the beach ahead of us. Suddenly I slammed on the brakes, bringing the chatter to an abrupt stop. There, tiny in the headlights, were the scrabbling black forms of sea-turtle hatchlings heading resolutely towards the surf. We had rehearsed this moment and the French team sprang to work, hastily rigging lights and setting tripods, and, within minutes, the camera began to roll. We were fortunate to have caught the hatching about halfway through and backtracked to the actual nest where the tiny turtles were emerging from the sand.
The French team were ecstatic. Gone were any mournful Gallic undertones and they excitedly chattered among themselves as they worked. I stooped and gently picked up one of the tiny creatures. It was a leatherback turtle, a mere 70 millimetres long and a perfect miniature of the adult, immaculately black with white dotted ridges running from head to tail on the carapace. Its tiny flippers maintained a constant breaststroke even as it lay in the palm of my hand. I became aware of the camera and lights being focused on me and Pierre asked me to explain the little miracle I held in my hand. I took a deep breath.
"This is the hatchling of a giant leatherback sea turtle," I explained. "The adult grows to two metres, can weight up to a ton and feeds on jellyfish . . ." There were astonished mutterings from the dark beyond the brilliant camera lights. "Two months ago an adult female came ashore here, dug a nest cavity and laid about 100 eggs. She covered the nest, ploughed up the area to disguise its exact location and returned to the sea. The nest is about
60 centimetres below the surface and these tiny hatchlings have dug their way out as a group, clawing down the sand above them and trampling it below them, causing the nest cavity to rise like a lift. The weaker ones are left buried and in this way natural selection begins from the earliest moment."
I gently placed the struggling hatchling on the wet sand and we watched as it was lifted and swirled this way and that by a wave, marvelling as it began to sweep its own way in the water, lifting its tiny head to take breath. Then it was gone into the foam and night. I looked up at the lens. "And that's how the mystery begins," I said quietly. "That tiny creature will swim 30 kilometres out to sea and be swept south by the Agulhas current, past the Cape, down towards Antarctica in the south Indian Ocean gyre that will sweep it back towards Australia and the equator before swinging down the African east coast. More than that we do not know. In 20 years' time, that little turtle might well come ashore here to nest. The odds are long as we estimate that one in 1 000 hatchlings survives to maturity."
It was now quite late, low tide was long gone, and we were soon trundling along the dark beach once more. The excited chattering resumed only to be abruptly stilled as the 4x4 slid to another sudden halt as we crested a sand ridge. For there, vast and glistening blackly in the headlights, was an adult female leatherback on her way up the beach to nest. I quickly cut the lights and ignition. "Okay guys, the drill is that we give her time to settle in. Once she starts digging we can go up but let's not disturb her yet. It gives us time to get the gear ready but don't show lights on her side of the truck." Well," I thought, "the tide has turned and she will take at least two hours to finish. The ride home on the rising tide is going to be interesting!" The clouds had cleared somewhat by now and in the faint starlight we could see the black bulk of the big sea turtle outlined against the lighter sand of the beach.
I gave her 10 minutes and quietly walked up behind her, lighting the sand with a shielded torch. She had begun her nest excavation. I signalled to the Frenchmen to bring the 4x4 a bit nearer and away from the rising tide. Gradually we switched on more lights. When the camera was ready I walked to the great creature, then knelt and checked her hind flippers for a tag. There was none. Either this was her first nesting or she had not been seen here before. "All nesting turtles have their data recorded if our staff find them and they have a numbered metal tag fitted so that our turtle survey can keep track of her," I told the camera. We watched in awe as the big animal laboriously dug a nest cavity using her hind flippers as sand scoops.
Now and then she would pause to rest, her breath coming in great, shuddering gasps. Tears of briny jelly hung from her eyes, a natural protection from windblown sand. She crossed her hind flippers demurely and began to lay. Three white, leathery eggs the size of billiard balls tumbled from her oviduct and into the nest, followed by more bursts of three. Soon the nest cavity was filling with these almost translucent spheres. The Frenchmen muttered among themselves, the camera rolled and the tide rose ever higher behind us as the big leatherback slowly completed the task her kind had performed for over 60 million years. With crocodiles, sea turtles had seen the changes as the continents had shifted and they had seen the decline of some of the dinosaurs - and still they remained, only becoming slightly smaller with the passing of time.
It was a humbling fact, I told the Frenchmen. Our lady finished her task by ploughing up a huge tract of beach to disguise the nest site, then heaved her way back to the surf, losing her heaviness as the waves rushed to bathe the sand from her great bulk, surrounding her with a lacy froth of foam. With a final heave of her great fore flippers, the big leatherback vanished into the dark sea.
A very thoughtful group once more wedged themselves into the confines of the cab. It was past 2 am when we reached our cottage at Sodwana and Pierre began rummaging around in one of the many cases he had brought. He reappeared with a beaming smile on his face and a bottle of red wine clutched in each hand.
"Now we drink good French wine," he boomed, pulling the corks. Good French wine it was: 20-year- old Chateau Neuf du Pape that rolled down the throat like oiled silk. Pierre raised his glass as we sat over a late supper and there were tears in his eyes. "A toast to a fantastic experience. Never in my life have I had such a night: the ride on this wonderful beach, the storm over the sea, the lightning, the hatchlings and the big leatherback. C'est magnifique!" In October the following year, with 2 000 other people, I sat in a darkened auditorium in Strasbourg as the guest of Pierre Mann. With a roll of thunder, the premiere began and on the screen a brilliant flash of jagged lightning rent the darkness. The music swelled dramatically and with each flash the massive bulk of a leatherback sea turtle began to take form as it heaved its way along the sand . . . the last evenings in paradise.
December 04, 2003 in Adventures , Blog