When my trip to Mexico was planned, and Puerto Vallarta included on the itinerary, this is the experience I knew for sure I wanted to have. In fact, if I did nothing else but relax on the beach for a week and get to participate in a baby turtle release, it would be a week worthwhile. Standing here, watching the last few two inch long younglings vanish into the dusky waves of the Pacific, I know with certainty that I was right. This is an experience that touched me to my core.

After renting a car from my resort just north of Puerto Vallarta (in an area called Flamingos), a 40 or so minute drive along a pretty good highway takes me to the small town of San Pancho Nayarit. There isn’t much to say about the history of the town. Once a fishing village and now focused on tourism, it is probably a typical beach town in the area with a similar story to many others. But this town has something special, and it is the reason I’m here. San Pancho is home to Project Tortuga.

Of course, a visit isn’t just for turtles, and an afternoon with a drink on the beach and a walk down the town’s main road for shopping is pleasant. I enjoy the murals of Plaza Del Sol and a truffle at Mexicolate. But as pleasant as all of that is – and it truly is – it is more just a means of passing the time until sundown nears.

I arrive at Project Tortuga’s facility just before 6pm, and am greeted by the organization’s director, Jessica Schmidt. Jessica has been with the organization for more than 18 years, with the past two at the helm. She stands with me over three plastic baskets filled with baby turtles that have hatched over the past day or so, and talks to me about the amazing cuteness I’m seeing.

Project Tortuga was founded here in San Pancho in the early 1990s, part of a growing worldwide effort to protect sea turtle populations, which had been in free fall for decades due to hunting, loss of habitat, poaching, pollution, and other – mainly human-induced – causes. Here in San Pancho, the group worked with leatherback and olive ridley sea turtles, monitoring the beaches for nesting females and then taking the eggs to safety, releasing the young back into the ocean once they hatched. The mission has remained largely unchanged since then.

Sadly, it is a rarity now to get a leatherback here – or anywhere, really – as the species is critically endangered. But the olive ridley has mounted a remarkable comeback, due in no small part to Project Tortuga (tortuga is Spanish for turtle) and other organizations like it, and is now listed merely as vulnerable.

Jessica talks to me about the progress made in the time she has been with the organization, with poaching cut by more than 90%. How is this possible? Well, during the breeding season, there are three shifts of volunteers made up of locals and visitors who patrol the beach all night. They spot female turtles moving to the beach to nest, and once they do, the spots are noted so that the eggs can be collected. (The presence of the volunteers also greatly discourages hunting of the adult females, naturally.)

Once collected, the eggs move to one of Project Tortuga’s nurseries, where they will hatch about 45 days later. And then more lucky volunteers get to do what I’m here to do today, and help to release them into the ocean.

Before release, the baby turtles need to be “sorted,” where the ones that hatched a bit more recently and are still sleepy are left behind, and those more active are kept in the buckets. That energy will be needed for the trek down the sand and into the water, not to mention all that happens once in the Pacific. Then our group (about seven to start) takes the buckets and makes our way to the beach.

We only have two full buckets of turtles today. Some days, Jessica says, there can be as many as 15 or more! It all depends on the natural cycles of turtles nesting, both in a yearly sense (last year they had only about 750 nests due to a strong La Niña, but this year seems to be trending more toward the average of 1500 or so) and just due to ebbs and flows in nests over the course of the season. Each nest averages about 100 eggs, and with hatch rates extremely high in the nurseries, it can mean about 150,000 babies released in a year. Tonight it is only a couple hundred.

As we walk to the beach, the excitement builds, but not only for our group. Local children run up to those holding the buckets. “Tortugas!” they yell, eagerly peeking in to see the little creatures. Baby olive ridleys are adorable, about two inches long, mainly black, with sort of serrated flippers. They clamor over each other in the baskets, flipping over repeatedly, but able at this size to get themselves right side up again without too much issue.

Once on the beach, our numbers swell. Tourists, locals, anyone around is welcome to join in. The first task is the construction of two barriers that create a sort of turtle highway leading from the buckets to the water. Then, after a quick speech about the organization (which is always in need of more volunteers), the first bucket is put on its side and the baby turtles are off.

The release is done at sunset, and the changing light only adds to the ambience. Some of the turtles charge ahead; others are slower or more tentative. Larger waves collect some and spread others out off the path, so we have to – very gingerly – gather them back to the protected area. After all, this is a public beach and dangers abound.

The second basket begins as the first is empty, and the remainder clamor down toward the ocean. Even with all of them making it safely to the water, survival is hardly guaranteed. Apparently about one in a hundred will survive a year, and only one in a thousand (at most) to adulthood. But those that do will be back to this very beach in about fifteen to twenty years, measuring two feet and weighing up to a hundred pounds. (Making sure the babies “register” the beach is why the release has to happen a decent way from the water’s edge, mimicking the nest experience.)

As the light fades into darkness, the last few turtles disappear, merely black dots on the sand. We turn on flashlights to search for any stragglers (lights, including flashes on cameras, are forbidden during the release since it can confuse the baby turtles, who know to follow the fading light of the sun) and those, too, are helped into the water. It is the best possible start, the beginning of a long road to adulthood.

It is hard to put words to the feeling of being part of this. From the sheer cuteness of the babies to the majesty of the Pacific Ocean, from the camaraderie of those sharing in the meaning of participating to the excitement of locals for whom this creates pride of place, from the awe of nature to the optimism that humans can help right a small bit of the damage we have done… all of these things play in my mind as I walk back to my car to head back toward Puerto Vallarta.

Mostly, though, I feel happy. I am happy that I got to participate in something so meaningful, and happier still that organizations like Project Tortuga exist to make sure that such majestic creatures don’t fade from this planet.

It is an experience I will never forget, that I will yearn to have again, and that I will forever encourage others to find for themselves when they come to this magical part of Mexico.

Thank you so much to Jessica Schmidt and Project Tortuga for allowing me to share in this incredible experience. If you find yourself along Mexico’s Riviera Nayarit and want to volunteer, please reach out to them via the link above.

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