Alone on a deserted beach at the edge of the Indian Ocean, the embers of the evening’s sunset still illuminate the skies above. My heart is full and my mind races to process the magic we were lucky enough to witness less than an hour earlier. I find myself thinking about how this world works, how we are all so caught up in the daily chores of life that moments like this seem fleeting and rare, something that we need to cling on to and savor. I remind myself that events like this were the reason I changed my path in life.

Watching baby turtle hatchlings emerge from their nests had been something I’d wanted to witness for years. I’d been lucky enough to live and work in a couple places across Australia and South-East Asia that had turtle rookeries but had never managed to find myself there in the right season. So, this summer, when my partner and I moved back to the Ningaloo Reef, I was determined not to miss it.

Rounding the tip of the Cape Range in Australia’s Northwest you are greeted with a vast, expansive horizon as the ancient range crumbles into the rocky plain below and across to the shores of the Ningaloo Reef. We arrive at a small dirt track that cuts between the sparse scrub and pull up just before the dunes start. Leaving the comfort of the air-conditioned car we are assaulted by the stifling heat and a small army of flies, a quintessential Australian greeting in most arid parts of the country. We pack the cameras, fill up our water bottles and head down the track that winds between the coastal dunes to the beach.

Arriving at the beach, I am taken aback by the sheer scale of the rookery. There are nests stretching as far as the eye can see. The usually windswept and homogenous dunes are instead a series of undulating potholes created by mother turtles as they excavate nest sites in the night to lay their clutch of precious eggs. We carefully make our way to a vantage point on a tuft of vegetation and begin the long waiting game that so often dominates wildlife photography.