We camp on a near-deserted county beach a mile north of Surfside Beach, Texas. To the northeast is the 44,500-acre Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge, a broad area of freshwater sloughs winding their way through vast saltwater marshes. Few humans go there. Research biologists, hunters, birders and kayakers mostly. In the winter here, one hundred thousand snow geese, Canada geese, sandhill cranes and other waterfowl and wading birds fill the sloughs and marshes, feeding on an abundant supply of crustaceans, crabs, fish, frogs little white dogs and the like, to supply fuel for their migratory journey to breeding grounds farther north.

After driving all night, we decide to lounge around for a few days on the beach to prepare for our westward migration.

It didn’t take long for us to meet turtle patrol volunteers working with the Sea Turtle Restoration Project. https://seaturtles.org

Sixty or more local heroes and National Park Service biotechnicians patrol beaches during turtle nesting season, which extends from about April 1 through sometime in mid to late summer. They are looking for any turtle species of that come to shore here this time of year to lay eggs. Of the seven sea turtle species in the world, six are endangered. Do the math. That’s eighty-seven percent. The Sea Turtle Patrol volunteers, saints in this world, are dedicated to changing this number.

In Texas, it is legal to drive on any beach any time of day all year long. However, state and federal law empowers the turtle patrol people to cordon off an area where they know turtles have laid eggs. The world seems to be divided into two groups of people. Those that want unfettered freedom to drive on beaches and those who want to save turtles.

So, in pairs, these great human beings, the turtle patrol, drive slowly along the beach in their ATVs constantly scanning for incoming turtles. They are looking for especially the critically endangered, the rarest of the rare, the Kemp’s Ridley sea turtle. (Lepidochelys kempi).

If they find a Kemp’s Ridley, they immediately call in law enforcement officials and a team of restoration biologists. Law enforcement secures the area and biologists monitor mama turtle to ensure she gets every opportunity to lay her eggs — no driving in this area.

Once mama lays her eggs, she returns to the sea. So much for maternal love and protection.

Since Kemp’s Rigley is a critically endangered species, the fate of every single egg is essential. So, biologists, not taking any chance that predators will get the eggs, gather and relocate them to an incubation facility where they do everything possible to ensure the highest level of hatch success. Once the hatchlings are ready, the biologists return them to the beach where their instinct (not the biologists, but the turtles) is to move toward the life-sustaining waters from which their parents came.

On the beach natural resource law enforcement officers, biologists and volunteers protect the young turtles around the clock until they make their way to the ocean. In this way, these dedicated people hope to increase Kemp’s Rigley numbers.

They are fighting long odds. But they say they shall continue to fight till the end. A great human story if there ever was one.

Sea turtles face what seem to be overwhelming threats. Entanglement in fishing gear, illegal trade in eggs, meat and shells, coastal development, pollution, and plastic, plastic and more plastic to name a few.

This beach, like all beaches I have been on, including remote beaches in Labrador, have their share of plastic, some more than others. Plastic, that remarkably useful substance, is pervasive in our world. I imagine ninety percent of all humans on the planet use plastic in some form or another. Most of it does not degrade quickly and it is common on land and in the waters of the world. We all know the stories of “islands” of plastic in remote ocean waters. We have heard of necropsies on dead whales revealing the presence of remarkably large quantities of plastic in their stomachs. A day does not go by when we don’t see plastic along the roads, in parking lots, entangled in fences, in rivers, on beaches, in trees. Surfside Beach has lots of plastic debris. The mighty 2,348 miles long Mississippi River, originating all the way up in Minnesota, carries plastic, sediment, fertilizer and all sorts of other man-made stuff to its vast river delta where it spews its noisome concoction into the Gulf of Mexico. Winds blow a lot of that stuff onto Gulf beaches.

A plastic bag can choke a sea turtle in a minute.

A turtle rescue team drives by. “Hello”, I call out. A cheery, white-bearded man stops the turtle patrol ATV, smiles and says, “I saw your tags. Virginia. You’re a mighty long way from home.” “Yes, we are. On a six-month holiday. Traveling about, having fun, meeting folks like you. Tell me what you do”.

After a turtle tutorial, I say, “I see signs that say the speed limit on the beach is fifteen miles an hour, but it seems to me people are going a lot faster than that.” The gentleman grins and says, “there are no speed limits in Texas. I know we have signs that say there are speed limits, but there are no speed limits in Texas.”

We talk a bit about all the plastic trash on the beach.

And with that, my gallant wife, who is intently listening, decides it’s time to clean up the beach.

And with that, away goes the turtle patrol, hoping to save just one turtle. One turtle at a time.

The intrepid Emily, with no time to spare, starts walking the beach, picking up every bit of trash she sees. I have no choice. Sawyer and I join her. That is how we occupy ourselves for the next two days.

Windy and some rain. Lots of sand. Lots of sand.

Some beach pictures.

Namaste.