Turtle, Tents and Tiny hatchlings

This summer, I had the absolute joy of spending my days with Archelon, Crete’s incredible sea turtle conservation team — and what a whirlwind it was!

I headed out on the ferry full of energy and excitement, ready to dive headfirst into camp life. The first days were a crash course in adventure: building tents, cleaning the camp, braving cold showers, and starting visits to local hotels to kick off collaborations. All while secretly wondering if my muscles would forgive me.

And then… the first nest! Then came the real magic: the first nest. It was a stormy, rainy end of May morning when one of our monitor leaders received the message — and the bell rang through camp. That bell meant only one thing: nest sighting! Despite the weather, we grabbed our gear and raced to the beach, hearts racing and rain pouring down.

There they were — fresh turtle tracks winding across the sand like a secret trail. We followed them, scanning for the telltale signs, and finally found the spot. Kneeling in the wet sand, we carefully dug down to confirm the eggs were there, each one a tiny, perfect promise of life. The excitement was contagious — laughter, cheers, and muddy smiles all around. That first nest marked the beginning of an unforgettable season. Between long nights protecting nests from curious tourists and searching for turtles during night surveys (which included dodging strange characters wandering the beaches in the dark), I learned that sea turtle conservation is equal parts patience, endurance, and hilarity.

There were waves so high I questioned my life choices, long walks across soft sand, and moments of quiet awe — like the side-eye I got from a turtle while measuring her mid-egg-laying, or lying on the sand as majestic creatures slid past me. Hot showers at 5 a.m. never felt so good. And then there were the cucumber coolers — the unofficial drink of the season. We discovered them at a hotel that looked like it had been plucked straight out of Dune — all sleek sand tones and futuristic curves rising from the beach. It became our little oasis every Tuesday, after long, sun-soaked days and even longer nights on turtle duty.

The place was surrounded by nests, quite literally — a beach full of hatchling adventures waiting to unfold. Tuesday evenings on information table duty often began with us sipping those ice-cold mocktails and ended with salty hair and sandy feet, watching the sun melt into the horizon as just as darkness took over, we’d swap glasses for red headlamps, tiptoe down the beach, and witness the real stars of the night: tiny hatchlings making their way to the sea under a blanket of starlight.

There was something almost surreal about it — one moment you’re in what feels like a sci-fi movie set, the next you’re part of a centuries-old natural ritual, cheering on baby turtles as they begin their impossible journey.

Sunrises that painted the sky pink, sunsets paddling across the water, raising awareness, and sharing the experience with friends visiting along the way — it was a summer that had it all.

And then came the last nest, the last volunteers departing, and the silence that settled over the beaches. Crete, you’ve stolen a piece of my heart. (photos: bog photography, leo calo, wylde futures)