What you are seeing is the results of this mornings' efforts on the water with Louann. What you can not see are the bruises on her leg and arm and the gouge on her hand from when she slipped while fighting the gator. What you also can not see is the ragged edges I have on one rear cheek from the butt gnawing I got because when she fell my first words were: "Don't lose the rod!".
Yep, when she fell the rod she had was the only one still attached to the gator, mine having come lose as the gator took a sharp turn back under the boat. As she lay sprawled across the stern all I could think was that if she let go of that rod it was all over. And my transgression was made worse as I took the rod from her, the gator peeling line the whole time, and quickly asked if she knew the difference between being "hurt" and having something "hurt".
That fine point was lost on her at that moment.
Fortunately it took only a few seconds for her to recover enough to get a second rod ready and in short order we had the gator on two lines once again.
From that point on it was fairly standard stuff: work the boat to the gator, haul him close enough to where a harpoon could be set and then follow it up with another. Of course the butt chewin' was standard too, it occurring during the 20 minutes or so it took us to get him subdued after the fall.
Once the .357 bangstick went off the problem of getting him IN the boat for the trip to the ramp arose. Obviously there was no way she and I were going to just sling him over the side so we tied him off to the stern and used the trolling motor to haul him about a quarter mile to the first dock we could find.
Once there we took the block & tackle, lashed it high up on one of the pilings, ran the ropes across the boat and then attached them to the head of the gator. Even doing it this way it was about all our old selves could manage.
Right now he's buried in ice at the market......and tomorrow afternoon any resemblance of "fun" associated with him will come to a screeching halt as we spend a few hours skinning him, boning and defatting the meat and then scraping and salting the hide.
13 feet 7 inches ( Honest measure, not contour! ) and well past 700 pounds.
Yep, when she fell the rod she had was the only one still attached to the gator, mine having come lose as the gator took a sharp turn back under the boat. As she lay sprawled across the stern all I could think was that if she let go of that rod it was all over. And my transgression was made worse as I took the rod from her, the gator peeling line the whole time, and quickly asked if she knew the difference between being "hurt" and having something "hurt".
That fine point was lost on her at that moment.
Fortunately it took only a few seconds for her to recover enough to get a second rod ready and in short order we had the gator on two lines once again.
From that point on it was fairly standard stuff: work the boat to the gator, haul him close enough to where a harpoon could be set and then follow it up with another. Of course the butt chewin' was standard too, it occurring during the 20 minutes or so it took us to get him subdued after the fall.
Once the .357 bangstick went off the problem of getting him IN the boat for the trip to the ramp arose. Obviously there was no way she and I were going to just sling him over the side so we tied him off to the stern and used the trolling motor to haul him about a quarter mile to the first dock we could find.
Once there we took the block & tackle, lashed it high up on one of the pilings, ran the ropes across the boat and then attached them to the head of the gator. Even doing it this way it was about all our old selves could manage.
Right now he's buried in ice at the market......and tomorrow afternoon any resemblance of "fun" associated with him will come to a screeching halt as we spend a few hours skinning him, boning and defatting the meat and then scraping and salting the hide.
13 feet 7 inches ( Honest measure, not contour! ) and well past 700 pounds.
