Todd’s Tales From The Ends of the Earth

Baby Sea Turtles

by | Dec 31, 2024 | Blog | 0 comments

 

There is nothing like watching sea turtles hatch on a deserted tropical beach.

In nesting season, sea turtles return to the beaches where they were born and lay several nests of eggs, with over 100 eggs per nest. The incubation period is approximately sixty days. We can then anticipate when the eggs will hatch and when to witness and photograph one of nature’s dramatic life cycles.

The hatchlings in each nest dig to the surface and emerge simultaneously. They sense where the ocean is and race in that direction, moving surprisingly fast for turtles. Their strong flippers propel them across 100 meters of sand, rocks, driftwood, and vegetation to the water’s edge, where the tide sweeps them into the ocean.

They have to move fast. The mortality rate for green sea turtle hatchlings is as low as 1 in 10,000, with only 1 in 10,000 surviving to adulthood. Their first challenge is to make it off the beach to the water. They need to outrun dogs, foxes, crabs, hawks, and vultures. Our guide informed us that an unexpected benefit of allowing select photographers near the nests is that it protects the babies from predators.

I have filmed over fifty sea turtle hatchings, each unique. They tend to emerge in the afternoon when the sand is warm, and the tide is receding. The beach around the nests can be smooth, rough, clean, or crowded with obstacles. The lens choice will determine what kind of pictures you will get: Long lenses and macros isolate the hatchlings, while a wide-angle lens allows close-ups of the turtles and includes the entire beach scene.

My favorite turtle photography is with a wide-angle lens mounted to one of my inventions, the “Turtle-Cam 2000.” This setup can be smoothly operated four inches away from a racing turtle.

Now for the story. I was filming hatching green sea turtles on a deserted beach as they raced to the ocean. One of my favorite shots is when a receding wave carries the hatchling into the ocean. It’s tricky to do because the wide-angle lens needs to be close to the turtle and the water, meaning the camera equipment can be swamped at any moment.
I was concentrating on staying close, giving the baby turtle space, and not getting soaked when I heard distressed shouting.
“You are too close to the turtles! Stay away from the turtles! Move away! Get away!”
I saw two red-faced birdwatchers waving their arms and yelling at me on the beach. My guide had walked further up the coast.
I stopped filming and walked over to the lady who had been yelling at me. I smiled, introduced myself, and then chatted about how my biologist guide and I had been coming to this beach for 20 years to film endangered sea turtles for documentaries. I told her my concerns about endangered wildlife and explained how my filming technique would not impede a turtle from entering the ocean. Our very presence creates a safe environment because predatory birds won’t take them if we are here.

The lady wasn’t having it. After enduring more fury and finger-wagging from her, I walked twenty meters away and sat on a driftwood log. The beach was now clear of humans. Three seconds later, a mangrove black hawk swooped down, grabbed a baby sea turtle, and flew off.

Watching the bird of prey vanish into the clouds, I was again struck by the fragility of our world and how conservation is a delicate balance between active safeguards and simply providing undeveloped space for animals.

And I’ll never forget the hawk’s silhouette gripping the hatchling in its talons as it flew into the setting sun.

 

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