What this guy does seems sort of crazy–slogging around in shallow southern ponds, feeling for snapping turtles with his feet.
But I think back and wonder how many mossy-backs I stepped on or near in my college days in those same ponds and creeks, up to my neck in tepid water stalking snakes and frogs–often at night, mind you! I can hear it now–a chorus of narrow-mouthed, southern and fowler’s toads, hylid tree frogs: squirrel, bird-voiced, gray, and green (think Kermit ) and ranids, including but not limited to banjo and bull and bronze: all at full voice on a sultry southern Alabama night an hour’s drive from Auburn. That, and a six-pack of PBR–I tell you, life don’t get no better than that.
But I digress (imagine!) I know this guy does this mostly for the attention and his fifteen minutes of fame and for the “sport” of it, but folks down south eat “right smart” of turtle, and I was with a (toothless) old cooter back then who was a similar kind of reptile gourmet. He told me that “they’s seven kinds of meat in a turtle: they’s chicken and pork, beef and lamb, shrimp, fish, and goat.”
I found that curious, and in response to my question he told me “No, they ain’t no turtle meat in thar ‘tall.”