Eat the Manatees Club

Here's a lovely story from the Orlando Weekly about a group of good ole Florida boys who poach and eat the endangered West Indian Manatee. The author, Jeffery C. Billman, can't believe it, but I'm not surprised in the least. Here's a bit:
"It's a delicious animal Mr. Billman," he said, looking at my untouched plate. "You really should have a bite." I was tempted. My animal-rights half was outraged, but I had to respect the club's ballsy defiance of the law. And frankly, the meat didn't look that bad; fork tender but not fatty, just a touch of gristle.
I took a poll -- it doesn't taste like chicken. Some club members likened it to tuna, others said it was closer to buffalo. One said it was like pork, with a hint of seafood. One guy asked if I'd ever had possum. When I said no, he told me the two were virtually indistinguishable.
The troublesome thing about the Manatee issue is no one really knows.  Every one has guesses, but no one has irrefutable facts. There's no real science and no real statistics. No one knows exactly how many there are. No one knows exactly how many are killed every year, and how.  No one knows how many there were ten years ago or twenty years ago. The good ole boys may look dumb but maybe they're not as dumb as they look.   Maybe the good ole boys have a point.