May 30, 2007

May 30, 2007
By: Dick Hinson


If you venture into some very remote places in nature, the resident wild creatures will find a way to remind you that it’s their territory. There is one important reason for this unusual attitude: almost all such areas that remain are under federal protection. The animals have never seen nor heard a firearm or any other weapon. In other words, without your gun, the wildlife regard you as just another animal, and a clumsy one at that. In effect, the time clock is turned back to prehistoric ages and is almost guaranteed to trim down your ego as a homosapiens. The largest expanse of unspoiled wilderness in our part of the country is the Okefenokee Swamp, a national wildlife refuge. I have been there on three canoe trips, paddling a total of one hundred and forty miles. Except in a single island location, nights are spent on small elevated platforms. Covering about 400,000 acres, the swamp supplies the headwaters for both the Suwannee and St. Mary’s rivers. You lady readers should know that a woman is credited with persuading President Franklin Roosevelt to bring the area under Federal ownership in 1937. She protested rail lines being built into the swamp for the logging of cypress trees. There are three official entrances to the refuge near Waycross, Folkston, and Fargo. All multi-day canoe trips are by reservation only. On the last trip to a different trail in the swamp, I made a mistake in the compass reading and got lost.
My two companions followed in their canoes. Just before dark, we found a small island and planned our trip back to the Fargo landing the next day. During that day I would have the strangest experience with wildlife that I ever encountered. The weather was fair, and by afternoon our three canoes were entering "Billy’s Lake". This oblong body of water is about two miles in length, bordered on both side by long banks of lily pads. My friend "Sonny" commented on how good some fried fish would taste. "Ed", our senior partner agreed. Our food supply was about gone, and they knew I had a bream pole and a few worms. Perhaps the fish would earn their forgiveness for getting us lost, so I let the canoe glide into the edge of the pads. No Luck. The fish had a case of "Lock Jaw". Ready to quit I put a long earthworm on the hook and flipped it out into the deep open water…the cork plunged out of sight…hoping for a supper-saving bass, I delayed setting the hook for a few seconds. When set, I knew the fish was heavy, but there was a bad sign. He began swimming slow and steady at the same depth…these were the tactics of a blackfish, a torpedo-shaped throwback to a million years ago. Often thrown away if their sharp teeth didn’t cut the line, this one would grace our supper table…with no landing net, the only chance to land him was to allow the fish to tow the canoe until he was exhausted and floated to the surface. He pulled the canoe for over a hundred yards through the open water. He was tiring, and I had found pliers to lift him by the jaw. As the blackfish surfaced, the canoe lifted as though a strong wave was passing under the hull. In the same moment, I was pulling the fish into the canoe. Something else shot up inches behind him! The snout, jaws and head of a full grown alligator!
As I tried to throw the fish into the water, it fell at my feet inside the canoe. I couldn’t believe what was happening… the gator did not submerge, using his tail to remain upright. The thick base of his neck leaned against my hip as he looked for the blackfish…empty-handed and scared, I yelled some names at the creature which can’t be printed…without fear, the gator stared at me and slowly slid down underwater. My partner, "Ed" was some distance away. He didn’t know what had happened, but called out "What are you cussing about?" I shouted back, "You’ll understand when I tell you." That night, as we ate the blackfish filets, my friends approved of my bad language. If the old gator had let me climb out on a log, he could have had the blackfish, the canoe, and anything else he wanted, with my blessing. A year or two later a fourteen-foot gator was pointed out in "Billy’s Lake" by a tour guide. He looked familiar…..