A lesson that is being repeatedly pounded into me while traveling:
plans are pointless. Last night was a perfect example. The plan: to
collect, move, and save turtle eggs from poachers and the various
wildlife that drastically reduce their chances of survival. Reality:
something quite different, but equally as important.Five of us left Boquete for a dock just outside of David around 1 p.m.
yesterday. After stopping at the store to pick up supplies for the
night, we arrived at a dock settled into the mangroves and surrounded
by vultures. There our group formed - the five of us, a biologist from
the U.S./Columbia and his girlfriend, and three local Panamanian men.
We loaded our group and our gear onto a modest local fishing boat and
headed out. After a bit of negotiation through the mangroves, we were
out in open water. Beautiful views of the surrounding islands, a
colorful skyline and endless waters surrounded us. If that wasn’t
enough, soon Dolphins were jumping in the distance. With a slight
change of direction, we headed their way. It always amazes me how much
dolphins love to play.

 They swam beside our boat, almost close enough
to touch, surfacing and diving for almost 15 minutes. The biologist
jumped in to play, but the dolphins weren´t interested.Along the way our driver flagged down a passing fishing boat. We
pulled up next to it, passed them a bucket, they filled it with fish,
and off we went. One of the Panamanian men immediately set to
preparing the fish that would eventually be our dinner. After about 45
minutes we arrived at the island that would serve as our home base.
The entire island was comprised of three thatched roof palapas near
the shore, one larger, very rustic structure set back about 200 yards
from the beach, various crops, two dogs, and one older gentleman. We
unpacked the boat and settle into the man’s home – the two story, one
room, rustic, open structure. Soon enough the sun was setting, the
tunes were playing, and the fish was cooking. A car battery attached
to a light bulb hung in a half gallon milk container provided our only
light. After dinner, the Panamanian men set to playing the guitar and
singing while we laid back in hammocks and makeshift beds. A few fell
asleep, but my busy surroundings kept me awake. Just past midnight the
biologist let us know that it was time to go.We headed down to the shore and boarded the boat. After cutting across
the open water, we entered the mangroves once again. Because the
openings were so small, two men navigated from the front of the boat,
yelling directions back to the driver. An almost full moon lit up the
night enough to clearly make out our surroundings. Thick jungle,
mangroves, and forest mixed together around us, often times hanging
down into the boat. We were instructed to dodge everything because of
the dangerous and plentiful wildlife that could be in the trees -
boas, coral snakes, vipers, etc. As we inched through the mangroves
with the full moon shining above, it felt like a scene straight from
an adventure movie.  The boat ride lasted for almost an hour, but soon
enough we arrived at another island.

We left the boat, which was
supposed to pick us up on the other side after a two hour beach walk.
Our walk began at 1:23 a.m.We ventured down the beach with the light reflecting off of the ocean,
excited to find turtles. After climbing across twigs and branches to
cross one estuary, and walking for about an hour we came upon the
thing we least wanted to see – a freshly slain turtle. A poacher had
beat us to the chase, leaving behind only the shell and head of a once
beautiful animal.  We photographed the remains, intending to submit
them to the newspaper upon our return, and sullenly continued.

About an hour and a half later we were still walking – the beach seemed to
stretch on forever. We came to an estuary too wide to climb across and
removed our shoes and rolled up our pants to continue. Once across,
the Panamanian men wanted to burn a stretch of beach drift wood that
was blocking the tree line. They said is hindered the turtles’ ability
to lay eggs. We stopped and laid in the sand while they tried to
ignite a fire. After many failed attempts and many newly acquired
mosquito bites, we moved on. Our hopes of finding live turtles were
dwindling. As the moon set on the horizon, the stars above magnified,
and the night´s complete darkness set in with the same intensity as
our tiredness. I don’t think I have ever been able to see more stars
in the night’s sky, and although we were all exhausted it was still a
magical time. Another hour or so of walking and we all reconvened.
They instructed us to walk quickly through the thick, grass field
ahead in a single file line. Apparently this reduced our chances of
coming into contact with dangerous wildlife. Once we reached the
opposite side, the boat was finally in sight. As we climbed in, I
asked for the time – 5:37 a.m. It had been a LONG night. We were
steered off into the darkness of the ocean, and I began to drift in
and out of  sleep. As the sun rose, we slept – on the floor, in the hammocks, and in beds
made of the tables and chairs. Around 10 a.m., when we all awoke, the
men went out to the nearby crops and picked green beans and corn,
which they used to make a thick soup with rice. The hot sun blazed in
the sky, but the hot soup was filling and much appreciated. Around
noon when the tide was right for our departure, we boarded the boat
once again and headed back. Soon after our arrival at the dock, the
biologist informed us that the news was coming. They wanted to hear
our story.

During our miles and miles of walking on the beach, without a single
egg saved, I felt discouraged. But now I have come to a different
conclusion. We set out to help protect the turtles, and that is what
we did. The main Panamanian news station played our story on the
evening news last night and will likely repeat it tonight. Although we
didn´t save any eggs, the publicity that our excursion brought to the
issue is equally helpful. I´ve learned that the officials here are not
quick to believe stories of  poaching. Our photos and story provide
hard evidence, which I am hopeful will improve the response. Even
though it was a small step, it was still a step, and I´m glad I got to
be a part of it. Rebecca Noreen - Volunteer for goGHA