Swimming with the Lizard is one of 30 chapters in Larry Chesney’s Palmetto Creek: A tale of the South Carolina Lowcountry. Order your copy today!
Never the expert butcher, it took Harry nearly an hour to gut and skin the buck, it was already 3:00, and the other boys were settled into stands awaiting the afternoon’s anticipated deer activity.
After washing up the skinning knife and bone saw in a bucket of icy water, then rinsing blood from his hands and forearms, Harry stood beneath the leaden sky, thinking seriously about sitting on a stand for the remainder of the day. On the other hand, this would be a good time to check on the Buddy Odom situation. Maybe even begin to execute his plans of revenge. Once those plans were formulated, that is.
The Bronco was already pulled up to the shed, tailgate down, so it was a simple exercise to load the large gray metal tub of deer and hog guts. From there, Harry would haul it on a one-way trip to “the gator hole,” a deep pool near a short, wobbly bridge over the Black River, a couple of miles from the cabin.
In it resided a 12-foot alligator nicknamed Al. The gator would furtively appear whenever he heard truck doors and tailgates slamming. He knew that would be followed by a delivery of hors d’oeuvres.
Showing only his eyes and snout, “Pavlov’s gator” would wait patiently offshore while innards, skins, and other offal splashed into the water. Not until the guys were well out of his sight would they hear the water begin to churn as the big lizard chowed down.
Harry pulled up next to the bridge and parked on the shoulder of the little two-lane. The hole was a tricky slope below, and he considered just dumping the guts over the bridge rail. But Al would be incensed if he wasn’t fed in his exclusive dining area.
It was a backbreaker as Harry dragged out the metal tub of mess, nearly dumping the contents onto the Bronco and himself. Normally a two-man job, he thought he could sled it on the snow down to the bank and dump it unassisted.
The steep trail down to the hole had been worn bare over the summer by folks cane pole fishing for bream and catfish. The additional lubricant of snow made it an especially slippery slope, and he had no sooner begun to pull the tub down the incline when he lost his footing and went tumbling and sliding toward the water, tub-o-guts slipping closely behind.
He clawed at the ground as he descended, coming up with handfuls of snow and mud until, finally, a foot-high sapling was held in his grip. The toes of his boots dangled in the shallows, as he watched the gutbucket rocket past and splash into the cold water.
Looking over his shoulder, Harry watched as the upright tub, still fully loaded with innards, began drifting away. Glancing across the hole into the shadows of the overhanging cypress, he caught the stoic gaze of Al, watching the entire fiasco. Eyes and nose were all that gave him away just a snowball’s throw away.
Out of breath, Harry pulled himself up on the bank and, leaning back on his elbows, watched as the bloody cache drifted in the slow current toward the gator.
As Al’s nose and eyes slowly slipped beneath the surface, the tub drifted quietly past him.
On his walk back up the snow-covered trail to his Bronco, Harry heard a great commotion behind him as Al flipped the tub, dumping the contents. Looking back, Harry watched as the upturned tub continued its slow journey downriver.
As he watched, Al’s eyes and nose rose for a last look before settling down to dinner. “You’re welcome,” Harry shouted to him. Now would be a good time to buy a new tub, he thought. And do a little snooping around in Palmetto Creek.
This story was one of 30 chapters in Larry Chesney’s Palmetto Creek: A tale of the South Carolina Lowcountry, order your copy today!
The swamps of South Carolina’s coastal Lowcountry are filled with colorful places, history and people. In the middle of all this lies the town of Palmetto Creek. Nearby is the swamp, full of cypress, live oaks and palmetto thickets, providing shelter for critters like alligators, water moccasins, feral hogs and white-tailed deer. When four old friends, make their annual deer-hunting pilgrimage to their old cabin, they find themselves in the middle of a poacher’s guiltless night-hunting. Meanwhile, a wizened old buck vigilantly watches the goings and comings of the people of Palmetto Creek.
As much a story about friendship as it is about a successful hunt, the four concoct a humorous plan of retribution for a local poacher who regularly hunts at night and never gets punished. The story keeps the reader turning the pages pulling for this likable gang of buddies while getting the sense of actually being in Palmetto Creek with them.