Free Eating Aliens: One Man's Adventures Hunting Invasive Animal Species by Jackson Landers Page A

Julian would be the guy to talk to. Mojo also said that what Julian loved more than any other material thing was venison, which is in short supply on an island with no deer.
    Although I was short on money, I had plenty of venison. A whole fridge full, in fact. In the midst of packing, I found time to butcher a couple of hindquarters that I’d been aging from a deer I had shot. I chose the best cuts and prepared them as carefully as I could. I packaged the meat in Ziploc bags, then froze the steaks, roasts, and medallions overnight so that they would stay fresh for the journey.
    My first few flights en route to Eleuthera were uneventful, but once I got to Nassau, Delta couldn’t get me any farther. Pineapple Air, a local carrier, would take me the rest of the way. I climbed up the steps into a very small prop plane and took one of the few seats.
    The cockpit and pilots were right there in front of us, no door or divider. This was handy later in the flight, because I got to watch and listen as various alarms and warnings went off. Something would start beeping or ringing incessantly and a light would blink rapidly. In every case, both pilots appeared to be ignoring the alarm. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to find that reassuring or terrifying.
    The ride became turbulent to roller-coaster proportions. I decided not to worry about it too much. My seat belt was buckled, I don’t tend to get airsick, and I figured that what with the many islands and cays I could see from the window, it probably wouldn’t be too bad a swim if the plane went down in the water.
    The plane approached the runway at the North Eleuthera airport shaking, and with some type of alarm going off, as the back end of the plane shimmied in a brutal crosswind. The actual touchdown, though, was surprisingly smooth.
    Mine being the only white face in the airport, it wasn’t difficult for Julian to spot me. It was a good thing I had someone to drive me around for the first few hours because, as it turns out, the Bahamas are one of those odd places where people insist on driving on the left side of the road. I had been unaware of this fact and, if left to my own devices, probably would have plowed straight into the first oncoming vehicle.
    Julian was quiet at first, though later he opened up. He drove me to Mojo’s place, where it turned out Mojo’s friends from the States, Jon and Jordan, were staying. Jon and Jordan are semiprofessional mixed-martial-arts fighters who came to Eleuthera to surf. Jordan also models and has worked as a paralegal. They’d been on the island for a few days and knew their way around by now. In spite of being extremely nice people, each had a certain predatory air, which made sense for semiprofessional fighters. Their quick eyes reacted instantly to any motion, and they moved with a wary balance, as though they were ready to leap in any direction on a moment’s notice and jump-kick someone’s chest. This was a great relief to me; I’m a professional predator myself, and it was good to have people to talk shop with who understand where I’m coming from.
    Mojo’s house is a classic surf shack that no Hollywood set designer could improve on. Built from whatever materials Mojo could scavenge or repurpose, it resembled Pee-wee’s playhouse. Squiggly walkways were built of scrap two-by-fours; lush palms and tropical plants grew over old surfboards stacked haphazardly in odd corners of the yard; weird detritus had been picked off the beach and nailed up wherever it would be useful or decorative. There were pieces of driftwood, mysterious skulls, fan coral, parts of buildings that had been washed into the sea and retrieved. I immediately fell in love with the place.
    I dropped my suitcases and Julian suggested a bar where we could get a drink and something to eat. I invited Jon and Jordan to join us, and we left in our respective cars. Julian drove my rental to the Bottom Harbor Beach Club, which, it turned out, he was part