Oh, It’s Turtle Time Again…

Approaching a bend on the Calais road on our way to Walmart to shop for summer clothes, the six teenage boys in the back of the van rocking to Linkin Park as it blared at full volume, a tractor-trailer truck roars by with only inches of separation to spare, lights flashing, air horn blasting, and the driver gesturing that we slow down. I brake and reduce the speed dramatically as we round the corner and while silently thanking that driver I veer around a slow-moving mountain which had just crossed the center line into our lane. It is a HUGE snapping turtle. I pull the van onto the shoulder, flip on the blinkers, and tell the boys to hold their seats while I move this behemoth from the traffic lane. They all immediately hop out and watch the action in spellbound awe.

            I got behind the now huddled monster with a shell nearly two feet long and he must have gone forty or fifty pounds (I say “him” simply because the mama turtles don’t get so big). Using what is called, the “platter” method, much like a waiter carries a tray, I hefted the back shelf of the shell, slid my hand beneath the brute and lifted. As I carried the turtle across the road, down the bank, and set him to rest in a patch of damp swamp reeds, his back feet were in perpetual motion, clawing, scraping, cutting, and raking the flesh of my wrists and forearms. Remember this story before you attempt a ‘platter’ lift with a large turtle. I have seen videos showing how to do this lift and the turtle being used always simply hangs there like a kitten that has been toted around by a toddler for too long. An egg-bearing female turtle fresh out of the swamp on an existential mission which the survival of her species depends on is no kitten. I will tell you of another way soon, but not many will want to try.

            Just when the very busy Maine Big Night of restless amphibians crossing streets and roads by the thousands on the first warm, wet, night of spring is over we find ourselves entering the heavy turtle traffic time of egg-laying season. The warm days of June are when we find our female turtles trundling forth from their lakes, ponds, and sprawling swamp lairs to seek a dry, well-drained, area of sandy soil, often on the shoulders of paved streets, gravel pits, or the many dirt roads that crisscross rural Maine.  Let’s try not to run them over. If you see a small turtle, be it a sun turtle, paint, wood, Blanding’s, or box turtle, it is nice to stop (if it can safely be done) and give them a lift across the street, always in the same direction in which they were headed. Lift the little ones gently by the sides of the shell (never by the tail) and remove to safety on the other side, thereby limiting the time spent on the road which is a high hazard area for a slow-moving turtle.

            But this small notice is aimed primarily at the one difficult-to-move turtle we find on our list of rambling hard-shelled reptiles—the oft maligned turtle of many a country yarn—the aptly name, snapping turtle. These turtles can easily reach a weight of fifteen to thirty pounds, some much larger, and they, as the name implies, will snap viciously at any perceived threat—which is how they most often respond to anyone offering to help them across the street. And, lest we forget, if that seemingly random snap finds a target, the beast will clamp down hard and not let go until significant damage has been done. So, once again, make sure it is safe to stop, put on your blinkers because you might be there a while, and assess the situation. Often, if you attempt to lift the turtle by the back shelf of the shell, another method much vaunted on the google machine, it will rake at your fingers and wrists with the claws on their hind legs and tear up a good bit of flesh. Always steer very wide of any activity around the front half of the turtle and within the reach of their head (and gaping mouth) which just happens to be attached to a very long, powerful, and extremely bendable neck giving it an ability to grasp onto anything that comes within range from behind the front of the shell almost to the center of their body, on both sides and above as well. Always work to the rear of this area. There is the wheelbarrow lift, wherein you raised the rear end of the turtle by the back shelf of the shell and walk it across the street. Or, a favorite method of mine, cover the entire beast with a heavy coat/towel/cloth then pick it up from the sides of the shell and move forward—maybe. Or you can maneuver the animal onto the coat or blanket and simply drag it off the street—maybe. The heavy fabric over the head method (especially for the more excitable animals) usually has a somewhat calming effect. I’ve used it for skunks, muskrats, owls, hawks, and once on my own Collie dog who had been trapped by a steel-jawed leg-hold trap and lost his mind to pain and fear, becoming a vicious snarling biting machine. Before being restrained and freed of the trap, he got in one good chomp that sent me to the emergency room with the tip of my finger completely ripped open and crushed — sort of like you might expect from a careless move around a snapping turtle.

             But let us have done with the war stories. Turtles are simply creatures going about their creaturely business. It is we who put streets through the middle of their swamps and then careen around in motorcars like nobody’s business. This is the time of the year to give our shelled friends a break and, when possible, a quick lift across the street. Use your blinkers, park in a safe spot, be quick and be safe. If it is a big fella beyond your capacity to move, try to be an active and highly visible road guard and wave off traffic, if at all possible, without hindering the progress of the turtle (maybe the best method of all). And, finally, the secret method for only those who rush in where wise men fear to tread:          

            There is no-bite zone on an upright turtle (they cannot bite beneath themselves either), about the size of a shirt sleeve which arcs across the center of the shell from tail to head on a snapping turtle. Lay your hand flat just behind the central section of the turtle’s back. Push it forward, keeping in contact with the shell and as you proceed, keep your forearm down so that it too is it contact or very close proximity to the curvature of the shell. When you have reached all the way to the front lip of the shell, curl the tips of your fingers gently and gingerly over the edge until you can get a grip. The turtle might bang your fingers with his or her snout but cannot bite your fingers in this position. Keeping your forearm low, raise the front of the turtle then bring up the rear with your other hand grasping the back shelf of the shell. When you hold the turtle at an oblique angle with the front portion raised, they will usually not bite to the rear anymore and will let their heads down to be more horizontally inclined to the surface of the earth and away from you.  Carry to safety. Set the turtle down. Back away. Count your Lucky Stars (and your fingers) and give thanks to the Lordess of happy turtles the world over.

By: CA Kniffen