After months of rehab, 17 endangered sea turtles released off Cape Cod
'Cold-stunning is basically hypothermia for turtles,' said Adam Kennedy, the Aquarium's director of rescue and rehabilitation. 'They can't regulate their body temperature, so as the water gets colder, they float to the surface, and the wind blows them in.'
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The phenomenon has worsened as the Gulf of Maine,
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Most suffer from malnourishment, pneumonia, and other trauma after spending days or weeks adrift.
'You're bringing these turtles in from the winter, where they're kind of on death's doorstep,' Kennedy said. 'To this point where they look wonderful, they look great — and they're ready to go.'
Biologist Amanda Alig introduced Graeae, a Kemp's ridley sea turtle, to the crowd before releasing it in Dennis.
Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff
Among those released was Tyche, a critically endangered Kemp's ridley sea turtle with a serious facial injury.
'Not knowing if it could even open its mouth enough to eat — or whether it would be able to thrive — that was a big question when the turtle first arrived,' Kennedy said. 'We had to ask ourselves: Do you euthanize a turtle like that, or give it time?'
The staff waited. Over the months, Tyche healed. Her story — documented by the Aquarium's team —
Named after the Greek goddess of luck and fortune, Tyche was one of several turtles this season named under a mythology theme. Others released this week included Selene, Oceanus, Athena, and Pan — names that reflect each animal's journey.
Helen, a loggerhead sea turtle, headed towards the water after being released at West Dennis Beach.
Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff
Ten turtles were fitted with satellite tags, and eight of those also received longer-lasting acoustic tags.
Kara Dodge, a research scientist at the New England Aquarium, said satellite tags transmit real-time data when turtles surface to breathe, while acoustic tags work underwater but only near fixed receivers. Acoustic tags can last up to ten years, compared to six to twelve months for satellite tags.
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Dodge said researchers use the tags to better understand what happens to turtles once they're released.
'Are they surviving? Are they reintegrating with the wild population? Are they doing, 'normal turtle things'?' she said.
The 17 released this week are just the beginning. Twenty-five more remain in rehabilitation and will hopefully all be cleared for release later this summer.
'All the releases feel amazing,' Dodge said. 'It's just the culmination of so much work, and having them back in fantastic health and ready to go — it's pretty much thrilling every single time.'
With a satellite tag attached to its shell, Oceanus headed out to sea after being released in Dennis.
Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff
Nathan Metcalf can be reached at

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Boston Globe
19 hours ago
- Boston Globe
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Boston Globe
2 days ago
- Boston Globe
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Atlantic
3 days ago
- Atlantic
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The show is still concerned with money, of course. The players gaze ruefully at the growing winnings pot dangled before them; one character makes regular calculations about how much he'll earn if he survives, and another mulls whether to become a loan shark. (Though Gi-hun was the sole winner of the 45.6-billion- won prize in Season 1, multiple victors could split the money in Season 2—by voting to end the games entirely following each round.) But the show used to do more than just gesture at the competitors' financial burdens. In Season 1, many of the rounds were inherently unjust: One requiring players to cut shapes out of sugar candy, for instance, put some of them immediately at a disadvantage, based upon how complicated a shape they started with. The unfairness allowed the show to underscore its theme of social inequality—how, for a person starting with a deficit, pulling even, let alone coming out ahead, can be nearly impossible. Season 3 abandons such insight in favor of more superficial observations. The show's focus is now on how terrible people can be, whether they're one of the tournament's orchestrators or one of its contestants. The players, in particular, face more punishing obstacles that only emphasize their selfishness. A game of hide-and-seek, for example, is stacked against those who work alone, because escaping requires collecting keys from other participants to unlock a hidden door. A jump-rope challenge involves a bridge with a gap, a test of physical prowess that not everyone can pass. These competitions don't seem to contribute anything to the show's intimate dissection of economic anxiety and class struggle; they're plot contrivances meant to intensify the proceedings. Even a major character who had seemed poised to seek redemption turns into a straightforward antagonist by the end. 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The newborn's inclusion also renders Gi-hun's arc frustratingly inert. Jun-hee, before she dies, asks him to keep her child safe, and he devotes himself to his new purpose. Yet making Gi-hun the newborn's caregiver only flattens him into an obvious avatar of goodness. Take the way he responds to In-ho, a.k.a. the Front Man (Lee-Byung-hun), Gi-hun's rival and the primary organizer of the games. In-ho disguised himself as a fellow competitor in Season 2, gaining Gi-hun's trust before betraying him in the finale. This season, after revealing his true identity to Gi-hun, In-ho encourages him to kill the other players in order to protect the baby. Just as he's about to murder his first victim, though, Gi-hun sees a vision of Kang Sae-byeok (Jung Ho-yeon), a fellow contestant who had been slain close to the end of the game in Season 1. She tells him that he's 'not that kind of person'—in other words, a murderer. But that's an odd assertion for the show to make, because Gi-hun has killed people before. During the Season 2 finale, he shot guards in order to save some of the other contestants who had joined him in an uprising against the tournament's overseers. Murder, then, has already been established as a justifiable means of protection. Season 3 can still be compulsively watchable. Its set pieces remain impressively staged, and the intriguing subplots regarding the tournament's mysterious creation—including the ongoing search for the island on which the event takes place—pick up after being sidelined in Season 2. The finale leaves tantalizing threads that open the door for a possible new iteration of Squid Game. And many of the characters' relationships are affecting, even in their simplicity: A mother-and-son duo learning to care for each other rather than the prize is emotionally affecting, and Gi-hun's quest to exact revenge against a player who contributed to the rebellion's defeat last season briefly brings a fresh layer of tension. But in a television landscape dominated by portraits of wealth, Squid Game, in its first season, was the rare success that scrutinized the cost of debt. Those initial episodes captured the risk of chasing capital and existing in a system that puts a price on every part of life; they served as a study of many slices of society in the process. Gi-hun himself proved a tough protagonist to root for when the show began, as a foolish gambling addict hoping to reconnect with his family but who becomes obsessed with the games anyway. By Season 3, however, the players exist as little else but epitomes of good or evil. Though its epilogue shows how much the Front Man came to sympathize with Gi-hun's perspective—that people are worth saving— Squid Game ends with one more surprise to highlight the tournament's savagery. The story may have depended on the horror of juxtaposing kids' games with life-and-death consequences to convey how being in debt can be a living hell. But in the end, the show turned its insights into child's play too.