Snapping turtles are the angry cousin to painted turtles. Forty years ago I learned the difference between the two. Frogs, snakes, and turtles, along with the ocassional chipmunk, were to be caught, held, carried, boxed, jarred,or coffee canned, and then released when I was nine. How they were released didn't matter. Throwing a frog or turtle from shore to the lake was standard practice. Frogs don't claw at the air, they spread their wingless legs and tumble a bit. Turtles flip when launched overhand by the average garden variety 9 year old, the hand is too small to get a good grip.
The big fish I caught as a skinny little kid turned into an armored alien when he got to the boat. At nine, I had handled a fair number of turtles. For a city kid I did just fine catching turtles and frogs out of sewers. We had smart contraption. A semi-flattened coffee can on a string could be lowered through a grate. A long stick was extended to nudge the frog or turtle toward the can. Once inside, a quick yank and pull got the can up to the grate with a hopping mad frog, or a an upside down turtle. Turtles in the city never had horns or spiked shells. They were colorful and smooth.
This monster I landed was neither colorful or smooth. If the turtle wasn't disturbed by his lunch skiing him across Lily pads, out of the water and into a boat, he was opposed to being launched by a grubby kid.
For a nine year old sitting in a boat,(Don't stand in the boat!") wearing an orange life jacket, to toss a pound and a half turtle there is no graceful motion... especially when the thrower is only marginally more heavy than the throwee. I pulled my arm back so my turtle filled hand was even with my right ear. He spoke violence and stretched his neck for my ear. I know he did because I heard two sounds.
"Tommy, don't..."
"Haahhhhhhh"
Now I don't remember if the creature got a nip of my ear. That's surely a memory that could have been suppressed. But, I know when the snapping turtle left my hand, I never touched another. Gosh, I wonder why they're so pissed off. The painted turtle lolly gags around and appears to care less if you pick him up and cart him around in your bike basket for a day. The snapper gets vicious if you try to nudge him off the road with a long stick. God forbid you try to pick him up. He's spin around on you in an instant and take your finger off at a nuckle. He'd apparently rather get crushed by a Firestone than get a nudge.
I was in the boat that day with Bob Teipner. Bob is a friend of my Dad. His family owned the cottage. Bob was twice my age, but I liked him and he didn't mind taking me fishing. I didn't mind fishing ever. In fact, I think I only stopped fishing to go in for lunch, use a bathroom, learn math, english, and spelling, play a game or two, get married, have a couple of boys, and occasionally make a buck or two. Seems to me once you start fishing, you don't stop but for major life events.
Bob is selling his cottage now. In the photos the house looks as perfect as it was in '68. I hope the cottage stays a cottage.
As Bob wrote to me the other day, life goes on.
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