Tuesday, July 10 . . . Turtle Measurements

Even though I don’t have to go to the Coasters Camp today, I wake up extra early. The first thing I hear is Sofia coming to my door to say, “We are going to look for puffins!” She is excited because she knows how much I’ve wanted to see a puffin since I arrived up North. We drive to a lookout, bringing our scope to look for birds at Parakeet Island, a bird sanctuary. There are rumored to be about 23,000 puffins living on this island!

As I pull the scope up to my eye, a flock of birds slowly comes into focus through the small circle. As I adjust my eye to the settings, I see some small creatures puffing out their white stomachs. I know immediately it’s my funny little friends. I can’t see their orange beaks but this view is enough for me. As I search around, my eyes wander to the water. There are hundreds of heads bopping up and down. No, my eyes are not making the rocks move; there are hundreds of puffins in the water, swimming around looking for fish. I know I would like to see a puffin much closer, but I’m happy to see them in their natural habitat. Sophia returns from taking pictures of the purple Iris blooming in the field

Today’s goal is to find out more information about the recycling in Labrador. We drive to the town, traveling through the now familiar Labrador hills. When we reach the liquor store where the recycling is taken, the woman gives us a tour of the sorted bottles and explains her procedure. Trish had told me I was to help start a recycling program for the lower north shore because they have no means of recycling otherwise. She had not given me much other information expecting to be there to help me. Since she is still sick, I have to do all my own research on the different choices for recycling. The woman in Labrador helps me figure out that this is a government issue and now I should to talk to the department for recycling to figure out the best means of proceeding. Whether it be a separate recycling center for the Lower North Shore or making an agreement with the Newfoundland government to use the recycling center in Labrador, feedback from the people of Blanc Sablon will tell us whether having a way to recycle is a good idea.

As we walk in the door, the phone rings and Sophia rushes in to pick it up. Trish is on the other line. She is still in the hospital, and Sophia tells her about a turtle the DFO had spotted. Trish asks all sorts of questions that Sophia is unable to answer about the turtle. Trish gives us the name of a man to call in St. Paul’s River to take us out to the turtle. It’s 4 p.m. and he wants us to meet him at St. Paul’s River, an hour away, at 6 p.m. We rush to get everything we need, jump in the car and head out.

As we travel I realize we have gone from the sub-arctic rugged Labrador to trees in St. Paul’s River. I notice there are more and more lakes, surrounded by mossy hills. Many times we drive between steep hillsides. The cliffs are an orange, rusty red color, and every now and then you see graffiti. The roads curve and rise, following the shapes of the hills.

Finally we arrive in St. Paul’s River. A boardwalk surrounds the town. The sun is still high in the sky and shines bright on the houses. Trish’s husband loaned me waterproof pants to wear. I pull the suspenders over my shoulders, stepping into the huge yellow pants. Sophia and I decide I now fit the description of a fisherman, with big, waterproof yellow pants and overcoat.

The fisherman taking us out, Garland, arrives and helps us onto his little white boat. He talks to us and I discover he knows Annie Crane, Brooks QLF intern from last summer. She is known simply as “the American girl.”

I sit in the bow of the boat where the wind hits me at full speed. I love being out on the water, feeling the spray and wind against my face. We come to a small cove. As we exit the boat the smell hits us immediately. Something is rotting.

We climb over the beach of muscle shells and dried coral and arrive at the turtle. It is a leatherback, and after some inspection Sophia notices it has not yet been tagged, meaning there was no human awareness of this turtle. As exciting as it is to discover one that has not been accounted for, it is unfortunate that it has already passed away. The turtle is huge; I never thought that the slow moving creatures could be bigger than me. It is 62 inches long and 43 inches wide. The eyes have been picked at leaving two hollows. We also notice a huge dent on the skull and take notice as a suspected reason for its death. We leave the turtle on the island because it is illegal to have possession of any sea turtle dead or alive. It is too heavy to turn it over to try and figure out its sex, but we bring back the measurements and pictures for Trish to have as an account of the turtle.

The sun is setting and it reflects off the water. We travel close to the land of each of the islands to skip the rougher sea. The low sun shines on all the little cabins spread out through the archipelago. Garland takes us on a tour, explaining that this a great place to escape for the weekend. He also points out the ruins of old towns that once existed on the islands. He reminisces about his experiences as a little boy, describing in detail each nook and cranny of the old wharf. Bobbing around in the water, buoys mark the lobster and cod traps. Although there are limits and permits for fishing, the old time fisherman do not follow the rules very well.

As we get closer to each island, I see they are mostly moss-covered rock. The rocks seem to tumble down the hill and into the water. Some of the cabins have their own little wharves. Garland continues with the tour, finishing just as the sun disappears behind the last hills. Sophia and I climb into the car, tired yet excited, and head home, hungry for supper.