Travel » Arribada Beach

ARRIBADA BEACH BUDDIES

Watching an arribada is a wonderfuxperience, beign involved with one is unforgettable.
The beach is dark, the night cloudless and, although there is a steady southerly breeze, the air is muggy. My companion, Liz, and I could not be more excited as we gaze about us in amaze­ment. Up down and across the beach and in the sea, all we see are the last surviving dinosaurs on earth, 65 million years' worth of evolution. One of Nature's most captivating and spectac­ular events an arribada—is all around us. Over the next five nights, an estimated 1,75,000 Olive Ridley sea turtles deposited about 20 mil­lion eggs on 4km of beach near the mouth of the Rushikulya river in Orissa an astonishing, exhausting and rewarding experience

Arribada (or mass arrival) is a nesting strate­gy unique to the Olive Ridley turtles and their cousins, the Kemp's Ridley. Put simply, the idea is to lay more eggs than predators eat, the tide washes away or are otherwise destroyed. This increases the hatchlings' survival rates and local scientists agree that this is the only way in which this species can hope to survive. Only 20 per cent of the nests will hatch and only a tiny proportion of the hatchlings will survive to adulthood, maybe one in a thousand.

There are many theories purporting to explain when an arribada will start, including offshore winds, lunar cycles, release of female pheromones and perhaps even, the colour of one's underpants. In India, however, data indi­cates that the arribada may be related to a southerly wind—a warm, dry breeze. This time it started slowly—a few sporadic -estings, many of them destroyed by local wildlife, and the odd false crawl, where a turtle comes on to the beach but, not finding condi­,:ions to her liking, returns to the sea without nesting. In addition, dead turtles lay rotting onthe beach, often drowned as a result of illegal trawler activity off the coast.

Then the somnolent atmosphere changed, you could taste the anticipation. Hundreds of turtles had visited the beach during the night and the rumour had started the arribada is coming. Certainly the forest department thought so and the district forest officer and senior forest guards were everywhere that morning. After a chance encounter with the for­est officer, we found ourselves invited to volun­teer for the count. Fantastic to be present is one thing, to be involved quite another.

It wasn't long before we launched ourselves into one of the most spectacular trampling of toes yet recorded. This became self-destruction on a massive scale, executed with ruthless effi­ciency. To suggest that Liz attracts attention is to suggest that Pol Pot has a slightly iffy human rights' record. It was no surprise that a journal­ist wanted photographs and the local TV crew an interview. Liz obliged as I sulked in the shadows, apparently photogenically challenged.
Later that afternoon, we returned to the beach as patrol duties were being distributed. We waited as each local volunteer was assigned a forest department guard and a sec­tor to patrol.
To the beach to undertake our first count. To see one of these magnificent reptiles lumber up a beach is a sight to behold. To see thousands clambering over each other, going about their business is the most remarkable thin tr. They emerge cautiously from the surf before huffing and puffing their way up the initial slope to the high tide mark. Stopping every 3-4 metres in their search for a suitable nest site, they gasp for breath. Tears stream from their eyes as excess salt is released and soon the ordeal becomes more difficult with the sheer number of turtles on the beach jostling for position and space. They spend about an hour ashore and this hour represents the extent of the mother's parental care, she will never revisit the nest.

Back in our sector, our jaws remained dropped and our gobs well and truly smacked. The turtles had waited long enough in the Bay of Bengal; now was their time and they were relentless in their quest. Individually turtles are very shy and easily put off nesting but not now. Nothing human, turtle or otherwise, was to distract these ladies; come hell or high water, they were going to nest. Each hour on the hour, from 6pm to Gam, we counted all the turtles lay­ing eggs at that moment. During the course of the arribada, the figures indicate that over 6,000 nests were laid in our area of 100 metres by 50 metres.

Watching an Olive dig a chamber and deposit eggs is mesmerising. The chamber has a thin neck leading to a spherical chamber; from top to bottom is about 70 centimetres. The mother uses her hind flippers to scoop sand upand out of the nest; the excavated sand placed carefully to one side. One hind flipper and then the other; those missing a hind flipper go through the motions with their stump. A deli­cate flick precedes each downward reach and removes sand that has settled on the flipper and is likely to fall back. With the chamber ready, about 130-150 ping-pong sized leathery eggs covered in antibacterial mucus are deposited. Then the cover-up begins sand is swept into the chamber as flippers flap frenetically. Sand is churned on and around the nest in order to dis­guise the exact location. The Olive then employs her party piece and dances on the nest throwing her body up and down, side to side in a final camouflaging and compacting effort.

Lying on the sand, you can feel the reverber­ations of dozens of dancing turtles. It makes for quite a sensation, similar to being near a night­club when you can feel the bass line thumping,
DIGGING DEEP The turtles make spherical chambers by scooping sand out of their nests with their flippers before laying eggs In thorn no noise, just heavy, dull vibrations. The nesting procedure is a throwback to their time as land-dwelling creatures some 200 million years ago, a relic of a bygone era that affords no favours.

At the end of that first night, we were exhausted and elated in equal measure. As we left, we could see dozens of heads bobbing in the sea. We knew these to be tonight's hope­fuls, those that had not yet taken their chance. Let there be no doubt about it; once you have had one night of an arribada, the only option is to enjoy another. Over the following nights, we became rather indifferent to sharing the beach with thousands of turtles, especially when they chose to steal our carefully-crafted sand beds.

Furthermore, as the arribada wore on, the clock became our master, ruling us absolutely and showing us no mercy. The alarm roused us from a fitful sleep and we stumbled, zombie-like in a zigzag pattern through our sector. Had we become turtles? Exhausted and hungry, we would feel a whole load better somewhere else but we knew and accepted that we were where we had to be. The worst aspect of those nights was the sight of nests destroyed by other turtles and local wild dogs, coyotes and hyenas. It was distressing to see such a beautiful and awe­some effort go to such a terrible waste, but that's evolution... sort of.

As dawn broke at the end of the fifth night. we knew the arribada was over. The clue was not the count, which had fallen to zero, but the scene around us. It resembled a battlefield; the beach was carved up with no grain of sand left unturned. Turtle tracks were every which way: mounds of sand, half-dug nests, eggshells, dead turtles and destroyed nests littered the beach—flat and inviting was now rutted and devastat­ed. The beach was saying it had had enough and the turtles had apparently agreed.