by Dominick Murray

Created on: July 10, 2008

The Old Lady of the Sea

The cockerel squabble erupting from the mango tree outside roused me from my fatigue induced slumber. It was early, earlier than I would have cared to have risen after almost twenty-four hours of airport waiting rooms and smaller-than-I'd-care-to-suffer plane seats. I had awoken in the little sunshine paradise of Tobago.

I had travelled to Tobago as part of an expedition, our goal, to aid a small local NGO, SOS Tobago in protecting endangered Atlantic Leatherback sea turtles (Dermochelys coriacea) from poaching and disturbance as they nested. These pre-historic animals have so many hazards to negotiate; each stage in their life history is fraught with danger. The Leatherback had become symbolic in my eyes of the struggle for existence experienced by so many marine creatures.

Unable to sleep, I headed to the beach. Despite the early morning heat I excitedly carried on towards the beach, Back Bay. Clumsily I made my way down the root-riddled path through the forest; my sandaled feet seemingly determined to betray me to the forest floor. Sunbeams broke through the canopy like strobes and danced to the melodic ebb and flow of the gentle breeze and the morning tide.

I exited onto the warm golden sand of the beach, my eyes observing a rich vision of blue, gold and green. Kicking off my sandals I let the warm sand rise between my toes and set off, searching for the tell tale signs of a Leatherback's busy work. I did not search long. The tractor-tyre print laid down upon the sand by the female as she dragged her cumbersome form up the beach to and from the nest was obvious, as was the erratically scattered sand where she hid its location. With some fortune perhaps her eggs would hatch, a black-blue eruption of miniature Leatherbacks.

I sat down beside the tracks focusing on the coming nights patrol and the quiver-inducing anticipation of finally seeing the old ladies of the sea making their instinct driven pilgrimage from the ocean to the beach.

With the sun set I readied myself for my first patrol. The route to Back Bay, now coated in the shadowy tones of night proved almost impassable, and was made all the worse by our lack of torches; their light could alert poachers to our presence. Fumbling through the blackness we eventually made it to the beach now illuminated with the silver-blue of the full moon. I could feel it as I walked along, there would be Leatherbacks tonight. I imagined the shimmering and glittering bay playing host to several of

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