Growing up in the generation of Walt Disney, I learned how all critters great and small have complicated “personalities”. Old Walt personified everything—cats and dogs, brooms and fish, teapots and even candlesticks.  Is it any wonder that whenever I encounter an animal, especially one in the wild, I can’t resist imagining what it’s thinking?  Don’t worry, I’m not completely hopeless—at least not yet. The adult part of me realizes critters don’t really have conversations or think as humans do.  Still, my “inner Disney” often rules the day…

We loved walking on the beach just after sunrise.

My husband and I recently spent a week in sunny Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.  Oh, was that splendid!  It was especially nice for us, since the resort we stayed at was right on a beach, and we were able to go for a stroll at our leisure. One of our favorite pastimes was to walk the beach early in the morning.  We’d spend our time watching the sunrise as a small fleet of fishing boats sped out of the harbor that lies just down around the bend.

We couldn't believe it, a tiny sea turtle was trying to get to the ocean.

On one particular morning, we came upon a baby sea turtle making his way to the ocean. My chest constricted.  I could only imagine that for this little guy walking ten feet must have seemed like running a marathon, and he had at least four marathons to go!  Worse, as we’d started our morning walk later than normal, the sun was now climbing into the sky.  It was already blazing hot.

We had been warned there are strict regulations in place to protect the turtles, and for good cause.  In fact, they even had a guard patrolling the beach on an ATV to discourage the tourists from interfering.  Yet I spun around to look this guard was nowhere in sight.

There are many natural predators to young sea turtles including sea gulls.

It’s not hard to imagine the problem.  The mom turtles lay their eggs in the sand way up the beach beyond the tide line.  While this protects the eggs, when the babies hatch they have to make their way back down to the ocean all by themselves. It is a difficult, arduous task, and the sad fact is many young turtles never make it even this far. They are often eaten by large birds or other predators, or may not be strong enough to reach the safety of the water before the heat of the day saps their strength. It is a heartbreaking story of survival.  I want them all to experience the comforting waters of the sea and have long and happy turtle lives—just as I’d expect from Disney.

When we came across our little guy I was so torn—I just wanted to pick him up and take him to the water’s edge. Would it be so bad to give him a break this way? No one was around so it would have been very easy to bend over and lend a hand.  I scanned around for the guard.  The last thing I wanted was to be in hot water with the local authorities and face some stiff fine.  The adult part of me realized I’d have to let nature takes its course.  Still, I was channeling Disney inside, which meant there was nothing to keep me from cheering from the sidelines!

My hubby is such a sweetie.  He tolerates me when I start naming the critters I find or when I start “oohing” and “aahing” over something cute. And this day he was right there by my side, instantly aware I was struggling with this grueling rite of passage. At first, he gently reminded me to let the turtle be.  Then he suggested I give myself a break from potential grief and turn away.  Finally, when it was obvious I would do no such thing; he stood at my side and helped with the cheering and the urgings.

I couldn't believe the turtle's single-minded determination to get to the sea.

We stood out there for several minutes as our turtle slowly made progress toward the powerful open waters of the Pacific Ocean.  I was so worried.  I kept scanning above for seagulls and the local vultures that often fly high overhead.  I knew I couldn’t pick up the turtle, but I also didn’t see the harm in standing close enough to keep potential predators at bay.  Still, with the heat rapidly climbing into the nineties I begin to doubt if our fellow was actually going to be able to make it to the water’s edge. His progress was oh-so-much slower than I hoped for.

I still smile as I remember his stubborn determination.  As he made his way down the beach by churning his little flippers, I kept telling him how close he was getting and urging him on. When we retold the story later, my husband said I’d missed my calling and should have been a professional cheerleader.  Though I doubt it was ever quite that bad, inside I could feel my heart thumping and my eyes welling with tears as I watched him struggling away.

It was inspiring to see him keep up his fight for so long.  Our turtle was obviously driven and never seemed to doubt the direction he was traveling.  Then when he finally got within a couple feet of the water’s edge a big wave finally washed in and hit him. Oh no! The power of the surf battered him around and he landed on his back several feet back up the beach. I couldn’t stand it—he looked so vulnerable with his little flippers flailing—he was so exposed. I longed to reach down and help him to his feet, but he was much more flexible than I imagined and after a bit more struggling was able to right himself.

Would this be the wave that would sweep him away?

Though I was more worried than ever whether he’d make it, the water and battering actually seemed to invigorate him.  It was thrilling to witness this journey.  I felt my hope rising. With the sun beating down from above, I’m sure he’d been very hot—I know I was starting to sweat bullets. Yet once he had that cool taste of the ocean it’s like he became supercharged.  His little arms and legs went into double time and he marched back toward the surf with greater determination than ever.

The last couple yards of his trek were anything but easy.  Twice more large waves crested and raced toward him.  I can’t imagine the scale.  To us, those waves would have seemed like enormous tidal mountains.  And instead of sweeping him out to sea, he ended up tumbling and tossing in the surf before coming to rest farther ashore.  Yet each time he quickly righted himself and marched straight back into the maelstrom, undaunted.

At last, a big wave came in from the side and seemed to circle up and around him.  Suddenly, he caught it like a surfer and swept down and out into the sea.  He was gone.  He’d found his way!  I couldn’t help it—I was overjoyed and the tears burst from my eyes.  He made it!

I have no idea if our turtle was the first of his family to make the trip that day or the last. We didn’t see any others on our walk, or for that matter, on any other day during our stay. In retrospect, it’s probably just as well as I’m doubtful my heart could take the pressure.

Afterwards we went into town and found a "bobblehead" Speedo to remind us of the day.

As we walked back to our room, we named our little fellow Speedo based on how he went into high gear once he tasted potential victory.  It feels difficult to describe how much effort was involved as Speedo raced to the sea, yet it profoundly touched my heart. It reminded me that no matter how impossible the challenge, and even with the odds stacked heavily against us, if we put our mind to it and keep at it we can meet any goal.

There was great cheering on the beach when we saw Speedo catch that final wave. I could picture him swimming off to new adventures with a huge smile on his face. Yes, there’s no doubt—Old Walt would have been proud of this ending.  Go Speedo!

By Carol Austin

© 2011 Javabird LLC.  All rights reserved.

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