Alligator Snapper

Snapper
by Ken Craft

Atop the ridge near the driveway,
small ramparts of sandy
dirt behind her, a snapping
turtle lays her eggs
at dusk. Her eyes,
heavy-lidded, blink with boredom
at her audience. Supreme
in her ill-chosen spot,
her helmet of stink,
the algae like wet war ribbons
clinging to her carapace,
she appears exhausted
with ancientness. Behind
lies the dark tale
of her reptilian conscience;
in front, the set jaw
of resignation, resolve.
“It’ll be gone tomorrow,” I tell
my son. “All of it.”
The next morning, in place
of the snapper, a hole well
dug and white leather
casings—hollow
remnants of raccoon
rapture—and somewhere,
down in the bog, mud
and indifference.

From The Writer's Almanac

We were channel-surfing to avoid election news the other night, and stumbled on a PBS cooking show called "Hooks, Lies, and Alibis: A Taste of Louisiana."  The talkative Chef John Folse travels the countryside, visiting sportsmen and cooking up local delicacies.

From the Northwest, the backwaters of Louisiana seem like a foreign country. It's an entertaining show, although I wouldn't care to cook (or eat) most of the food Chef whips up.

For example, turtle soup.  Cooking reptiles is gross. American recipes for turtle soup turn out like thick, brown gravy. I suppose it helps if you don't know what you are eating, but I'll take the Mock.  In China, they make a lighter version with whole chunks of meat and vegetables, an expensive delicacy.  They say there are "seven kinds of meat on a turtle." All of them tough.

In most states, turtle soup is illegal now because many species of turtle are endangered.  In Louisiana, the good old boys still hunt the Alligator Snapper for meat.  Hunting is tightly controlled, but of course the game wardens can't watch every swamp and bayou.

There is something about this poor creature that makes grown men want to catch, tease and torment them like bad little boys. (Google: alligator snapper pictures.)



The species was almost wiped out; hunters blame the raccoons, the conservationists blame the hunters.  The Alligator Snapper is as old as the dinosaurs. They look fearsome, but don't attack unless people bother them, or wave things in front of their mouths to see what they will do.  Surprise!  They bite.  But it's a myth that snapping turtles "never let go" until you cut their heads off.  Turtle jaws are "only" about as strong as human jaws.

Like most reptiles, Alligator Snappers are languid, non-aggressive, and want to be left alone. They feed by laying motionless under the water with their big mouths open, waving a little worm-like appendage on their tongue, waiting for fish to swim in. Then the trap snaps shut. This has worked for over 100 million years.

Alligator Snappers can live for 150 years and weigh 200 pounds.  Sorry, Chef Folse, it just seems wrong to slurp one down in a few minutes.