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Exhausted by the effort of burying a clutch of eggs behind a bush in the sandhills, the young turtle dragged herself back down the beach towards the safety of the sea. Her progress was so slow and painful, I almost felt like giving her a helping hand.
When she reached the water and was magically transformed from a clumsy struggler to a creature of grace and beauty, one of the thousands of wedge-tailed shearwaters hatching eggs in their sandy burrows further inland gave a mournful cry of farewell.
It seemed an appropriate gesture, because the 150 eggs the turtle had expended so much time and effort to lay, probably swimming 2500km to get here and then having to struggle up the beach, had little chance of survival.
One of the University of Queensland researchers supervising the turtle laying on Heron Island in the Great Barrier Reef told me, "We used to reckon there was roughly a one-in-a-thousand chance of survival. But recent research makes it more like one-in-two-thousand."
That harsh statistic somehow made it all the more moving to watch the turtles coming ashore under cover of darkness, on Heron Island and neighbouring Wilson Island.
Visit between November and March and most nights you'll see the turtles' ongoing battle for survival.
The evening we saw the young mother lay her eggs, we enjoyed a sumptuous seafood buffet in Heron Island's Shearwater Restaurant, then wandered to the North Beach, hoping to locate tracks up the sand that would tell us a turtle had come ashore.
We had only walked 200-300m when we came across a telltale cluster of holidaymakers at the edge of the water. A young woman armed with a clipboard approached to explain that a turtle was digging a nest in the sandhills above, "so we're waiting down here on the shoreline in order not to disturb her. Once she starts laying we can go up and have a look".
Sure enough, above the highwater line at the top of the beach, we could see clouds of sand spraying in the air at regular intervals as the turtle scraped a nest with her flippers.
Every so often the researcher tiptoed up to check on progress, and after an hour she said that the turtle had started laying so we could go and see her "so long as we don't shine lights in her eyes or make too much noise".
In the soft sand behind a bush was the turtle, sitting uncomfortably above a hole she had scraped about 50cm deep in the sand, and by the light of a special blue torch we were able to watch as the round, pale green eggs plopped into the heap at the bottom - we all watched in fascinated awe.
We were brought back to earth when a senior turtle researcher arrived, and in businesslike fashion measured the length of the turtle's shell (1.2m), checked for tags (there weren't any), and told us onlookers: "This is a young mother, probably about 40. Chances are this is her first clutch, so it will be smaller than usual, about 150 eggs, and she'll probably take quite a while."
As the turtle finished laying, he punched a tag on to her left-front flipper, and explained, "She'll probably jump when I do this but it doesn't hurt." The turtle did jump and I couldn't help wondering just how he knew it was painless.
Thanking us for our co-operation, the researcher then asked if we'd like to touch the turtle's shell and flippers. "We're not supposed to encourage this but I appreciate your patience so I don't mind turning a blind eye." The shell was, as you'd expect, very smooth apart from a few barnacles, and the flippers were like soft leather.
After resting for a few minutes, the turtle started filling in the hole she had scraped for her eggs and we all backed away to avoid being sprayed with sand. "This will take at least an hour," the researcher said, "because she won't only cover the nest, she'll also turn over all the sand round here so you won't be able to see where it was."
The laying over, he went to check on whether other turtles had come ashore. Rain soon afterwards sent onlookers scurrying, and suddenly I was alone with the young mother.
I was keen to see the turtle make her way down the beach to the sea, so I waited.
Bursts of frenetic activity were broken by rest periods, when she lay exhausted.
There was plenty of other activity to monitor. Trees were filled with nesting black noddy terns (see story, left), and while they tend to rest at night, there were still a few fluttering about and many more producing their distinctive clacking calls. In addition, the night sky was filled with shearwaters (aka mutton birds) returning home after a day's fishing and providing entertainment with their clumsy landings and distinctive moaning cries.
Less than 50m away was another set of turtle tracks across the smooth sand left by the falling tide. Sure enough, in the sandhills above I could see clouds of sand flying into the air. I crept up and found a much larger turtle excavating a nest with far greater speed and power than the young mother I was waiting for.
Finally, after nearly two hours of remedial earthworks - and four hours after she came ashore - the youngster did have the nest disguised to her satisfaction. All sand and plants in a 5m radius had been sprayed around to a point where if I hadn't known where the site was, I'd never have been able to guess. After a final rest she set off slowly back down the beach.
It was a painful progress. I didn't have my watch, but I reckon it must have taken 10-15 minutes to cross the 12-15m of smooth sand to the sea.
Finally she reached the water, a wave broke over her shell, and with a couple of powerful heaves with her flippers, she zoomed away. Despite being a cynical old journalist, I felt surprisingly moved.
Later, on nearby Wilson Island, which we shared with just two other couples, I saw a lot more turtles. Our first night 11 or 12 came ashore.
When I went for a morning walk, I found a big old mother still making her way back over an area of coral rubble by the light of the rising sun. The sight of me bounding enthusiastically across the beach caused her to make frenetic efforts to reach the safety of the sea, so I watched from behind and she calmed down and completed her journey in more stately fashion.
Best of all, during a snorkel off the beach, as well as masses of beautiful fish, 2m sharks and a couple of good-sized rays, we saw three turtles, one of which allowed us to follow for quite some time as she/he swooped through the warm water.
Heron and Wilson Islands and the waters around them are teeming with beautiful and fascinating wildlife. But when our visit there was over and we were racing by catamaran back to the Queensland coast, it was the young turtle mother I saw on my first night that I kept remembering. I hope at least one of her eggs makes it to adulthood. Unfortunately, the odds are against it.
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GLADSTONE
As you fly into the Queensland port town of Gladstone it seems an unlikely entry point for the stunning natural beauty of Great Barrier Reef.
Rather than palm trees and golden sands, brightly coloured fish and coral, the landscape seems to be dominated by vast industrial developments.
That's hardly surprising. Gladstone is the heart of Australia's minerals boom, being home to the largest alumina refinery in the world, plus a second giant refinery which is on track to becoming even bigger; the largest aluminium smelter in Australia; Australia's biggest cement kiln; an enormous purpose built coal export facility where "coal is blended like coffee" to meet customer requirements; plus all the mines, power stations, chemical plants and water supply schemes necessary to support such an infrastructure.
Huge chimneys, mountains of red alumina and giant wharves may not sound as appealing as coral reefs swarming with pretty fish - and I have to admit I only stopped off, en route to the joys of Heron and Wilson Islands, to see family who now live there - but I found myself enjoying the place.
The free tours around the industrial giants are fascinating . . . in fact awe-inspiring. And, it turns out, Gladstone is also a pleasant, leafy, relaxed town with plenty of natural attractions.
The Tondoon Botanic Gardens, for instance, are not just a pleasant spot for a picnic but also a great way to see Queensland's fascinating plant and bird life, not to mention a lake full of hungry river turtles.
There are some great beaches, especially Tannum Sands, good fishing, and seemingly endless supplies of the delicious local mud crabs.
The Gladstone Regional Art Gallery and Museum is said to be one of the best in Australia - exhibits include a Gladstone bag donated by the great-grandson of the 19th century British Prime Minister after whom both the town and the bag were named - but I didn't manage to get there.
Somewhat to my surprise, I'm keen to go back.
Jim Eagles made his own way to Queensland but visited Heron and Wilson Islands courtesy of Tourism Queensland.
