#wabasso beach

[glamzery]

[peynis]

Had a wonderful time at the beach yesterday.

[americasgreatoutdoors]

The Archie Carr National Wildlife Refuge stretches across 20.5 miles between Melbourne Beach and Wabasso Beach along Florida's east coast. The refuge was established in 1991 and was named after the late Dr. Archie Carr, Jr., in honor of his extraordinary contribution to sea turtle conservation. The Refuge is a direct result of Dr. Carr bringing attention to the world's declining turtle populations due to over-exploitation and loss of safe habitat. The refuge was designated to protect habitat for what is the most significant area for loggerhead sea turtle nesting in the Western Hemisphere, and the most significant area for green turtle nesting in North America. This represents 25-35% of all loggerhead and green sea turtle nests in the US. It also serves as a minor nesting area for the leatherback turtle, which is one of the world's largest and rarest sea turtles. The long stretches of quiet, undisturbed sandy beaches, with little or no artificial light, are essential to the reproductive success and survival of the 15,000 to 20,000 sea turtles nesting annually. Photo: Terry Ross 

[naturallynoted]

on the border

Skimboarding during the early gloom, just south of Wabasso Beach, is both a tranquil and revitalizing morning exercise. The beach is vacant. The surf seems to have preserved a trace of an expiring nocturnal chill. And everything looks like a clean slab of rough slate, simply suffering the daily wait to be dutifully washed with colors from the coming dawn. Now, the wet sand is gray. The gentle waves are gray. The sunless sky is gray.

There is, however, a small movement across the sand—or a series of movements, isolated sections of the sand shifting underfoot and inching toward the water. The wet sand looks alive. The sight demands a closer inspection.

All around the skimboard are newborn sea turtles, each about the size of a fifty-cent coin, just liberated from their eggs and making their great escape across an exposing no-man’s land and into the relative safety of the sea. One turtle, unintentionally rebuffed by the barrier of a certain fiberglass board, is momentarily about-faced—but not confused. Instinct appears strong. The baby turtle resets its course, turning four little fins at full speed and disappearing into the surf.

The turtles do not slow. They do not stop. And in a matter of seconds, they are all gone. Behind, they leave a series of faint tracks and—somewhere on the edge of the dunes—a pile of disturbed sand mixed with broken eggshells. There’s little to do now but continue down the coast. The moment is over and the morning isn’t likely to promise any finer surprises.

Yet the brief event does cast the shoreline into a new context of understanding. It functions as a fatal line of demarcation for many creatures; they cannot survive crossing to the opposite side. Meanwhile, the turtles cannot survive without crossing to the opposite side, transcending the confines of either world. For individual survival, each organism must find the water. For collective survival, the species must make a foray upon the shore.