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.

Gator Bangsticks

Happiness is a warm bangstick. I’m not sure this is something John Lennon really explored, but I can attest to its validity.

Over the course of my hunting career, I’ve come to accumulate cool gear - stands that climb trees, rangefinders, rifles that’ll group penny-sized shots at awesome distances, and fiber optic sights and red-dot scopes. Heck, I even own two .44 Mag. handguns, so I can’t really explain why a Dirty Harry on a stick impresses me so, but it does.

I purchased my bangstick a month ago in preparation for this gator season. I, as I always do when shopping, spent ample time cogitating on what I wanted – though I had no clue what I needed - comparing prices and whatnot.

The winner was Central Florida Trophy Hunts. They offered a .44 Mag powerhead on a 5ft powder-coated aluminum pole for $145 plus Uncle Sam. I was drawn to this product for the price. And the fact I would not have to assemble anything, my talent for doing so lost when I missed that day of shop in 7th grade.



The design is simple - a .44 caliber stainless hollow steel cylinder with grooves on the outside for rubber O-Rings. This constitutes the chamber. The “firing pin” is located in the base. It is simply a conical protrusion. (BTW – words like "protrusion" and "cylinder" are about as technical as I can get.)

So the deal is, the cartridge slides into the chamber and the chamber is pushed into the base until the O-Ring grabs the edge to hold it in place. A gap is left between the primer and firing cone. An R-Clip is set through a drilled hole to act as the safety. When it comes time to discharge the round, you pull the R-Clip, and thrust the end of the stick at the sweet spot in the gator’s head, in line with the spine and behind the eyes, best it’s been explained to me.



How does it work? Well. Very well. The 8 feet 7 inch gator Sunday night rolled up three snatch lines and a harpoon rope. The first .44 severely dimmed his lights. If you know anything about gators, though, you know he was still smoldering underneath. Indeed, it was not a perfect shot, and he went to acting up again. The second hit was much more gratifying – as Kate Hudson remarks in Almost Famous, “The truth just sounds different.”



It’s a pretty small sampling size, for sure. While I don’t have tags myself, I did get the trapper’s license that allows me to hunt with anyone with a CITES. I’m sure I’ll secure a call or two more before season’s end and put Bangstick Betty to work again.

The one whiff with this product is a lack of flotation. With its rubber handle, it would be hard to lose your grip, but in the melee of a hooked lizard, who knows what could happen. I remedied this problem by scissoring 8 inches of a red Styrofoam pool noodle to secure to the shaft.



After all, sadness would be a sunken bangstick.

TWL Classics - My Gator Hunting Journal II

Originally Published July 2009

I’ve never held alligators in high esteem. For one, I’m a native Floridian who’s been around them my whole life and know better than to go swimming in infested lakes after dusk, and who doesn’t troll my dog on a leash up and down South Florida canals. Such are the common characteristics of the Alligator Attack.

It was ingrained at a young age. Growing up ashore the Stink Pit on the west side of Banana Lake, gators sightings were nothing unusual. “They can scoot faster than a quarter horse over short distances - run in a zig-zag pattern if one chases you," the folks used to say. Of course, this was also the point in my life my father told me he’d windsurfed around the globe. Never could – and still can’t – get a good bead on the jive those two sold me. So, my sister and I merrily launched tangerines and oranges at reptiles swimming on the surface of the pit, faces lighting up when they’d stop to chomp at the citrus missiles.

I carried this nonchalance with me through college. The University of Florida owns Lake Wahlburg. Students sporting a Gator One ID card could use the facility’s kayaks, canoes, and paddle boats free of charge. Wahlburg teems with gators. We’d borrow kayaks and stroke it to the far reaches of the lake, getting as close as we could to the beasts. Sober. One of the few things we did for thrills in our time there that didn’t involve beer.

Even today when someone asks me where they can spot a gator, my crass response is to pee in a parking lot, wait 20 minutes, and one will show. I don’t know, but for some reason gators don’t unscrew me quite like, say, sharks. I’ve always endured under the theory if you leave them alone, they’ll do likewise.

Which got me wondering why I’d upset this status quo by applying for a Florida gator license. My indifference for them notwithstanding, I still recognize they are large, powerful critters that, oh yeah, can rip your arm off if you’re not careful. Three men in a boat with 800lbs. of twisting, snapping lizard on the end of a fishing line sounds like a delicate proposition.

Mom has always pleaded with me not to hunt things that can bite back. Little does she know, first chance provided, my plane ticket is stamped for Kodiak Island, followed as financially able as possible to wherever they kill a lot of leopard. And besides, I remind her, wild boars are dangerous if you’re not careful.

A few weeks after learning I’d drawn my tag, a license and packet from the FWC arrived. I imagine, in terms of thickness, the manual for adopting a child is smaller. In this manual is the history of the alligator hunting program, rules and regulations, equipment and harvest strategies, names of number for meat and hide processors, and a handful of other things. Then you arrive at the section titled, Alligator Bites and Infections. A couple pictures of dismembered arms, hands, and grave warnings about bacterial infections stemming from bite wounds have a way of grabbing your attention.

Not that I am worried; I’m hunting with an experienced and competent crew - for the most part. I do find the manner of harvest rather crude. You can either snatch them with a treble hook on a stout stand-up rig and terminal tackle. Harpoon them, Ahab, or pop them with archery gear tied to floats and ropes and whatnot. Honestly, the ropes could be the most dangerous part of this whole gig. I don’t know what manner of twine is traditionally used for gator hunting, but your average dock line has a habit of uncoiling, knotting, and wrapping around things on its own volition. Secure an angry gator to one and see what gets yanked over.

The easy answer is to shoot the gator from afar. As a matter of public policy though, this isn’t possible. Let’s imagine Lake Generic for a moment under this scenario - half dozen rifles, their aim fueled by varying BAC’s, after dark, blasting at glowing red eyes. Severed arms and free-willed rope would be the least of my concerns.


Still, I’m excited. Something primitive certainly resides in all those who go chasing gator tail. Given my druthers I’d tote along my .300 and start sharpening my knives. As it is, we have to go all native, wrestle a leviathan to the boat and level a bangstick between his temples.

Some more help

After having trouble flagging down help with the FWC, I was put in touch with Jeff McGrady who was very helpful, and very familiar with the alligator hunt program. Tiger Lake, Lake Livingston, Lake Buffum were a few of the public waters we discussed. Ask for him at the FWC office in Lakeland (863 648-3200); he should be able to aid you from there.