Turtle hatchlings battle against plastics

I can smell the beach before I see it. Thick mats of sargassum seaweed have washed ashore along Mexico's Caribbean coast, and in the heat, the acrid odour of it makes my eyes water. But as I walk over the sand dunes, it isn't just the seaweed that makes me pause. It's the plastic.

We have come to Mexico to film turtle hatchlings as they emerge from their nests and make their journey to the sea. It has taken more than a year to get to this moment. In 2024, a major storm sweeps in just before our filming window, forcing us to abandon filming. A year later, at the height of hurricane season, the weather is holding and we have one final chance to capture the sequence before the edit starts. I am relieved that we are finally here.

Researcher Harry Gunning has spent more than 18 months speaking with turtle organisations across Mexico and the Caribbean and learning about the issues hatchlings are facing. After landing in Cancún, cinematographer Adam Clarke, fixer Rodrigo Manterola and I travel south to Sandy Turtle Camp. It's a remote conservation camp around a 40-minute drive south of Mahahual, surrounded by banana trees and reached by a dirt road winding through forest and mangroves. There we meet Ana Antillanca, who runs the camp, and renowned turtle expert Roberto Herrera, who trains field technicians to protect nests and help hatchlings reach the sea if needed.

Inside the camp building, colourful mosaics of pristine beaches and wildlife dot the walls and hang from the ceiling, some still unfinished. Ana explains that children and visitors have made them from flip-flops and other plastic collected from nearby beaches. It's a beautiful idea, and one I soon understand far better.

The team at Sandy Turtle Camp monitors around 10 kilometres of coastline, and we head straight out to recce before filming. But here, among the sargassum, and scattered further along the beach, are pieces of debris. Water bottles, toothbrushes, jerry cans, shampoo bottles, fishing nets, flip-flops and even the occasional trainer lie along the shoreline.

I have always associated plastic with the threats turtles face in the ocean itself. Ingestion and entanglement are well documented. What I hadn't really considered until now is how early in their lives some turtle hatchlings encounter the plastic problem. Many of the turtle nests are located above the tide line, and the route to the sea is littered with plastic debris. For some hatchlings, plastic is likely to be the first thing they see when emerging from the nest.

It would be easy to assume that the plastic has been dumped here from land. But many of the weathered labels still attached tell a different story. I pick up a bottle. It has been manufactured in Jamaica. Another in the USA. Looking out towards the ocean, I can see debris floating amongst the sargassum, colourful and unnatural rafts carried on the water. Most of it has arrived from hundreds, if not thousands, of kilometres away, carried here by ocean currents.

This isn't just an issue caused locally. It's a global problem arriving on this coastline. I must admit, it's easy to feel frustrated. These beaches are important turtle nesting sites, yet so much of what surrounds the nests has started its journey somewhere else, discarded and forgotten long before it reaches this shore.

Plastic on beaches can create obstacles for hatchlings, slowing them down or trapping them. But this isn't an issue restricted to the beaches near Mahahual. Similar observations are recorded on nesting beaches around the world. Blue Planet II helped bring ocean plastic to global attention, yet today estimates suggest more than eleven million metric tonnes of plastic enter the oceans every year, with more than a million tonnes washing onto beaches each year.

Back at the camp, Ana shows me what looks like an ordinary rock. In reality, it is a dense clump of nurdles that has been found nearby. Nurdles are tiny plastic pellets used in the manufacture of everyday products. Like the larger items, they have been transported here by ocean currents. Their small size means they can be mistaken for food by a wide range of animals.

Standing on those beaches, it would be easy to feel disheartened by the problem. Yet what stays with me most after we finish filming is not the debris itself, but the people working every day to tackle it.

Ana's interest in beach pollution began when one of her daughters asked her whether all the plastic on the shoreline is normal. Ana is one of the most determined women I've ever met, and instead of accepting it as an unavoidable part of the landscape, she decides to do something about it.

She founded Menos Plástico es Fantástico A.C. ("Less Plastic Is Fantastic"), which works alongside Sandy Turtle Camp. Over the years, the organisation has run multiple beach clean-ups, removing hundreds, if not thousands, of kilograms of plastic from these turtle nesting beaches. It also creates educational projects using material collected from the beach, including the mosaics I've seen at the camp, and encourages the public to reduce and recycle plastic waste.

It's impossible to know what this coastline will look like in the future. I suspect ocean currents will continue to bring material ashore here for many years to come. But thanks to people like Ana, Roberto and the wider team at Sandy Turtle Camp and Menos Plástico es Fantástico, turtle hatchlings are being given a safer and clearer path to the sea.

Spending time with them is a reminder that no single person can solve a global problem alone. Understanding where plastic ends up and choosing to dispose of it responsibly is always better than doing nothing. Watching and filming hatchlings emerge on these beaches, I am struck by how much those first few metres matter. For a hatchling taking its first journey to the sea, every piece of plastic removed from the beach can make a difference.