Ostional Wildlife Refuge

It took us some time (two months, to be exact) to find a tourist group to join and go see the turtle hatchlings at Ostional Beach. Most people we asked were puzzled; we had a 4 wheel drive car, why did we need to join a group to drive to Ostional? I’m surprised (with this being one of the rainier wet seasons) that anyone needs to ask. The river crossings on the road to Ostional are legendary; I receive the group chat school cancellations every morning after a hard rain. Again, no Ostional kids at school today–the rivers are too high.

Having driven out that way once by myself and once with Oli, fearless in the driver’s seat, I have both times turned back from what looked like a ferry crossing minus its ferry. Driving a car straight across a river just feels wrong to begin, but couple it with some horror stories and a few ugly witnessed events, and there was just no way we were plunging our car into the river. And the waters have receded considerably since then, enough to demonstrate that we were wise not to venture blindly across:

We gratefully accepted an invitation to go en masse with the other students at the Nosara Language Institute. Dragging the boys out of bed at 4 A.M. was not the greatest, but we arrived at the black sand and pebble beach of Ostional just before dawn. A man met us by the beach to give us our instructions–we were not to touch the “tortugitas” or to help them in any way. He should also have told us to be careful not to step on them because it took a minute to realize how many there were. Colored the same as the sand, they looked as though they were meant to be born on that very beach.

I was not prepared for dozens–several dozens of baby turtles–to be fighting their way through the tiny exit of each hole. And there were so many holes, some fully vacated, others a bevy of activity as the tiny, perfectly formed turtles vied for the opening. There were surges of effort, followed by collapses of exhaustion, and we all became fully absorbed in this drama at the very first hole. Then later we realized that this was happening all over the beach, followed by the turtles’  long slog over the beach debris, in and out of Himalayan footprints culminating in the final downhill to the water.

From a distance they looked like clusters of shiny black crabs marching determinedly to the ocean. Then a foamy wave would slide gently over them, and they would be gone. A few got turned around and seemed to be headed the wrong way, others were killed instantly by the deft blow of a seabird, and some just died along the way. But most beelined straight to the ocean and made it. By 7:30, they were all gone leaving nothing but the empty holes and the unlucky bodies of the few that didn’t make it. It must have been many hundreds in the end, and I have no idea how many during the night before.

These miracles occur monthly though in greater numbers during the rainy season. The “arridaba” is when the moms come out of the sea to dig their holes and lay their eggs in another monthly miracle. But I have read reviews about tourists on the beach in great enough numbers to confuse and vex the mothers on their appointed tasks. I have no wish to disturb a mother turtle trying to complete such important work, but these babies did not appear to be bothered by us at all. We might even have kept some of the birds away.

And since no adventure is complete without an incident with my friends, the ants, they did make their appearance as I was trying to splice together some Spanish commentary for our host at the turtle park. My backpack which now sat on my shoulder had been hibernating in my closet for several weeks before this turtle outing. At this point, alarmed that their new home was no safe place for the colony, dozens of red ants clutching eggs in their pincers began streaming down my arms and neck. My host had noticed them before I had and was politely trying to warn me about “muchas hormigas”. Whether it was his casual tone or the Spanish vocabulary completely unrelated to the wonder of the turtles, I had no idea what he was saying until the exodus had gotten well underway.

There was a time when an event like this might have caused a violent reaction from me, but having lived with more insects for the past three months than ever before in my lifetime, I calmly zipped my backpack closed and brushed the ants from my arms and legs. Giving my shirt a final snap, I shook hands with my host and got into the car with no further comment. At least it hadn’t happened clearing Customs.

As the weather dries up in Nosara, the leaves are turning yellow and dropping in the dry rain forest–a mechanism for the trees to conserve water. The jungle paths are all covered with dry leaves, and we shuffle noisily through them as we have been advised. (We are not interested in startling the vipers. ) They don’t call it “Fall” here, but it definitely feels like November at home without the chill. The dust is rising and powders the wilting leaves of the evergreens. We will miss our shiny green jungle, for sure.