Continued from Part 1...

On our first night at the station, after a solid briefing from Jon, we decked out our flashlights with red filter paper, put on our ninja clothes, and headed for the beach. We were headed for a hike up and down the beach searching for any signs of turtles that had hauled, or were hauling, themselves up onto the beach to lay their eggs. We would head out on these hikes for five out of the seven nights we stayed at Caño Palma. With my delicate feet torn and aching after these walks, I couldn’t help but be incredibly impressed by those volunteers and staff who hauled themselves up and down that beach day-in dayout.

On our third night, I was granted the opportunity to witness the shadowy, red figure of a massive leatherback, lit only by the stars and two team members’ headlamps.
Without doubt, I identify the most memorable moment as that when I watched the outline of a massive female pulling herself back down the beach after dropping off some precious cargo --- the next generation of a critically endangered species.

After spending this week prying information out of the station’s residents as often as possible, I discovered that this place was much more than a little hammock (and
Juancho-rich) piece of paradise. It was a place where not only the nights were aglow with herpetologists’ flashlights, but every morning at 5:00am there was a dedicated
avian nest surveyor out to gather data; ‘Socks’ (the happiest San Franciscan dog of all time) was following the morning Turtle surveyor; Jon and volunteers were trudging through waist-deep mud on a mammal monitoring walk, and a young Canadian in his early twenties was lucidly dreaming about Bothrops asper as a result of the chloroquine salts! This is a place where I will surely find myself again and for which I will speak considerable praise. I have worked and do work in the non-profit sector,
have met those who have, and have family members who plug away working from grant to grant, but at Caño Palma, I saw the labors of dedicated fundraisers and volunteers manifest in an effective, bare bones operation led by a dedicated biologist. It is a place where money is an issue, but also one where you feel like even in a short week, you’ve done something rewarding, supported the cause, seen something incredible, and met some fantastic people in the process.

Photo: a group of us taking a walk to the little remaining primary forest and the view. Photo courtesy of Alex Simpson