Rain gave me the encouragement to stay at my desk to work on graphics at my computer all morning and into the afternoon, but by mid-afternoon, my body screamed out for exercise. Promised clearing hadn’t happened, and the roads were still wet, so I didn’t feel like riding my bike. Instead, I went for a hike to The River. I almost didn’t even bother taking my DSLR, but put it into my pack at the last moment before hitting the road.

 
Inside five minutes I was glad I’d gone for a hike and taken my camera, too, because I met this fellow traveler:

 
This is the approach road and the trailhead isn’t far away. A steep descent to the right and a steep rise to the left were as unwelcoming to the snapping turtle, who settled for the sharp, coarse crushed stone of the road. In a half hour, when the public school let them loose, the road would likely be transited by habitués—adolescent boys on trail motorcycles and ATVs. I’d met these guys before, and they hadn’t struck me as the sort who would give a wide berth to a struggling snapper. Quite the contrary, in fact.

No doubt about it, the snapper would need a helping hand to find her way to safety. The problem was deciding where she wanted to be. Had she laid eggs yet? Was she looking for a sandy place to do so? Roadside sand is a favorite nesting area for turtles, but this service road had been graveled and graded since last year’s egg-laying season. The snapper might have been trying to find her way without success back to a previous nest spot. On the other hand, maybe she’d already laid eggs and was heading home. The immediate area didn’t look very much like turtle heaven. The village wasn’t far down the road toward which she was facing, and the steep hills looked difficult for a turtle to negotiate.

As I dithered about what to do, I kept my distance from the snapper in hopes she’d give me a clue about where she wanted to go. No joy there. She just hunkered down and waited for me to make a move.

 
There was one certainty—I couldn’t leave the snapper on the road. Several hundred yards of loose broken stone stretched out in either direction, and that would make for hard going for her, too. I finally decided to take her a short distance down the road in the direction she was facing, and leave her at the edge of a short, shallow intermittent stream. The stream wasn’t a great spot, because it emerged from one high culvert only to flow into another one which emptied at the steep slope on the opposite side of the road. She looked tired to me, as best I could tell. She held her mouth open much of the time and her throat contracted and expanded frequently. She could at least get to the water and be out of the line of fire there. I’d check on her when I returned to see how she was, then go from there.

Using the technique I learned from turtle expert and wildlife rehabilitator Kathy Michell, of the New York Center for Turtle Rehabilitation and Conservation, Inc., I lifted “my” snapper and carried her to the shallow, muddy stream. Snapper snapped and clawed with her hind feet, but other than a scratch to my finger, she and I had no mishaps. I left her at the stream’s edge to get her bearings, watched to be sure she wasn’t too very much discommoded, then went on my hike.

Almost an hour later I was on the service road approaching the area where I’d first met the snapper—and there she was, just about where I’d first seen her, but now facing the opposite direction to her original one. This was a puzzlement. Her head was raised high and she was obviously checking the way ahead, and perhaps even detecting me. In the hour since we’d parted, she’d turned around and retraced our steps together, a distance of only about 100 feet on that awful road surface. What to do? I remained at a distance and kept my eye on her for about 15 minutes. Like a periscope her head scanned the surroundings, and she finally made a few steps toward me, in the direction of a safer place. That decided me on what course of action to take.

I’d have to carry the snapper about 100 yards, and she’d probably be as truculent this time as she was before. I hadn’t brought work gloves with me—an oversight, given recent experiences with a different snapping turtle. To help avoid being scratched again, I folded my outer shirt into a long strip of cloth, placed it over the back half of the platter-sized snapper’s carapace, and picked her up with the shift as padding for my hands. She kicked and snapped a few times as I hurried down the road with her held out ahead of me, but soon she settled for hissing and holding her mouth open to be sure I knew who was in charge. By the time I reached a level, sandy area with a different intermittent stream along the side of the road, she and I were a bit tired of the exercise. I set her down well off the road’s edge, in a well-vegetated verge with dandelions and ferns, sand and water. As it happened, there was a path there, a path that was about the width of a turtle. My snapper lifted her head and sniffed the air. She seemed to know the place. Maybe this was where she’d come from in the first place. I backed away to give her confidence, and soon she was hidden from me by the tall grass and ferns. I waited. She didn’t come out to the road. I went away and along the river saw this rock formation, which reminded me of a snapper with her mouth open:

 
See the eye, the dark concave area in the upper left? See the mouth, the shaded overhang on the outcrop’s right side? Snapper rock. The stone snapper looks happy. A day later, when I returned to the place where I’d left my snapper, she was nowhere to be seen, but her path was evident in the ferns. It led to the stream. Maybe that means my snapper is happy, too.

 
Snappers are remarkably well equipped to survive in a hostile world. Even a small snapper can bite, but only if you let him. Approach from the rear, wear gloves if you can, and don’t lean over the top of the snapper, and you both will be fine. But however smart, alert, and strong a snapper is, she or he is no match against a cruel human or a motor vehicle, even one as small as an ATV or dirt bike. That’s why it’s so important to learn how to safely carry turtles to safety. Find out how to do it properly by reading “Helps Turtles Cross Roads.”

 
Have you saved a turtle from being hit by cars? Do you have a story or pictures to share? Just send us an email and we’ll publish your comments and turtle pictures in our “Turtle Portrait Gallery.” Let’s build the gallery so we have hundreds of portraits! And here’s another to add to the gallery, my snapper:

 
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It was a fine afternoon for a bike ride on my favorite route, which transits hedgerow-bordered farm fields, woodlands and several wetlands. A long stretch of periodically rainy days had finally run its course, and the sun was breaking through departing clouds. White-throated sparrows sang from the marsh—Sam Peabody Peabody Peabody, warblers fluted from hedgerows and alder thickets, and flycatchers hunted insect hatches over the water. A fine day. But just down the quiet road ahead a snapper was in danger. An approaching pickup was moving very slowly—the first clue I had that something was up. As the truck passed I saw something large and dark ahead on verge of the opposite side of the road, just where I normally stop to enjoy the songs and sights of the wetland. I thought a beaver or porcupine had been struck by a vehicle, and dreaded finding an animal suffering a lingering death.

The reek of rot filled the air. Parking in my usual pull-off place, I could see that the dark shape was a very large snapping turtle, but until I approached it wasn’t clear if she was alive or dead. She moved. Was she injured? NO! She was very much alive and well, made clear by the way she lifted up on all fours and extended her head. I walked around to her side, wanting to check her all over for injuries, and she rotated to keep her head facing me. That was a very good sign. But now what? She was on the north side of the road, but facing the south. She was covered in a thick, wet coating of mud that steamed in the warming sun. The reek I’d smelled came from a large mound of mud and beaver sticks which road crews had removed from a grating placed across the mouth of a large culvert that permitted a stream to cross unhindered from one side to the other. Maybe the road crew had disturbed the snapper, and if so, then maybe she was disorientated. By this time Farwell had parked and joined me. We decided to move away and watch what she’d do, while at the same time keeping vehicles from hitting her.

After the snapper realized we were not posing a danger to her, she turned to face the opposite side of the road and began trundling onto the pavement. By this time, though, the afternoon commute was in full swing, and every couple of minutes a vehicle speeded past us. None of the drivers gave a thought to the threat they posed to the wildlife who lived in these wetlands, and some were talking on cell phones. The only way to insure the snapper got to where she was going was to give her a ride on the turtle taxi. Here’s how to lift a snapper so neither the turtle nor you gets hurt:

 
Some snappers are docile and readily accept a free ride, but others are less agreeable. This one was not so pleased to be bothered, but by firmly grasping her as shown in the drawings and keeping her low to the ground, Farwell quickly gave her a lift to the stream on the opposite side of the road.

 
I didn’t take photos of the air lift because I was spotting for motor vehicles. Once settled on the muddy stream bank, though, she immediately turned to be sure no further intrusions were coming her way and to smile for a portrait. Note those claws. They’re as large and sharp as iron spikes, and when she was lifted, she began to kick and snap. Heavy-duty work gloves would help avoid being scratched by a claw:

 
The scratch wasn’t deep or dirty, and a few squirts from a water bottle was all that was needed by way of first aid. If the time comes that you are helping a large snapper to safety, be prepared for the turtle to protest. Keep a firm grip, don’t drop the turtle, and keep the turtle away from your body. Even if the snapper is truculent in transport, she or he will be glad to find safety waiting on the other side. This snapper sure was, and after a couple minutes to assert her supremacy by keeping a wary eye open, she slipped happily into the stream and was immediately out of sight.

 
Snappers are formidable animals. This one was the size of a compact car’s spare tire, and almost as heavy. She was prepared to fend off an animal many times her size, and her strong beak and sharp claws could do damage to anyone who had the temerity to invade her personal space. But these admirable traits cannot protect her or her kin from the tons of metal, glass, and rubber that scream down roads which crisscross their territory. That’s why it’s so important to learn how to safely carry turtles to safety. Learn how to do it properly by reading “Helps Turtles Cross Roads.”

 
Have you saved a turtle from being hit by cars? Do you have a story or pictures to share? Just send us an email and we’ll publish your comments and turtle pictures in our “Turtle Portrait Gallery.” Let’s build the gallery so we have hundreds of portraits!

 
Send a Comment

 
Turtle Taxis are folks who help turtles cross roads. Click on the link below for a print-friendly page and carry a copy on your travels as a reminder to how to lift turtles and carry them to safety.

 
Be Safe  DO NOT endanger yourself. Always be aware of traffic and do not step in front of moving vehicles.

 
Lifting Turtles  The largest snappers can be lifted without anyone being hurt. Approach them from behind. Firmly but gently use both hands to grasp turtles between their front and rear legs as shown in the pictures to the right. The turtle’s head should face away from you. Keep the turtle low to the ground. He might kick, stretch his neck up and sideways, and snap. Keep behind and don’t lean over him so his mouth can’t reach you. Never lift turtles by the tail!—this can cause spinal injuries which leave them paralyzed.

 
Where to Take Turtles?  Take the turtle in the direction he/she is heading, and leave him/her safely 10 to 12 feet away from the road edge.

 
Helping Injured Turtles  Collect any broken shell pieces and keep them as whole as possible. Gently put the turtle in a dark container that allows air inside. Call a wildlife rehabilitator. Find a rehabber by contacting a state fish & game department, or visit “How to Locate a Wildlife Rehabilitator” online at http://www.tc.umn.edu/~devo0028/contact.htm to find a rehabber near you. Learn more about helping turtles by visiting http://www.tamiasoutside.com/turtletaxi/ for detailed information.

 
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