a mother turtle crawling back to the sea with no nest dug and no 

 eggs laid. 



Anticipation builds for the group as questions about the 

 mysterious reptiles are asked and answered. 

 When night falls, the search begins. 



About 9:45 p.m., Brooks takes one group to the darkest end of 

 the island. Another heads in the opposite direction. 



Both walk the beach for about an hour until it begins to rain, 

 then head for the cottages. 



About 11:45 p.m., somebody runs up from the beach with news. 



They found a turtle about a half mile down on the right. 



Some run; others walk. 



Then, there— about 25 feet from the surf— they spot the female 

 loggerhead laying her eggs. 



She's about three feet long and probably weighs 300 pounds, one 

 of the interns estimates. Her head is characteristically large, and 

 her shell is gray and smooth except for some small barnacles. 



Often these barnacles help Brooks and his staff identify the log- 

 gerheads when they nest on the beach again. 



The mother turtle lies in a trance with her tail tilted downward. 

 For now, she's oblivious to light, sound and people. 



For more than 20 minutes she drops white, pingpong-ball-sized 

 eggs into her nest. Sometimes three and four fall at a time. 



Tears wet her eyes to protect them, and every now and then she 

 sighs. 



By the end, 150 eggs have filled the l-by-2 foot hole. 



The turtle swishes sand into the cavity, then packs it down using 

 her back flippers. 



"Isn't she gracious," someone remarks as the loggerhead 

 smooths over the nest with her "knees," or joints. 



Then, to camouflage her nest from predators, she throws sand 

 from the right and left for about 10 minutes. When she leaves her 

 spot, even the interns cannot tell exactly where the nest was laid. 



Slowly, the giant mother loggerhead pushes herself back through 

 the sand to the ocean. She stops to rest, then waddles to the surf. 



She waits for a wave to take her, then swims off into her dark 

 home. 



J 



