We’ve all seen how turtles operate on land: slow and deliberate, their hard shells the apparent equivalent of two rocks strapped to their torso, one above and one below. Sea turtles have a particularly tough time on land, with flippers instead of legs to gain a foothold.
But in water, their shells are an ingeniously buoyant, graceful craft perfectly designed to stabilize their owners in the ocean’s strong currents and churning waves. I have no idea how I centered the turtle in the frame for an extended period of time because just a few hundred yards away, 20-foot waves were pounding the barrier reef along the northern coast of Kauai. Even with the protection of the reef, the current was so strong in some areas that I could swim northward full tilt and find myself losing ground fast. The sand was stirred up to the point where I likened the visibility to the kind of blizzard conditions I’d encountered back home in the northeast.
Then along came this turtle, paddling his way here and there in the underwater equivalent of a leisurely stroll. A week later along the big island’s Kona coastline, I was joined by a Hawaiian Green Turtle who appeared to be on holiday as he paused to watch the yellow tangs and other fish stirring on the reef below. Like the dolphins I saw in the same area, he seemed to be saying as he looked my way, “Beautiful, isn’t it? My back yard, you realize. I own this place.”
Life is a bit less serene for the turtles who inhabit the black sand beach of Hawaii’s southern coastline. I saw them getting tipped and flipped upside-down by the churning surf as they dined on the sea grass that grows on submerged lava boulders along the shore. Once again, I think their shells served an important purpose: keeping them afloat enough to ride the waves with their heads down, and absorbing untold violent impacts with the lava. The shell of the turtle in the movie is a testimony to this way of life, dinged and scarred every which way, but still very much intact.