Cabin Fever Part 3

Time for a show down!

Well it had to happen.

It was going to be me or that turtle.

(Imagine the music from the old TV show “Mission Impossible.”)

Fuel up the Gator, check.

Load fishing equipment

Load Savage 22-250 rifle with scope for long range shot into Gator, check

Slide High Standard 22 pistol and holster on belt, for close-up shot, check.

Load two, one gallon, milk jugs complete with heavy cord and treble hooks into Gator, just incase I didn’t see him, check.

One package chicken livers for bait, check.

Thermos of coffee, bottle of water, bottle of pop, ham sandwich, jerky, candy bar, chips, cell phone and I’m off for the day.

(OK, turn the music off.)

Now, the two mile, drive to the pond. Except for the dust of each passing car or truck the trip wasn’t that bad.

DAMN, I FORGOT THE KEY TO THE GATE!

Two miles back to the house, more dust, get the key and off again.

Normally this is a quiet country road with little traffic but today I think there was a parade going by. Lots more dust!

Once through the gate the cows just looked at me and must have determined I wasn’t worth it and parted like the Red Sea.

Within fifteen minutes I was on a hill top looking down on the pond. Scoping the area with my rifle, I found it, “strutting” his stuff, along the Eastern edge.

This would have been an easy shot; it was only eighty-five yards away. But five things saved his ugly hide. One, the sun was just high enough to cause a squint and to blur my vision. The other four things weighed about twelve hundred pounds each and any one of them would have cost me over a thousand dollars. Just one little ricochet off of the water surface, a rock or even the hard back shell of that mossy old SOB, and I’d spend the rest of the day skinning beef.

I don’t know if it was the vibrations of the Gator or the running cattle, but ole’ Destiny dived beneath the surface and out of sight.

I scanned the water looking for a ripple, bubbles or those beady little satanic eyes looking back at me. Nothing! This made me nervous.

I walked back to the Gator, to get the milk jugs and chicken liver, as I walked through the tall grass I carefully eyed each step, by now, in my mind, this turtle was as tall as a cougar, twice as vicious and out to get me.

Back at waters edge, I baited the hooks on the jugs with the liver and threw each one as far out into the water as I could. I watched as the weighted lines caused the jugs to roll in the water as they pulled the hooks and bait down. Now the trap was set. Now all that was left to do was fish.

With what was I to fish?

In my haste to lay the perfect plan for vengeance, I forgot my fishing rods and tackle. The voice of an old friend played in my mind, “What a smuck.”  To add insult to injury, the bass were top feeding on just about anything that landed. While my Loomis rested in a tube at home, I was watching a great day slip by.

It was time to eat. Twist the top off of my pop bottle. Unzip the bag holding my ham sandwich and take a bite. As my teeth clamped down to tear that bite of tasty morsel away, I looked across the crust and saw movement in the water.

The jug to my right was bobbing up and down and had started circling an area in the pond. At one time it submerged only to come up again thirty or forty feet away from where it went under. This brought great joy to my mind and improved the taste of an otherwise common sandwich as I watched.

The next two hours were spent with great jubilation. I called three friends to share the excitement only to get three voice mails. I called home only to get, “That’s good. Did you know you left your fishing pole here?” The only creatures showing any emotion about this great event was me and that turtle. I was happy and he was pissed.

So now my attention turned to figuring out just how to retrieve my prize. The turtle free jug had drifted close enough to shore that, with the help of a stick, I could drag it into reach. Removing the line from the jug and the liver from the hook, I now had a twenty foot throw line.

I positioned myself along a narrow area of the pond and waited for the next lap to come within reach of my line. Swinging the weighted end around like David with a sling, I let it fly, out and over the other line.  YES! But now what?

I let the line sink just enough to snag the other line and gave a yank. Got it!

The next twenty minutes was spent trying to convince that turtle that it was all over but the shouting. Finally getting him to shore, I dragged him from the water and listened to his hissing and snapping and to all the turtle talk of what he was going to do to me when he got loose. There was one major flaw with his threats. I was armed, he was not. Thus the conversation ended.

No, I didn’t let it go to waste. We have a code that says if you shoot it or catch it, you usually eat it or turn it back. So Destiny was cleaned and consumed in several meals and shared with several of my friends.

They say turtle meat has the flavor of several different kinds of meat. But no matter how I fixed it. Each bite tasted like fish.