Chelonia Green, Champion of Turtles

by Christobel Mattingley

  Mark smiled at her and followed. He made notes about the rope boa constrictor and all the bins of bottles and thongs and plastic and assorted refuse, while the photographer got to work.

  ‘It’s pretty impressive, what you’ve done, Chelonia Green,’ Mark said. ‘There should be more people like you.’

  ‘More people not throwing rubbish overboard would be better,’ Chellie replied. ‘I don’t want to pick up other people’s rubbish all my life. I want to go to university and become a marine biologist. Now, do you want to see the turtles? The tide’s right if we don’t dawdle.’ She led the way to the turtle pool and introduced her family one by one.

  The three visitors were entranced. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this!’ Mark exclaimed softly. The others nodded in silent agreement.

  Chellie smiled at her new friends. ‘I come here most days to watch them, when the tide’s right. But I haven’t been able to come so often since I started collecting the litter.’

  ‘Your chopper will be safe here on the beach,’ Dad said to Bill. ‘Why don’t you all come back to the house and have a cuppa before you leave. We keep records and photos you might like to see.’

  The pilot looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got another job after this, but we can spare an hour.’

  Chellie had never known an hour to go so quickly. She and Mum and Dad all went back to Turtle Beach to watch the helicopter take off. Bill checked his watch again, then looked at Chellie. ‘There’s just time to give you a buzz over the island. Hop in!’

  Chellie didn’t need to be asked twice.

  Peter strapped her in. ‘I need the door open so I can take photos.’

  Chellie waved to Mum and Dad as the chopper lifted and steadied. ‘Don’t go over the turtle pool, the noise might disturb them’ she shouted to the pilot above the roar.

  So they headed away overland. Chellie looked down on the house and the vegetable garden. The chooks, alarmed by the strange noise, scattered into the long grass. She looked down on the gullies where the fruit bats roosted, and down on the clifftops and the red earth gulches. Her island. Her home.

  Within minutes they were back on the beach and she was scrambling out.

  ‘Thank you, thank you!’ she shouted as the helicopter lifted again.

  As it chuttered away into the distance, Chellie blinked. Had it really happened?

  ‘Come on, Chellie,’ Dad said. ‘We’d better make sure the boa constrictor doesn’t escape on tonight’s tide.’

  With Mum helping it did not take as long to gather the rope up again as it had to lay it out, so there was still time to do some more collecting. Chellie picked up the empty bags and went off with new heart. If only Mark’s article made it into the paper . . .

  CHAPTER 13

  Tracks!

  OVER THE NEXT TWO DAYS Chellie collected on South Beach and Pine Cove. Then on Friday she made her way to Snowy Beach. It was quite a trudge: across to Turtle Beach, over the point to Oystercatcher Cove, and then around the rocks. A pair of ospreys circled over the cliff tops watching her, and two fishing boats were moving north on the horizon.

  ‘Don’t you dare drop any of your rubbish,’ Chellie muttered, scowling at them. ‘I’m just sick of clearing up after careless people.’

  After a last hop, jump and scramble, Chellie smiled as Snowy Beach came into sight. It was so beautiful, gleaming in the bright sunlight, untrodden, pristine. Except for the rubbish. Chellie set to work. It was a long beach, almost as long as Turtle Beach, and she had decided to do it in sections. Ignoring the jetsam already accumulating again in the three sections she had done, she strode on towards the distant end of the glittering expanse. Bending down to scoop up a twist of lethal green twine, she suddenly stopped.

  What were those tracks in the sand?

  Above the high-tide mark. Pitted by rain. Blurred by wind. But tracks. Definitely tracks. Old turtle tracks, which had survived the storm. Chellie knelt carefully beside them. Green turtle tracks show distinctive front-flipper marks. But these were distinctive hind-flipper marks. The loggerhead pattern. Yes! They were loggerhead tracks. Caretta’s? Yes! They had to be Caretta’s. She must have laid her eggs after all.

  Chellie jumped up and ran. Up the snowy sandhills, plunging down through the gully, over stony outcrops, through the grass which swayed around her shoulders, hurdling scratchy bushes. Yelling at the top of her voice. ‘Out of the way, snakes! Out of the way!’

  ‘Dad! Mum!’ she yelled, long before they could hear her. But Dad looked up from the pump he was fixing and saw her pelting down the hill. He called and Mum came out of the house.

  Chellie panted up to them, red-faced, sweating, half laughing, half crying. ‘I’ve found Caretta’s tracks on Snowy Beach. She must have laid her eggs there. Come and see!’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ her parents exclaimed together, almost as excited as she was.

  ‘But cool off for a moment and have a drink before we go,’ Mum urged.

  And Dad said, ‘Yes, do. They won’t go away.’

  Chellie was bursting with impatience, but she gulped down the water that Mum gave her, grabbed three oranges and tugged at her parents. ‘Come on. Hurry up.’

  Going back the way she had come, she described her find. ‘They’re loggerhead tracks, Dad. Remember how you showed me those photos. They’re different from the green. They must be Caretta’s. They must be.’

  ‘Could be,’ Dad concurred. ‘She’s the only loggerhead we know of around here. She could have laid a clutch before she died.’

  ‘They are hers,’ Chellie declared firmly. ‘I just know they are. And the eggs will be hatching soon. Any night now.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Dad agreed. ‘Probably this weekend.’

  They pushed up through the thick green bush of the gully onto the sandhill beyond. They always approached Snowy Beach from the shore, so the sight of it stretching out below took Chellie by surprise. They paused for a moment looking down on the scene of brilliant white and vivid blue.

  ‘Spectacular!’ Dad exclaimed.

  ‘Heavenly,’ Mum added.

  Chellie smiled, inside and out. Caretta’s Beach.

  Following her own footprints she led the way down to the tracks. ‘There!’ she pointed triumphantly.

  Dad and Mum knelt down beside them.

  ‘You’re right, Chellie,’ Dad beamed. ‘It’s a loggerhead’s track. Well spotted.’

  Mum hugged her.

  ‘If she laid those eggs at December full moon, they should be hatching soon,’ Dad calculated.

  ‘Let’s camp out and watch,’ Chellie urged.

  ‘It’s not a good forecast for camping out tonight,’ Mum demurred. ‘Looks like rain. But maybe tomorrow.’

  ‘Please, oh please,’ Chellie begged. She began collecting rubbish as if her life, as well as the turtles’, depended on it.

  Mum and Dad helped for a while. Then Dad said, ‘We need to make some bins here too. I’ll go home and see what wire I can find.’

  After her parents left, Chellie sat beside Caretta’s tracks, willing the baby turtles not to emerge until she could be there. She wondered too about Mark’s article. They hadn’t heard anything from him. Would it get into the paper? And if so, when? Shadows from the sandhills started creeping down the beach and the sea began to glow as the sky faded to lavender and gold. Chellie suddenly realised how hungry she was and set off home. Not around the rocks. Not at dusk. Back over the sandhills and ploughing through the bush.

  Mum was looking out for her, waving and calling. Chellie began to run. What had happened?

  ‘Miss Howe phoned to tell you that Mark’s article and photos will be published tomorrow! In a special Australia Day supplement about the environment!’

  Chellie grabbed Mum and began to dance. It was even better than she had hoped.

  She ran to tell Dad who was dragging wire netting out from bushes behind the old chook yard.

  ‘Well done, Chellie! Thousands of people will read that!’
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br />   Mum made pancakes for tea to celebrate. Chellie loved pancakes and ate until she was as full as one of her garbage bags. She was so excited she thought she would never be able to sleep. But the soothing sound of Mum’s rain lulled her into another world.

  Chellie woke to the chug of a boat engine. And voices across the water. She jumped out of bed and ran to look. It was a sparkling, rain-freshened morning. A white yacht and a blue fishing boat were anchored out near the home buoy. A yellow inflatable – a rubber duckie – full of people was putt-putting towards the beach, and other people were casting off in a dinghy from the fishing boat.

  Who were they?

  CHAPTER 14

  Help Arrives

  CHELLIE GULPED SOME MILK, GOBBLED a banana and ran down to the beach. There were three kids as well as two adults in the rubber duckie. What fun! Chellie didn’t often have other kids to play with. But they hadn’t come to play. As they waded ashore, Chellie could see that they were carrying garbage bags.

  ‘Hi! You must be Chelonia Green!’ the big boy greeted her. ‘I’m Tim.’ He was the oldest and obviously the leader, Chellie decided.

  ‘I thought your letter was cool,’ the girl said. She was about Chellie’s age. ‘I’m Jacinta.’

  She’ll do, Chellie murmured to herself.

  ‘And I’m Will,’ the small boy piped up. ‘We’ve come to help.’

  ‘That’s great! Did you see the article in the paper?’ Chellie asked.

  ‘No. What article?’ her three new friends chorused.

  Their tall, cheerful father, anchor in left hand, stretched out his right. ‘I owe you an apology, Chelonia. I’m John, editor of the cruising yacht club magazine you sent an email to. I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge it. We were away. But it’s going into our next newsletter and our family certainly want to help. OK if we moor for the day and come ashore?’

  The children’s mother, with a picnic basket over her arm, put out her hand. ‘ I’m Sally,’ she smiled. ‘We’d love to meet your parents.’

  Chellie could only grin.

  Mum and Dad came down the beach as the dinghy from the fishing boat, with two kids and two adults aboard, nosed in. A stocky, weather-beaten man hopped out nimbly.

  ‘I’m Ted from the fishermen’s co-op. Sorry I didn’t have time to answer your email, Chelonia Green, but our family is here now to help you clean up some of my fellow fishermen’s junk. Careless coots, my lot. But I’m putting your message on our website, so hopefully they might be a bit more careful and there mightn’t be so much rubbish in future. This is my wife, Joan, and the kids, Jack and Alice.’

  Jack, probably a year younger than Tim, had broad shoulders and a smile almost as wide. Sweet-faced little Alice, plump and rosy like her mother, made Chellie think of a peach.

  Chellie was lost for words. But she managed to ask, ‘Did you see the article in today’s paper?’

  Ted laughed. ‘Today’s paper wasn’t even printed when we left port yesterday. A pity they have to use white paper now for fish and chips, or more people might read it.’

  Chellie grinned even wider. She liked Ted. This was going to be a fun day. Like a party. A birthday party for Caretta’s babies, maybe.

  ‘Would you like to see the turtles before we start on the rubbish collecting?’ Chellie asked everyone.

  ‘Yes, please,’ was the emphatic answer.

  So, taking picnic baskets, off they went.

  Turtle Beach was looking its loveliest: wide and shining, scalloped with lacy foam as the sea receded.

  ‘We have to be quiet. We don’t want to disturb the turtles,’ Chellie warned. ‘And there may not be many, as some have probably laid all their six clutches by now and gone back to sea.’

  She led the visitors carefully across the rocks of Turtle Point. When they gazed down into the big pool, the looks on their faces thrilled her. Nine more instant turtle lovers.

  Jacinta thought she could have gazed at the turtles all day, but Chellie announced, ‘Time to go to work.’

  Except that it was more like fun than work, because Chellie organised it like a treasure hunt.

  ‘The men can do the ropes and twine and fishing stuff , because they’re heavy. Tim, Will and Jack can collect the big plastic, and Jacinta, Alice and I will do bottles and small plastics. The Mums can do thongs and house things. Let’s do the whole beach like it’s never been done before and meet back here at the bins for lunch.’

  The men inspected the bins, already full almost to overflowing.

  ‘Looks as if there’s another job for us, Ted,’ John remarked, ‘moving this stuff back to an onshore dump.’

  Dad beamed. ‘That would be really helpful. I’m running out of chicken wire to make more bins.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ Ted declared. ‘Back to the mainland where it came from.’

  Everyone spread out along the beach, picking, pulling, dragging, tugging, exclaiming over what they found. Chellie had never seen so many people on any of their beaches, never seen so much activity. When they met up again, bags were bulging and the visitors were shocked by the amount of rubbish.

  ‘You should have seen it before Chellie started her blitz,’ Dad told them.

  ‘It was the beach of a billion bottles!’ Mum added. ‘But many hands make light work.’

  ‘The beach hasn’t been this clean since before Captain Cook and Matthew Flinders sailed along this coast,’ Chellie beamed. Who’s for a swim?’

  Everyone raced down to the water, chasing and splashing each other, squealing and laughing. It was the best fun Chellie had ever had. After lunch, it didn’t take long to clean up the latest flotsam and jetsam in Oystercatcher Cove before moving to Snowy Beach. Chellie was pleased that no one complained about the rock hopping and scrambling, not even Alice who had the shortest legs. Will, who was not much bigger, was as surefooted as Chellie herself.

  ‘I haven’t done as much work here as on Turtle Beach,’ she explained. ‘So there’s lots to clear up. But there’s a special spot I’ll show you where we don’t want to compact the sand.’ Chellie led the way to the loggerhead tracks, telling the story of Caretta as they walked.

  ‘You mean those eggs might be hatching any minute?’ Tim asked.

  ‘Those baby turtles might come out tonight?’ squeaked Will.

  ‘Oh please, can we stay and watch?’ Jacinta pleaded with her parents.

  Jack and Alice joined the chorus.

  ‘We’ve never seen baby turtles on their way to the sea.’

  ‘And we’ve got our sleeping bags.’

  The parents all looked at each other. Chellie held her breath.

  ‘We’ll have to douse the campfire early,’ Dad decreed. ‘It might confuse the hatchlings.’ So it was settled. Chellie flashed a smile at Dad.

  While Dad and the mothers went back for sleeping bags and food, lots of it, the cleaning gang got busy, scouring every square metre of sea wrack halfway along the beach.

  The sky was turning watermelon pink when Dad and the mothers returned, laden like packhorses with camping gear and enough food for twelve hungry people.

  ‘Let’s get the cooking done before dark,’ Dad said, building a fire round a big billy containing saveloys, and banking it up with heavier wood to make coals for damper and grilling chops.

  Chellie loved to watch the green and blue flames spurting and flaring from the driftwood. So, it seemed, did the others. Everyone stood around, listening to the hiss of the fire and the lap of the waves.

  ‘I’ll never forget this,’ Jacinta whispered to Chellie, and Alice squeezed her hand.

  The first stars were beginning to show like moth holes in a dark blue blanket when Dad doused the fire and scuff ed a thick layer of sand over the coals. Then he explained how they had to wait and watch in stillness and silence away from the nest area.

  ‘I’ll have a special torch to check on developments, if any, from time to time. But it’s a waiting game, and you have to remember this mightn’t be the night anyway. So don�
�t be disappointed if nothing happens.’

  The dry sand where they squatted was still blood warm, the beach beyond was silver cool and the sea was blue as midnight. It seemed to Chellie as if they were in a magic circle, mesmerised by the crooning of the waves and the first call of the curlews.

  In her mind’s eye she could see Caretta emerging from the water, making her way up the beach where she had been born. She watched her laboriously digging her body pit, excavating her egg chamber. She could see the eggs dropping one by one, silvery, like Christmas baubles in the moonlight, could see Caretta covering them over, backfilling the big pit, setting off back to the sea. Hungry probably after all that effort. Seizing a morsel that glinted temptingly in the moonlit water. Choking. Entangled in the wicked fishing line. Choking choking choking. Starving, starving slowly. To death.

  Chellie shivered and Jacinta moved closer on one side and Alice on the other. Chellie was grateful for their warmth, their friendship, their care. She wanted to see Caretta’s babies emerge, but somehow now she wanted it even more for these others who had come to help.

  A star fell. A small bat flittered by. A lone oystercatcher shrilled its peeping cry. Then suddenly the sand stirred in the centre of the magic circle. Slightly. Or had it? Eyes strained to confirm what they had seen. Yes, there it was again. A ripple. Just a slight ripple. Dad shone his shaded torch. Yes! There was a wee dark head appearing from the sand. And another. And another. Suddenly the sand was erupting with turtles. Tiny little creatures with shells no longer than Chellie’s little finger, smaller even than green turtle hatchlings. Caretta’s babies. The protective circle parted to let them pass.

  Everyone held their breath as the turtles headed towards the sea. Scurrying, hurrying towards their new life. Chellie tried to count and thought she reached one hundred and seventeen. One hundred and seventeen little loggerheads.

  ‘Go, little turtles, go! Stay safe, stay strong, grow, grow, grow. And come back again. Please do.’