Llamas, Anyone?
by Robert Langley

The World According to Gar

By: Cindy Bartos

Several years ago, on a warm July day, John and I were paddling our sea kayaks in the Lake Charlotte area. This was back before the development of Cedar Hill Park so we put in at the I-10 bridge, paddled upstream to Lake Pass, crossed to the north side of Charlotte and continued on to Mac’s Bayou. This was also before the cut was made through the road/levy crossing Mac’s so paddlers had to lift up and over the earthen mound if they wanted to continue on to the area known as the Barge Canal. The water flow on the other side tends to slow somewhat and this particular day was a mass of bright green duckweed We paddled for a short while, John gaining some distance ahead while I was steadily paddling to the rhythm of the ‘swish’ sound every time my kayak blade cut through the thick vegetation. As I was completing a forward stroke on my right side I felt something hit my extended left arm. Almost simultaneously I noticed that an alligator gar was now in the cockpit of my kayak. It actually wasn’t just sitting on the bottom; it was panicked and desperate to get back into water, so it was thrashing about – side to side. I was also getting a little panicked because the position of the gar was such that its namesake teeth were facing my seat and inches from some sensitive areas. My knees came up to about my ears as I called to John, “There’s a small gar in my boat!” Of course small is relative – and even though it was about 30 inches long, I didn’t want him to think it was one of the reported large creatures known to lurk in the swampy waters.

Quickly, John paddled back to have a look. The gar was still going strong so John took a hand towel he carries with him and threw it on top of the slimy green gar and tried several times to lift it out. Due to John’s position in his kayak it was difficult for him to get a good grasp so it was up to me to remove the gar. With the hand towel in place I reached around the snapping teeth and tried to lift the prehistoric looking fish. Every time I lifted, the fish thrashed, bashed and dropped back into the kayak.
“Look out,” I heard John say as he raised his kayak paddle high in the air and brought it down, striking the gar with several quick blows .
At last the creature was quiet. With the hand towel still in place, I bravely lifted the gar off the bottom of my boat. Just as I was ready to drop it over the side the beast came to life and thrashed one more time – this time landing back in the dark swampy water.
Despite the hot July sun the rest of the trip was spent with the spray cover snugly in place – partly to contain the aromatic odors of fish blood, scum and scales and partly to keep out any other fish with the desire to go kayaking.