Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/742011
cast pick-ups, but no luck. I'd have to paddle over and pull it off, and even if I were quiet, I'd spook the snook. I set down the paddle when the log lifted about eight inches out of the water, and I did something else when I saw two eyes and a long snout. I'd hooked a resting eight-foot gator. I aimed my rod at the beast and yanked on my line, hoping I had tied a weak knot. No luck. The gator slowly moved away, and I yanked several more times. The gator paused, and then turned to face me, but I didn't tug again. I pulled out a knife, cut the line, and paddled away. I told the mosquitoes that bore through my sweat- soaked shirt that I could re-tie a fly line and leader but would have a tough time reattaching my lower torso. The gator didn't move; he just sat there and stared. I picked up my paddle and slowly moved away. I don't know how long I paddled, but it was far, far from there, that's for sure. After re-rigging my line and spinning up a new leader, I went back to fishing. We caught 'em, that's for sure, but nothing could beat the first hook-up of the day. I'm aching to get back into the jungle, but not for the gators. That's not high on my priority list. n