Snapping turtles have been on my mind recently. It’s the rare early morning walk when Angus and I don’t come across one standing statue-still on the field near my house. Angus is curious, but luckily not curious enough to try to pick one up. Unlike most turtles, the common snapping turtle cannot fit inside its shell. Whereas a box turtle would retreat beneath its protective dome once discovered, the snapper is left exposed. And so she sits and stares. Not defenseless, as anyone who’s seen her snap a crab net’s wooden pole can attest, but content to out-wait you. After all, snapping turtles evolved over 40 million years ago, which means snapping turtles were walking the planet with dinosaurs. A few minutes of waiting is no big deal to an ancient species.
Like most Eastern Shore residents, the snapper is more comfortable in the water than out. They so prefer being submerged, that even if they find food on land, they will take it back to the water before eating.
It’s maternal instinct that drives the females from their marshy sanctuaries in search of a patch of earth where they can deposit a clutch of 10-30 eggs. The female can store sperm in her body for up to 3 years; allowing her to choose when to fertilize the eggs. The mother uses her hind legs to back into the dirt. After depositing her eggs she will climb out of the hole. Soil rolls off the top of her shell and covers the eggs beneath her. They will incubate for about three months at a near constant 80 degrees. Eggs hatched at cooler temperatures produce males; warmer temperatures produce females.
Life is harrowing for a baby snapping turtle. If a raccoon, fox, or snake didn’t dig up your egg, you’ve still got a long way to go. Your hatching will be timed with a full moon. The moonlight reflecting off the water will serve as a beacon directing you to safety. Although, for that first year of your life you’ll need to avoid a plethora of predators, including birds, fish, and land creatures which would happily call you dinner. Out of those 10-30 eggs, only one or two will ever see their third birthday.
Common snapping turtles are known as “aquatic ambush hunters.” As the largest of the freshwater turtles, growing up to 3 feet long (from snout to tail), they aren’t going to sneak up on their prey. Their cunning is in their patience. A snapper will wait in shallow water for an unsuspecting fish to venture too close, its long neck will dart out like a snake, and its powerful beak will firmly snap onto the prey. They survive on a diet of dead animals, small fish, invertebrates, amphibians, young waterfowl, and sometimes plants. Snappers are well known for eating almost anything.
James Marshall, an 8th grader at Kent School, described seeing one emerge from the pond in his back yard. It made its way up to his family’s pear tree, grabbed a pear from the ground, and then returned to the pond to eat it.
At this year’s Tea Party, I met a man who’d accidentally caught a snapper while fishing. He took it home to show his kids and was temporarily keeping it in 50 gallon barrel with a bit of water at the bottom.
“What are you feeding it?” I asked.
“I just threw in a couple strips of bacon.”
“And he ate it?”
“Oh yeah,” came his reply.
The snapping turtle gets a bad rap. They’re scary looking, they’re mean-tempered, and they’ve been known to eat a baby duck or two. But I think snapping turtles embody a lot of the characteristics that we revere in Kent County: patience, hard work, and resourcefulness. It’s dangerous to anthropomorphize animals, but when I walk by a shallow marsh and see just the tip of a snapping turtle’s snout protruding from the ooze, it’s hard not to envy the level of contentment on display.
Karen says
And they are incredibly quick when they need to be! As a committed “take the turtle across the road ” person, I once approached a smallish snapper who spun around , jaws open and ready, quicker than I could have imagined. I left that turtle to its own devices to make across the lane!
Liz Janega says
Karen – I had a similar experience trying to help a snapper cross 213 a couple of years ago – after a few fruitless minutes trying to “help” this turtle who clearly wanted to attack me, I went back to my car, fingers, thankfully, intact.