Gators, Maybe?

With the onset of a low-grade migraine, I sprawled out helpless in bed Sunday afternoon watching what football I could capture through the one eye that didn’t burn from ambient lighting. Assessing a new NFL season, I couldn’t believe how poorly the replacement officials performed. During the 49’er – Packer tilt, I felt confident a special-teams player or assistant coach would take one for the team and kill a ref. Both of these squads were juggernauts last year and hope to recapture that glory in 2012. So much has to go right in today’s football to maintain success that any interference of unseen forces is detrimental to clubs. In addition to all the preparation, practice and acquisition of talent, praying for a lack of injuries and a weak strength of schedule - and playing outside of Cleveland or Detroit - is about all a team can do within their capability to challenge the Universe and punch a ticket to the playoffs.

Hunting is much the same way. A lot of things have to go right year in and year out to consistently tag whatever critter you’re chasing. Take deer. There was a four-year stretch where I could do no wrong. I could have constructed a small gazebo from the whitetail antler I killed during that time. I sensed I had it all figured out. Since then, I’m entering my fourth straight season without having had a reasonable whisper of connecting on even a spike.

Not to dole out too many frowny faces, but weather, work, time, Mother Nature's fickle personality, family and friends selfishly marrying during the fall, and changes in hunting locales have all conspired against me. I’m not complaining, but it's the truth. Though I've spent a reckless amount of time in the woods, it hasn't been enough to overcome the time I've not been there in order to succeed. And in all honesty, I compromised myself by half-abandoning the Antler Chase to free up time and resources forother ventures, namely ducks and gators. After three straight seasons of relative easy gator grabbing, I wasn’t prepared for them to Shanghai me this summer, but Shanghai me they have.

Gators deserve a lot more credit than they receive. The reality shows have served as a catalyst to get people interested in the sport. And – in contradiction to most ads – it’s not what’s seen on TV. Alligators are difficult quarry to describe. I wouldn’t exactly call them intelligent, but they are very wary, especially on hard-hunted lakes. They display a reaction to hunting pressure just the same as any other pursued beast. You can spot one across a lake, motor to him as he submerges and thenwait him out. Sometimes it works; sometimes he…well, we call it, “Transports to Dimension X.”

My first two mornings out on Harris’ 1^st phase permits taught the ying and yang of their personalities. The opening morning you couldn’t shine or glass 50 yards in any direction without spotting eyes. Not all of them were behemoths, but seeing game is seeing game. Harris hooked into a large gator that was creeping along the bottom surfacing a trail of bubbles, a common tactic for snatching a gator. I put another treble hook into him and the fight was on. He breached the water once. From the brief showing, we could tell he was easily in the 10-11 foot range.

Somehow, though, he managed to pitch both lines. We reeled in the hooks and quickly fired them back out at his new trail of bubbles streaming from the bottom as if a regulator had popped out of the mouth of a Scuba diver. I felt the line go taunt and heaved into the creature, hoping to set the barbs deeper this time. We maneuvered over top of him as I could feel my line shaking, knowing I had hooked into something living and not a log or submerged car.

Slowly but surely, I hoisted up a trot line placed by one of the many commercial fisherman on the lake, hooks complete with catfish. The gator got away due to the interference. The following morning was a gator ghost town. Where we’d seen dozens the day before, now they’d vanished. The majority of gator hunting is done during the evening hours and two nights of boats had properly alarmed them.

After that showing it’s been a comedy of errors. A couple breezy days that caused the lake to chop. A failing spotlight. A sick child. Tropical Storm Issac. Prior weekend obligations. Work. I thought we’d had a monster pegged on Lake Buffum for a Saturday hunt on my tags – after weeks of keeping watch, he was nowhere to be found when the time came to collect. These are the elements of most failed seasons.

Harris, Belle, and Krunk with a 10-footer

The real kicker, though, is the crew I hunt with has persevered through these obstacles and landed fine gators. Harris and Krunk tagged two 10-footers in consecutive trips after I had been unavailable for the hunt. That’ll drive anyone nuts.

The nice thing is there’s still plenty of time in the season. Between us we have six permits and a month-and-a-half left to use them. After the 4^th phase ends Wednesday morning, at 5 pm on the 12^th, anyone with leftover CITES permits may return to their respective lakes and double their efforts. This 2012 general season will conclude at 10 am on November 1^st.

As with hunting and football, you have to keep trotting out there, make the most of your chances, and believe things will break your way over the course of a long season – even if the year was not the one you were expecting.

Gator Tales

African hunters claim an angry Cape buffalo stares at you like you owe him money. I can’t say for sure if this is true, and I don’t want to ignite a chest-thumping contest of any kind, but I will testify that this alligator looked like we owed him money, would burn our houses down, and abscond with our wives. He was PO’ed, brother. Those fiery red eyes reflected in the spotlight beam. His mouth poised open with rows of pearly whites ready to strike. His back arched out of the water like a defensive Halloween black cat. If he’d blown a five-foot flame from his mouth, I would not have been surprised in the least. Mother Nature could not construct a surer sign to say “back off!”

Of course, I probably would look the same if I had two treble hooks in my side. We found this guy fairly quickly, swimming across the open lake. As we neared, the big motor was switched off, and the trolling motor was eased into the drink. At a range of forty yards, the first snatch hook was laced over his back, and the fight was on.

Striking the second snatch is always tricky. You don’t want to cross the streams, you might say, and risk popping both lines when he gets to spinning. But you have to get another one in, for one measly line is not enough. We managed to do so after a few adrenaline-boosted attempts. Alongside the boat, it took my second stab with the harpoon to sink the point under his thick skin. Really irritated now, the gator went into the Death Roll, snapping his jaws and slapping his tail against the hull. He wheeled up one fishing line like a yo-yo, snapping the tip of the big rod.

I slid a 44 Mag. round into the chamber of the bangstick and waited for him to be maneuvered for the shot. Upon contact, the round severed the steel cable attaching the harpoon point to the rope and buoy. It would be akin to me flicking a cigarette butt out of the boat and burning one of the fishing lines – I couldn’t do it on purpose in a 100 tries, if not more.

Shocked initially by the percussion, the gator soon came to and thrashed his way off both catch lines, which were now a tangled mess, not a problem if the harpoon line was still attached. He beat a retreat to the bottom of the lake as we scrambled to re-rig.

Thankfully, if not shockingly, he re-surfaced as the last knots were secured to a new pair of snatch hooks. One cast later, the fight returned. This time, though, when he was brought starboard-side, the bangstick met no interference, and the gator was hauled aboard without further incident. Eight feet, four inches, the alligator was a little bit bigger than the average.

In a sport that requires boats and spotlights and fishing lines, stories like this are rather common. The first phase of gator season is over. When the season resumes, I’ll probably be busy with other pursuits. But what a season so far. I’ve kept tabs on other friends and their excursions this last week – quite the collection of tales of successes and woes.

- Harris took a crew out Monday night. They were mostly novices. After several tries and breaking a rod in the process, they managed to land a small 6-footer. Ready to call it quits for the night, the engine would not crank. They had to paddle 4 miles back to the ramp. At one point an airboat passed by – well, that didn’t happen. Harris didn’t get to bed until 5 in the morning.

- Cole, as someone tends to every year, got a ticket from the FWC boys for not having functioning navigation lights. After the safety check and typical kibitzing over the quality of the throw cushion, the officers were kind enough to point that bunch towards an area teeming with big gators. The lizards were there, but attempts to get one were unsuccessful.

- Jack and Krunk set out Saturday night. They lost a big one early and had seen several other trophy-quality gators. Unfortunately, they too ran into motor troubles and had to use the trolling motor to get back to the ramp. (Jack did end up with a 10'10" and a 9'9" before the phase closed.)

Our best story came Tuesday night. The rain skirted us on the east and west, but we stayed dry. Unfortunately, the storm was shaped like a trawl net, and we were swept up by the southern end of this misery. We hauled rear to a small concrete bridge for refuge from the lightning and downpour. With only four feet of clearance from the lake surface to the underside of the bridge, it was a tad claustrophobic. Worse still was the menacing herd of prehistoric-sized spiders clinging to the support beams.

I’m not a spider fan, especially at eye level. Some of them looked like they could take out a mallard, no trouble. This was as close to being buried alive I hope to ever be. Even that mercy arrives faster, as we were stuck there for around an hour. Who cares about lightning and ravenous gators? Spiders are infinitely worse, in my book. I did not sleep well that night.

If you’ve never been gator hunting, I suggest purchasing a trapper’s tag and buddying up with someone with a permit. If not, there’s always next year.

It’s fun.

I promise.

YouTube Video of the Week - Gator Feeding Frenzy

I've long grown accustomed to browsing headlines that read "Gator Feeding Frenzy," but they are usually tagged with "Another Humiliating Defeat for the Georgia Bulldogs."

(I could have easily inserted FSU Seminoles, Tennessee Volunteers, or Auburn Tiger/War Eagles, but since this story takes place in the Peach State......and Dawgs fans are so much fun to mess with. Insecure group they are.)

So, OK, Gator Feeding Frenzy. Here's hoping gator hunting will be this easy in a couple weeks.

If you want to hear Fox News' take on it, click this link. SPOILER ALERT****It is Obama's fault.