“Well,” Honey said rising, “everything looks good today. Let’s keep moving!”
We walked on as the sun rose higher. The blue in the sky erased the pink. The heat was already rising too. I wiped the sweat from my brow as we marched on and checked on two more nests. Honey declared all was in good order. There were no new nests to report either.
I squinted, looking at a line in the distance that carved the sand from the shoreline to the dunes. I trotted ahead, eyes peeled. My heart started pounding faster as I grew closer. It sure looked like tire tracks to me!
“Honey! Come see!” I called out, and waved at her to hurry.
Macon and Lovie came running.
“Turtle tracks!” Lovie shouted when she reached me. She jumped up, clapping her hands, then sprinted toward the dunes, following the long line of tracks.
Honey arrived, a bit winded from the rush. She huffed and said, “Yep, sure looks like it. Let’s check them out!”
Macon and I began running toward the dunes.
“Hold on, kids,” Honey called, huffing a little as she followed the tracks higher up to the dunes. “Stay off the dunes. That’s a big rule here. First, it’s not good for the sea oats. But also, we can’t mess up the field signs.”
“What are field signs?” asked Macon.
Honey caught her breath and looked at the large circle of disrupted sand. “Well, now,” she began. “Those are the signs we look for to find the eggs. We have to be like detectives, eh?”
That caught my attention. Macon and I drew near Honey as she pointed out the signs.
“The field signs are all the telling details that help the Turtle Team find the eggs. So careful where you step, hear?”
Honey pointed to the tracks above the high tide line. “Take a look. Those are the incoming tracks, where our mama turtle crawled out of the water. You can tell by looking at the direction that the sand is pushed by her flippers. Loggerhead tracks look like commas.”
“They weren’t washed away by the high tide,” Macon said.
“That’s right, Macon,” Honey said, pleased with his answer. “Now, see how the tracks go up to that circle of stirred-up sand? That’s where mama turtle stopped to lay her eggs. We call that the body pit. Let’s check it out.”
Macon was laser-focused on the tracks now as he followed Honey toward the dunes. He pointed to a second line of tracks. “If the other tracks were made by her coming in, then those must be the tracks she made going back to the ocean.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Honey. “You can tell by the difference in length that this turtle was up here for quite a while. And what do you think she was doing?”
“Laying eggs?” Lovie asked.
“Right again. I’ll bet the team will find eggs in there, all right,” Honey said, smiling. “Look carefully at that circle of sand. The turtle will dig with her hind flippers in a scooping motion to create the egg chamber. When she’s done, she’ll cover the eggs with her rear flippers and throw sand with her front flippers to camouflage her nest. Do you see any thrown sand?”
“Here!” called out Lovie, hurrying to sprayed sand near the nest.
“Right. Y’all make good team members.”
I smiled but didn’t reply. I was too busy drawing the tracks in my journal.
Honey put her hands on her hips and beamed with pride. “I’d say this is a great first day of turtle patrol for us. Now, let’s measure the width of the tracks.”
Honey pulled out a measuring tape from her bag and stretched it across the width of the tracks.
“Twenty-four inches,” Honey called out. “Mark it down in your books, kids. Loggerheads are pretty much the only kind of sea turtle that nests on our beaches in South Carolina. I’m guessing this mama weighed at least three hundred pounds. Our work is done. Now it’s time to notify the Turtle Team. We have to tell them of any tracks we find before seven a.m.”
“We don’t get to find the eggs?” Macon asked. I could see he wasn’t ready to stop searching.
“Nope. You have to be permitted by the state to touch a turtle egg or get slapped with a huge fine.” Honey pulled out a cell phone from her pocket.
“Wait. When did you get a cell phone?” I asked. “I didn’t even know you owned one.”
“Well, of course I do. For emergencies. And for when I’m on turtle patrol. Like now.”
The three of us stood and waited. Macon was keeping a distance from me and Lovie. This is going to be a long six weeks, I thought.
Before long, we spotted two women wearing green Turtle Team T-shirts and backpacks walking toward us. One carried a red plastic bucket. The ends of the wooden stakes were poking out the top. The other had a long yellow pole with a handle that looked like the letter T.
“Hey there, Helen,” they called out, and greeted Honey with hugs. “So glad to see you back out on the beach.”
One woman with sandy blond, short hair, blue eyes, and a kind smile walked up to us. “Hey, kids! I hear you’re helping us out this summer. Welcome! My name is Judy, and this is Alicia and Claudia.”
The woman had long red hair pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled under her Turtle Team ball cap. The third woman had a big black camera hanging from her neck. “Congratulations on finding a nest on your first day out. Beginner’s luck! Do you want to watch us find the eggs?”
We all said we did. We followed the women back up to the body pit. We stood out of the way with Honey and watched as Judy carried the yellow metal probe to the center of the mound. She studied it for a few minutes, then she bent at the knees and very slowly inserted the yellow probe into the sand. She pushed it a few inches down, then stopped. She moved the probe to another spot and pushed it until it stopped. Then another. Each time the probe stopped, she moved to another spot.
“Normally, the sand under the probe is hard,” Honey explained to us. “When the probe hits hard sand, she’ll look for another spot. When the sand is soft, the probe will keep going down. That’s how she’ll know the eggs are there.”
Judy repeated the action six more times, in and out, bending at the knees as the probe slipped in the sand. Suddenly she froze, then removed the probe. She set it aside and lowered to her hands and knees.
Lovie sucked in her breath and leaned closer.
Alicia joined her kneeling on the sand and together they scooped handfuls of sand out of the nest, slowly and carefully. Alicia straightened and brought up one perfectly round, white egg in her hand.
“We’ve got eggs!” she exclaimed.
Honey cheered, and excited, we edged closer for a better look.
“The egg looks like a Ping-Pong ball,” Macon said.
“Exactly like one,” Honey agreed.
Alicia and Judy carefully put the egg back into the hole and replaced the sand, patting it down gently. They placed three wooden stakes in a triangle around the nest and wound bright orange tape around them to form a barrier. On the front stake Judy stapled an orange sign that marked the nest as protected by the federal government.
“Congratulations!” Judy told the three of us. “You found the nest, so I’ll put your names on it.”
“Our names?” Macon asked.
“Yes, it’s your nest,” Alicia said.
We all bent close to watch as Judy took a marker and wrote on one of the wooden stakes: POTTER, LEGARE, SIMMONS 6/24.
“Well, we may not have a boat,” I said, “but at least we have a turtle nest.”
Even Macon cracked a smile at that.
Journal of Jake Potter
CHAPTER 15
Save the Nest!
Nature seems cruel sometimes.
EVERY MORNING WE WALKED THE beach in search of turtle tracks, but our beginner’s luck seemed to be over because we didn’t find any more.
But at least we were talking to each other again. It was impossible to carry a grudge after we found a turtle nest. Macon stopped glaring at us and joined in the conversations. I figured that was his way of saying he’d forgiven us,
and it was enough for me.
Honey was looking better too, now that she was walking outdoors every day. And my drawing was improving. All in all, summer was picking up on Dewees Island.
Honey pointed out the wildflowers that grew on the dunes. We wrote the names and sketched them in our notebooks. She also told us the names of the different shells we found, and any ocean life that had washed ashore. Lovie was right: My grandmother knew a lot about nature. My notebook was filling up with names like “sea stars,” “sea urchins,” “primrose,” and “crabs.” We even found a baby shark swimming in the tide pool!
One day Macon found a sand dollar. “Hey, this one’s all green!”
“Turn it over,” Honey instructed him as she walked closer. “What do you see?”
He did so and made a face. “There’s all these tiny wiggly legs!”
“That’s right,” Honey said, laughing lightly at Macon’s expression. “Come closer and look. That sand dollar is alive.”
Macon looked like he was going to drop it. Honey gently put her hand over his.
“Toss it back into the sea, Macon, and give that creature a second chance at life. Never keep the living sand dollars or sea stars, children. Carry them home to the sea.” We were just getting into the routine of Dawn Patrol when—disaster struck. On our way to checking her turtle nest, Lovie stopped short with a gasp. We could see that the orange tape was torn from the sticks and flapping in the wind. I looked at Macon and we both grimaced. Not a good sign.
“Oh no!” Lovie shrieked, and took off running.
Macon and I ran after her. The sand over the nest had a gaping hole right in the middle. Broken eggshells lay scattered around it. Some of the shells oozed yoke.
Macon pointed to the sand. “Look! Animal tracks. Looks like a dog. Or probably a coyote.”
Lovie stood, shoulders slumped, with tears rolling down her cheeks.
Honey caught up to us and sighed when she saw the carnage. She wrapped an arm around Lovie.
“Now this is a terrible sight, isn’t it? Nature seems cruel sometimes.” She dropped her arm. “But now you have to dry your tears. We’ve got work to do. Our job is to report what we find to the team. Then we’ll see what we can save.”
“Can we save some of them?” Lovie asked, hope ringing in her voice.
“We can try,” Honey said.
Honey pulled out her cell phone to call Judy and the team. They talked a few minutes, and when she was done, Honey handed Lovie the phone.
“Lovie, take some photos of the nest. And be sure to get a few of the animal prints.” Honey bent to study them. “Yep, sure looks like coyote tracks. Good eyes, Macon.”
Macon grinned, pleased with the compliment.
“Could you run to the cart and fetch the red bucket?” she asked him.
“Yes, ma’am.” He took off like the wind.
“Jake, you got your journal?”
I nodded and took my backpack off to retrieve it.
“Write what I tell you to write.”
We watched in silence as Honey pulled plastic gloves out of her tote bag and slipped them over her hands. She got down on her knees by the nest and began scooping the damaged eggs out and laying them in piles of ten on the sand. Lovie finished taking the photos and stood beside me. She held tight to her silver turtle charm that was dangling from her neck, a sure sign she was nervous.
Honey’s voice grew breathless as she worked at clearing out the ravaged eggs. “Coyotes don’t typically eat all the eggs in the nest. A raccoon, on the other hand, will gobble them all up.” She took a deep breath of the fresh air. “My, it’s a bit pungent down there,” she said before once more bending far into the nest. Her arm was nearly shoulder deep.
Honey’s face lit up with triumph as she gingerly pulled out a perfectly round white egg. “Good news!” she exclaimed. “It looks like there are still a lot of eggs left.”
Lovie clapped her hands and cheered in excitement.
Macon came racing back with the red bucket and handed it to Honey.
He bent over with his hands on his knees, winded. “What’s up?”
“There are eggs to save!” Lovie told him, her eyes bright.
Honey put sand in the bottom of the bucket, then turned to me. “Jake, you mark the number of eggs I call out. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“One,” she began, placing one egg into the bucket.
One after another she carefully placed eggs in the bucket, calling out the number for me to record. At last, she put the final egg into the bucket. “Eighty-two!” she called out, straightening up. Honey put her hand to the small of her back and smiled, satisfied at the count. “Feel better, Lovie?”
“Yes, much. Thanks, Honey,” Lovie replied, beaming down at the bucketful of eggs.
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s never good to have to move the eggs after they’ve settled, but we have no choice. Let’s gather up the nest stakes and the sign, will you? I’ll bury the ruined eggshells in the old nest. Don’t want the scent to attract ants and worse. Then we’ll move the good eggs to another spot a ways away from here. The team is already digging a new nest.”
Honey carried the bucket back to the golf cart, walking slowly. “Macon, you sit in the front with me. You’re the biggest, and I wager the strongest. You get the honor of carrying the eggs. Just please don’t let them jiggle.”
“I won’t.”
I could tell Macon was proud as he carefully held on to the red bucket. I knew there was no way he’d let those eggs jiggle.
Lovie, however, pouted as we hopped onto the back seat of the cart. I could tell she wanted to carry her eggs.
“Ready?” Honey called, and she slowly drove off, not at all speedy. She was being extra careful not to bounce. We didn’t go far. Honey turned off on another beach path.
Judy and Alicia from the Turtle Team were waiting for us on the dunes. Macon carried the red bucket of eggs as gently as if they were made of glass. When we reached the nest, Alicia took hold of the bucket, thanking him.
I walked to where Judy was finishing digging a nest. She used a large cockle shell to dig with, rather than a shovel.
“We like to use the cockle shells,” Judy told me. “They scoop great and each one holds about a cup of sand, the same amount a female turtle digs up with her rear flippers. We try to do everything like the sea turtle does,” she explained. “I dug this new nest about twenty-four inches deep, the same as the original nest.” She looked up as Alicia settled the red bucket on the sand by the new nest. “Okay Jake, ready to record the eggs again? We want to be sure we have the same count going back in.”
I pulled out my notebook and kept score as one by one, the two women very, very carefully placed each egg into the new nest.
“Eighty-two!” Alicia called out.
“That’s the same number,” Honey told them. “Let’s cover them up.”
Judy put sand over the eggs, and then she and Alicia marked the nest with orange tape and a federal sign.
“That should do it,” Honey said.
“How do we know the eggs will be okay?” Lovie asked.
“We don’t. But we did the best we could to give them a chance. Now it’s up to fate and the good Lord.”
“But we’re not done yet,” said Judy with a grin. “This time we are putting a wire cage over the nest to protect the eggs against any more coyotes.”
Honey put her arm around Lovie’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “We just have to hope, child. What’s life without hope?”
Dear Dad,
What a day! Last week we found a turtle nest. This week we saved one!
Lovie’s nest was attacked by coyotes! They ate more than twenty eggs. We don’t know how many exactly were laid, but there were eighty-two left. I know because I counted them.
Honey was great. She sure knows a lot. She moved the good eggs to a new nest, so now they have a chance. She says she can’t promise they’ll hatch, but me, Lovie, and Macon
are going to do all we can to protect them.
I’m really glad Macon and I are talking again. He started joining me and Lovie at the Nature Center again too. Glad that’s over. He was mad at me and Lovie (long story), but we deserved it. We got him in trouble with his dad. I think Macon was mad not so much because he got in trouble. I think Macon was upset because his dad was disappointed in him. I get that. I don’t ever want to disappoint you.
Anyway, I’m going to find a way to make it up to him.
I hope you like my letters. I know you’re trying hard to get well. I miss you.
Love, your son,
Jake
CHAPTER 16
Operation Coyote
A vision of red, white, and blue.
ANOTHER DAY. ANOTHER LETTER. I was sending one to Dad almost every day, along with my drawings. Mom called again to say my letters were arriving and how much Dad was enjoying them. They were the best medicine, she told me. It made me want to write more often.
I sat in the shade of the wraparound porch at the Nature Center, waiting for Macon and Lovie. It was hot and the tide was low, exposing the pluff mud. Its pungent smell filled the air, and as Lovie predicted, I was getting to like it.
I was getting to like the whole island a lot.
Learning how to identify the animals and birds, knowing their names, made all the difference. The white bird poking its beak in the mud was an egret. I knew that it was hunting for a meal—a fiddler crab, a snail, or a frog. I knew that a land turtle was called a terrapin, and I spotted a yellow-and-black-shelled fellow moving lazily along the salt marsh edge. A diamondback. Knowing the names of the wild things here made the island more like home. It was personal. I knew them.
My summer was different here, compared to the ones back at base. There, I spent a lot of time indoors playing video games. When I went out, I played team sports. On the island, I was more on my own. I could explore. Go swimming. Read. I could do whatever I wanted to do. And I was never bored! I was learning not just about critters and plants, but about myself.
And knowing these things, I started to trust my instincts. When I went out to explore the woods and beach, I knew to be quiet and keep my eyes and ears open. The animals came out of their hiding places while I filled my journal with drawings and notes.
The Islanders Page 11