BY MARGARET ASHWORTH
I have been to Florida three times. Not to Orlando or Disney (I would pay good money not to go there), but to the Florida Keys, a string of low-lying islands stretching 120 miles from the state’s southern tip.
They are linked by Route 1, the longest north-south highway in the US, running 2,369 miles from the Canadian border to Key West.
About halfway along the Keys you come to Marathon, a fairly undistinguished settlement lining Route 1 on a narrow strip between the Gulf of Mexico (now rebranded as the Gulf of America) to the west and the Atlantic to the east. At mile marker 48.5 is one of my favourite places in the world – The Turtle Hospital. There they perform near-miracles in restoring damaged and sick sea turtles to health and returning them to their ocean home. Those which are too badly injured to survive in the wild live at the hospital (or other sanctuaries) in luxury conditions for the rest of their days.
Five of the world’s seven species of sea turtles are found in the waters around Florida, and are strictly protected by law. The green and loggerhead are listed as threatened, and the hawksbill, leatherback, and Kemp’s ridley (the world’s rarest) are endangered or critically endangered. All face life-threatening risks. These include entanglement in fishing and boat gear, being hit by boats (which can crack open the shell, or carapace, and cause an internal ‘bubble’ of air which prevents the turtle from diving), swallowing plastic rubbish and, particularly the case of the greens, a virus called fibropapillomatosis (FP) which creates cauliflower-like tumours on the skin, eyes, and internal organs. That is if they reach adulthood – it’s estimated that only one in a thousand hatchlings make it through the first year because they are so vulnerable to predators, and only one in 5,000 reaches breeding age of about 25.
For the Florida sea turtle population, a saviour arrived more than 40 years ago. Richie Moretti was considering giving up the Volkswagen repair business he ran in Orlando. He and his partner Tina were frequent visitors to the Keys, and when a rundown 1940s-built motel called Hidden Harbor came on the market he bought it. Among its assets was a 100,000-gallon seawater swimming pool, which the couple stocked with local marine species including tarpon, snook, Goliath grouper, a sawfish, lobsters and eels.
When teachers at a nearby school heard about Moretti’s marine world, they asked if they could bring pupils for educational visits. At the time, many children were obsessed with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and wanted to see real ones.
The State of Florida is admirably vigilant on behalf its wildlife and would not allow healthy turtles to be kept in captivity, but told Moretti he could treat injured and sick individuals and release them back into the ocean.
Thus the Turtle Hospital was born in 1986. The neighbouring strip joint, named Fannie’s, was turned into a veterinary centre.
For years the motel business was run in parallel, funding the hospital. But in 2005, Hurricane Wilma flooded the property to a depth of 6ft. Rather than reopen the motel, Moretti decided to open the hospital to the public, and admission fees would fund turtle care. The old motel rooms now house staff.
Four decades and 3,000-plus rescued turtles later, the Turtle Hospital is a globally respected rescue and rehabilitation centre with the latest equipment, much of it donated by local hospitals and well-wishers.
There are several tours a day when visitors first have an introductory talk and then are shown the rescued turtles in various stages of recovery. All are named by their rescuers. The permanent residents live in the big pool with others waiting for the final ok to go back to the ocean.
The hospital’s work doesn’t stop at the building. Ambulances collect injured turtles, and staff monitor a 24-hour hotline for reporting turtles in distress. One of the hospital’s main aims is to educate the public about the risks to sea turtles, and to this end staff attend a variety of fairs and visit schools.
This page from the hospital website shows a variety of rescued turtles – as far as I know all recovered and were released, apart from the ones with ‘bubble butt’ syndrome, when air is trapped inside the shell. Weights are glued on to the shell to achieve the correct degree of buoyancy, but they drop off eventually so these individuals cannot be released.
Turtle releases are advertised locally and crowds of several hundred often turn up. (Richie Moretti is the chap in beige shorts at the front of the container.)
I have been to a release and it is a very moving moment when the turtle realises it is free and swims off under its own steam.
Younger individuals and some adults are released offshore into a safe area of seaweed.
These turtles are incredibly resilient. Here’s the story of Luna Diana, a 270lb loggerhead turtle rescued in January last year with severe carapace damage from a boat strike.
A week later she is already showing improvement with wound cleaning and antibiotics.
After only about a month at the hospital she was released, looking a lot sprucer without the covering of barnacles, though being so heavy it was quite a task getting her out to sea.
Here is another success story: Schroder was rescued with fishing line wrapped tightly round one flipper, nearly cutting it off. After three months of physiotherapy he was released as good as new.
Most winters the hospital receives ‘cold-stunned’ turtles from further north – if the water is too cold they become sluggish and cannot eat. Here is a film featuring the hospital manager Bette Zirkelbach. There is no narration but the legend below the film tells you all you need to know.
Finally, a short film about the hospital made by The Atlantic.
The Turtle Hospital celebrates its 40th anniversary this year, with Richie Moretti still at the helm. It is now owned by a trust, ensuring that its work can continue for as long as it is needed.
All photos and videos apart from the last two are reproduced courtesy of The Turtle Hospital, Florida Keys.
Margaret Ashworth is a retired national newspaper journalist. She runs the Subbing Clinic in a hopeless attempt to keep up standards, and co-runs A & M Records where she indulges her passion for 60s pop.