Greece: Saving Sea Turtles

July - September 2018

"Fools live without enjoying life" - Democritus

Having shaken loose the shackles of employment, adventure beckoned. Being the nature nerd that I am, 3 months volunteering for a sea turtle protection society in Greece seemed an adequate venture on which to splurge my hard earned savings. Little did I know that this decision was a turning point in my life, and one that would lead to a career shift in the not so distant future.

This being my first rodeo I hadn't fully appreciated the comfort of travelling with companions in the past. I was a young man of 25 and although not a stranger to travelling, this solo business was uncharted territory. The scale of an international trip added to the mental obstacle and I found my appetite diminishing with the irrational 'what-ifs' of the rookie traveler: What if my visa isn't right? What if I didn't get the right plane ticket? What if I don't like it there? What if I don't make friends? Thinking back it seems so foolish but the fear of the unknown is something we can all relate to.

As the plane descended into the Egyptian international airport, the location of my connecting flight, I got my first memorable scene as the sun rose over the desert. Through the haze of air thick with sand, the sun appeared as a floating orb. I was struck by how the Nile's flood plain was so clearly defined by the contrast of its green to the brown of the surrounding landscape. The irrigation canals seemed to connect everything and the whole system brought to mind the network of synapses in the brain. It was here that I had my first incident of absent mindedness. It was only when I'd walked the full 500m (or so it felt) of the length of the terminal that I realized that I'd left my book in the plane. Luckily I had nothing else to do so I took a brisk walk back.

The flight to Athens was uneventful and the trip from the airport to the backpackers, involving a bus and a taxi, were too stressful to recount. What followed however was a series of fortunate events. Once settled into my dorm room, I was joined by one Terrell from America. We soon exchanged pleasantries, inquiring about one another's lives, what brought us here and finding common ground. Meeting again after dinner, he told me of how the friends he'd met had mentioned a music concert they'd be attending in the Acropolis. They fortuitously had 2 spare tickets, and being tourists, had no one to invite. As a result, on my very first night in Greece, I found myself seated in the amphitheater of the Acropolis listening to a live performance, something that had been taking place since its erection in 161 AD.

Its the kind of structure that inspires awe, evokes a closeness to history and makes one proud to be human. Isn't it strange how these strokes of luck seem to present themselves to those who are open to them? Most vagabonds will have a story of when fortune smiled upon them and it is these moments that often make for the most interesting tales. It is for this very reason that I encourage people to avoid over planning a trip and sticking to a rigid itinerary because it is in the in-between where serendipity resides.

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Zakynthos

A long bus trip and a ferry ride brought me to the island of Zakynthos, one of Archelon's base camps in Greece. The bus ride from the station to the camp gave me a superficial look at the island. It appeared to be somewhat of a party destination for young Europeans. I was immediately thankful that the European style of man bags had not reached South African shores. The youth were prowling around in packs wearing outrageously short shorts, backwards caps and to my dismay, shoes; You cannot trust anyone who wears shoes to the beach.

I arrived at the camp during dinner and was welcomed with a bowl of pasta followed by the Base camp meeting; a weekly occurrence that happens every Friday evening. My timing was impeccable. Looking back at my diary from which I am writing this account, I am astonished to find that this was not where the events of the day concluded. After picking a location for my tent in the back of the olive grove, my diary assures me that we played not only a game of flanki-bal (a marvelous game of the drinking variety) on my first night but also ended up at karaoke night at the local tavern, Rainbows. I had no idea that I was such a social butterfly!

I think it advantageous to describe the base camp to give the reader a better understanding of the living situation in the camp. Looking from the road, the plot sits behind a row of pine trees in an olive grove. Just behind the pine trees we find the only permanent structures on site. To the right, the first building one comes across is the container like kitchen and storage room out from which extends a roof and under which a kitchen sink, counter and table are found. Moving past this, to the left are the showers which share a wall with the toilet blocks opposite. Finally the communal area is found behind the showers which includes a line of mismatched tables and benches and this is where the volunteers share meals, banter, alcohol and the occasional game. The remainder of the plot extends away from the road and it is between the olive trees that the volunteers pitch tents for accommodation. Separating the tents from the communal area is a volleyball court in the sand and a hammock garden for the weary volunteer.

My tent was situated at the very back of the site, third row from the right.

Week 1

Week one at the camp was much about getting acquainted with everyone and the daily schedule. Tasks that the volunteer could expect to be given fell under three categories, namely Monitoring, Public Awareness (PA) and Camp Duties. Monitoring included morning surveys of all the beaches, looking for turtle nests and tracks from the night before; night surveys searching for nesting mothers to tag; and making shading, the erection of which can be seen in the video below. These fences act as runways leading toward the sea, guiding the newly hatched turtles to the surf. I liked to think of this as Turtle Midwifing: Helping deliver the hatchlings to the sea.

A simple job, making shading involved tying recycled beach mats to bamboo fence poles. It is often that menial tasks such as these relax the mind of the worker with its monotonous and simple nature. This however was not one such job and was among the least favoured in the camp. I shared their sentiment after my first encounter which happened to be the very first task that I was allocated.

PA jobs included kiosk work where volunteers promote turtle conservation, answer questions from passers-by and inform them of the beach rules with regards to the turtle nests, and hotel and boat cruise presentations on turtle conservation. An introvert at heart and never having done public speaking of any kind, I was initially very uncomfortable with the PA side of things but through repetition, my comfort grew to bearable levels. Admittedly I never developed absolute comfort doing presentations and would still make minor slip-ups at the end of my 3 month stay.

Camp duties were those necessary for the smooth running of the camp. These included dish washing duty, cleaning of all surfaces, toilet and shower cleaning, and finally, cooking duty. All the above tasks were organised on a weekly roster which was put up on the notice board in the communal area.

Remembering names has never been my strongest suit and I often become so absorbed in the moment of meeting that names are lost instantly to the wind. In one ear and out the other is an apt idiom. Combine this with the exotic, unpronounceable nature of some to my foreign ear and a journal entry on day 2 of 'the struggle with names continues' makes complete sense.

I snorkeled with a turtle for the first time in week 1. On my third turtle searching expedition I found a male Loggerhead (identifiable by his long tail) lazily grazing about 100m off shore and completely comfortable in my presence.

It was also in week 1 where I was stationed at an Information Kiosk in town for the first time. My fellow volunteer, Demetris, a local from Greece, had a great energy about him and encouraged me to have fun with it. We ended up smashing the previous record, making 194 euros in a shift where later we made as little as 1.

Part of my luggage was a hammock, a recommended item for lounging during the midday heat and sleeping off early morning surveys. I had this strung up in the tree next to my tent and a small hole in the mosquito netting put my sewing kit to use. This proved to be one of the most challenging jobs I encountered while in Greece due to the difficulty of threading a needle in a swift breeze, a task to test the steadiest of hands and the keenest of eyes.

The remainder of the week was spent learning to decipher turtle tracks to identify whether or not a nest had been dug, and if so, where the nest was. Female turtles are crafty bints and will 'camouflage' the area around the nest by flicking sand while moving back to the sea. Not every emergence results in a nest however and some perfectionist mothers with turn back after digging a nest and deeming it insufficient. Finding nests is therefore quite challenging and requires a smidgen of detective work. Once a suspected location is found, poking is the preferred technique for locating nests. This is done by literally poking one finger into the sand, hoping to find the opening. This is possible due to the density of newly excavated sad: Once the top layer of dry sand has been removed, the area around the nest will be hard, dense sand, while the nest opening will be soft. By poking around, the precise nest location can be found in this way. Only the most experienced of morning survey leaders are capable of finding a nest on their first poke and it is a sure fire way to impress rookie volunteers. My first encounter with a one poke wonder was with a devilishly handsome Frenchman by the name of Hugo, a man from which I would learn a great deal.

Through morning surveys, I learned how to identify up and down tracks, camouflages, swims and body pits: all evidence of nesting sea turtles.

My first night survey was not as fruitful with not a single track after 6 hours and 15km of beach patrols.

Week one ended with a base camp party as a fare well for two veterans where we dressed up as old folk and drank far too much.

Week 2

Archelon was established in 1983 and has been protecting sea turtles and their habitats in Greece ever since. In Zakynothos, the island where it all began, there are 6 beaches which are monitored on a daily basis throughout the nesting and hatching seasons: Laganas, Dafni, Gerakas, Kalamaki, Sekania, and Marathonisi island. Sekania is the only beach not open to the public, it being a reserve and protected area. Of the 1500 odd nests laid that season, half were found on Sekania alone. In order to protect the nests which are laid at the back of the beach, there are a few rules for beach goers: Stay within 5m of the water's edge; Walking is prohibited at the back of the beach; and the beaches are out of bounds after dark. Hotel owners are required to remove their sunbeds at sundown so as not to obstruct nesting mothers and are liable for fines if they do not comply. A large part of Public Awareness involved informing tourists of these rules and all infringements were documented for the necessary authorities. This all went toward educating the public and the conservation of the sea turtles, something that has resulted in a massive increase in the number of nesting mothers since 1983.

Morning surveys and uneventful night surveys continued with my skills in nest finding improving daily. I had found 2 nests during a morning survey at Gerakas but the single poke was still eluding me at the start of week 2. I was settling into camp life nicely, having made a few mates with whom to toss the old pig skin around camp and had been on my first chef duty, which, thanks be to the gods, was a team effort.

My first hotel presentation was a comedy of errors being outdoors and next to a busy street. The hotel DJ started blaring music as I began and a particularly rude table left midway through my presentation. Although less than ideal, the actual speech went well and I gained a small amount of confidence.

With my skills as a presenter proven, I was now qualified to present on tour vessels and was posted on two such boats in the following week. These were considered amongst the best shifts volunteers could be given as they involved a free tour of the beautiful tropical waters of the island, partaking in snorkeling at the tourist spots and only giving a short presentation on the way back to port. I flourished in the less formal setting and became the favourite of one of the tour guides who ended up offering me a job by the time I left the island. It's nice to know that I have something to fall back on if this 'Marine Biology' thing doesn't work out.

It was in week 2 that I heard about another one of Archelon's projects in Amvrakikos where a capture and release program is run. I spoke to our project leader Anna about this and was smiled upon by fortune. The original applicant had broken his leg and his replacement had been black listed from the organisation for reasons I knew not and did not much care for. This left a Mike sized opening needing filling and I accepted the offer to leave in a little over 10 days time.

Week 3

Night surveys had yielded nothing but a few drunken tourists needing informing of beach rules by this time. Thankfully, this was about to change with what turned out to be one of the last night surveys of the season. I was given a shift on Sekania with the honourable Hugo which would involve an overnight stay on the beach due to its inaccessibility. We were deposited at the drop-off point just before sunset (which occurred at 21:00 at this latitude) giving us enough light to make the hike down to the beach.

This secluded beach is in a protected bay, completely uninhabited by humans with a steep coastline rising a few hundred meters to the interior. Here we had a beautiful sunset while waiting for darkness to descend and with it, the emergence of nesting turtles from the surf. By the light of the moon and stars, we started our silent patrols, walking at the waters edge, looking for tracks, eyes peeled for turtles. The first few patrols yielded nothing but soon enough we encountered our first up track. At a signal from Hugo, we crouched down and waited while he crawled up the beach. After a few minutes he beckoned and we crawled up to find a female well into the nest digging process. She had already shuffled herself into a comfortable position in a body pit and was digging her nest with her hind flippers, using them much like our hands, to carefully excavate sand and deposit it outside the chamber. By continuously repeating this process, switching flippers every scoopful, she finally deemed the chamber big enough at a depth of about half a meter. She then became quite still and the laying process began, methodically dropping soft, ping-pong ball shaped eggs into the chamber. It is at this stage that they go into something of a trance where they are so focused on the act of laying that they are unlikely to be disturbed. Since the gender of turtles is determined by the temperature at which they incubate, the eggs at the bottom of the nest were more likely to be males, it being cooler than the top of the nest where females would develop. After all, woman are hotter than men, and guys are cooler than girls.

The fun for us began once the female was done, having laid a clutch 80 to 120 strong, and began refilling and camouflaging the nest. In order to gain understanding on the life history and nesting habits of these turtles, we would be taking measurements of her carapace (shell), documenting any prominent injuries or scars and tagging her front flipper if she didn't have any already. As can be expected, the turtle often gets quite feisty at this stage, uncaring of our good intentions, which made our work considerably more difficult. None the less is was while dusting sand of her carapace that I saw one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. We had encountered what is referred to as a 'disco turtle', she having picked up some bioluminescent organisms on her oceanic journey. The result was a twinkling reflection of the heavens on her carapace as my brushing hand disturbed the light emitting microorganisms. Simply staggering.

Sekania beach is littered with rocks and stones, some above and some below the top layer of sand. Couple this with the low visibility of night and its easy to see why there was a shoe rule for volunteers on this beach. Me being my own man and indeed a hardy South African, I took this as more of a suggestion than a rule. Needless to say within the first hour of patrols, I kicked the #*% out of my right hand big toe, an injury which spent the remainder of the night open to sea water and sand and took many weeks to heal.

We concluded patrols at around 5am and lay down to sleep for an hour before morning survey at 6am when we were awakened by people on the beach. This being a prohibited beach it was quite concerning. Fortunately it turned out to be the WWF, their visit being unknown to us due to a lack of cell reception.

The morning survey revealed a few hatched nests, some of the first of the season, which meant that night surveys would soon be stopping due to the risk of stepping on hatchlings while patrolling in the dark. I had got one in just in time.

By this time, Anna had heard about my carpentry skills and had commissioned a new base camp table to be made. To this end we went wood shopping and came back with planks enough for the job. With myself leading the build and having borrowed what tools we could from the man across the street, we had the table completed in the space of a day.

Toward the end of the week I got roped into a karaoke night at Big Al's down the road and was subsequently let down by a fellow volunteer, Meg, and had to sing Aladin's 'I can show you the world' by myself. I hope she reads this and is filled with regret.

The following night was another base camp party themed 'anything but clothes' which descended into clubbing in Lagana, surrounded by rowdy 18 year olds. My inebriated state was the only reason I consented to going and I ended up falling asleep on a sunbed at the beach, missed skinny dipping, and had to walk back miles to camp.

I really was becoming a grumpy old man.

Day 21 was my first day off since arriving and having planned to rent a car and explore the island, Tanya the Irishwoman, Meg and Silky the English(wo)men, Jeff the Swiss, Remi the Frenchman and I headed off just after breakfast. We began at Port Roxa to whet our appetites for cliff jumping and then moved onto Blue Caves for a 15m jump after lunch at a little town along the way. The thrill of cliff jumping is something that I've come to quite enjoy, well worth the nasal enema and searing foot pain at the bottom. We enjoyed ice creams on the cliffs of Keri while the sun set over the ocean to bring week 3 to a close.

Week 4

Hatchling season was rapidly getting underway and we were finding more and more hatched nests during morning surveys and less and less new nests. A notable hatching was found one morning on Kalamaki beach at the very back, up against a clay cliffside. As a result of rain, clay had run off the cliff and hardened over a nest. Some fortunate few had managed to break the surface, enabling us to locate the nest. We broke through the clay layer and spent the next 2 hours herding baby turtles to the surf. We were told that the hatchlings need to make their own way to the sea, an essential stage in muscle development to survive the open ocean, and so did little more than point them in the right direction when necessary.

My carpentry skills were again utilised to make shelving for the monitoring books and my role as the camp handyman was solidified.

Just before leaving for Amvakikos, I was peer pressured into another night of clubbing at Lagana and ended up running half way home before being picked up by fellow volunteers Cam and Ellie.

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Amvrakikos

The route to Amvrakikos involved a ferry from Zakynthos to Petra, and buses from Petra to Arta and on to Amvarkikos.

En route to dinner with the new team, we narrowly avoided been arrested for travelling in the back of a van but thanks to the sweet talking of our project leader, got off with a thorough scolding. The sea food dinner was delicious and the night ended with a palm reading by the mysterious volunteer Alexia of Greece who told me I would never find love.

The team was housed in a stone building of red roof tiles next to a Natural History Museum. The rooms were communal with bunk beds and bay windows and one room was being used as a kitchen with a small fridge and electrical stove top. Being much smaller than the Zakynthos project, the team consisted of only 5 members: Myself, George the Irish leader, Pit the veteran from Luxembourg, Alexia the Greek, and Natalie from New Zealand.

Day 1 was spent touring the local town and doing some grocery shopping where I noticed that the trolleys were 4 wheel steered. A more complicated design than our front-wheel-steered trolleys in South Africa but they are the worse for it: they travel straight in any orientation, making navigation a nightmare. Icing on the cake was the 1 euro deposit needed to use the trolley and the absence of peanut butter in the store.

Turtle jumping commenced on day 2. This capture and release program was situated in Amvrakikos due to the nature of the gulf. It is a wetland where sea grass is abundant in shallow waters and hence the perfect foraging ground for Loggerhead sea turtles. They come to this gulf in great numbers, ranging from 20cm in size, up to 90cm carapace length. We would be catching as wide a variety as possible, including males and females, the former of particular importance as only females are tagged during nesting. The data captured would go towards understanding the life history of these turtles (growth rates, age estimates, movements, etc) with the ultimate goal of conservation of the species.

The capture and release team consisted of three members, each with their own job. The driver was responsible for driving the boat, a small rubber ducky with a mighty 2.5cc outboard motor. When a turtle was spotted, it was his duty to pursue, taking direction from the Jumper standing on the front of the boat. The jumper's role, along with directing the driver, was capturing the turtle. When deemed within range, the jumper would launch off the front of the boat, diving hands first to catch the turtle by the carapace. Once captured, the jumper assisted in getting the turtle onboard where the third and final member took over: the Worker. The driver now became the scribe, documenting measurements dictated by the Worker while the Jumper restrained the turtle. The whole process of capture to release took less than 20 minutes, minimising stress for the animal and hence deemed favourable over the use of nets.

After watching the local legend, Pit, launch himself off the side of the boat, disappear from view, and resurface with a turtle, it was my turn to make an attempt. Heart hammering in the thrill of the chase, I let fly. With hands spread out before me, I dove straight for the fleeing turtle. My hands made the briefest of contact before slipping off his carapace, bringing my head down to thump against the top of his shell. I may have been a bit over-zealous. My second jump was a success and there was not a man alive who was happier than me in that moment. The fun did not end there for the day however. While mushing the boat out of the shallows, as was my job, a large turtle was spotted surfacing about 10m off our bow. I was told to run after it. Having an inkling that I was being duped, I started in hot pursuit but realised that I was gaining substantial ground on the turtle being encumbered by the shallows. One final leap and I surfaced holding the big girl to the incredulous cheering of the crew. As it turned out, it had been intended as a jest and a form of hazing. It seemed we'd found a new capturing technique.

Turtle jumping is the single most ridiculous and enjoyable activity I have ever done. As such, it was a large contributor toward my decision to pursue a masters in Marine Biology. At the end of the two week period I had cemented myself as a jumper with a catch rate of 90%, having caught 36 turtles from 40 jumps.

I also did my fair share of driving and working duty, being trained in tagging and tissue sampling. Photos of the head of every turtle were taken which went toward a database being created for a facial recognition project. Members were alternated each day so every second day was free and I learnt a fair amount on Greek cuisine from Alexia, incorporating egg plant, feta and tomatoes is almost every meal. In saying this, by far the best meal to come out of Greece is the Gyro: a meat or veg filled pita, seasoned with tzatziki and deliciousness. And for only 2 euros! Alexia had been wrong. I had found love.

Week 5

In pursuit of the footage you saw in the above video, I began taking my GoPro onboard and went as far as wearing it on my head for a few jumps. This continued until the GoPro inevitably came off. Through blind luck I was able to find it on the sea floor and never wore it on my head again.

By this time I was spending my free time reading and wandering to the lighthouse nearby to soak up some sun.

I have never experienced better weather than while in Greece. I was there for 3 months and I can only remember it raining for possibly 5 days in total towards the end of my stay, the rest of which was spent in bright sunshine with not a cloud in the sky. Another miracle was the mildness of the sun compared to that which shines so harshly down on Africa. After about 2 weeks, I had built up a sufficient tan, quite a feat in itself being of fair skinned ginger genes, that I could spend hours out it the sun without getting sunburnt.

A morning trip to town resulted in myself and Natalie getting an official warning after a misunderstanding which left the boat crew without a vehicle when they returned with an injured turtle that needed to be sent to the rescue centre in Athens. Knuckles sufficiently rapped, all went back to normal once the turtle was delivered to the bus stop, wrapped in wet towels and stowed carefully away. She made it to Athens safely and was expected to make a swift recovery.

That night Pit's birthday was celebrated in style with a pirate themed dress-up party. With the help of some mascara from the ladies, we became the most hardcore pirates in the mother *&%ing land.

Week 6

Although almost exactly of average height for a male, I happened to be the biggest person on the team. As a result, I was considered HUGE and referred to as Man-Bear-Pig. In Greek this translates to 'Arkouda-gourouni' and George made a wager that I wouldn't change my middle name to this on Facebook. He lost and bought me two bottles of gin on our next shopping excursion.

By this time I was at 22 from 26 and about to make it 23 from 27. While leaving the harbour I spotted a turtle and was told to go for it. This being deep water compared to the chest deep waters of the foraging grounds around the corner, I wasted no time in hesitation and made a deep vertical dive. My hands found their target and the turtle immediately darted downwards. Surprisingly composed, I slid my hands until I had a hold at both the top and bottom of the carapace and directed the turtle upward. We swam each other to the surface, as easy as you like. I ended the day on 27 from 31.

Alexia was a woman of many talents. A skill most sought after at the end of an arduous day turtle wrangling was that of a masseuse and she was much obliged to offer her services. After a particularly hard day I took her up on this offer and had my back worked by her healing hands. I could tell she knew what she was doing by the waves of blinding pain her kneading fingers were producing and told her "If I pass out, keep going." George found this remark particularly humorous and often laughed reminiscing about it in the coming days.

Rooftop sundowners and the purchase of a 35 euro ukulele gave us something else to do in our free time. We took up star gazing in the evenings, catching a few shooting stars from the roof of the lighthouse. A memorable night was spent introducing everyone to the wonders of 'Kaptein' by Kurt Darren and teaching them to dance the 'sokkie'.

With the end of the project nearing, we reached a new record of 400 turtles caught for the season and Anna arrived to help close everything off with the satellite tagging of two turtles. To this end we spent the last morning capturing two suitable candidates and proceeded to clean their carapaces free of algae and barnacles, making ready for the tags. Both were tagged and released after about 2 hours, epoxy having dried and tags activated.

Everything done and dusted, we packed up and headed our separate ways. A two hour wait for the ferry in Patras gave me a chance to tour the city on foot, after which the ferry got me back to Zakynothos at 23:30 to the most heart warming of welcomes from the friends I'd left behind two weeks previously.

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Week 7

Back in Zakynthos

I was soon back into the swing of things in Zakynthos and started training to become a morning survey leader, something most of my fellow volunteers by the time had progressed to while I was away, so I had some catching up to do. As usual we'd go for a snorkel in our free time and a memorable encounter was with a female loggerhead just offshore. She let myself and Gemma, (the bubbly Englishwoman whom I was with) follow her around for an hour and a half while she glided lazily along, now snuffling in the sand for a morsel, now rising for a breath, before sinking back down to continue her foraging. Slowly testing her demeanour, she became comfortable enough to let me touch her on the carapace. A beautifully serene experience indeed, completely different from the forced contact of jumping, and something that strengthened my motivation for conservation.

Being in the Greek Isles, a tree of gloriously succulent fruit was abundant and indeed in season throughout my stay: that of the humble fig. I fell in love with both the red and green varieties and indulged myself at any opportunity, the trees being littered along the streets we frequented between camp and the beach.

With hatching season well and truly upon us, morning surveys consisted of identifying hatched nests and taking measurements to link them to those identified in the laying season, as well as excavations. Unfortunately, not all nests hatch, a testament to the unavoidable misfortunes of nature. This can be the result of a number of conditions: inundation by sea water after a particularly high tide or an inexperienced mother laying too close to the surf; bacterial infestation in the eggs; predation by stray dogs and cats; and roots of nearby vegetation growing through the eggs, to name a few. In order to evaluate the causes, any unhatched nests are excavated after 70 days, and in order to determine nest success, all hatched nests are excavated 14 days after the first hatching.

Excavations are not a pleasant business. Some may have experienced opening a rotten egg while making an omelette and will know the sulfuric aroma with which your nasal cavities are immediately assaulted. Once the nest has been found and dug up, while armed with nothing more than surgical gloves and a pointed twig, eggs are individually removed, punctured and their mucosal contents thoroughly examined. A witch's brew of possibilities awaited the lucky excavator: 1) Black, grey, blue or luminous pink gloop, indicative of bacterial infection. The grey species releasing the foulest of smells and quickly teaching the necessity of puncturing the underside of the egg to avoid facial splatter. 2) Embryos at various stages of development and the saddest of sights. 3) And every so often, live hatchlings. These are rare miracles which are set down and pointed seaward, while work resumes on your post-mortem of the Grim's handiwork.

Week 8

With the birthdays of two of the leaders, Tanya of Scotland and Aaron of Ireland, came the opportunity for a 'Conjoined Disco' themed party into which we whole heartedly threw ourselves. I was joined with my dear friend Rico of Netherland decent. Nether willing to be outdone by the other, the outcome was an above the normal rate of alcohol consumption, a foolishness for which we paid dearly the following morning.

Football throwing had become a regular past time for myself and Jeff, the Swiss heart throb. After weeks of practice, we were now throwing the pigskin the length of the olive plantation with pinpoint accuracy.

Another sport having taken hold of the camp was volleyball, where games sprung up frequently in the cool, late afternoon air. One such game, having uncommon participation, sporting 10 players per side, became more competitive as the game progressed and reached its zenith when an over-zealous spike by yours truly brought my elbow into brutal contact with a young British Meg's cranium. I felt terrible and I can't even remember if we won the point.

Although the majority of baby turtles hatch during the night, as with us, some are late bloomers and choose to make the arduous journey by the light of day.

This is not only hazardous due to the increased risks posed by sea gulls and other predators, but also to those posed by ill informed and frankly idiotic tourists. A day hatching on a crowded beach is a volunteer's worst nightmare because crowd control is an impossible task. With an increase in numbers, the crowd would become more bold, the need for a picture seemingly more valuable than the little one's life. It is a scene to make you lower your head in disappointment in humanity, I can assure.

Becoming a veteran at presentations by this stage, I had begun introducing puns and malapropisms into my performances in an effort to elicit a few smiles from my utterly indifferent audience. The thinking being at least one of us will enjoy the presentation. I added some truly cringe worthy content which either flew straight over the heads of my (not) listeners, or was rewarded with a bark of laughter from an audience member actually paying attention. By the end of my term, some of my material included 'turtley awesome', 'what the shell are you talking about', 'shell-ebrating' and 'breathe taking' when talking about the breathe holding skills of turtles. I'm told these were recommended to new presenters the following year as a way of engaging the audience.

My second big day off came at the end of week 8. Accompanied by a big group including Aiden the Irish beauty, brother Jeff the Swiss, Eva and Marine the French maidens, Stelios the wise old Greek, Lourent the slacklining Frenchman, and Meg and Annie the British sisters, we set out at sunrise. The first stop was Agios Sostis, the hidden turtle snorkeling hotspot where we swam with three beautiful loggerheads. Thoroughly satisfied, the group then headed for Korakonissi and the promise of a death defying 20m cliff jump. Not to be outdone by Jeff, I made the plunge, hitting the surface with such unexpected force that my knees hit my chest on impact.

Stelios then performed one of the most impressive athletic feats I've ever seen by freediving 22m to retrieve a lost GoPro, gently finning into the darkening depths before ascending in slow motion.

We then had a late lunch in a small village on the way home and listened to 'Crazy' by Gnarls Barkley on repeat for 45 mins while heading to camp.

Week 9

At the end of the previous week, I had been approached by Anna offering 2 weeks in Kyparissia, assisting at another project who were short of staff and having a particularly good season with over 3000 nests. I had a day to make my decision, and favouring spontaneity, I decided to accept the offer. There was still a week before I'd be leaving, however, so, saddened as I was to be saying farewell to some of the people I'd been living with for the past 2 months, I had some time to soften the blow. First to leave was Jeff. Having become like a little brother to me, we celebrated in style with a karaoke night at Rainbows and extended invitations to one another, promising an open door should the other ever be in their home country. The night before I left for Kyp, I said goodbye to Jo, Dave, Rico, Meg, Aiden and Vicki with another night out at Rainbows. These were all people who'd been around for the majority of my stay and with whom I had hence formed unbreakable bonds of friendship, some of particular strength.

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Kyparissia

The following morning, after just 2 hours of sleep and feeling insufficiently hydrated from the night before, we were on a ferry on our way to Kyparissia. I'd been accompanied by Hatty: a loquacious English woman also having accepted the invitation to assist. We arrived at midday and were shown around camp. Very different from Zakynthos, this was situated in somewhat of a forest clearing, under pine, eucalyptus and oak trees, if my memory serves. On the far side of the camp was a prefabricated, container like building used for storage and administrative work. Directly opposite was the kitchen and communal area, much like that in Zakynthos with mismatched furniture, colourful artworks on the walls and a collection of odds and ends contributed by various volunteers over the years. Between these two constructions was the campsite where tents were closely packed in rows. I was shown to mine, a rather small, weathered dwelling almost exactly the length of my outstretched body. The camp was delightfully close to the sea and we brought the day to a close with sundowners on the beach.

Due to its location on the mainland, turtle nests at Kyp were prone to predation by the multitude of stray cats and dogs that plague Greece. As a result, nests are not only marked, but protected by steel grids anchored in place with bamboo. This meant that grids had to be carried on all morning surveys and removed after all excavations. The length of beach to patrol was also in a different league to those found on Zakynthos, having 20km of coastline to monitor. Typical morning survey patrols of 5km per team were common compared to the 2km maximum of Lagana Beach in Zakynthos. I was here to help, and help I would! At this stage of the season, they were falling behind on excavations (hence their need of assistance) and we got thrown straight into them. Not only limited to morning surveys, specific evening excavation sessions were implemented to get back on track. During my first evening session led by Australian James and Kim of Ireland, we managed 15 excavations in 1.5 hours, a meaningless figure to those ignorant to the art but an impressive accomplishment I guarantee. I quickly got into the swing of things, morning survey efficiencies being honed to perfection, and felt welcome at the more closely knit, family like atmosphere of the Kyp camp.

Week 10

Another novelty at Kyp was the need for 'boxing' on a stretch of beach in a populated suburban area. The proximity of brightly-lit hotels to the beachfront was creating a unique problem for these hatchlings emerging from nests; being phototactic by nature, these newly hatched turtles were befuddled by the lights and would often be found flailing around on streets and side walks, having been misled by the artificial lights. The solution devised was to place open-bottomed boxes over nests that were expected to hatch soon. These boxes were then continuously monitored by the team on boxing duty, a shift that ran from sundown to sunup. When a newly hatched nest was found, a squirming mass of hatchlings were transferred to buckets by hand and hurriedly transported to a dark corner of the beach, before being released to make their way to the ocean, undisturbed.

For my one and only boxing shift, I was paired with a beautiful, blue-eyed, tattooed Austrian woman named Maria. This was not her first rodeo and she showed me the ropes, her joy for the work being infectious. Unfortunately, predicting which nests are going to hatch is not a perfect science and during one of our patrols we noticed a mess of hatchling tracks, snaking hither and thither, making a doodle of the beach sand. We managed to trace them back to the origin and were soon rushing this way and that, bucketing stray hatchlings from between bushes and underneath sunbeds. I loved every second of this, it being another ridiculous situation into which I found myself thrust.

The nest morning was spent sleeping off the exertions of boxing and lounging on the beach with the British twins, Sicily and Fran, the previously mentioned Maria and James, and Sara of Germany. Sicily was a character with whom I found instant comradery; always smiling, high in energy and someone who took the dance floor where ever she went. Beach-ball-bat-ball was one of our favourite activities and a game at which we were constantly trying to better our personal records. That evening myself and Nike, the musical German, brought music to the camp with our sensuous ukulele strumming and a rendition of Bruno Mars' 'The Lazy Song'.

Morning surveys, excavations and PA shifts continued throughout the week. A change in the technique of grid carrying had revolutionized the act by utilising a 'broomstick over the shoulder' technique, meaning many more grids could be carried at once, reducing the need for back tracking to collect grids at a later stage. Pearls of wisdom were constantly being given by Guy of Great Britain and Phillip of Serbian decent, an inseparable pair who taught me that 'Saturdays are for the boys' and that 'heroes are remembered but legends never die.' The excavation teams had now been reduced to two members with no reductions in yield due to the efficiencies of, by now, well practiced hands. With productivity thriving, the camp prepared for a celebratory party, stocking up on boxed sangria and wine sold in 2 litre plastic bottles. Dressed as 'a warning' wrapped in barrier tape and riding the high of a successful hotel presentation, I behaved more like a hazard and danced the night way.

The following morning was one of the toughest of my life. Paired with James, we set out on morning survey squinting into the unyielding first light of dawn. With mouths drier than the Arabian desert, stubbing my toe almost broke my resolve and sent me back to camp. To my dismay, we were expected to execute a few excavations, something to which I refused outright and chose to scribe for James, who, to his credit, silently performed the nauseating deed. He, as it turned out, was not here to f*&^ spiders. That patrol was the longest distance walked by two men in history.

The perfect end to our stay in Kyparissia was a group excursion to the festival being held in town. Local cuisine, Greek markets and a carnival Ferris wheel ride let us dip our toes into Greek culture. A memorable parting gift indeed and one that made the pain of leaving a little bit easier to bare.

It is worth here noting the friendships I developed in Greece, as they were unlike any I had made previously. Due to the environment in which these friendships were forged, they were as strong as many others made over years before. Facades usually worn in social settings fall away in the monotony of everyday living, enabling a much more intimate view into individual character. This fast forwarding of social niceties, combined with a group of people with similar interests, had condensed what would have ordinarily been years of time, into weeks, forming close bonds and making farewells that much more difficult.

Week 11

Back in Zakynthos

Back in Zakynthos, something immediately evident was the lack of people at camp. With the end of the season looming, volunteer participation had dropped substantially from about 60 participants at peak season to little more than 15 members. Far from a curse, this was a blessing to the leaders, having fewer people to manage and as a result their feet all seemed a tad lighter moving around base camp. I fell easily back into the routines of everyday life with the people I'd been living with for the better part of 2 months. I was now training new volunteers on presentations and leading morning surveys, demanding the excavation efficiencies I'd become used to at Kyparissia.

After an enjoyable morning survey at the secluded beach of Sekania, and while admiring the view over the bay on our hike back up to the road, I nonchalantly questioned whether I'd be able to throw a stone from our current position into the sea. Aaron, one of the leaders from Ireland, took this as a jest, laughing at the absurdity of the remark, and said that there was absolutely no chance. I asked whether he'd stake a beer on those odds, to which he replied he'd stake 7. Being a gentleman, he allowed me three attempts, the first of which falling just short of the water mark. Too late to pull out now, I applied maximum effort and with an almighty heave, lobbed the second attempt into the shallows to an eruption of cheer from the onlookers.

As was standard operating procedure during morning surveys, we documented any and all violations we came across during our patrols. These included, but were not limited to: dog and/or cat sightings; dog and/or cat tracks; sunbeds; beach umbrellas; and people on the beach before sunrise. One memorable morning we came across a gigantic drawing of a Johnson traced in the sand, undoubtedly by some immature miscreant the previous evening. We scoffed appropriately, made an attempt at erasing it, and noted the violation in the book accordingly. This only after attaining thorough photographic evidence of course.

Week 12

I'd reached the final week of my stay. The routine of the everyday life I'd become so accustomed to over the last 3 months continued. My final morning survey on Sekania with the boys yielded a few laughs with an unsanctioned yoga session and some free style dance Kung-Fu, the sort of immature fun that commonly comes about in the absence of women.

The cancellation of a scheduled beach clean-up was too much of a disappointment to bare, leaving me with energy in excess and a mind for some do-gooding. To this end, Remi and myself hopped the trench separating our olive grove from that neighbouring and did a thorough clean-up, benefiting both the community and our consciences.

Since Remi, Matteo (my Italian ukulele playing accomplice) and I would all be leaving this week, we decided on a grand, joint leaving Party. The theme would be Superheroes and dress-up was mandatory. I introduced the Europeans to Fines Meetings, chairing the event and issuing fines racked up over a season of turtle conservation. The night ended with couple dancing to the tunes of 'Footloose'. Partnered with Eva, I discovered with dismay that her hips did not lie. Oh the jives we could have had!

The rains had set in in earnest by this time, so much so that we had rain proofed the communal area. With the warning of an imminent hurricane I decided to dismantle my camp, not finding the idea of packing up a wet tent favourable, the day before I was scheduled to leave. This was a wise move as that very night the camp was shaken by heavy winds and rain while I lay sleeping on the base camp table. Thanks to the inclement weather, the ferries stopped running, cutting us off from the mainland. This being the day I was scheduled to leave, I tried to remain calm and discussed my options with project leader Anna. She suggested to risk it, not to book a flight and hope that the ferries start running by the next day, the absolute latest I could leave, a two day journey being a necessity due to the timings of public transport. And so began the most stressful travelling experience of my life thus far. Making the best of a bad situation, we decided on a whim to play 100's club under the cover of the communal area that night, a drinking game that sufficiently calmed my nerves.

Morning Ferry not running. Here we go. I spent long hours chewing my nails, waiting with bated breathe for the next ferry announcement: Ferry departing at 15:00! Thank the heavens! Making rushed goodbyes, we made it onboard with 5 minutes to spare. I was joined by Anna and Tanya who had business to attend to on the mainland. We'd be travelling together to Kyp for the night (Yay!) and then go our separate ways at Patras tomorrow. The project having ended at Kyp, there was a party scheduled for that night and we celebrated accordingly with the family I'd left behind a few weeks previously. A very slow morning followed, all of us wrongfully assuming I had plenty of time to make it to Athens for my flight.

We arrived at the Patras bus station at 14:05. The next available bus was leaving at 15:30. Its a 3 hour trip from Patras to Athens and then another hour to the airport. I wasn't going to make it to my 18:30 boarding call. Our only option was to wait with the bus leaving at 14:30 and hope that someone didn't pitch up. I thanked my lucky stars when this eventuality occurred. It was still going to be a close call and I sat staring out the window with a weight in my chest for the entire journey. We arrived at the bus station just after 17:10 and I had a taxi by 17:15. Driving like a bat out of hell, the driver got me to the airport in 45 minutes, charging me 45 euros for his troubles. Flustered as I was, I had trouble finding the correct check in and was ushered through 'Fast Track' Passport Control before running to the boarding gate. I made it to the gate at 18:26, relief washing over me for my last 4 minutes on Greek soil.