You reach the beach via a rutted track that dead-ends at a thicket of sea grape and coconut palms. The sand here is pale, almost golden in morning light, and coarse enough to squeak underfoot. The beach stretches north until perspective fails, a ribbon of emptiness backed by green so dense it looks black in the shade. At high tide the waves break just meters from the vegetation, cutting foam lines that hiss and collapse.
“This is the only long-distance beach walk on the Caribbean coast where you trace leatherback nesting tracks in solitude.”
Credit: UnsplashLong-tail boats moored in clear water
This is nesting ground. Between April and October, leatherbacks haul themselves ashore after dark, excavating deep pits with their rear flippers and depositing clutches of soft-shelled eggs. By dawn the tracks are unmistakable—tank treads in the sand leading from the waterline to the dune edge and back. You walk carefully, scanning for the subtle depressions that mark buried nests, imagining the hatchlings that will boil up from below in sixty days, scrambling toward the surf in a frenzy of instinct.
The few other people you encounter are locals exercising dogs or couples who've walked the length of the beach from Cahuita village. The sun is merciless by midday, and shade is scarce—you retreat to the treeline and lie in the sand, listening to howler monkeys bellow in the canopy. The water is warm, the undertow moderate, and when you wade in, the bottom slopes gently, shell-scattered and soft.
