My part started with a phone call from my good friend Bob.
"I need a shooter" he said as I answered the phone.
"Well, Bob, just wave to the bartender, and I'm sure she will hook you up. You are over 21, you know".
"Not that kind of shooter, dummy, I need a person that can shoot a handgun" he snorted.
"Tell me more....."
A few nights later, standing on a boatramp, loading gear into Bob's johnboat, I began to wonder about the sanity of all this. It was midnight on a moonless night, and the river current was strong. The conversation between Bob, Brian, and I on the ride to the river had been strained, to say the least. At some point, Brian asked, "how would you rate this trip on a danger scale, from one to ten". I didn't qualify my answer with a number, but from everything I had read, and seen on video, this was up there pretty high. More dangerous than my rafting trip down section four of the Chatooga river, but not as dangerous as when I told my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend I was sleeping with her sister.
Fifteen minutes after the legal shooting time arrived, Brian took a shot with the Muzzlly Alligator Get-er-Done arrow. A loud SMACK told us the arrow had found it's mark. Or so we thought. Actually, the arrow point had merely bounced off the hard shell of the gator's head. What looked like a perfect shot turned out to be for naught.
"This is going to be tougher that we thought, fellas" announced Bob.
A couple of hours passed, and we took a few more shots, but something always kept us from connecting. The river current proved to be a big part of the problem. The current was too strong for us to use the trolling motor stalking the gators. We had to spot the gator, use the outboard to motor up-river of the mark, cut the power and drift down to our prey.No problem if the river was straight, with no over-hanging trees, or stumps in the channel. However, the section of river we were on was a crooked as a dogs hind leg, and had plenty of stuff sticking out from the bank.
Bats caused a little problem, also. Big hairy bats, that Bob assured us were loaded with rabies, swooped and cackled all around us. Bob kept asking if we knew anything about the series of shots you take when you are diagnosed with rabies.
"Sweet Jesus, Bob, do you REALLY think they will bite us" I asked.
"They don't have to. All they have to do is crash into you, and if they scratch your skin, you have rabies. It's that simple".
Its no wonder that the game regulations state "no one under 12 years of age may be in a boat hunting alligators". Too many ways to get hurt during this mess.
About 2:00 am we spotted a nice one laying up near the bank. The bats were at a minimum, and the gator was lying in an area with little current. This felt right. I positioned the boat, Bob was on the spotlight, and Brian took the shot. Bingo! All hell broke loose!The alligator shot downriver, then upriver, then all around the boat. We were shouting, and cursing, lights and gear flying everywhere. After a couple of unsucessful throws with a spear, we decided to dispatch it with the revolver. As the gator rolled beside the boat, I touched off a round from the .357...BOOM-FLASH.
All was silent. There was plenty of noise, but none of us could hear a damn thing after the shot. On top of that, I was temporarily blinded by the muzzle blast. The good news is the gator had tossed in the towel. Victory was ours. We tossed a noose around the gator's muzzle, and pulled him into the boat. After I regained my sight, I reached into the cooler for a nerve pill. Natural Light never tasted so good.
The boat
A child and the creature
the creature
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