Huntin' Gators

I KID YOU NOT. I went to an alligator hunt. Normally I would not feel compelled to drive three hours and hang out at a wildlife ranger station in the dead of night, but that's the kind of dedicated cultural liaison that I am.

Here's the scoop: it's illegal to hunt alligators in Mississippi normally; but two weekends out of the year, the Dept of Wildlife and Fisheries grants permission to a select few. They have a hunter's "raffle" of sorts: anyone with a valid sportsman's license can enter for a chance to gain possession of one of 120 alligator "tags." Each tag allows up to two boats of up to five people on each boat the opportunity to go out spotlighting on the Ross Barnett Reservoir from 6:00 PM - midnight for a Fri/Sat/Sun trio. Each tag allows for 2 gators: one 4-7 foot and one 7 foot and above. They have rangers and biologists on hand to gather the length, width, etc. data. At most, they will thus gather 240 alligators; and trust me, we've got that many to spare down here.

This year they had over 1000 entries. One family I met even entered their nine month old son's name to have another chance to win a tag, seeing as how his sportsman's license was already set up. They had this child at the ranger station that night. He may have been wearing camouflage footie pajamas...

My mom found out about this whole shin-dig from one of our lakehouse neighbors, Sherry, who was our official guide to the ranger station where the "bringin' in o' the gators" took place. We followed her there at about 9:30 on a Saturday night. (Welcome to my social life in Mississippi. Don't be bitter just because you're jealous.)

There was already a small crowd of about a dozen or so, gathered around a red pick-up truck parked in front of the weighing pulley. And there, lining almost the entire interior perimeter of the truckbed was a 12-ft alligator. It was dead (otherwise tying it to the pulley and weighing it would have been extremely difficult). It weighed in at 463 lbs. - "underweight", according to the men gathered around the truck.

Here is the tale of the catch, best as I can recount it from two of the hunters themselves: Baseball Cap Man (couldn't see his face well because of the spotlights at the station) and Paul.

BCM: "We'd been out fer a while, and then Paul saw this un's bubble trail. So, we tossed the line over and caught him right away. Took us 'bout two hours to catch 'im, but he took the bait real quick; it was the rest of it that took so long. Now, Davey'd told us that if they're underwater fer more 'n an hour, they're prob'ly day-ud ('dead'), and he was under for most of an hour an a half. So, we'd figured he was long gone. We started pullin' 'im up, and turns out we had 'im snagged through thuh tay-ul ('tail')! I dunno' how we kept 'im on the lihne, but he stayed ohn. So, we're haulin' 'im up, thinkin' he's done drowned; an' his back feet hit that boat ramp, an' his legs tensed up, an' I tell ya', HE COME TO LIHFE. I yelled, 'Paul, get the gun! Get the gun!', 'n he [the alligator] is draggin' me in the water up to my thighs..."

At this point "Paul" cuts in, laughing, "Yeah, I was takin' pictures! I finally put the camera down and grabbed the bow, but the arrow bounced right off his hay-ud ('head'). [Reporter's commentary: Paul should have watched more Discovery Channel as a kid. Alligators developed all that armor for a reason.] So I threw that down and got the 410, and that took him out."

By the way, a "410" is a shotgun. (My mom had to tell me. Don't ask.)

As proof of their story, there was a snag in the back of the gator's tail, a shotgun "scar" through his head; and a circumstantial nick across his skull that may or may not have come from Reservoir Warrior Paul's hunter's bow and arrow.

My mom asked, "What are y'all going to do with it?" "Oh, we'll eat it," they all agreed, nodding in confirmation, "Grill it, fry it..." * "But what will you do with it tonight?" (My mom has never been a fan of letting things sit out overnight.) BCM shrugged, "Oh, we'll put it in a cooler - someone's volunteered one already." My mom and I looked at each other, looked down at the 12-ft alligator, did the traditional Southern female mental calculations of "How much freezer space do we have?" and looked back at each other, eyebrows furrowed. Mom asked uncertainly, "How big of a cooler is it?" BCM sort of cocked his head and answered very matter-of-factly, "It's a walk-in, ma'am." Naturally.

We heard rumors that a 13-footer had been caught and was headed to the station; but by close to midnight, Mom and I were tired and ready to go, even though only one other small gator had arrived. We called it a night. I know, I know -- gator hunt sissies. We were newbies, though; next time we'll be ready. Heck we may be there -- Frankie wants to enter next year. Shocker.

Did I mention they caught the 12-footer not far from where our lakehouse is? Who wants to come visit?

* Yes, I've eaten alligator before. It tastes like chicken.