The Headless Turtle Horror

Water dripping from our oars was the only sound on the night-blackened
waters of Phantom Lake (near Abilene, Texas) as my uncle and I worked
our trotline we had set up earlier that afternoon. The yellow circle of
light from the kerosene lantern made it feel like we were in a balloon
drifting through black space.

I rode in the bow of the little jonboat and lifted the line from the
water as my uncle in the stern removed the catfish and re-baited the
hooks. I was a little leery of what we would find because we had seen
the head of a huge catfish someone had caught and left on the bank near
our campsite. It was larger than my head and Uncle Bob said it must
have been at least a seventy-five pounder.

Suddenly the line started jerking and I was hollerin’ and Uncle Bob was
hollerin’ “Don’t let go!” and rocking the boat violently as he tried to
make his way up front with me.

Together we lifted this huge turtle out of the water and got it into
the boat. It probably weighed ten or fifteen pounds and was being
very ornery. “He’s swallowed the hook,” Uncle Bob said. “Good thing
we’re almost done so we can take him back to camp.”

I was feeling sorry for the turtle because we couldn’t get the hook
out, so Uncle Bob had me pull real hard on the line, pulling the
turtle’s head way out of his shell. Then he chopped his head off. Gross
as that was, it was kind of a relief knowing the turtle wasn’t
suffering any longer.

We soon had all the catfish dressed and iced down, except for the two
we fried and ate right there on the bank of the lake. We soon got into
the tent and zipped ourselves into our sleeping bags for the night.

All night long I kept hearing something moving around in the dark
outside, but my uncle didn’t seem worried so I went back to sleep.

When we got up the next morning, I was horrified to see that headless
turtle still slowly stumbling around, bumping into things, turning the
coffee pot over, walking through the hot coals of the fire and becoming
the object of nightmares for many years to come.

“He’s just looking for his head,” my uncle said with a grin.

That didn’t help a bit.

Great story, Brew! That poor turtle reminds me of the 'Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow'.

Creepy in the extreme.

Thanks, Zada and Alice. That is an entirely true story from when I was
about twelve years old. My aunt and uncle had come to Georgia to visit
and when they went back to Abilene, I went with them and spent an
entire summer there.

Phantom Lake is "five miles wide and twenty miles long" according to my
uncle. It is the main reservoir for the area. Uncle Bob was a true
outdoorsman and I learned many things from him. He was half Native
American and looked it. I never did learn which tribe he was from, but
it had to be one of the Plains ones - Cheyenne, Apache, etc.

So you went to Texas without being forced? Now you'll know better.

Dick,

As a native Texan, I resemble that remark.

Ann

I did miss pine trees and red clay, but Abilene was great! The one
thing that I did notice was that the wind was always blowing from the
west. It never stopped!

One Saturday morning my aunt dropped me off at the local cinema (tin
roof, BTW). About halfway through the movie there was this... really
loud, continuous sound. Then they stopped the movie and turned on
the lights. Parents were arriving to pick up kids and everyone looked
very worried - it was raining!

I was really amazed that these people were acting so alarmed and nearly
in panic mode. Seems it hadn't rained for a couple of years there and
the "river" we had to cross was rising rapidly. What was earlier no
larger than a Georgia creek was now a raging torrent, and nearly over
the bridge. By the time we reached my aunt's house, all her outdoor
furniture had washed into the neighbor's yard.

alj wrote:

Dick,

As a native Texan, I resemble that remark.

Ann

Here's looking at you kid.

I lived in the very corner of Southeast Texas until I was in my mid-30's. We had thick, tall pine trees, but but no red clay. We had this thick, dark stuff called gumbo (the dirt - not the stew), and the pine forests had palmettos in them. It rained a lot, but we, too, sure had the sudden floods. One rainy morning, I got a call from an irate neighbor, a "Northern Transplant," berating me for being late picking up her daughter for the kindergarden run. It was my day to carpool. I explained that I was waiting for the water to go down. She, of course, was looking out her window, seeing rain, but no standing water, and thought I was crazy. She said she would take her daughter herself. I told her that was fine, but getting a water-logged engine rehauled was pretty expensive (something I had learned from experience), and that, were she a native, she would be aware that whenever we had a sudden downpour like this one, the street in front of the nursery school would have water well past the floor of her car. She didn't believe me, and made the trip. A half-hour later, as I drove past her drowned-out car, I picked up here daughter and took her the rest of the way with Susan and me.

Ann

Ann,


And you are still laughing at her--good for you!


She is a very funny memory.

I am very familiar with the gumbo. My uncle and I were searching a
ploughed field, looking for arrowheads, and the further we went, the
taller we got. That stuff is sticky!

I do remember the mesquite trees - with those long hypodermic needles. The wood sure is good for smoking on the grill though...

Texans and headless turtles. Hmmmm.

Like Brew, I miss Georgia pines and red clay. I also miss a good punch on the nose or a swift kick in the pants.