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sis FOREST AND STREAM. [Nov. 20, 1909. 
Turning a Turtle. 
[Turtle turning was once a favorite amuse¬ 
ment in Florida at the proper season of the year. 
As a sport it was tame enough, requiring little 
more than quickness and a certain amount of 
main strength, but the surroundings of white 
beach, placid sea, and moon or starlit heavens, 
cast about it a charm to which many people 
yielded. In former years, many turtles were 
captured in this way and used, and many more 
were turned and left to die on the beach by 
cruel and unthinking people. It is well that it 
should have been abandoned. The account which 
follows is of a turning which took place some 
years ago.—E ditor.] 
“Let us go over to the beach and turn a turtle 
to-night,” sang out an acquaintance, one sultry, 
mosquito-laden evening in June, as I was pass¬ 
ing homeward from shooting rabbits among the 
orange groves and pineapple plantations which 
the little animals had been devastating. The 
mosquitoes had me pretty well chewed up and 
my temper was somewhat ruffled, but I lost no 
time in assenting to his proposition. 
After a hasty supper we set forth, carrying 
with us a lantern and a double barrel shotgun 
loaded with heavy charges of buckshot, for in 
a night ramble by the seashore during the period 
when the turtles are laying their eggs one may 
perhaps run across a bear, for bruin is extremely 
fond of turtle eggs and nightly patrols the beach. 
So we went prepared for turtle or bear, or both. 
Our little launch soon carried us across the 
river to the peninsula where we landed and pro¬ 
ceeded to the house of a friend, whom we suc¬ 
ceeded in coaxing away from his easy chair on 
his well screened porch, out into the mosquitoes 
and with us to the seashore. 
We harnessed up a pair of mules to the road 
wagon and were soon rattling along the shell 
road leading to the beach. The night was very 
dark and the mosquitoes persistent, and the 
mules, annoyed by their attacks, tore along the 
road at a lively rate. Low-hanging bushes and 
palmetto fans slapped us in the face and one 
knocked my cap off into the bushes, which neces¬ 
sitated a stop and search, much to the satisfac¬ 
tion of the mosquitoes, I presume. 
Arriving at the beach the strong breeze soon 
drove away our tormentors, and two of us drove 
along the edge of the sand dunes, while the 
other walked along the water’s edge with the 
lantern. After proceeding about a half mile we 
saw him stop and wave his lantern and we knew 
he had found a turtle. Arriving at the spot we 
found a 200-pound loggerhead turtle on her nest 
depositing eggs by the score. The nest was a 
smooth, round hole one or two feet deep, dug 
by the turtle’s powerful flippers, and the eggs 
were pouring into it. “Oh, for a hen that could 
lay like that!” exclaimed one of my companions 
after he had watched the operation for a few 
seconds. We all agreed that a dozen hens which 
could lay like that daily would be a safer in¬ 
vestment than an orange grove or a pineapple 
plantation. 
We now backed the wagon up to Mrs. Turtle 
and waited for her to finish laying her eggs. It 
must have been a curious sight could anyone 
have seen we three sitting around the big turtle 
which, wholly regardless of our presence, was 
quietly laying her dozens of eggs in the pure 
white sands, with the wagon backed up to her 
and ropes and everything ready to load her the 
minute she ceased laying her eggs. At our backs 
the sea was roaring and dashing and the whole 
scene was dimly lighted up by a flickering lantern. 
The last egg was finally deposited and with 
deliberate movements the big turtle began to 
cover up the nest. Then I thrust my hands 
under her and attempted to turn her on her 
back, but she got a firm hold in the sand with 
her flippers and we had a lively tussle. One of 
my companions came to my assistance and over 
she went, not without filling my eyes, ears, nose 
and mouth with the sand which she threw with 
her flippers. After much lifting and tugging we 
got her in the wagon box. Then we dug up the 
eggs and counted them. There were just 140. 
Afterward, when we butchered her, we found 
thousands, yes I might say millions, of eggs in 
all stages of development. 
At the river the task of transferring the turtle 
from the wagon to the boat wqs difficult, but it 
was finally accomplished, and by midnight we 
were home and in bed. 
The sea turtle is very fastidious about choos¬ 
ing a spot for her nest and will sometimes swim 
along shore for miles without finding a place 
suited to her fancy. When such a place is once 
found, however, she swims ashore regardless of 
anything which may be in sight, whether man 
or beast, and digs a hole and deposits her eggs. 
The flesh of the loggerhead is good and some 
prefer it to beef or venison. The soup made 
from these turtles is excellent. I do not like 
the gelatinous-like eggs of which some people 
are so fond. C. A. V. 
A Moose that Really Charged. 
Annapolis Royal, N. S., Nov. 12. —Editor 
Forest and Stream: The well authenticated 
cases of bull moose charging are so extremely 
rare that it seems worth while putting on record 
the following instance, the truth of which is 
vouched for not only by Gordon Williams, 
the hunter, but by his guide, Horace Munro, 
well known to me as an absolutely responsible 
fellow, with a record as good as gold. Mr. 
Williams, with his friends, Messrs. J. T. Shaw 
and Elsworth, all of New York, were hunting 
in the Pescawess country with Harlow, Charlton 
and Munro as guides. Harlow called a small 
bull which Shaw shot, but the weather was bad 
for calling, and most of the time was spent still¬ 
hunting, the two other moose being killed in this 
manner. On Pebbleloggitch bog Mr. Williams 
got a close shot at a big bull and put three .30-40 
bullets through his body, but too far back. The 
moose ran a few yards and then lay down 
weakly. The hunters then started toward it 
when it got to its feet and started off once 
again. Mr. Williams hit it twice more, where¬ 
upon it seemed to wabble, but suddenly turned, 
lowered its head and came straight for Williams 
“as if,” said Horace, “it had never been hit.” 
It was “git from under,” the guide shouting to 
get behind a tree, which he himself speedily did. 
Mr. Williams was more exposed, but started to 
run, only to fall headlong on his face with the 
bull close behind. It seemed to be certain that 
the moose would be on him with its hoofs in a 
second, but either because Horace waved his 
arms and distracted its attention, or from mere 
weakness, the big moose swerved at the very 
last moment and crashed into the tree behind 
which Munro stood and then sank down, never 
to rise again. Mr. Williams, who had time only 
to roll over on his back, was just four feet from 
the moose. The head spread only forty-nine 
inches, but was the prettiest I have seen for 
years. 
There is much growling here about the pro¬ 
tection of cow moose. 
The New York State game commissioner 
stated in one report that the “moose of Maine 
and the Maritime Provinces do not show the 
same fear of the sound of the rifle or the smell 
of fire, or even the scent of human footsteps, 
as in wilder portions of the country,” drawing 
the conclusion that it is easier to get a moose 
in Maine or Nova Scotia. The exact contrary, 
of course, is the truth, for on account of that 
very familiarity of the moose here with man’s 
ways, they are doubly on their guard. It is the 
same with partridges. Will Mr. Grant say that 
the grouse of Massachusetts are easier to get 
a good shot at than those in parts of the country 
where they know not man? The analogy is 
fairly taken. 
Many other curiously wrong statements have 
been made about moose hunting here. For ex¬ 
ample Mr. Huntington says that “whatever 
shooting is done is at close range and in the 
dusk,” intimating—quite rightly—that a real 
sportsman does not care to kill or shoot at his 
quarry in the dark. It is well to say that we do 
not shoot at moose here in the dusk, though of 
course there are everywhere exceptions. The 
great majority of callers operate in the morn¬ 
ing, and when they call at night, do so when 
there is still an hour or more of daylight, or in 
a bright full moon. The many contradictory 
things written about moose hunting call for a 
book on the subject by somebody who is an old 
and experienced moose hunter. What there is 
now in print is mostly very misleading. 
Edward Breck, 
President N. S. Guides’ Association. 
Indiana Game Prospects. 
Carlisle, Ind., Nov. 7. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: The quail season opens here Nov. 10. 
The birds seem to be very plentiful. The sea¬ 
son—especially the latter part—was favorable to 
the birds, as it has been very dry. 
The warden service in this locality is not very 
good. There has never been an arrest, nor has 
anyone ever seen a warden in this locality. The 
newspapers speak of arrests made in other parts 
of the State. We have several “sooners” here 
and some who are not satisfied with the limit. 
The resident license is $1 per year; non-resi¬ 
dent, $15.50 per year; bag limit for quail, fifteen 
per day. A good shot with a good dog can easily 
secure the limit. I have a few days to spare 
and would be glad to hunt with a visiting sports¬ 
man. 
R. W. Hoke, a sportsman farmer living near 
here, shot an eagle on his farm last week. The 
bird measured seven feet from tip to tip and is 
a beauty. Mr. Hoke had noticed the bird once 
before, but did not then get a shot. This is the 
first eagle seen around here in several years and 
Mr. Hoke will have it mounted. Gordon. 
All the game laws of the United States and 
Canada, revised to date and now in force, are 
given in the Game Laws in Brief. See adv. 
