So many memories have been made on North Capitva Island. On this page we enjoy sharing some of our own, and those of our guests!

LUCKY

 North Captiva is home to many gopher tortoises and we have always enjoyed the one that makes its way along Seair Lane, past our home, The Blue Parrot. Among the thousands of pictures we've taken since 2002 of The Parrot and the island, there are always a few of the tortoise (I like to think it has always been the same one)--making its way across the path, nipping at grass, or basking in the sun.

On our last visit, Barry, our friend and caretaker, mentioned one day that he'd seen a turtle with a cracked shell in our yard. It might not have been our turtle, but it was in our yard and yes, it had a great depression in its shell. We figured it must have been hit by something--a golf cart most likely--that left it with a plate-shaped crack in its home. Despite the injury, the turtle seemed okay, marching on its sturdy little legs through the growing paradise that Barry has created on our patch of Seair Lane.

One afternoon in New York, I got a text message from Barry: “The turtle with the cracked shell is eating blackeyed peas.” It seems he’d dropped a few while having lunch on the deck, and the turtle was busy snapping them up. The next day, sending up a flurry of shells behind the water pump in a steady, furious rain, the turtle dug a nest, and took up residence in our yard. Wandering among the Cycads and Haliconia, it seemed healthy in our garden paradise. “He’s lucky,” I said. And so he was named—Lucky. But the cracked shell was a concern. Barry wondered what it must have been like, the day it got hit, “for a turtle to have the only secure thing in its world, its home, shattered like that.” And then we both wondered whether, left untreated, the injury would lead to infection.

Online, I learned that since tortoises are cold-blooded, it sometimes takes weeks for an infection to weaken them and by the time infection becomes evident, it might be too late. Was there anything we could do for Lucky, I wondered? The next day, a beautiful spring morning in New York, I called C.R.O.W., the wildlife rehab facility on Sanibel. After a brief consult, the woman who answered my call said, “The doctor would like to examine the tortoise, make sure it doesn’t have any internal injuries. Can you bring him in?”

My first thought was, “sure”—then I realized the complications. I explained where Lucky was—on North Captiva. “It’s a little involved,” I said. “If we can get our hands on him, then we have to get him off the island on a boat, and drive him down to you—it’s about an hour. I don’t know whether Barry can get there by the time you close.” Don’t worry, she said—just let us know you are coming and we’ll be here to receive him. I called Barry back and he said at once that he’d be on the 7a.m. boat the next morning to bring Lucky in.

In New York, drama is usually accompanied by sirens and cars flashing by, the rush of adrenaline and lots of heart pounding. On North Captiva, the rescue of Lucky played out a little differently. At 7:30 the next morning, Barry arrived at the house and set up a chair under the Coconut Palms. At 8, Lucky poked his head out of the hole, and the two eye-balled each other for another hour, neither of them moving. Hearing it over the phone, it sounded like a high-stakes poker game, with all the action stalled in one exploded moment. By 9:30, Lucky had vanished back into his nest. Barry was three chapters in to Edith Wharton’s House of Mirth, and I was on an extended long-promised shopping trip with my two girls in a giant mall north of Manhattan. Barry promised to call when something happened, but at 10:45 the tension became unbearable and I called again. Barry was up to Chapter 5, and had been joined by the spectacular young emerald green iguana that also has taken up residence, and its friend, also spectacular. He’d taken magnificent photos of both of them. Lucky hadn’t shown since 9:30. At noon, I was becoming antsy, so I text messaged. “Anything new?” He texted back: “Ever tried to out patient a turtle?” It was a masterpiece of double entendre; I hoped he was enjoying Edith Wharton.

 Around 12:30, the girls found adorable sundresses and were modeling them for me in the dressing room. My cellphone buzzed with a text message: “Got him! Call!”

 I dashed out and got the news. Lucky had come out, finally, and taken a few steps toward the garden he likes to bask in. Barry had gotten between him and his nest. A slow-motion ballet followed, with Lucky trying every twist a turtle can take to get back to his nest. Finally, turning the turtle on its back for a moment, Barry was able to grab the container he’d set up for transport and get him in.

 I had texted Barry earlier to watch out because (I’d learned), as a last act of defense under stress, turtles will empty their bladders. “Every kid knows this,” he’d texted back, “didn’t you ever have a turtle as a pet?” I didn’t point out that my turtles (I’d had seven of them, actually) were the dimestore variety of a long-distant youth, and were the size of half-dollars, so such acts of desperation would have gone unnoticed by me. However, we were both concerned about the danger of dehydration that follows the emptying of the bladder, and Lucky was going berserk in the large clear container. Barry called C.R.O.W. to see if there was anything he could do. “Put a big towel over the container,” they suggested. He did, and Lucky calmed right down. He put some grass and leaves in, too, and made a reservation on the 2:15 boat. With any luck—unless Cabbage Key was on the itinerary—he should make it to C.R.O.W. in time. He promised to call me on the other side, to let me know how Lucky was doing.

 By 3:45, they’d docked on Pine Island and were driving post-haste to Sanibel. Most of the passengers on the boat were sympathetic—one old-timer did offer recipes, but his experience of gopher tortoises no doubt pre-dated their endangered status. I worried about traffic and the stress of the trip. Was it worth it, I wondered?? On the heels of that, I imagined how I’d feel if left untreated, Lucky did get an infection and died. It was worth it.

 At 4:40 Barry reached the Sanibel Causeway. He’d called C.R.O.W., and they assured him they’d stay open, not to rush. When he got there, I later learned, a team of specialists came out at once, and whisked Lucky into a treatment room. There were 4 people cleaning him up and the doctor was examining him. Barry was impressed; said he wished he could get that kind of attention at an ER. He also said that the place was a hotbed of activity, with people bringing in every type of injured wildlife. One of the staff came out after while, thanked Barry for bringing Lucky in, and gave him his cleaned-out container. Barry asked when he could come back to take the tortoise home. The staffer seemed hesitant—in retrospect, probably because one of the frequent questions people have about wildlife they have found is whether they can keep the animals on their property, more or less as pets—something that is both ill-advised and illegal (at least in the case of endangered species). Barry explained that he had always intended to take this turtle back to the “wild,” in this case its home on North Captiva. “Otherwise I’ve essentially just kidnapped this turtle and taken it from its surroundings. In my experience, animals will always go home,” he explained. With this clarification, and after consulting with colleagues, the C.R.O.W. staffer returned with Lucky’s patient number (1989), and instructions to call the next day at 4p.m.

At this point we resolved that unless the doctor felt Lucky was too ill, or that the stress of the trip was too dangerous, we would definitely try to bring Lucky home. It was 6:20p.m.—Barry had spent close to 12 hours on the effort, and between boat passage, Pineland Marina’s usurious parking fees, and the price of gas, costs were adding up. On the phone, I wondered out loud if I wasn’t completely crazy in having suggested the whole thing to begin with. There was a pause. “No more than usual,” he said.

I admit that time passed awfully slowly the following day. At four-fifteen, I got the call. Barry had spoken with the doctor. Lucky was doing just fine; moreover, he was a she! The doctor cleaned out her shell, and she had no internal injuries, but was on antibiotics for a few days and, if all went well, she might be able to go home.

A week later, my cellphone rang with an unfamiliar Florida number. It was Dr. P.J. Deitschel, from C.R.O.W. Lucky, she told me, was doing splendidly! Her shell was sealing nicely and she had responded well to the antibiotics—there was no sign of infection. “She’s alert and responsive…and she wants to go home!” She thanked us several times “for your concern for this tortoise.” Elated, I called Barry and he promised to contact Dr. P.J. the next day, to make arrangements for Lucky’s transfer back to North Captiva. To reduce the stress of the trip, Barry hoped to pick up Lucky early in the morning from Sanibel, make the hour plus trip back to the Pine Island dock, and still catch a morning boat. He planned to release her to her nest and, since he was checking some guests out of our home that day, would be able to stay and make sure she did well overnight.

At 6:30a.m. on June 19, 10 days after the adventure began, Barry and his wife, Teresa,  set out for  C.R.O.W. They were waiting for him and by 8:15, Lucky was back in her tub, “a lot calmer than when I brought her the first time,” Barry reported. “I rubbed her shell when I got her in the car and she hissed at me. Typical woman,” he joked. He also mentioned that there seemed be at least a hundred gopher tortoises at C.R.O.W., all in various stages of care. Asked if there was anything he should do to make her transition back home smoother, Dr. P.J. said “just release her to her burrow; that will be the very best thing.”  We couldn’t help wondering, though: would Lucky would make a beeline back to her burrow or take off from The Blue Parrot as fast as her stubby legs could take her?

On North Captiva, the family renting our home for the week was getting ready to leave that afternoon. They were pleased to be in on the return of Lucky to the island, particularly Nurine, from Thailand, one of the two foreign exchange students that vacationed with them.



Barry arrived at the house just after 11:45 with Lucky, who, he said, had started scrambling in the tub shortly after he got to the dock. Did she sense the voyage back home was at hand? I like to think so. While he was “turtle sitting,” he had a chance to observe Lucky more closely. Her eyes were definitely clearer, he said, and although her shell still had signs of the depression, it seemed fairly well sealed.

At a minute before noon, my cellphone rang; I was to be in on the release firsthand! While the group stood by, Barry had Nurine gently tip the box toward the ground. “She’s out, and
heading straight for her burrow!” He sounded pleased.



Then, “She’s stopped, and is staring at the hole. I see what the problem may be,” Barry said, “a root’s come up.” A second later, a small whirlwind of sand erupted as Lucky dug furiously with her stout, armored front legs, clearing a path to her burrow. Over the phone, I heard a cheer go up; Lucky was home!

At The Blue Parrot, there is now a small white sign on the fence, my welcome home present to Lucky and a gentle reminder to all who travel our paths by cart or bicycle: “Gopher Tortoise Crossing.” And although we don’t know Lucky’s age, we do hope that one day a few baby gopher tortoises will join their well-traveled mother on her journeys throughout North Captiva Island.

Karen Sirabian 
North Captiva Island
June 2007

 AUGUST 2007 UPDATE

Two months have passed since Lucky returned home, and we are glad to report she has decided to stay on at The Blue Parrot. In fact, she's picked up a companion who shares her burrow (gopher tortoises frequently do share their burrows, sometimes with more than one other turtle). Barry named him Happy, "since the first time I spotted him sitting half out of the burrow, he looked very strong and confident, and seemed pleased not to have to dig a hole." Below, a shot of Lucky making her way through the Mandevilla vines, back to her burrow.

Karen Sirabian
North Captiva Island
August 2007

 

TRUE FISH TALE!

In December 2007, guests of The Blue Parrot enjoyed a truly remarkable fishing trip with local Captain Dennis Realy. Their catch that day (which was released, unharmed) was an enormous Goliath Grouper. So far, their record remains unmatched!