| A Night In The Swamp With 'Crocodile Sandy' |
Warning: This sport is dangerous and isn't to be taken lightly.
So says the book of rules on alligator hunting Sandy Huff received when she was one of
768 to win a permit for a special gator hunt at the 6,500 acre lake Trafford area in the
Florida Everglades.
A sportswoman and outdoors writer, Sandy was born and reared in South Florida but
had never considered hunting alligators.
But on her first night hunt, she bagged three gators with her crossbow including an
11-foot 7-inch long trophy.
That's when Sandy Huff became known as "Crocodile Sandy." Of course that
nickname fails to grasp that crocodiles and alligators are different members of the reptile
family.
"I considered it my civic duty to go hunt some gators," she said matter-of-factly on the
night of her first hunt.
After returning home from a swamp-buggy ride last April and seeing thousands of
huge alligators lurking in the Lake Trafford wetlands, she decided to learn more about the
critters and contacted Dave Regel, a South Florida nuisance alligator trapper.
So says the book of rules on alligator hunting Sandy Huff received when she was one of
768 to win a permit for a special gator hunt at the 6,500 acre lake Trafford area in the
Florida Everglades.
A sportswoman and outdoors writer, Sandy was born and reared in South Florida but
had never considered hunting alligators.
But on her first night hunt, she bagged three gators with her crossbow including an
11-foot 7-inch long trophy.
That's when Sandy Huff became known as "Crocodile Sandy." Of course that
nickname fails to grasp that crocodiles and alligators are different members of the reptile
family.
"I considered it my civic duty to go hunt some gators," she said matter-of-factly on the
night of her first hunt.
After returning home from a swamp-buggy ride last April and seeing thousands of
huge alligators lurking in the Lake Trafford wetlands, she decided to learn more about the
critters and contacted Dave Regel, a South Florida nuisance alligator trapper.
| Nuisance alligator trapper Dave Regel and Sandy Huff |
| The pick-up boat was staffed with Jeff Cox, a Collier County deputy sheriff and this writer. |
When it comes to capturing alligators and hunting with clients, Regel said, "I'm not
bragging. There's a lot of people out here better than I am, but I'm safe and I'm good." He's
guided hunts in the swamps for 16 years.
Regel showed Sandy how to shoot a crossbow, allowing her practice shots before taking to
the alligator infested lake waters.
He showed her how the bolt's fishpoint goes into the alligator, then the animal will run,
then it will sound out.
The most difficult part is holding the cross bow. "You're looking at the gator's eyes,"
Regel said. "Be alert, no star-gazing."
To find an alligator, the hunter wears a hat with a mounted light.
When the light shines on the alligator, the hunter will see two red dots in the distance.
The pickup boat is then notified to come to the site and the alligator is hoisted aboard it.
"Don't be afraid of them. But do have a nice healthy respect for them," Regel urged Sandy
as she readied her shot.
The deal struck between Regel and Sandy was that she would get two salted hides and
100 or so pounds of meat. Regel would get the rest. With raw hides going for $17 to $20 per
foot, this would pay the trapper for his services.
Sounds simple, but it isn't. There's a lot more to alligator hunting than that.
Packing up lots of bug repellent and long-sleeved shirts, Regel was off in his Alligator
Trapper-marked truck with a Genoe canoe strapped on top and pulling a 16-foot Carolina
Skiff pickup boat.
The pickup boat was staffed by Jeff Cox, a Collier County deputy sheriff and Pat Lieb,
this writer.
When Regel told Huff they'd be going out into the heavily-alligator populated lake in a
canoe armed with a crossbow, she thought he was crazy. "I assumed they'd be out with
loaded revolvers" looking for the notorious beasts.
But she found the Genoe very safe and the crossbow "amazingly easy to use," with the
front sight being a tiny red light, the size of a pin head.
The difficult part was using the head-mount as a flashlight by turning her head to
search for the alligator's red eyes glowing in the black night. After finding the gator, she had
to figure which way it was facing and allow it to move within 30 feet of the canoe.
On her first shot, Sandy pulled back on the draw, "there was a ting. Then the water just
exploded. There was this great fog."
Regel then picked up his hand-held radio and said, "Jeff, come to us," breaking the tranquil
sounds of tree frogs and the unidentifiable chirping and critter music across the swarthy
waters.
Regel cupped two half-gallon-size floats to the end of the 50-foot alligator line which
already contained a small float.He followed the runaway floats, guiding the canoe closer,
picking up the floats and reeling the bolt line in.
With the bolt embedded close to the gator's spine, Regel pulled it to the canoe, then using a
bang-stick, jabbed the gator on the forehead and sent a 12-gauge shotgun shell into its skull.
Until 1963, alligators were considered legal game in Florida, with alligator hunting a
profitable, but poorly managed venture.
With the animal on the verge of extinction, the state banned hunting and designated the
reptile a protected species.
By 1988, with gator numbers near record levels in some parts of the state, the Florida
Wildlife Commission established a tightly controlled harvesting program.
bragging. There's a lot of people out here better than I am, but I'm safe and I'm good." He's
guided hunts in the swamps for 16 years.
Regel showed Sandy how to shoot a crossbow, allowing her practice shots before taking to
the alligator infested lake waters.
He showed her how the bolt's fishpoint goes into the alligator, then the animal will run,
then it will sound out.
The most difficult part is holding the cross bow. "You're looking at the gator's eyes,"
Regel said. "Be alert, no star-gazing."
To find an alligator, the hunter wears a hat with a mounted light.
When the light shines on the alligator, the hunter will see two red dots in the distance.
The pickup boat is then notified to come to the site and the alligator is hoisted aboard it.
"Don't be afraid of them. But do have a nice healthy respect for them," Regel urged Sandy
as she readied her shot.
The deal struck between Regel and Sandy was that she would get two salted hides and
100 or so pounds of meat. Regel would get the rest. With raw hides going for $17 to $20 per
foot, this would pay the trapper for his services.
Sounds simple, but it isn't. There's a lot more to alligator hunting than that.
Packing up lots of bug repellent and long-sleeved shirts, Regel was off in his Alligator
Trapper-marked truck with a Genoe canoe strapped on top and pulling a 16-foot Carolina
Skiff pickup boat.
The pickup boat was staffed by Jeff Cox, a Collier County deputy sheriff and Pat Lieb,
this writer.
When Regel told Huff they'd be going out into the heavily-alligator populated lake in a
canoe armed with a crossbow, she thought he was crazy. "I assumed they'd be out with
loaded revolvers" looking for the notorious beasts.
But she found the Genoe very safe and the crossbow "amazingly easy to use," with the
front sight being a tiny red light, the size of a pin head.
The difficult part was using the head-mount as a flashlight by turning her head to
search for the alligator's red eyes glowing in the black night. After finding the gator, she had
to figure which way it was facing and allow it to move within 30 feet of the canoe.
On her first shot, Sandy pulled back on the draw, "there was a ting. Then the water just
exploded. There was this great fog."
Regel then picked up his hand-held radio and said, "Jeff, come to us," breaking the tranquil
sounds of tree frogs and the unidentifiable chirping and critter music across the swarthy
waters.
Regel cupped two half-gallon-size floats to the end of the 50-foot alligator line which
already contained a small float.He followed the runaway floats, guiding the canoe closer,
picking up the floats and reeling the bolt line in.
With the bolt embedded close to the gator's spine, Regel pulled it to the canoe, then using a
bang-stick, jabbed the gator on the forehead and sent a 12-gauge shotgun shell into its skull.
Until 1963, alligators were considered legal game in Florida, with alligator hunting a
profitable, but poorly managed venture.
With the animal on the verge of extinction, the state banned hunting and designated the
reptile a protected species.
By 1988, with gator numbers near record levels in some parts of the state, the Florida
Wildlife Commission established a tightly controlled harvesting program.
| Sandy gets her trophy gator |
| According to government estimates, currently there are more than one million alligators and 11.5 million people in Florida. The fascination of alligator hunting is astounding. Anyone can enter the drawing to win one of the few annual hunting permits. Permits are then awarded by a lottery draw which determines who can hunt and were selected and a few more than 500 permist issued. In 1995, nearly 9,000 people submitted applications for one of the 573 permits awarded. In 1998, a little more than 700 permits were issued. Selected hunters are charged a $250 fee for the license if they are residents of Florida; they can take with them hunters, called agents, for an additional $50 each. Statewide in 1998, there were 15,651 nuisance complaints filed which resulted in 5,129 nuisance alligators being captured. Since the nuisance alligator program began 20 years ago, the Florida Game and Fresh Water Fish Commission has received 193,880 complaints resulting in 72,099 alligators being captured statewide by permitted trappers. Since 1948 there have been 248 alligator attacks on humans, according to the commission. Of those, nine have been fatal. In 1999, there were no fatalities. |
See ya later alligator
The alligator hunt, even with me having ridden in the pickup boat (maybe I should say:
especially with me having ridden in the pickup boat) is something I'll not forget. It was an
experience all right. I went out with the trio on the first night, but as evening came the next
day, I chose to stay at the motel in Naples and sleep between crisp sheets, rather than taking
to the murky black lake for a second twilight.
After all, I had my story and my pictures. And I had certainly had enough adventure.
(Once I nearly took a dip. That was when the third gator kept reaching his front leg to feel
mine. Quite uncomfortable!)
I couldn't help wondering how the alligators must have felt lying there under no stars,
said to be dead, shot in the neck with the crossbow then jammed in the head with the
12-guage bang stick. There, with their mouths bound with duck-tape and stacked three high
on the boat.
The next morning when I woke up, I looked out the window as the sun shone down on
the swimming pool and wondered why it was taking Sandy so long to get the last two gators.
As it got later and later, and I couldn't reach her on her wireless telephone, I started to worry.
Then I called Dave Regel at his home in Golden Gate.
When I asked where was Sandy, I could hear panic in his voice.
"She left the swamp five hours ago."
I captured an image of Sandy, fastened in her seat belt at the bottom of a canal with
alligators worming their way in and out of her van windows.
When we hung up, Dave called the sheriff, who then sent his deputies out to look for
Sandy.
Imagine my embarrassment when I saw Sandy pull onto the motel parking lot about an
hour later. She had left the lake about sunrise, was tired, and had pulled into the parking lot
at a SPCA animal shelter to rest.
I quickly called Dave, who then called the sheriff. The head cop then called off the hunt
I don't know if Sandy plans another trip to the swamp. If so, she hasn't invited me.
I wonder why?
The alligator hunt, even with me having ridden in the pickup boat (maybe I should say:
especially with me having ridden in the pickup boat) is something I'll not forget. It was an
experience all right. I went out with the trio on the first night, but as evening came the next
day, I chose to stay at the motel in Naples and sleep between crisp sheets, rather than taking
to the murky black lake for a second twilight.
After all, I had my story and my pictures. And I had certainly had enough adventure.
(Once I nearly took a dip. That was when the third gator kept reaching his front leg to feel
mine. Quite uncomfortable!)
I couldn't help wondering how the alligators must have felt lying there under no stars,
said to be dead, shot in the neck with the crossbow then jammed in the head with the
12-guage bang stick. There, with their mouths bound with duck-tape and stacked three high
on the boat.
The next morning when I woke up, I looked out the window as the sun shone down on
the swimming pool and wondered why it was taking Sandy so long to get the last two gators.
As it got later and later, and I couldn't reach her on her wireless telephone, I started to worry.
Then I called Dave Regel at his home in Golden Gate.
When I asked where was Sandy, I could hear panic in his voice.
"She left the swamp five hours ago."
I captured an image of Sandy, fastened in her seat belt at the bottom of a canal with
alligators worming their way in and out of her van windows.
When we hung up, Dave called the sheriff, who then sent his deputies out to look for
Sandy.
Imagine my embarrassment when I saw Sandy pull onto the motel parking lot about an
hour later. She had left the lake about sunrise, was tired, and had pulled into the parking lot
at a SPCA animal shelter to rest.
I quickly called Dave, who then called the sheriff. The head cop then called off the hunt
I don't know if Sandy plans another trip to the swamp. If so, she hasn't invited me.
I wonder why?
