Once I took my granddaughter on a trip up the Flint River, above Lake Blackshear in my 18 ft. runabout.
It was a beautifully hot summer day in South Georgia and there was a spot on the river where I had been water skiing many times as a high school kid.
This place was the only spot on the whole lake and Upper River where there was shade. There was a steep bank on the western side that had a Magnolia tree growing from the bank. You could tie your boat to an overhanging limb, almost in the middle of the river and your boat would move back and forth with the current but never come near shore. I had taken friends many times to this spot and we would grill burgers on a portable grill that sat nicely on the swim ladder of the runabout. Some folks said Water Moccasins have fallen out of trees into their boat, but this never happened to me here and I never once saw a snake, because I would always look first before tying up.
The channel was 20 feet deep here and on the other side of the river was a backwater that I knew an alligator called home because I had seen him many times. Several times, I had even gotten him to answer my very best ‘gator call because I knew how it sounded and could imitate it very well. Sometimes, in the spring, I would watch him, barely swishing his tail to keep up with the current in the middle of the river as hundreds of turtle hatchlings floated by. He would flick his head this way or that to catch his dinner. That was a really cool thing to watch. He would catch them till he was full and then return to his backwater home.
My spot was about ten miles or so upriver and my granddaughter took a nap on the way. She was maybe three or four. It was a few miles upriver past the lake, but worth the trip for the scenery, the cool water and the only shade to be found for miles.
I always swam near the boat and enjoyed the cold water when the temp was 90 and above, never worrying about the alligator.
We got to the tree and tied to my usual overhanging limb. I got out to swim and asked baby girl to join me. She refused to get in the water, not because she knew anything about the alligator, but just because I guess. I pleaded with her to come with me, but she still wouldn’t come in. So I went in without her
I had both legs over the fins on the outdrive of the boat supporting myself, and was just floating with both arms out enjoying the cool water while she watched me from the back of the boat.
This spot had almost no sunshine except for several small spots where the sunlight came through the tree and illuminated the water. It was at this point when Rhiannon said to me, “Papa Walt, there’s a big fish,” and pointed to one of the spots where the sun came through.
Well, you know the feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you think you are about to die or have something really bad happen to you? I got this feeling then and thought she had seen the ‘gator.
I could just feel one of my arms being grabbed, taken under and drowned by the ‘gator then taken away to be eaten later, or at least taking just my arm.
Turns out when I looked at where she was pointing the sunlight had illuminated a big leaf that was floating down the river and she had mistaken it for a “big” fish.
Well this really scared the crap out of me thinking about the danger I could have been in. I still went to the place many times after that, but I never swam there again.
Sounds like one of those wonderful places where one can enjoy what nature has to offer.
For some reason, I wasn't like Scott, on the edge of my seat. But you did illustrate human nature very well. Small children have huge imaginations and can conjure up a "big fish" from a floating leaf with no problem at all. And, grandfathers, when they hear a child say, "big fish," can conjure up an alligator, as well. ;-)
I recall our family stopped one time in northern Wisconsin and inquired about a cabin that wouldn't accommodate us all. The owner of the rental cabin was telling us about not leaving any garbage out because bears had been around when I suddenly heard a retching sound and my six-year-old younger brother was throwing up in the bushes. He was already scared of the bearsoi even though it was just talk.
I slept in the car (I was 22 at the time) and got up at dawn. I went down to the pristine stream and watched a river otter play while the sun came up. We saw no bears.
You had me on the edge of my chair reading your story after seeing the accompanying picture. Then your granddaughter saying "Papa Walt, there's a big fish" gave me a rush.
Reminded me of the time my girlfriend, Mary, and I went fishing at Kingfisher Lake in Arkansas. We saw what initially looked like a log...until it swished its tail. The caretaker of the park stopped by and said, "Oh yeah, we brought them in to get the beaver population under control. The beavers were damming up all the drainage from the lake causing it to stagnate. There are aligators in several of the lakes around here, including Spring Lake."
Spring Lake! On the previous weekend, I had Mary drop me off at the boat ramp on Spring Lake. I told her to pick me up on the other side about a mile away. What an ideal swim that was: the surface of the lake was like glass. As the park ranger talked, I thought about the fact that I was the only thing moving on Spring lake. What a nice lure I had made of myself.
Thanks for stirring up that spine-chilling moment of realization. I didn't swim in Spring Lake anymore, either.
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Once I took my granddaughter on a trip up the Flint River, above Lake Blackshear in my 18 ft. runabout.
