Ridley Rules

On a moonlit night, at high tide around 11pm, the surf launches an Olive Ridley high upon the beach, saving the turtle precious energy for her ordeal ahead.



We spot her by scanning the line where the sand meets the beach grass, looking for telltale tracks.



She'll climb just up to the highest surf line, then start to dig. I'm fortunate to be with a young researcher from Holland, Dennis, who leads me to the nesting area.



The turtle swivels her rear feet underneath, in a corkscrew motion, occasionally pausing to toss out the sand. Dennis stands guard. Local village boys have learned they can sell the turtle for meat, equivalent to a month's wage.



Once the hole is deep enough, the turtle begins to lay eggs. During this period, she falls into a trance, and is oblivious to the people around her.



She covers the hole, then slams her body repeatedly to pack the sand. With a final flap of feet, she disguises the area.



Then back to the surf.



Dennis digs up the eggs and counts them, writing his observations in a notebook.



This particular night, there were four turtles, and Dennis eventually ran out of bags. He contributed his shirt for the transport to a safe area near a hospitable beach resort.



In fifty days, some 300 small turtles (about 80 percent) will hatch and make their way to the sea. Perhaps 5% or those will survive to maturity and return again in 15 years to this same beach.