Turtling in Florida

A friend gave me a book, Tales of Old Florida . It is a compilation of articles from periodicals published in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s.

Pre-boom Florida was a wild frontier with a smattering of hardscrabble towns and settlements. Pioneer farmers and ranchers were encouraged by cheap land and homestead opportunities. To Northerners, Florida was an exotic mystery. A sub-tropical paradise fairly accessible to a developing upper middle class who could afford travel and were willing to endure inconvenience for the sake of adventure and a good story to tell.

Authors had the perspective of their day and seem naive by today’s standards. Intercourse was an exchange of ideas. Gay is what people were when the sun was bright, and the company good. They weren’t sensitive to ethnic or cultural issues. They threw slurs around with reckless abandon. They were heavily influenced by the concept of "Manifest Destiny" that compelled the westward expansion of the United States. This belief, with a Presbyterian lean, insisted America was predestined to be a great nation extending all the way to the Pacific . . . from sea to shining sea.

After the Civil War this concept was indelibly fixed in the American psyche, and finally resulted in the solidification of a great nation. This was accepted as proof positive that the doctrine was true. Now, the indomitable citizens embarked on epic adventures.

Some of the earliest sportsmen were military officers stationed at various outposts. They brought a more socially sophisticated approach to fishing and hunting than was practiced by the "Crackers" (locals), but not the same level of success. Seeking diversion from boredom, they offered the locals enticing sums to guide them on excursions. Locals were quick to oblige. There were few sources of ready cash. A new vocation was born. Escorting visitors became lucrative. Some officers parlayed their experiences into articles for northern magazines. They established themselves as audacious sportsmen and ignited a yearning for emulation.

Early tourists were thrilled to take a steamer down the St Johns River and take potshots at anything that moved. They regarded wildlife as mere targets leaving the maimed and mortally wounded where they fell. Prodigious, flourishing wildlife was everywhere for the taking. Sportsmen were encouraged to come and prove their prowess. The kill was poetic.

One article was entitled “Turtling in Florida”. The author had the subdue with rivets and steel mentality of his day. He chided the dull Crackers for their lack of ambition, and encouraged savvy northern entrepreneurs to seize the potential industrial opportunities of turtling.

He covered many forms of turtling . . . netting, pegging (harpooning), and turning (flipping over). Turtle turning was done when the turtles came ashore to lay eggs (an added bonus). He warned of the danger of bear encounters while collecting eggs, and recounted shooting five in one night.

Word of sport, leisure, and financial gain in the balmy climate spread north. Florida was an enjoyable train ride away. The lure created a deluge of visitation unmatched in scope. It was environmentally disastrous.

Now, even we who consider ourselves enlightened are similarly bent by the conventions of our culture.

One full moon, I took visitors to the beach to glimpse sea turtles. We took no lamps. Descending the steps to the beach, we were intercepted by a Sea Turtle Preservation Society guide. She graciously offered to let us join their tour group at no charge. We graciously declined. She seemed galled and warned that a disturbed sea turtle would invariably retreat and drop her eggs at sea. No worries, we would only observe from a respectful distance.

Official turtle monitors, communicating via radio, located a female digging a nest. The guide returned to insist that we join them. Again, we declined. Twenty people moved off in the direction of their turtle.

We found one too. Soon, the tour leader came over to admonish us, “This is not one of our turtles!”

Only they were State certified to touch turtles. She strictly warned that we could be arrested for turtle touching. Our unsanctioned turtling was causing too much anxiety. We capitulated.

The authorized turtlers positioned a light on the dropping eggs. One patted the turtle while administering turtle Lamaze. She quit laying eggs. She wasn’t done. She hastily covered her nest. Another turtle monitor attempted to spin her 180 degrees to face the ocean - a modern“turtle turner”. He failed to budge the enormous logger-head, but succeeded in terrorizing her.

The preoccupied group meandered back . They almost stepped on a couple of ascending logger-heads, frightening them back into the surf. They never saw them glistening in the bright moonlight. Meanwhile, an official all-terrain vehicle came barreling in frightening three more. Back at the parking lot, the turtle guides were celebrating their success, oblivious that they had sabotaged their own effort to preserve turtles.

I stopped to talk. They were all new residents who had just taken turtle tour training. This was the first session of their first season. God bless them. Their hearts were in the right place. Like a lady once told me, ”Love isn’t enough!”

Can I hold myself above them? I am swept along by the current of culture as well. Our way of life causes nature to decline and pollutes the environment. Still, I don’t make the effort or sacrifice required to reverse the trend. What effort I do give impresses my peers more than it inspires change.

When it comes to preservation of what is left of our natural heritage, even the enlightened are in the dark. I am encouraged that we have progressed since Tales of Old Florida. I wonder . . .how long before we respect natural Florida as much as the original inhabitants did?