Driftwood & Dogs

Mother Nature has conspired of late to turn the ongoing sunny warmth here at the beach into something more like winter. Beginning early Thursday a colder, grayer outlook pushed aside the T-shirt days, reminding all that Florida is not always postcard pretty. Half-dressed breakfasts on the patio sheltering behind sunglasses and baseball cap hit a stop sign and yesterday I had to bear up under a somber sky and chilly wind with jeans and a sweater out of storage. At least I was able to walk on the beach, though strong winds handicapped half the distance, making two miles seem like four.

First discovery was of a large tree trunk washed up onto the beach by recent high tides and strong surf. Approached from a distance it had the appearance of an ordinary driftwood log, but closer inspection revealed an entire colony of attached shells, a living population of a type hard to identify. It was at once both beautiful and sad, a fascinating arrangement of clustered shells filled with creatures drying out and on the verge of death. It lasted only a few hours before being cut up and hauled away by the Beach Patrol. The sharpness of the shells and the possibility of the log being once more submerged by a rising tide made it a hazard on a beach still used by fishermen, swimmers and surfers. Who knows where the tree trunk entered the water and when that might have been?

A mile down the beach was a new sign placed just below the dunes warning animal (dog) owners of the ordinance against dogs on the beach. In my time here it was the first occasion of seeing a notice for something residents at least have long known about. The number of times I have seen people with a dog or dogs on the beach is too many to count, but in most cases those people are visitors unaware of the ordinance. Why such a law? This particular stretch of beach is federally funded and protected because it is historically a nesting site for sea turtles. Understanding the rigidity of local biologists tasked with nurturing, protecting and keeping tabs on sea turtles along Florida’s east coast is hard without an eye to eye meeting and a good measure of patience. By and large, the majority of those biologists would be happiest seeing the entire coastline returned to the pristine conditions of the nineteenth century—Don’t turn on patio lights! You’ll frighten the turtles. Don’t get too close to the nests; don’t use flashlights on the beach. You'll disorient the turtles. Dogs will dig up the nests!

Yeah, well I too want to protect the turtles and their hatchlings, but still prefer something along the lines of a compromise. Admittedly, on rare occasions a dog off-leash might want to dig a hole on the beach, and might use the opportunity to take a whiz, or… But otherwise, what’s the great harm? One of the reasons I don’t have a dog is because of the ordinance saying a dog is unwelcome on the beach. Still, I do accept that there is another side to the question.

Nature of a Dune

With each morning’s ramble down the beach, views to the left and right are forever a lesson, a shifting example of the divergent worlds of land and water. For the first half hour the ocean pounds on my left, while on the landward side eddies of wind stir the sand, at times rustling sea oats and beach grass on the dunes. Turning back toward home the contrasting sides shift and both land and the ocean opposite are affected by a different angle of the sun. The change in perspective is immediately noticeable in light and shadow, particularly toward the dunes. For the past months my main focus has been on the ocean with its shifting currents of blue, blue-gray, green and blue-green, on the cresting surf and the wet sand with its scatter of shells and birds. A return of the sea turtles has turned my eye toward the dunes.

Dunes are the result of wind blowing across plants on the beach. Sand particles are carried on the wind and as the wind passes across plants the windspeed slows and sand grains fall to the ground. At most times wind is a constant on the beach and little by little the windblown sand piles up and a dune grows. A variety of grasses and wild flowers colonize the dune as it grows taller. Dunes create a protected environment on their landward side allowing for various kinds of plants, which in turn support birds and animals. At different times the appearance of beach mice, doves and tortoises is not surprising. The lowest dunes provide a habitat for sea turtle eggs, sand crabs and other marine creatures. They also provide a barrier to salt intrusion from high tides and storm surges, in addition to protecting the land behind from erosion. Without the sea oats and other plant life dunes would have no anchor and blow away, changing the ecosystem drastically.

The turtle nesting season along Florida coasts is from mid-May until late October, a period of months when early morning patrols by marine biologists pinpoint the spots where large sea turtles have left egg deposits. Barriers are erected around the nesting sites, with the laying and approximate hatching dates marked on the barrier posts. The sites are monitored daily until the eggs hatch and the baby turtles make their dash to the water.

The past week four turtles have made their way to the stretch of beach along my walking path. Though it is my second time to be here for the season, there was still some excitement a few days back when I came upon a newly laid nest and the barricade put up by the biologists.

At a nesting site a mile south I got a good look at the surrounding dunes and was taken by the burst of spring growth in and around the dunes. Along with the biological renewal seen in the laying of turtle eggs, there is also a visible regeneration, a regrowth of plants and wildflowers. Interspersed with the brownish green of sea oats is a burst of red, yellow and orange from a bloom of dune sunflowers, firewheel and most surprising a fat pumpkin. In the midst of all this color I looked back over a shoulder to see the flat swath of blue water, the morning sunlight a scattering of jewels on its surface.

Something perfect about the scene a short distance above the turtle nest. Sun-worn stairs down to the beach crowded by sea oats, the white chair off to the side of a spreading firewheel plant.

A happy Halloween growing amidst the dried branches of palmetto and beach grass. Most curious of all is the Spanish moss to the left of the pumpkin’s vine and leaves. More common to the southern live oak, where it droops from branches, this plant (Angiosperm) is not common in sand dunes.

A spread of dune sunflowers, a sprinkle of firewheel in back, this is good example of the anchor plants provide to halt erosion and protect the land behind.

Couldn’t resist the splendor of this beach bouquet—a beautiful spray of firewheel flowers.

Each turtle nest is marked with this sign warning the curious to keep outside the set up barriers, to in no way interfere with the natural hatching of these endangered creatures.

For more detail on the laying of turtle eggs and their hatching, look back at Dreaming of the Sargasso Sea.

Rainy Day Passing

There are days when the weather conspires to make the beach a place for natural inhabitants alone, a place inhospitable to creatures without feathers, gills or hard shells. At such times water, wind or cold temperatures throw up unwelcome signals warning that conditions are, temporarily at least, on the outer edge of safe.

Today was that kind of day on Florida’s east coast at the latitude of 29°. From early morning, rain was heavy and the only thing on the beach apart from sand and seashells was birds, and even they were few in number. Looking through windows the outdoor perspective was little other than ghost-like lines rubbed faint by hard falling slants of rain, the definition of horizon, surf and sand smeared, if not by cloud or fog, then by a weakness of light. One of those times when warm and dry interiors offer the better choice.

Hard and steady rain lasted through the early afternoon but by three o’clock people were sniffing the air, venturing out for a look at what the sodden beach might hold. Not long before a straggle of people were plodding along the water’s edge. It wasn’t a pristine stroll, as rain and tide had worked together to throw up a grimy beard of jetsam and ruined bits of plastic along the surf line, a sight thankfully rare during these colder months.

A half mile south I came upon a first-time sight, one that no one likes to see. At some time during the long hours of rain, a sea turtle—what looked to be a mature Loggerhead—had come ashore, and there just above the waterline breathed its last. Orange paint spattered on its back is probably a marker put there by the beach patrol. Tire tracks circling the turtle could come from only the beach patrol who relay such information but do not get involved. Local fish and wildlife officers will pick up the turtle and determine the cause of death. Disease or sickness is a possibility, but so is cold shock, the very same that is affecting catfish and snook.

Sad to see the death of a magnificent creature like the sea turtle, but then nature in its myriad ways is nothing if not example of pure democracy.

Some interesting sea turtle tidbits:

• Sea turtles have existed for over 100 million years.

• Florida beaches are ‘home’ to eighty percent of Loggerhead turtles in the US.

• Scientists estimate that only one in 1,000 babies reaches adulthood.

• Hatchlings weigh 1 ounce and are 2 inches long; adults often grow to over 3 feet long, weighing 200-300 pounds.

• Nest temperatures during incubation determine a turtle’s sex. Males develop in cooler temperatures, females in hotter temperatures.

Dreaming of the Sargasso Sea

This will not be my first mention of the sea turtles that nest along Florida’s east coast, especially along the stretch of beach just under my nose. When I left home at 8:00 this morning for my usual walk on the beach, the sea turtles were not really on my mind, and a surprising encounter with biologists, nests and eggs was far from my thoughts.

There is a blue-roofed beachhouse a mile and a half south of me, and for almost two months it has been my ‘turn-around’ marker. As I approached that spot this morning I noticed a jeep stopped there, and three people very carefully digging in the sand. I realized right off that it was a team from the Volusia County turtle watch, and that they had just come upon a new deposit of turtle eggs buried by a female turtle during the night. I quickened my pace, eager to catch as much of the event as possible.

I got to the nest maybe five minutes before the two graduate students and their senior located the cache of about ninety eggs. For the next thirty minutes I watched (and took pictures) of the gradual uncovering of the eggs. They were digging the eggs up this time because the mother had chosen a bad location, too close to the surf, and in an area of known raccoons, a natural predator. What was especially interesting about these Loggerhead eggs was the size, and the number of fused eggs. Normal turtle eggs look very much like a ping pong ball, but the eggs this time were in many cases extra large. Not only that, but a good many of the eggs were fused together. This in itself is not all that unusual I learned, but it is more commonly just two eggs. There were three and four eggs fused together in this nest.

The scientists were working as fast as possible (uncovering progresses in a manner much like that on an archeological dig—slowly) because exposure to the air, light and temperature is detrimental to the eggs. They had a site already selected for re-burying the eggs a moderate distance south along the beach. Better conditions all around.

Turtle nesting season runs from early May through late October. As of this week sixty-four nests have been logged and roped off. According to the figures from the Fish & Wildlife Agency, the 2009 nest total along Florida beaches was 52,374 for Loggerhead turtles, a number 40% below the 1998 total. Temperature is very important for the hatching of eggs. Ocean temperatures influence mating, as well as when the female comes ashore to deposit the eggs. Temperatures within the nest are relevant to determining the sex of the hatchlings. Warmth at the top of the nest results in females; cooler temperatures near the bottom produce males. Beaches in Volusia County are vital because the white sand is slightly cooler than the sand farther south.

As for predators, the newly hatched turtles run a gauntlet for survival, racing against the sea birds, raccoons, crabs, and once in the water, against fish and sharks. From a nest of 100 eggs only a handful will survive. Those babies who make it through all the hungry obstacles swim straight out to the Sargasso Sea, where they eat and grow for a year or longer. This is a region of the western Atlantic between the Azores and the Caribbean, so called for the abundance of Sargasso seaweed, its deep blue color and exceptional clarity. Blue heaven for newly hatched sea turtles.

Soundtrack

One of my favorite books of some year past is Rohinton Mistry’s epic novel of Bombay, during India’s state of emergency in the mid 1970s, A Fine Balance. I read the book shortly after it came out in 1995, but as I sometimes do with special books, I reread this one over the past week. I won’t say much about the book now, other than to recommend it, and to share a favorite paragraph near the end of the book’s 600 pages…

‘As he spoke, he absently pulled out a fountain pen, unscrewed the cap, and put the nib to his nose. She watched, perplexed, as each nostril in turn was pressed shut and the ink fragrance inhaled deeply. Fortified by his fix of Royal Blue, he continued…’

• • • • • • • •

About the only exercise I stick with these days is walking. While in Japan I had the long, almost endless walking path along the blossom strewn Kanda River, which I took frequent advantage of. Now in Florida and on the beach, I have another superb walking environment just outside my door. There isn’t a lot I can call established or routine about my days here now, but one regime apart from the daily blog post is a three-mile early morning walk on the beach. Somehow, I hold onto that discipline doggedly and never falter in covering my daily distance on the clean white sands of NSB.

There aren’t a great many people on the beach when I go out for a walk, but most of the nine or ten I pass are like me, getting in their own time of exercise. The sounds around me, the surf, winds and birdcalls are as much a part of the experience as the movement of feet and legs. Everyone is different, and some people I pass are walking to the beat of an iPod, or following the distracted cadence of a cell phone conversation. I tried the iPod walk once, but didn’t care for the wall it put up between me and the natural setting. And I do walk with a cell phone in my pocket, just in case, but it would be a rare instance for a phone call to shatter the sanctity of those three miles walking south, feet skirting the surf.

I am trying to learn the names of the common birds, and already know a few of them, like the ever present oystercatchers and white ibis. Earlier pages in the blog have explained my fascination with brown pelicans.

My denuded Japanese iPhone still has a few useful functions, and one of them is a pedometer, which keeps a history of distance walked, time, steps and calories burned. It now tells me I’ve walked thirty-seven miles of white sand since the first outing twelve days ago.

I’m looking forward to the late weeks of summer when there is a chance of encountering newly hatched sea turtles scrambling for the waterline. The giant turtles will soon be arriving all along this stretch of protected coastline to deposit their eggs in nests far up from the surf. The nesting area is a twenty mile stretch of beach, and around 150,000 pounds of eggs are laid each year. It’s always a perilous dash for the baby turtles, and nature very often turns against many. In summers past I’ve ‘rescued’ hatchlings found unmoving at the water’s edge, keeping them safe until the turtle specialists picked them up. I am told they hold them for a few weeks until they grow stronger and can be dropped off at a favorable site twenty-five miles offshore. Hard to imagine when holding a turtle hatchling in the palm of your hand that one day it will grow to be the size of an 800 pound boulder.