Dear all,
In which Ilana returns to see the results of the egg laying activities she’d witnessed in November. This turns out to be a whole emotional birth/primeval Earth/woo woo-type experience….
After my last visit to Rocktail in November, I was determined to return to see the results of all the labour of those nesting mothers. I whinged and whined a bit, and when that didn’t work I took leave, and so, with friend Marice, I wended my way once again down south-east to KwaZulu-Natal (much in the news lately as a crime-infested place; luckily the only crimes we saw were the coal trucks going up and down the roads between Ogies and Bethal, clearly committing environmental crimes by helping people to burn fossil fuels but I digress). Aside from the potholed roads, KZN is beautiful in a truly rural African sort of way. Round thatched huts or rondavels banded by small patches of mealies, and clumps of lala palms dot the gentle green hills. Cute goats and regal cows with the occasional donkey munch on the side of the roads, which always helps to keep the driver awake as they have a marvellously sudden way of deciding to wander across the road at whim. Towns like Pongola and Jozini teem with people who do the same thing – all in all, a very invigorating drive.
Rocktail was as lovely as ever – if a little on the hot and humid side. Okay, a lot. Almost like being stuck in a cave deep underground sometimes, all damp and drippy, but nothing that several showers a day can’t help and anyway that’s the tropics for you. I’m not going to go into detail about the camp because you got that last time (homework: (re)read my last email), but the smiles and atmosphere made it feel like I had come home – even the kitchen staff were pleased to see us again! Chalet no.2 had less birdlife around it than my last chalet did but made up for this by having a slew of thick-tailed bushbabies who still had parties at night, but also delighted us during Shabbat dinner (which we had on our deck; the staff set up a table and lanterns under the stars – highly recommended for Friday night), bounding silently and effortlessly through the branches. Silently that is, until some family issue erupted and the screams were loud and bloodcurdling.
Speaking of birds (weren’t we?), two fantastic sightings: on the way to the camp we came across a pair of – wait for it – Rosy-throated Longclaws! (Okay the rest of you stop sniggering now.) And then, on the Friday morning, we decided to walk from Black Rock to the Lodge – some 6km, aren’t you impressed – and saw Palmnut Vultures – twice, once with a juvenile! Made the birders at the office green when I got back, that did.
(Some of this was written in the bird hide: a little dell with a tiny pool of water and a hide around it, a place so quiet you can hear a leaf hitting the ground or a gecko creeping across the canvas – scritch scratch – to catch an unwary spider. Of course this is except for the birds who are making such a racket (would Willie PLEASE come out and fight already?) but underneath this joyful clamour is a deep quiet, with the distant, confident roar of the ocean playing bass tone.)
This time I also managed to hang out in a hammock on the Hammock Trail, swinging and swaying through dappled light and shade, and I also went diving! I was rather nervous since it’s been seven years since I last put on the old BCD and sucked air out of a tank, but the diving operation at Rocktail is seriously professional, and Michelle the divemaster (mistress?) was amazing, taking me through the motions so calmly, I didn’t even do my usual cork imitation, but ascended to the surface like a normal human being. Although the school of large sturgeons flitting their way through the sunlight-shafted water above us made the three-minute stop incredibly well timed. We dived Gogo’s – a beautiful reef 18 metres down, where we saw a green turtle feeding, and stunning numbers of fish – Moorish idols, clownfish, clams, moray eels, parrotfish etc etc. No sharks but you can’t have everything I guess.
But the main reason for going was the turtle babies. Of course, that meant that the first night we were jumping up and down, let’s go already, in anticipation of the turtle drive – luckily low tide obliged us by being at 10:30, and there was a half moon shedding mysterious, blue light and doing the glinting thing off the sea, the waves alternating black and white as they rose and fell on the sands with soft sighs. The clouds came and went, the moon lighting them up to form heavy, woolly shapes against the stars – one looked exactly like a puppy lying upside down on its back – no really, Marice saw it too!
Not long into the drive, we saw our first tracks. Unlike the tanklike tracks of the big mamas, these are picanins, little pockmarks across the sands of time… sorry sorry. Anyway, the nesting tracks begin high on the beach above the high water mark; a little hole in the sand marks the point of exit from the earth. Then the tiny footprints spread out like a Chinese fan, but all leading down to the water. I expected to see broken egg shells, but it doesn’t work like that; the lighties break free from their shells whilst under the sand then, when everyone’s ready, they shimmy their way to the top in a tightly-knit ball, bursting out in a glorious, perilous bid for freedom as they scramble down to the sea en mass – that way some of them will escape ghost crabs and other predators – safety in numbers you see.
We stopped when we saw the tracks, for turtle researchers and gurus, Gugu and Chris, to record them, and then we saw it: a tiny, yet perfectly formed loggerhead about 10cm long. Clearly he (or she) was the slow one in the class because everyone else had left already, but this little lad (or lass) was still trying to get home, when our vehicle’s lights confused her (or him). You see, their eyes are very light sensitive so that they will head in the right direction – the slightly lighter phosphorescence of the sea as opposed to the dunes – isn’t it amazing how it’s all perfectly worked out? Unfortunately then we get in the way with our big lumbering feet and flash cameras and headlights and this poor guy took to wandering toward the vehicle. After taking a few minutes to admire his perfect little flippers and the way they moved so determinedly – first left front, then right front, then the back ones, all in strict rotation – we switched everything off to let him find his way. In the half light of the half moon, we strained our eyes to see a dark tear-shaped blob waddle towards home. His tear shape mirrored the tears in my eyes, because let’s face it, when you know that his chances are two in a thousand, there’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and desire to protect him all the way to the sea. (Yes, I was guilty of flapping my hands at a ‘nasty’ crab that was sidling up towards him to make him move away, muttering dark threats if he even LOOKED at ‘our’ turtle funny. Shame, poor bloke.)
On we went, silent and pensive – would he make it? Had he already been eaten by a kingfish? But such melancholy was driven away by the sight of an enormous leatherback (YES!) just finishing patting down and disguising her nest on the beach by disturbing the sand for a few metres around. The contrast between the 1.6-metre animal with enormous flippers thwacking the sand down with incredible power and that little lightie was so great it was almost ludicrous. I realised that the loggerhead baby’s whole body was the same size as the leatherback’s eyeball – such is the incredible potential on this planet of ours.
The last time I watched a leatherback, the weather was noisy and wet. Tonight all was quiet on the beachfront, silent enough to hear how the leatherback groaned and heaved enormous sighs – she was exhausted with her nesting efforts. Again, the atmosphere was evocative: that half moon shining down on the enormous black mound of turtle, the sighs and moans, the silent group of humans who followed her at a respectful distance when she heaved her great bulk, sighing and moaning, down to the sea. It was an echo of the determination we saw in the day-old tiny turtle we saw earlier – the primordial will to survive that drives all life on Earth.
(Of course the other way to look at it is to call her Mabel – she looked a bit like a Mabel – and then her groans were distinctly Jewish bobbe-like “Oy, you don’t know vat I go through… oy, the aches, the pains, mein beck….”)
We drove home in a daze, feeling quite emotional about the whole thing, but determined to go out again the next night if at all possible. It was and our luck held; this time we encountered just a few leatherback babies making their way to the water. It seems that the masses – 90 or so at a time – exploding from their nests are not being seen this year, possibly because some of them did not survive a nasty cold snap that happened some time in December. But the few leatherbacks were lively and lovely, their leathery carapaces showing up the white ‘stitching’ which stretches from neck to wagging, tiny tail. Again, we walked them down the sea, watching as the small waves swept them back then drew them into the foam, before Mbongeni urged us back into the vehicle – he had to continue monitoring the 30km beach and didn’t have time for us to get all woo woo about ‘our’ turtles.
Turns out we were very lucky because the next two nights they saw tracks and that was all.
So all in all, we had a wonderful few days, the turtle times were interspersed with sunny days, long walks on the beach, learning more about this beautiful place (wild date fruit is delicious, waterberries aren’t my favourite), and just hanging out with wonderful people – both staff and guests. Shabbat was lovely there too, some interesting halachic conundrums to mess with the brain, but that’s for another time…
But the blue moon-tinged memories remain, and every now and then I am swept away by the thought of a small, round body, neck stretched out resolutely, flippers waving enthusiastically as it chases bluebottles through the aquamarine depths of the ocean – and I smile involuntarily, thinking: good luck and Godspeed, little one!
A postscript:
I’ve thought a lot about that little loggerhead. And one point came to mind: In Ashrei (Psalm 145) we say: “Poteach et Yadecha umasbia lechol chai ratzon - You open Your hand and satisfy every living thing [with] its desire.” And even while I was worrying over one little turtle and hoping (praying?) that nothing would eat it, I understood that in the sheer numbers of turtles hatching, G-d is in fact feeding many other species; in the death of one creature He opens His hand to nourish another. And who am I to say which one should live and which should die? After all, it is He Who is the True Judge of the world….
In which Ilana returns to see the results of the egg laying activities she’d witnessed in November. This turns out to be a whole emotional birth/primeval Earth/woo woo-type experience….
After my last visit to Rocktail in November, I was determined to return to see the results of all the labour of those nesting mothers. I whinged and whined a bit, and when that didn’t work I took leave, and so, with friend Marice, I wended my way once again down south-east to KwaZulu-Natal (much in the news lately as a crime-infested place; luckily the only crimes we saw were the coal trucks going up and down the roads between Ogies and Bethal, clearly committing environmental crimes by helping people to burn fossil fuels but I digress). Aside from the potholed roads, KZN is beautiful in a truly rural African sort of way. Round thatched huts or rondavels banded by small patches of mealies, and clumps of lala palms dot the gentle green hills. Cute goats and regal cows with the occasional donkey munch on the side of the roads, which always helps to keep the driver awake as they have a marvellously sudden way of deciding to wander across the road at whim. Towns like Pongola and Jozini teem with people who do the same thing – all in all, a very invigorating drive.
Rocktail was as lovely as ever – if a little on the hot and humid side. Okay, a lot. Almost like being stuck in a cave deep underground sometimes, all damp and drippy, but nothing that several showers a day can’t help and anyway that’s the tropics for you. I’m not going to go into detail about the camp because you got that last time (homework: (re)read my last email), but the smiles and atmosphere made it feel like I had come home – even the kitchen staff were pleased to see us again! Chalet no.2 had less birdlife around it than my last chalet did but made up for this by having a slew of thick-tailed bushbabies who still had parties at night, but also delighted us during Shabbat dinner (which we had on our deck; the staff set up a table and lanterns under the stars – highly recommended for Friday night), bounding silently and effortlessly through the branches. Silently that is, until some family issue erupted and the screams were loud and bloodcurdling.
Speaking of birds (weren’t we?), two fantastic sightings: on the way to the camp we came across a pair of – wait for it – Rosy-throated Longclaws! (Okay the rest of you stop sniggering now.) And then, on the Friday morning, we decided to walk from Black Rock to the Lodge – some 6km, aren’t you impressed – and saw Palmnut Vultures – twice, once with a juvenile! Made the birders at the office green when I got back, that did.
(Some of this was written in the bird hide: a little dell with a tiny pool of water and a hide around it, a place so quiet you can hear a leaf hitting the ground or a gecko creeping across the canvas – scritch scratch – to catch an unwary spider. Of course this is except for the birds who are making such a racket (would Willie PLEASE come out and fight already?) but underneath this joyful clamour is a deep quiet, with the distant, confident roar of the ocean playing bass tone.)
This time I also managed to hang out in a hammock on the Hammock Trail, swinging and swaying through dappled light and shade, and I also went diving! I was rather nervous since it’s been seven years since I last put on the old BCD and sucked air out of a tank, but the diving operation at Rocktail is seriously professional, and Michelle the divemaster (mistress?) was amazing, taking me through the motions so calmly, I didn’t even do my usual cork imitation, but ascended to the surface like a normal human being. Although the school of large sturgeons flitting their way through the sunlight-shafted water above us made the three-minute stop incredibly well timed. We dived Gogo’s – a beautiful reef 18 metres down, where we saw a green turtle feeding, and stunning numbers of fish – Moorish idols, clownfish, clams, moray eels, parrotfish etc etc. No sharks but you can’t have everything I guess.
But the main reason for going was the turtle babies. Of course, that meant that the first night we were jumping up and down, let’s go already, in anticipation of the turtle drive – luckily low tide obliged us by being at 10:30, and there was a half moon shedding mysterious, blue light and doing the glinting thing off the sea, the waves alternating black and white as they rose and fell on the sands with soft sighs. The clouds came and went, the moon lighting them up to form heavy, woolly shapes against the stars – one looked exactly like a puppy lying upside down on its back – no really, Marice saw it too!
Not long into the drive, we saw our first tracks. Unlike the tanklike tracks of the big mamas, these are picanins, little pockmarks across the sands of time… sorry sorry. Anyway, the nesting tracks begin high on the beach above the high water mark; a little hole in the sand marks the point of exit from the earth. Then the tiny footprints spread out like a Chinese fan, but all leading down to the water. I expected to see broken egg shells, but it doesn’t work like that; the lighties break free from their shells whilst under the sand then, when everyone’s ready, they shimmy their way to the top in a tightly-knit ball, bursting out in a glorious, perilous bid for freedom as they scramble down to the sea en mass – that way some of them will escape ghost crabs and other predators – safety in numbers you see.
We stopped when we saw the tracks, for turtle researchers and gurus, Gugu and Chris, to record them, and then we saw it: a tiny, yet perfectly formed loggerhead about 10cm long. Clearly he (or she) was the slow one in the class because everyone else had left already, but this little lad (or lass) was still trying to get home, when our vehicle’s lights confused her (or him). You see, their eyes are very light sensitive so that they will head in the right direction – the slightly lighter phosphorescence of the sea as opposed to the dunes – isn’t it amazing how it’s all perfectly worked out? Unfortunately then we get in the way with our big lumbering feet and flash cameras and headlights and this poor guy took to wandering toward the vehicle. After taking a few minutes to admire his perfect little flippers and the way they moved so determinedly – first left front, then right front, then the back ones, all in strict rotation – we switched everything off to let him find his way. In the half light of the half moon, we strained our eyes to see a dark tear-shaped blob waddle towards home. His tear shape mirrored the tears in my eyes, because let’s face it, when you know that his chances are two in a thousand, there’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and desire to protect him all the way to the sea. (Yes, I was guilty of flapping my hands at a ‘nasty’ crab that was sidling up towards him to make him move away, muttering dark threats if he even LOOKED at ‘our’ turtle funny. Shame, poor bloke.)
On we went, silent and pensive – would he make it? Had he already been eaten by a kingfish? But such melancholy was driven away by the sight of an enormous leatherback (YES!) just finishing patting down and disguising her nest on the beach by disturbing the sand for a few metres around. The contrast between the 1.6-metre animal with enormous flippers thwacking the sand down with incredible power and that little lightie was so great it was almost ludicrous. I realised that the loggerhead baby’s whole body was the same size as the leatherback’s eyeball – such is the incredible potential on this planet of ours.
The last time I watched a leatherback, the weather was noisy and wet. Tonight all was quiet on the beachfront, silent enough to hear how the leatherback groaned and heaved enormous sighs – she was exhausted with her nesting efforts. Again, the atmosphere was evocative: that half moon shining down on the enormous black mound of turtle, the sighs and moans, the silent group of humans who followed her at a respectful distance when she heaved her great bulk, sighing and moaning, down to the sea. It was an echo of the determination we saw in the day-old tiny turtle we saw earlier – the primordial will to survive that drives all life on Earth.
(Of course the other way to look at it is to call her Mabel – she looked a bit like a Mabel – and then her groans were distinctly Jewish bobbe-like “Oy, you don’t know vat I go through… oy, the aches, the pains, mein beck….”)
We drove home in a daze, feeling quite emotional about the whole thing, but determined to go out again the next night if at all possible. It was and our luck held; this time we encountered just a few leatherback babies making their way to the water. It seems that the masses – 90 or so at a time – exploding from their nests are not being seen this year, possibly because some of them did not survive a nasty cold snap that happened some time in December. But the few leatherbacks were lively and lovely, their leathery carapaces showing up the white ‘stitching’ which stretches from neck to wagging, tiny tail. Again, we walked them down the sea, watching as the small waves swept them back then drew them into the foam, before Mbongeni urged us back into the vehicle – he had to continue monitoring the 30km beach and didn’t have time for us to get all woo woo about ‘our’ turtles.
Turns out we were very lucky because the next two nights they saw tracks and that was all.
So all in all, we had a wonderful few days, the turtle times were interspersed with sunny days, long walks on the beach, learning more about this beautiful place (wild date fruit is delicious, waterberries aren’t my favourite), and just hanging out with wonderful people – both staff and guests. Shabbat was lovely there too, some interesting halachic conundrums to mess with the brain, but that’s for another time…
But the blue moon-tinged memories remain, and every now and then I am swept away by the thought of a small, round body, neck stretched out resolutely, flippers waving enthusiastically as it chases bluebottles through the aquamarine depths of the ocean – and I smile involuntarily, thinking: good luck and Godspeed, little one!
A postscript:
I’ve thought a lot about that little loggerhead. And one point came to mind: In Ashrei (Psalm 145) we say: “Poteach et Yadecha umasbia lechol chai ratzon - You open Your hand and satisfy every living thing [with] its desire.” And even while I was worrying over one little turtle and hoping (praying?) that nothing would eat it, I understood that in the sheer numbers of turtles hatching, G-d is in fact feeding many other species; in the death of one creature He opens His hand to nourish another. And who am I to say which one should live and which should die? After all, it is He Who is the True Judge of the world….
(My picture but courtesy of Wilderness Safaris.)
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