Back By Popular Demand... Elmer.

It strikes me that if you know a guy named Elmer, then you better have maore than one story about him. It also strikes me that the "Elmers" of the world must be near extinction. It’s just not a name I see being passed down much longer. I’ve never met any 4-year old Elmers. They are going the way of the Ralphs and Nancys of this world.

In any case, you may remember from last time that Elmer was my crazy, long-lost uncle’s ex-wife’s new husband: A crude, rude, seasonal eel-fisherman, and the cause of much trauma in my young life (well, that’s an exaggeration, but what isn’t?).

One day, actually long before the "One-armed man spills thousands of eels all over the highway" incident, I was out with my father and Elmer on my hometown river, the Magaguadavic. The Magaguadavic is the bane of all elementary school spelling students in my home town, and is inexplicably pronounced "Macadavie." It’s a Micmac or Maliseet word that means "River of Eels", so apparently Elmer had done his research. It was a beautiful day, and we were cruising up-river in a small aluminum boat. We would motor up beside a floating marker-buoy, pull up the eel pods and then dump the squirming contents into a holding container. I was disgusted, yet fascinated.

One trap seemed heavier than the rest. And even before it reached the boat, Elmer was cursing. A huge snapping turtle had broken through the pod and eaten all the eels. Unfortunately for the turtle, the process had left him ensnared in the mesh. I leaned closer to get a good look and Elmer said, "Watch it! That thing’ll snap yer god-damn hand off soon as look at you." Then he made a loud snapping noise and lurched the turtle toward me so that I jumped backward, slipped in my oversized rubberboots and sat down hard. Yes, yes, very amusing. I was still fascinated by the reptile though, whose iridescent shell was the size of your average briefcase. My Dad was a biologist, so he started explaining different aspects of the turtle, while I decided that I would name it Donatello, after my favourite Ninja Turtle (the intellectual, sarcastic ninja turtle, come to think of it…).

I looked into Donatello’s eye and craggy face, and was just starting to wonder why he wasn’t pulling back into his shell, when his whole head erupted in blood. Elmer took a second hack with a huge axe he kept under his seat for just such occasions (and fisheries officers I suppose) and the turtle’s head went bouncing along the bottom of the boat. I screamed and lurched backward, tripping over the bow seat and crashing down to the floor where an eel curled around my wrist and I screamed again. Elmer laughed and said something about how he couldn’t very well let a snapper get at his traps again. I stared, horrified, as the life-force gushed from Donatello’s neck...

Yup, good ole Elmer.