Moín’s Leatherbacks remained a mystery, a half-century-old anecdote, until the Lizanos moved to seis millas in 2005. There, on a beautiful patch of jungle between the sea and the mangroves, the family opened a butterfly farm and, later, a wildlife sanctuary, where they, their employees, and their volunteers rehabilitated sloths and primates that arrived orphaned, malnourished or burnt on power lines. Getting involved in sea turtles, much less battles over sea turtles, was never part of Lizano’s plan. But Lizano had known Koberg — the two had even attended the same high school, decades apart — and Koberg had advised Lizano to look out for Leatherbacks at Moín. It was a major nesting spot, Koberg said, perhaps as important to the Atlantic Leatherback population as Tortuguero, Pacuare, or Gandoca, the better known Leatherback beaches of the Caribbean. On her morning walks at seis millas, Lizano began seeing the massive, tractor-wheel-like tracks of female Leatherbacks, and sacks of their eggs being loaded onto trucks. Koberg had been right — Moín was a Leatherback hotspot, a bigger one than anyone suspected.