D
DoubleShell
Guest
LAST EDITED ON Apr-29-11 AT 00:27AM (MST)[p]A little long - but a MUST READ!!
Well, it all started back in November after about a five hour reprieve from hunting rock chucks, skunks and muskrats. I began to yearn for a little more excitement and danger to my hunts so I finally broke down and called E.E. Lgrass and booked a terrapin hunt at his amazing and pristine game ranch in Northern Southeast Florida for my brother in-law Jim and I. This gorgeous tract of prime hunting property is located in premium turtle hunting country. With over 30 acres of fenced property and access (over several untraceable dirt roads and a short nighttime/clandestine boat ride up a little known and seldom patrolled by National Park Rangers tributary of a river that is better mentioned only in private in whispered tones with a hand covering your mouth) to over 1.2 million acres of the world's greatest national treasures - the pristine swampland of the Florida Everglades.
The adventure began as soon as we reached the property. Before we were even fully in the driveway we had sighted several exotic species meandering about peacefully near the front entrance. There were red-eared sliders, Carolina alligator snappers, Texas boxies, Galapagos tortoises, Maryland terrapins, and Ecuadorian Charapas as well as salamanders, bullfrogs, some water snakes, an opossum and a smoking chimpanzee named Artie. Once our gear was unloaded on to the front porch E.E. promptly introduced us to our guides, 67 year old Etienne LeBleu and his 27-28 year old sons Daryle, Pierre, Daryle, Moyse, and Daryle ? right proper French Canadian Seminole Cajuns who made us feel right at home by offering up a plug of their finest homegrown tabaccy and some homemade rhubarb wine.
Next we made our entrance to the lodge and hot dog if we weren't impressed and blown away by the taxidermy! You couldn't even begin to imagine the variety of species hanging on the walls there! Of course there were several Loggerheads, Freshwater Caiman, African bullfrogs, a beautiful scene of a raccoon fighting a Siamese tabby over a half-eaten can of rancid tuna, plenty of whitetail ? bucks, does and fawns alike, a small flock of pelicans and grebes in flight above our heads, several Indian oxen, Eastern diamondbacks, manatees and a mule. Etienne and E.E. led us to our quarters and after shooing some of the finest looking BlueTick/Redbone/Pit Bull Terrier cross bred hounds out of the back room and off of the pallets and box springs we were soon settled in for a peaceful night!
Our quest then began at sunrise the next morning as we were eager to get out hunt underway and since Moyse and Artie had crawled into bed with Jim at about 4AM anyway, there wasn?t much sleep left to be had. So we helped Etienne and E.E. load up the swamp buggy on the front of the airboat, equipped our trusty .300Roy rifles, left a fresh pack of smokes for Moyse and Artie and away we went! I was hoping to bag a world-class Florida Devil Terrapin, but was so excited and hunting deprived that I was ready to settle for just about any old tortoise ? at least on that morning. Good thing E.E. and Etienne talked me out of that mindset because my mettle was put to the test right quickly.
No sooner had we reached the back fence of the property when a pack of six huge bull red-eared sliders appeared from back behind the breeding pens, no doubt attracted by the presence of some of the hens who were in heat. I drew a careful bead with the .300Roy and with the dead rest built right on to the airboat, I knew my red-dot scope was securely aimed right over the vitals of the nearest (and biggest!) red eared bull. I could hear my heart pumping in my earlobes and as I tendered the trigger of the .300, I could feel my pulse in my fingertips! What a rush!
I held off however, though this pack of lone wolf turtles would have certainly been a prize for any self-respecting sportsman, these were not the turtles I was looking for. I was going after Big Poppa and E.E. wasn?t going to let me take anything less than the very best. Looking back, all I can say is that I am grateful for the greatest outfitter in the world and his superb guide Etienne, and that my friends is - as they say in the journalistic radio business - the rest of the story.
In the pre-dawn light we navigated the airboat up a meandering tributary to the far side of the lease, bordering the main property and fence line. Soon though, we began to hear the distinct roar of several bull Devil Terrapins, who were heavy in the rut. Etienne told me that he was sure that one of them had to be the Terrapin he had deemed Big Poppa ? the biggest terrapin the world had ever known. I could sense it too ? we were closing in, and closing in fast.
After checking a few more potential nesting sites, Etienne and E.E. sat Jim and I up in the airboat overlooking a stagnant backwater while they unloaded the swamp buggy. The plan was to use the buggy to entice Big Poppa to cross the backwater right in front of us. We thought for sure it would work too, and it would have ? on almost any other ordinary Florida Devil. But this was no ordinary Florida Devil ? this was Big Poppa ? el jefe mismo ? le gran macdaddy!
Soon after the swamp buggy was deployed, a hush fell over the Glades ? and a taught tenseness was palpable in the air. Once again, I began to feel my hear beat a little faster in my chest, and I could taste the adrenaline coursing through my veins (and of course the maple syrup that E.E. had basted those blueberry biscuits with for our breakfast)! It was as if all of nature could sense the showdown that would soon ensue.
Jim and I studied every inch of the backwater, looking for the slightest movement that would alert us to Big Poppa?s presence. We were intense ? maybe a little too intense and before we realized it, we detected movement on our six! Something was stalking us from behind!
Using my peripheral vision and the refraction from an Old Crow bottle in the bottom of the boat I could make out a gigantic Florida Devil Terrapin in all its fury and splendor moving into position to strike us. Though I couldn't see exactly how big he was, I knew from the image I had of his front claws alone, that if he wanted, he could rip that whole airboat right in half, drag us both down helplessly to the depths of that black lagoon, only to turn up three days later as camouflage and bright orange terrapin pellets. So I sat there, frozen stiff with fear, paralyzed at the impending doom lurking behind us. I knew that any sudden movement would trigger Big Poppa?s striking instinct, ensuring our doom.
Using the refraction off the Old Crow bottle, I ever so slightly began to move the barrel of the .300Roy around behind me. I had only one option, one choice, one moment where all a man?s choices compound together to make him who he really is ? and for me, I knew as clearly as I know my own hand that I had to use that glass refraction to aim the muzzle of the .300Roy right at the soft spot of Big Poppa?s neck, precisely at the very moment was beginning his strike, the only time his jugular vein would even be slightly exposed. If I missed, and if the bullet didn't hit his shell and shatter, sending shrapnel ricocheting wildly back at Jim and I tearing us apart like buckshot at point blank range, his mighty beak would make short but painful work of us. Jim wasn?t even aware of the impending danger, for all he knew, Big Poppa was miles away from us, but I knew better and as the hairs on my neck stood straight up I knew it was time to act.
Just then, Big Poppa?s neck muscle began to recoil and just as if everything turned to slow-motion, I could see the leathery skin begin to stretch and reach out for us ? my moment had arrived! I double checked the refraction, aimed it perfectly, and squeezed the trigger, driving the .30 caliber Boat-Tail-Hollow-Point bullet in a cloud of smoke directly into Big Poppa?s soft spot!
With a roar that sounded like a cross between the moan of an orgasmic French Canadian Seminole Cajun sodomizing a smoking chimp in a rustic two-seater outhouse at 3AM and a forlorn manatee, Big Poppa crashed away through the brush, in the throes of his dance with death.
I quickly got up and hurriedly removed the butt of the rifle from the smashed fiberglass gunwale on the side of the airboat (yeah you better be a real man to handle the recoil from this rifle!) getting ready for another shot if necessary.
It wasn?t though, Big Poppa was down! WHOO HOOO! BTD!! BT freaking D! YEEEE HAW!!
Well, to make this long story a little shorter, after posing with my magnificent trophy, which should now be the new SCI World Record (yeah that commie B&C still refuses to recognize Florida Devils as a native species and what is up with that ?ear tag? rule anyway?? ? pinko bastards anyway) we headed back to the luxury of our accommodations with E.E. while Etienne, Daryle, Pierre, Daryle, and Daryle made quick work of Big Poppa, fleshing out the shell on the spot and carving out the backstraps, tenderloins, and fillets, while quartering the rest. We spent the rest of the afternoon sipping fresh squeezed Florida Key Limeade and dining on fresh terrapin Liver Pat? ceviche to our heart's content and we knew that finally, we had found that feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment we had been seeking out for such a long, long time. Thanks E.E! You made it possible!
So, if you are looking for that once-in-lifetime experience like I was, or even if you are just needing to get out of the house for a weekend and wouldn't mind spending some time in the heart of the Glades, give E.E. Lgrass a call at 1-900-TURTLES ? that's 1-900-887-8537 or conveniently book online at www.floridaterrapinkillingadventuresgamefarmandevergladespoaching.com/onestopshop or alternately at www.cheapchimpfamilylove.org . Take my word for it ? you won't be disappointed and you can't go wrong!
Well, it all started back in November after about a five hour reprieve from hunting rock chucks, skunks and muskrats. I began to yearn for a little more excitement and danger to my hunts so I finally broke down and called E.E. Lgrass and booked a terrapin hunt at his amazing and pristine game ranch in Northern Southeast Florida for my brother in-law Jim and I. This gorgeous tract of prime hunting property is located in premium turtle hunting country. With over 30 acres of fenced property and access (over several untraceable dirt roads and a short nighttime/clandestine boat ride up a little known and seldom patrolled by National Park Rangers tributary of a river that is better mentioned only in private in whispered tones with a hand covering your mouth) to over 1.2 million acres of the world's greatest national treasures - the pristine swampland of the Florida Everglades.
The adventure began as soon as we reached the property. Before we were even fully in the driveway we had sighted several exotic species meandering about peacefully near the front entrance. There were red-eared sliders, Carolina alligator snappers, Texas boxies, Galapagos tortoises, Maryland terrapins, and Ecuadorian Charapas as well as salamanders, bullfrogs, some water snakes, an opossum and a smoking chimpanzee named Artie. Once our gear was unloaded on to the front porch E.E. promptly introduced us to our guides, 67 year old Etienne LeBleu and his 27-28 year old sons Daryle, Pierre, Daryle, Moyse, and Daryle ? right proper French Canadian Seminole Cajuns who made us feel right at home by offering up a plug of their finest homegrown tabaccy and some homemade rhubarb wine.
Next we made our entrance to the lodge and hot dog if we weren't impressed and blown away by the taxidermy! You couldn't even begin to imagine the variety of species hanging on the walls there! Of course there were several Loggerheads, Freshwater Caiman, African bullfrogs, a beautiful scene of a raccoon fighting a Siamese tabby over a half-eaten can of rancid tuna, plenty of whitetail ? bucks, does and fawns alike, a small flock of pelicans and grebes in flight above our heads, several Indian oxen, Eastern diamondbacks, manatees and a mule. Etienne and E.E. led us to our quarters and after shooing some of the finest looking BlueTick/Redbone/Pit Bull Terrier cross bred hounds out of the back room and off of the pallets and box springs we were soon settled in for a peaceful night!
Our quest then began at sunrise the next morning as we were eager to get out hunt underway and since Moyse and Artie had crawled into bed with Jim at about 4AM anyway, there wasn?t much sleep left to be had. So we helped Etienne and E.E. load up the swamp buggy on the front of the airboat, equipped our trusty .300Roy rifles, left a fresh pack of smokes for Moyse and Artie and away we went! I was hoping to bag a world-class Florida Devil Terrapin, but was so excited and hunting deprived that I was ready to settle for just about any old tortoise ? at least on that morning. Good thing E.E. and Etienne talked me out of that mindset because my mettle was put to the test right quickly.
No sooner had we reached the back fence of the property when a pack of six huge bull red-eared sliders appeared from back behind the breeding pens, no doubt attracted by the presence of some of the hens who were in heat. I drew a careful bead with the .300Roy and with the dead rest built right on to the airboat, I knew my red-dot scope was securely aimed right over the vitals of the nearest (and biggest!) red eared bull. I could hear my heart pumping in my earlobes and as I tendered the trigger of the .300, I could feel my pulse in my fingertips! What a rush!
I held off however, though this pack of lone wolf turtles would have certainly been a prize for any self-respecting sportsman, these were not the turtles I was looking for. I was going after Big Poppa and E.E. wasn?t going to let me take anything less than the very best. Looking back, all I can say is that I am grateful for the greatest outfitter in the world and his superb guide Etienne, and that my friends is - as they say in the journalistic radio business - the rest of the story.
In the pre-dawn light we navigated the airboat up a meandering tributary to the far side of the lease, bordering the main property and fence line. Soon though, we began to hear the distinct roar of several bull Devil Terrapins, who were heavy in the rut. Etienne told me that he was sure that one of them had to be the Terrapin he had deemed Big Poppa ? the biggest terrapin the world had ever known. I could sense it too ? we were closing in, and closing in fast.
After checking a few more potential nesting sites, Etienne and E.E. sat Jim and I up in the airboat overlooking a stagnant backwater while they unloaded the swamp buggy. The plan was to use the buggy to entice Big Poppa to cross the backwater right in front of us. We thought for sure it would work too, and it would have ? on almost any other ordinary Florida Devil. But this was no ordinary Florida Devil ? this was Big Poppa ? el jefe mismo ? le gran macdaddy!
Soon after the swamp buggy was deployed, a hush fell over the Glades ? and a taught tenseness was palpable in the air. Once again, I began to feel my hear beat a little faster in my chest, and I could taste the adrenaline coursing through my veins (and of course the maple syrup that E.E. had basted those blueberry biscuits with for our breakfast)! It was as if all of nature could sense the showdown that would soon ensue.
Jim and I studied every inch of the backwater, looking for the slightest movement that would alert us to Big Poppa?s presence. We were intense ? maybe a little too intense and before we realized it, we detected movement on our six! Something was stalking us from behind!
Using my peripheral vision and the refraction from an Old Crow bottle in the bottom of the boat I could make out a gigantic Florida Devil Terrapin in all its fury and splendor moving into position to strike us. Though I couldn't see exactly how big he was, I knew from the image I had of his front claws alone, that if he wanted, he could rip that whole airboat right in half, drag us both down helplessly to the depths of that black lagoon, only to turn up three days later as camouflage and bright orange terrapin pellets. So I sat there, frozen stiff with fear, paralyzed at the impending doom lurking behind us. I knew that any sudden movement would trigger Big Poppa?s striking instinct, ensuring our doom.
Using the refraction off the Old Crow bottle, I ever so slightly began to move the barrel of the .300Roy around behind me. I had only one option, one choice, one moment where all a man?s choices compound together to make him who he really is ? and for me, I knew as clearly as I know my own hand that I had to use that glass refraction to aim the muzzle of the .300Roy right at the soft spot of Big Poppa?s neck, precisely at the very moment was beginning his strike, the only time his jugular vein would even be slightly exposed. If I missed, and if the bullet didn't hit his shell and shatter, sending shrapnel ricocheting wildly back at Jim and I tearing us apart like buckshot at point blank range, his mighty beak would make short but painful work of us. Jim wasn?t even aware of the impending danger, for all he knew, Big Poppa was miles away from us, but I knew better and as the hairs on my neck stood straight up I knew it was time to act.
Just then, Big Poppa?s neck muscle began to recoil and just as if everything turned to slow-motion, I could see the leathery skin begin to stretch and reach out for us ? my moment had arrived! I double checked the refraction, aimed it perfectly, and squeezed the trigger, driving the .30 caliber Boat-Tail-Hollow-Point bullet in a cloud of smoke directly into Big Poppa?s soft spot!
With a roar that sounded like a cross between the moan of an orgasmic French Canadian Seminole Cajun sodomizing a smoking chimp in a rustic two-seater outhouse at 3AM and a forlorn manatee, Big Poppa crashed away through the brush, in the throes of his dance with death.
I quickly got up and hurriedly removed the butt of the rifle from the smashed fiberglass gunwale on the side of the airboat (yeah you better be a real man to handle the recoil from this rifle!) getting ready for another shot if necessary.
It wasn?t though, Big Poppa was down! WHOO HOOO! BTD!! BT freaking D! YEEEE HAW!!
Well, to make this long story a little shorter, after posing with my magnificent trophy, which should now be the new SCI World Record (yeah that commie B&C still refuses to recognize Florida Devils as a native species and what is up with that ?ear tag? rule anyway?? ? pinko bastards anyway) we headed back to the luxury of our accommodations with E.E. while Etienne, Daryle, Pierre, Daryle, and Daryle made quick work of Big Poppa, fleshing out the shell on the spot and carving out the backstraps, tenderloins, and fillets, while quartering the rest. We spent the rest of the afternoon sipping fresh squeezed Florida Key Limeade and dining on fresh terrapin Liver Pat? ceviche to our heart's content and we knew that finally, we had found that feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment we had been seeking out for such a long, long time. Thanks E.E! You made it possible!
So, if you are looking for that once-in-lifetime experience like I was, or even if you are just needing to get out of the house for a weekend and wouldn't mind spending some time in the heart of the Glades, give E.E. Lgrass a call at 1-900-TURTLES ? that's 1-900-887-8537 or conveniently book online at www.floridaterrapinkillingadventuresgamefarmandevergladespoaching.com/onestopshop or alternately at www.cheapchimpfamilylove.org . Take my word for it ? you won't be disappointed and you can't go wrong!
