dang
DANG !!!
I told this one last season when it happened but I’ll tell it again here. This past December, 2022, a buddy invited me to join him on a managed hunt on Cumberland Island. It was easily one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stepped foot on to hunt, and more importantly, it was very new habitat to me. The costal swamps and marshes choked out with palmettos and covered up in an ancient live oak canopy are a far cry from the mountains and hills that I call home. We camped for three and a half days and covered some serious miles. I had an absolute blast.
Our walk in to where we hunted in the mornings started around 4am each day, and took nearly an hour. We would strike off down one of the main access trails about 2 miles before cutting down a long narrow side trail that eventually necked down tight as it cut through a swamp, surrounded by water on both sides, before it came out on the other side at the dunes.
It was the second morning of the hunt, and the fifth time we had made this trek down the same trail. The weather was warm for December and there was a bit of misty fog in the air. We downed our coffee, loaded up our packs, and started hoofing it back to get settled in and wait for the sun. As the trail narrowed, my buddy took the lead and I fell in behind him. He was sporting a small backpacking headlamp with a very dim green light. I had a brighter lamp, but chose to dim mine back and switch to green as well. We dropped down into the section of trail that crossed through the final swamp and stopped for a minute to grab a drink and catch our breath. While we settled, my buddy turned to me and said ‘hey …is that a set of eyes up there?’ I flipped my light to the bright white setting and shined about 100 yards up the trail. The fog in the swamp and made it hard to see. I flipped back to red and said ‘i don’t know man, I think it may just be a spider on a log or somethin’. We drank a few more sips and continued onward, him in the lead, me behind, back in the zone, head down staring at the dim lit dirt three feet in front of our feet. 100 yards up the trail my buddy came unglued, jumping back into me and stumbling past me yelling “gator! Gator!”
Apparently that spider on a log turned out to be one single eye on the head of an 11 foot alligator laying halfway across the trail and completely blocking our path. My buddy stepped about a foot in front of its head before realizing what it was, like one would do with a log he’s about to step over. We collected ourselves at what felt like a safe distance and debated what to do next. Turning around was not an option. After a quick brainstorming session, we decided hitting the gator in the head with logs until it moved was the best course of action.
The whole ordeal took about thirty minutes and the routine went something like this; My buddy, with the dim headlamp would point his muzzleloader at the gator from about 25 yards. I would retrieve a live oak log, sneak up to 15 yards and huck it at the gators head! Bonk! It would clock the gator, and I would turn and run back to a “safe distance”. Every time I clocked him good he would rear up, hiss, and make this big bellowing growl. Sometimes he would take a step, sometimes he would turn and face us, opening his mouth real wide. Eventually I clocked him hard with a good shot and he slithered off into the swampy water just off the trail. As soon as he cleared, my buddy and I took off sprinting and never slowed down until we hit the dunes!
That evening we called the hunt around grey light to get back through that swamp before black dark. We were on edge, but still managed to chuckle when we hit the part of the trail with 20 live oak limbs scattered around it. My favorite part of the whole experience was sitting around the fire later that night at camp recounting the adventure from that day. My buddy waited till then to tell me that every time I slung a log at the gator, when I turned to run, my bright white headlamp would completely blind him leaving him sightless with a muzzleloader pointed in the direction of the sounds that gator was making. I also found out after the fact from some of the old timers on the island that gators ain’t slow. Definitely one I won’t forget.
Our walk in to where we hunted in the mornings started around 4am each day, and took nearly an hour. We would strike off down one of the main access trails about 2 miles before cutting down a long narrow side trail that eventually necked down tight as it cut through a swamp, surrounded by water on both sides, before it came out on the other side at the dunes.
It was the second morning of the hunt, and the fifth time we had made this trek down the same trail. The weather was warm for December and there was a bit of misty fog in the air. We downed our coffee, loaded up our packs, and started hoofing it back to get settled in and wait for the sun. As the trail narrowed, my buddy took the lead and I fell in behind him. He was sporting a small backpacking headlamp with a very dim green light. I had a brighter lamp, but chose to dim mine back and switch to green as well. We dropped down into the section of trail that crossed through the final swamp and stopped for a minute to grab a drink and catch our breath. While we settled, my buddy turned to me and said ‘hey …is that a set of eyes up there?’ I flipped my light to the bright white setting and shined about 100 yards up the trail. The fog in the swamp and made it hard to see. I flipped back to red and said ‘i don’t know man, I think it may just be a spider on a log or somethin’. We drank a few more sips and continued onward, him in the lead, me behind, back in the zone, head down staring at the dim lit dirt three feet in front of our feet. 100 yards up the trail my buddy came unglued, jumping back into me and stumbling past me yelling “gator! Gator!”
Apparently that spider on a log turned out to be one single eye on the head of an 11 foot alligator laying halfway across the trail and completely blocking our path. My buddy stepped about a foot in front of its head before realizing what it was, like one would do with a log he’s about to step over. We collected ourselves at what felt like a safe distance and debated what to do next. Turning around was not an option. After a quick brainstorming session, we decided hitting the gator in the head with logs until it moved was the best course of action.
The whole ordeal took about thirty minutes and the routine went something like this; My buddy, with the dim headlamp would point his muzzleloader at the gator from about 25 yards. I would retrieve a live oak log, sneak up to 15 yards and huck it at the gators head! Bonk! It would clock the gator, and I would turn and run back to a “safe distance”. Every time I clocked him good he would rear up, hiss, and make this big bellowing growl. Sometimes he would take a step, sometimes he would turn and face us, opening his mouth real wide. Eventually I clocked him hard with a good shot and he slithered off into the swampy water just off the trail. As soon as he cleared, my buddy and I took off sprinting and never slowed down until we hit the dunes!
That evening we called the hunt around grey light to get back through that swamp before black dark. We were on edge, but still managed to chuckle when we hit the part of the trail with 20 live oak limbs scattered around it. My favorite part of the whole experience was sitting around the fire later that night at camp recounting the adventure from that day. My buddy waited till then to tell me that every time I slung a log at the gator, when I turned to run, my bright white headlamp would completely blind him leaving him sightless with a muzzleloader pointed in the direction of the sounds that gator was making. I also found out after the fact from some of the old timers on the island that gators ain’t slow. Definitely one I won’t forget.
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