By Jorge Golle of The Mindanao Sentinel
MATI CITY (MindaNews / 30 April) — In Dahican Beach, the day begins with the sound of waves folding into shore—steady, patient, almost stubborn. For decades, this stretch of coast has been known as a surfer’s refuge, a skimboarder’s playground, and a sanctuary for pawikan, or sea turtles. But beneath its postcard beauty lies a quieter, more fragile story—one carried mostly by women.
Dahican draws its name from “dahik,” a local term for turtle nesting grounds — a fitting tribute to a coastline long embraced by nesting sea turtles. Winston Plaza, a marine life volunteer and member of Amihan sa Dahican – Balod sa Paglaum, Inc., said that in 2025 alone, an estimated 25,000 eggs were laid along its 1.5-kilometer stretch of shore, marking a notable rise from previous years. But behind this encouraging figure lies a harsher truth: of the thousands of eggs laid, barely one percent will survive.
Predators lurk. Human activities encroach. The odds are unforgiving.
Still, every night during nesting season, people watch, wait, and protect.
Among them is 50-year-old Ola Lorenzo, a single mother of three, a breast cancer survivor, and a surf instructor who has become one of the quiet pillars of conservation in Dahican. She is a member of Amihanan sa Dahican – Balod sa Paglaom Inc., a community-based group that has taken on the responsibility of protecting turtle hatcheries while balancing the realities of daily survival.
For Ola and the women beside her, conservation is not a side effort—it is woven into survival itself.
Their group monitors nesting sites, ensures hatcheries remain undisturbed, and conducts daily coastal clean-ups. They remind visitors—sometimes gently, sometimes firmly—that the beach is not just a destination, but a living system.
“Leave no trash,” they say. It’s not a slogan. It’s a plea.
Their work is supported, in part, by partnerships with institutions like Davao Oriental State University, the Regional Coastal Resource Management Center, and Interfacing Development Interventions for Sustainability (IDIS). These collaborations provide technical guidance, training, and occasional livelihood support. But on most days, the work continues regardless of what assistance arrives—or doesn’t.
Because life here doesn’t pause.
Fishing, once the backbone of Dahican’s economy, has slowed down dramatically.
“Grabe na kahinay karon ang panagat. Daghan na ang nangundang” (So many have stopped), Ola says.
Out of the barangay’s roughly 18,756 residents, based on the 2024 population survey of the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA), at least 3,000 depend on fishing. In recent years, however, the catch has grown smaller and less predictable — a trend also noted by the City Agriculture Office, although no specific local data has been presented.
Regional figures from the PSA in the Davao Region show a decline in annual fisheries production in Davao Oriental: from 30,300.39 metric tons in 2022 to 29,064.74 in 2023, dropping further to 23,434.69 in 2024, before slightly recovering to 24,966.18 in 2025. Overall, this reflects a 17.6 percent decrease in fish production over the period.
Fisherfolk speak of waters that no longer follow familiar rhythms, where calm and rough seasons blur into uncertainty.
Climate change has altered patterns they once relied on. Coupled with increasing competition in fishing grounds, the sea—once generous—has become harder to read.
Barangay kagawad Elmo Acera, who oversees environmental concerns and fisheries, confirms what many have already felt: the change began about three years ago, and it has only worsened since.
The impact ripples beyond the shoreline.
In many households, women are stepping in to fill the gap. Some leave to work abroad. Others take out small loans—often from informal lenders with steep repayment terms—just to start micro-businesses. Many juggle multiple sources of income, stretching every peso to cover food, school, and daily needs.
For families with five or more children, the strain is sharper. Some young people have had to stop going to school altogether.
Tourism, once seen as a buffer, is no longer as reliable.
Ola earns around ₱500 per surfing session when tourists hire her as an instructor. On good days, she can also make a few hundred pesos renting out tables, chairs, and mats to beachgoers. But those good days are becoming less frequent.
Two forces have quietly chipped away at visitor numbers: rising fuel prices—linked to tensions in the Middle East—and an increasingly punishing heat index that keeps people away from the shore.
Even paradise has its off days now.
Support from local institutions has been uneven. Under a previous city administration, Ola’s group received a monthly rice subsidy that helped sustain their operations. That support has since stopped.
The City Agriculture Office did extend financial assistance to help the group start a small enterprise store—an effort to provide steady income for members. But beyond that, aid has been limited.
Organizations like IDIS are now exploring additional livelihood support, recognizing the growing gap between needs and available resources.
Still, the women continue.
Every hatchling released into the sea carries a fragile promise. Most won’t return. But some will. Enough to keep the cycle alive.
Ola sees herself in that struggle.
She has faced illness, raised children on her own, and stood witness to a coastline in transition. Yet she remains anchored—not just by necessity, but by belief.
Like the turtles they protect, she knows survival is never guaranteed.
But it is always possible.
“As long as there is one percent,” she says, “we still have hope.”
[Jorge Golle is the founder and editor of The Mindanao Sentinel in Koronadal City. This story was produced during the Climate Impact and Environment Reporting Workshop for Journalists in Mindanao on April 24 to 26 in Mati City, Davao Oriental. It was organized by the Mindanao Institute of Journalism, publisher of MindaNews, under the Media Impact Philippines project. Media Impact is supported by International Media Support (IMS) and co-funded by the European Union and the Danish International Development Agency (DANIDA).]
