LAST EDITED ON Feb-19-14 AT 09:49AM (MST)[p]
LAST EDITED ON Feb-19-14 AT 09:33?AM (MST)
LAST EDITED ON Feb-19-14 AT 09:18?AM (MST)
Since the photo has now leaked, I might as well tell the story. This is my 2012 Southwest Florida Gray Leatherback Devil Sand Turtle ML hunt. Accompanying me on the hunt was my brother, my nephew (my sister's kid "K3"), my good buddy and his son too. This was a complete DIY, public land, LE hunt. I started applying for the hunt in 1991 when I lived in Miami and it took me 21 years to draw but I finally did! The Hunt started on September 16th and lasted until January 5th - the only times of the year when the turtle population is not either mating, nesting, or hatching. This is also the time of year when the the turtles are most aggressive, because they have no other concerns and the only thing on their mind is mayhem and murder. To say the least they are bloodTHIRSTY!
The FDWR regulates this hunt very strictly and every hunter is actually accompanied by a FDWR representative the whole hunt. Since there are only 5 tags granted every 2 years, they are able to accomplish this quite easily. Each moment of the hunt is carefully documented and the documents are then registered with the State Legislature and become public documents. So, if you really want to know the whole story, contact the Florida State Legislature Wildlife Regulation Department and you can find all the nitty gritty details.
Since it was such a long hunt, I won't bore you with all of the details, but I will say this, we started on opening morning and hunted every day from dawn untill dusk and we didn't even see any sign of a turtle until October 5th.
Finally, on October 10th, in the late afternoon, we spotted this turtle from about five miles away, stalking a manatee. As we stalked to within a mile, we were able to see the whole vicious attack. It was a scene of violence and gore that would make Saddam Hussein disgusted! But, it is this raw brutality that makes nature so beautiful to us. It inspires us, it challenges us, and I knew at that moment, I was destined to pursue this worthy quarry.
Inspite of the inherent danger the situation now presented, we decided however to take a chance and I began the hunt!
I stalked in to within 700 yards and by the time I had covered that distance, there was less than an hour of light left and I knew I had to get in place for a shot quickly or we would lose him forever. He had just fed, and would now be travelling over 1300 miles without stopping.
I also knew that I was going to be taking the biggest risk of my life, as his senses were now razor sharp and if he detected me within 300 yards, I wouldn't have time to react before he attacked and I would be shredded to pieces by his razor-like beak and crushed like an old Olymipia beer can in his massive, vice-like jaws.
So, with all that in mind, I nervously began my stalk. Because the Florida regulations for a muzzleloader are so stringent that not even peep-sights are allowed, I knew I needed to be within 100 yards to be accurate with my eyes through the simple open sights.
Crouching and moving only when I could see his beak move, hoping the crushing of the bones would cover my sounds, I manuevered from bush to bush, and I closed the distance to 250 yards as the light began to fade.
Crawling through the sawgrass for the last 150 yards, and unable to use an electronic rangefinder as it is banned on this particular hunt per Florida State Primitive Weapon Hunt statutes, I hoped I was judging the distance carefully and felt that I was right at 90 yards.
Very carefully, I eased my rifle up to my shoulder and as silently as I possibly could, took my aim.
With the terror of his beak and jaws squarely in my line of vision, and my front post alligned perfectly between the back posts, I held precisely at the front edge of his shell, where the fleshy part of his neck meets the main part of his body, I slowly eased the hammer back, when to my utter horror, I heard it make the slightest, almost imperceptible squeak. Almost imperceptible - but not to the keen senses of this great beast of both land and sea.
Immediately it turned its head in my direction and fixed its steely eyes upon me. Narrowing ever so slightly, the wicked black pupils perceived my camoflauged form in the tall grass and without hesitation or warning he attacked with a fury and speed that makes the humming bird's wingbeat appear sluggish and clumsy.
As he covered the short distance splashing water and mud with every stroke of his great clawed flippers I felt my heart sink in my chest and I said a silent prayer of pleading for mercy and a quick end. In that instant the thought crossed my mind that I hoped he broke my neck with his beak before he used it to feed on my guts before my heart quit beating.
But, my fine-tuned survival instincts kicked in and I felt the rifle become one with my shoulder and I could no longer tell where steel and wood began and flesh ended. I had only one target on which to focus.
As his great maw gaped and a blood-curdling cry pierced the air, I placed the sights squarely on the back his throat and squeezed the trigger, touching the powder off just as I felt the first drops of spray falling on my face.
I faintly heard the blast of the powder as the turtle's bellowing rage reached its apex and then, as suddenly as it started - silence.
The smell of cordite and black powder hung heavily on the air and when the cloud drifted away on the breeze towards the Gulf of Mexico, the great beast's form materialzed just inches from my face.
The shot had pierced the top of his throat and the slug had severed his spine, expending its energy into the fibrous flesh of his neck, and lodging just beneath the tough first layer of dermis and cartilage-like connective tissue, just beneath the greater inner shell.
He gasped two last futile breaths, expelling his foul, rotten-flesh lung air directly into my face then lay silent and motionless. He was dead, and the sun was just then sinking halfway over the blue Gulf horizon.
So, the work began in the remaining half light. Before we were able to take any pictures, the FDWR Biologist who accompanied us took all of the necessary measurements and documented all the details of the kill site, thus certifying the hunt.
We enjoyed the moment, took our photos, and slapped each other on the back and shared a few hugs and congratulations. The next few hours were dedicated to taking care of the the meat and the shell, so my mind was occupied. But, when we got back to the lodge that had now became our home, the totality of the experience overcame me and the nausea from the sudden adrenaline rush gripped me violently. Puking and trembling, I felt weak and broken as I crawled into that bed. I could only thank God that he had seen fit to preserve my life yet again, for one more day, one more experience, and perhaps just one more magnificent turtle hunt.
HOOK 'EM!!
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