The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1910-06-15
Mr.. Blackwell, be Seated.

Hartwe!l, Ga. Sun.
Here's q record to be proud Of. MIR.
Joel Blackwell, Of Abbeville county, 5. o.,
is 80 years old and boasts that he never
owned an umbrella, or wore out inc
seat of a pair of pants! Pray be seated
Mr.. Blackwell, we know you must De
tired standing so long.
MIR. Blackwell is not the kind to be
seated and the Sun is wasting words in
it's invitation. He is n OF our sturdy
pioneers who owes his longevity to his
active out door life.
Mr.. Blackwell is disting uished in other
ways. He is the champion turtle hunter
of South Carolina. There be many
hunters; there are opossum hunters,
there are fox hunters, there are rabbit
hunters, there are bird hunters, there
are hunters galore, but the list OF turtle
hunters Is a small one. On this list MIR.
Blackwell stands of the head.
No hunter enters into his sport more
keenly than does this nonagenarlan enter
his. The average bird hunter finds no
difficulty in securing companions for his
jaunts. Fox hunting is a popular sport
and even fashionable, and where Is the
boy who will not go after the rabbit
But when Mr.. Blackwell calls for Volun-
teers only the stoutest hearts will come
across, if they know. what turtle hunting
means as engaged in by Mr.. Blackwell.
Mr.. Blackwell does not carry q gun in
his sport-not even a fish hook does he
take when after turtle, but a piece OF
steel about the size Of the little finger
barbed at the point. This Is firmly
fixed in a handle about four feet long.
So that Mr.. Blackwell's implement OF
war fare Is not unlike the offensive and
defensive weapon Of one Tibboo Tbs
body guard.
When beginning the chase this hunter
seeks out a likely" branch or creek,
when he arrives at the point where the
chase is to begin he removes his shoes,
rolls up his pants, and enters, armed
with his terrible turtle barb.
Woe to the poor un"suspectfnR
turtle that may be peacefully resting
beneath the sands Of that branch. No
eagle has a keener nose for the hare,
no falcon has a keener eye for the dove
than has this wonderful hunter instincts
for the whereabouts Of his unusual
quarry.
Up the branch he goes prodding and
peeping into all kinds Of unusual places
for the unsuspecting "~tarrapin." When
one is located by the feel Of the barb on
his back under the sand, a sudden push,
q cruel jab, a terrible stab, and a half
turn Of the barb and Brother Turtle Is
fastened. A gentle pull and out ne
comes from his burrow where no
doubt he had been dreaming OF black
berries and paw paws. \ ,
The next job Is to kill the quarry,
which Is not as easy done as said, but
this hunter understands the art and
soon puts the catch out Of its misery
induced by the jab Of the barb.
Up the branch he goes following q
track which to the untutored means
nothing but to the eye Of this hunter
means that there is a turtle ahead.
Soon the disturbance in the even sand
shows where the dive was made and
the agony Is repeated.
In our school days we heard much OF
this hunter and "fished" for an invitation
to a hunt so extraordinary. We received
the desired invite and followed the
hunter for a mile up Chickasaw. When
we emerged from the branch we had
all the turtle wished to carry--about 20
pounds. =
Mr. Blackwell Is a great hunter, q
unique sportsman. II it is to take a
high seat In the galaxy Of turtle hunters
we, too, say. Take a seat Mr.. Blackwell.