Gator Tail

I had my first bite of gator when I was six or seven. It was the 80's. Times were free and loose back then. The restaurant owner was a pal of my folks, and he did that thing you do to kids to surprise and shock their fragile minds.

Try it. You’ll like it. Oh, by the way...dum dum dum dum...it’s Alligator! Ooooooohhhhhhhh...(Funny face. Pictures taken. Adults laugh. Timeless, precious moments at the expense of your child.)

As I got older, gator started popping up in the appetizer corner of menus at every Harbor Side Restaurant and Tiki Hut that catered to Yankees. But these bites were made about the same way one would cook up Crack Cocaine. Take a little bit of the real thing, mash it with a bunch of unwanted fillers, and sell it for ten bucks. (And don’t get me started on all the BS Chipotle Aioli dipping sauces, either.) Not good. Still isn’t good. I’ll never again request gator tail at a restaurant unless under a court order.

In my twenties, we’d have fish fries and Poker Nights. Gator AKA Prairie Scallops would mysteriously show up at these events. Oh, forbidden lizard - a rare and deviant treat that was enough cause to have a fish fry and Poker Night.

Now we hunt these things on the up-and-up and can’t get rid of the stuff. One gator tail, plus the meat from the jowls, legs, and elsewhere, gets a lot of mileage.

Problem is, no one I’ve met really sits down to an evening of gator. I’m sure there are Bayou-Americans out there who eat ‘em like chicken – Yard Lizard, ha! – but I am not this person. If my wife ever asked me what I was cooking for dinner on a given Tuesday and I responded “Gator” the papers would be in my hands in no time. And she likes gator tail.

All joking aside, I’m glad to have it even if it is difficult to incorporate into a cosmopolitan meal plan.

The meat is tough, but with an overnight milk bath or a few whacks with a tenderizer mallet, this is overcome easily. The most important thing to remember is to make sure all the fat is cut away from the meat. Year-old dirty sink sponges probably taste better.

To pan fry, take your beaten gator meat and dip in an egg wash, then pat into Vigo Italian breadcrumbs. Heat oil in a cast iron skillet to proper frying temp and cook until browned. Easy Peasy. Remove to paper towel-covered plate and dash with your favorite seasoning and a little Parmesan cheese. Dip in Frank’s Red Hot sauce, if you are a real man or woman. Or if you're feeling especially kooky, these nuggets are superb for a Gator Po' Boy. Just sayin'.

Gator is also excellent grilled. But that’s gonna have to wait for another day.

To America's Most Infested Places or Whatever

If you follow my blog with any regularity - and your brain is not fried from all the psychiatric meds you’d have to be on to do so - you may have figured out my affinity for “Lists of the Mosts.”

Most Invasive Species. Most Toughest Animals. Schlock such as this.

Why? Probably for the same reason I partake in movies like Piranha 3D and songs by Ke$ha – they are simple, stupid and largely enjoyable.

These lists are similar in design. Must be great to be in the editor’s office when they review these assignments - ostensibly, they review these assignments.

OK, Hamooda, let’s see your list of infested places and what plagues these poor locations:

Rats, killer bees, allergins, sharks, bedbugs, nutria and bugs?

Love it! What a completely arbitrary and non-sensible summary of Mother Nature’s ills afflicting our nation’s municipalities. Halt all else until this baby is up. It’s golden!

I kid because I love, and thank you, US News.

The pictures are the best, especially with sharks. New Symrna Beach does have a bevy of shark attacks each summer, but not from Great Whites, as the picture would suggest. It’s typically sand sharks and small blacktips that take a bite on waders mistaking the flashing of ankles and shins for fish in the murky surf. I’m sure it’s a painful experience but mentioning Jaws in the same breath is a little overzealous.

Details, shmetails.


Anyway, here’s the article and hope you enjoy. Feel free to post comment. I’ll respond, provided I am not devoured and doomed by our infestation of bugs.

America’s Most Infested Places

Florida Deer Journal 2010 - The Upper Hills Hunt

Behind me, I heard the dry leaves of the cypress swamp Corn Flake as the deer approached at a trot. It was coming fast. Though the weather was clear and beautiful all weekend with temperatures in the 40’s, after 12 hours perched in the stand with nothing to report, action couldn’t come fast enough.

I glanced over my right shoulder and finally saw the large-bodied buck. His antlers, tall and tobacco-stained in color, curved straight forward like lances. Points, I cannot say. It was too thick for a shot, at least with a bow.


He paused briefly then resumed his pace into the Thickness of Central Florida. I grunted on the Knight & Hale a couple times, but I knew Mr. Deer was history. He was the only buck I have seen in Florida all season.

I was satisfied. So be it. Save an unexpected invite somewhere, that was probably my last chance for the year. At least it ended on somewhat of a high note. Seeing a Swamp Buck is always a thrill.

But something felt askew. Why was he running? I thought at first he may be chasing a doe that slipped past unseen. January and February is Rut Time in this part of the state. Heck, it’s the reason I applied for the bowhunt here. Usually, though, when on the tail of a skirt, bucks will be nose-to-the-ground. This guy was heads-up and high-stepping. He was spooked.

Maybe another hunter pushed him. This was public land, after all. The evening before a gentleman and a portly young fellow crashed my set-up. Heard them coming - sounded like a herd of elephants walking down the trail. People don't realize how loud they can truly be. The pair politely moved along, but I knew they probably lurked close.

Another thought was more pervasive, however. Dad was hunting the northwest side of the cypress head, maybe 200 yards away straight line. And he’s had all the luck with seeing game lately. Problem is, I’m not sure he could kill a deer with an arrow if it had heat-seeking capabilities and a thermo-nuclear broadhead.

Had to check the texts.

“I just missed my buck.”

Sigh. The night before, he said he let a nice buck slip under his stand and couldn’t find an ethical shot in the remaining light. Nothing more frustrating than when you aren’t seeing anything and having to endure kith and kin bemoan their lost opportunities. It’s like, put me in the game, Coach!


Upper Hillsborough WMA is a few thousand acres in Pasco County. They offer only a few hunts a year, all by quota drawing and all primitive. The rut, as I said earlier, is late winter. On this hunt, I was finding fresh rubs and scrapes, sign that’s gone long cold in southern regions of the state. (Actually, the picture of the rub in the header of this blog was taken here last year.)

I’ve only hunted Upper Hills a few times; I get the sense there is not a ton of deer. The land is comprised of cypress bottoms interspersed with pine and palmetto flats and sand scrub. It is pretty land but without much in the way of nutrition, not all that conducive to a large population. (I’m also guessing a Cracker Season has been in effect in this area a long time, further suppressing numbers.)

This is not to say there aren’t a few nice ones. One person this year tagged a 198lb. nine. Not too shabby for these parts. As I said, Dad has had all the luck, but it correlates to the scouting he had done. The eastern end of the property can be reached only by bike and the trails open during game seasons are closed the rest of the year. You’ll need your hiking boots and a two-wheeler if you plan on advance recon.

This has been a strange year in Florida. A biologist buddy of mine reports harvest numbers are down across the region. It’s the way things go.

Next year things will be different. Next year I’ll do more scouting. Next year things will work out.

Next year I’m following Dad into the woods, clubbing him over the head, and hunting his stand.

Adventures of the Novice Bowfisherman

As if life isn’t complicated and frustrating enough, I decided I wanted to take up bowfishing. I put a starter’s kit on my letter to Santa, and lo and behold, it was under the tree Christmas morning. He’ll be taking note of the naughty in 2011...at least the naughty words.


Before we get to my nincompoopery, let’s tell ya what I got. It is a PSE Kingfisher kit – a recurve with two arrows and a spool you wrap with 80lb braided line. The spool goes where the stabilizer normally would, and the rest is a roller of sorts. I will be replacing the spool with a reel when I’m done paying off my sizeable Most Wonderful Time of the Year debt.

Not being the engineering type, I was a touch dismayed that the kit came disassembled - even more so when I realized there were no instructions, in French, Korean or otherwise, included in the box. But what the heck, I am a pretty smart guy, I should be able to assemble this with little problem.

I screwed in the limbs so the bow would resemble your standard half-moon shaped archery tackle. But the string was too long. Hmm. My first thought, naturally, was someone else had erred severely. Where the hell does the tension necessary to fling an arrow past my feet come from when I have six inches of bowstring coiled around my hand?

A dim bulb brightened. Maybe they are on backwards. So, I took it all apart and re-screwed the limbs in so the rig was inverted. Guess that's why it's called a recurve. Ha! I looped the string on and the loops correctly locked into the notches at the ends. (My archery terminology sucks, BTW. Feel free to correct me.) Then I realized that the thick part of the string (See?) that held the nock (Better.) was upside down.

I started to back off the screw to correct this problem and thankfully realized that the strain would be too much. Either the limbs would crack and it’s be all over, or it’d come whipping apart leaving me with fewer teeth. After consultation with a friend, I learned I could use my own brute strength to flip the string around without damage to the bow or my face. I was ready to shoot.

And here’s where the real trouble started.

I went up to Homosassa to my in-laws’ river house for New Years. Dreams of smoked mullet chased me up the road. Alas, the water was murky and the sky overcast. Nothing moved. (Basically just described my actual bow season this year.)

Just for the fun of it, I fired an arrow off the end of the dock. A manatee roiled a few yards away. That would have been embarrassing. I would have had to cut the line, wipe the bow of fingerprints, and toss the albatross into the nearest channel for the Navy Seals to find for their prosecution. Lesson relearned – don’t shoot into what you can’t see.

Moving along, fully expecting angry e-mails for confessing that, I shot at leaves in shallower water where I could see clearly. I learned some fun things. One, make sure the fishing line is clear of any snags on the bow. One arrow flew playfully back into my Thank God I Was Wearing Jeans At The Time left leg. The arrow popped off another time, and I had to roll up aforementioned jeans to wade into the frigid water to recover my dart. Finally, if the breeze caught the fishing line correctly, the braid would come unwinding off the spool, hence my desire for a reel.

I truly feel, though, wisdom comes with courting advice from those in the know. We repaired to a party up the road where I knew the boys there had been bowfishing for some time. As expected, they were whacking fish like starving Aborigines.



They imparted that the trickiest part of this – and here I thought assembly and preventing self-harm were the trickiest parts – was aiming below the target fish. More so the deeper the fish is underwater due to the refraction of the water. I'd learned this from shooting at the leaves, sometimes aiming as much as a foot below the objective.

They plucked away at a school of mullet. I'd left my bow at the house because I truly, truly hate being embarrassed in front of others. Plus, it was New Years Eve, and if I'd nearly impaled myself and an innocent sea cow while sober...

Anyway, New Years morning I staggered back down to our dock and found a young stingray lounging in the shadows.

Easy.

Three shots later, the ray finally tired of the ploinks of my wayward arrows and drifted into the manatee-infested dark water.

Sigghhhhhh.

This is part of an actual review of the PSE Kingfisher kit on Cabela's website from PGKIRK of New Holland, PA:

"This is a fun package...Whacked a monster fish with my 1st shot."

New Holland, PA, birthplace of liars.

But I enjoy the challenge. I have no familiarity with a recurve and aim to learn to aim one properly. Plus, it gives me another toy to fiddle with and customize.

As always, I invite tips and hints for such things. I’m looking forward to plunging my first fish. And with your gentle advice and guiding hand, it’s possible you may spare me embarrassment.

You may end up saving a me few pints of blood along the way, too.

December Trail Camera Photos

My feeder continues to attract, well, useless animals. At least for bowhunting. No hogs for a third straight month. No deer ever.

Whatever.

Not counting on the deer anyhow, though the hog hunting has been deflating. Lease expires in February, and I'm gone.

For this month's gallery, I present to you these misfits.

I looked at this photo for some time, thinking it was a scrawny hog...what do you think? (Click on photos for larger image.)



Upon careful study, this appears to be a mutt. Kinda pitbullish. Another lease member spotted a pair two weeks ago. Mongrel.

These two are certainly strange bedfellows.



I may have the World's Largest Collection of armadillo photos.

I called one of these in on my last hunting trip there with a digital predator call. But they are sneaky.



These animals are rather sneaky, too!



Finally, I obtained photos of a legit game animal - my favorite nonetheless.



Fall turkey in this zone ends January 31st. I desperately want to crack one this time of year, though these won't be legal game. Bearded birds only! I know a few are there.

I will certainly let you know if I am successful.

See you then!