Garland Ruth Olds and her brother, Lamarr

I was four or maybe five years old, young but old enough to remember this very well. Mamma and Aunt Cass decided to go “perchin” in “Harrican”. To keep me satisfied and safe they fixed my fishing pole and set me to fishing in the spring. They went several feet farther to the bank of the creek.

It was clear around the spring and snaky near the branch. Now this spring flowed out from under a mossy green bank. It didn’t appear to be three inches deep as it flowed crystal clear over the moss. Kid like, I dipped and dapped my hook first one place then another. I guess I got close enough to the over hang that this big sun perch made a nab and got hooked. You would have thought I’d caught a whale. I was dancing around, holding my fish in the air, screaming like a banshee. Mamma and Aunt Cass came running figuring I was snake bit for sure.

I still remember how bright the colors were flashing in the sun-light. After they got over being frightened, Mamma  and Aunt Cass were very impressed.

Garland Ruth Horn was born May 5, 1935 and passed away on January 25, 2009. She was the daughter of Garland “Jake” Olds and Elizabeth “Lizzie” Campbell Olds. “Aunt Cass” was Frances Catherine Morse Wigley, the sister of Lucy Jane Morse Olds, Jake’s mother.

When asked about his hobby, my father, Wallace Olds, invariably replied, “Avoiding starvation has been the main hobby of my life. But for just good clean fun, me and some of the boys liked to catch alligators.”

 “The boys”  were Cleo Morgan of Erin, Kenneth Morgan and his father, Mose Morgan, John (Uncle Johnny) Olds, Jake Olds and son, Lamarr, and Curtis Olds, all of Springhill.

My father was generally elected leader as he’d had most experience with alligators. His rules for the hunt were simple, mainly being that no harm should come to the alligator. Whether or not the ‘gator observed any such strict code of honor is doubtful. But, in all the hunts, neither man nor beast was ever injured.

Finding the crocodilian was half the adventure, and Cleo Morgan was the acknowledged expert tracker. He could follow a trail by such details as broken limbs or rolled over logs. Many summers he led the hunters through the dark swamp waters of Horn Bottom, a place of incredible beauty and hidden dangers. Spanish moss flowed from the limbs of gracious cypress trees, the roots of which formed the twisted, gnarled shapes of “cypress knees.” Among those roots lurked the ever-present water moccasin and occasional snapping turtle. The limbs of these beautiful trees were the nesting places of the small blue and white cranes, each nest containing speckled or blue eggs or a brood of young cranes. And all around could be felt the watchful presence of the powerful, native East Texas alligator.

Because alligators tend to dig their tunnels beneath this beautiful but inhospitable terrain, getting there could be a hazardous journey. Kenneth Morgan, deep-voiced veteran of these hunts, once fell into an old ‘gator hole beneath the surface of the swamp. Plunging neckdeep in the cold, black water, he calmly swam out and rejoined the hunt.

“Uncle Johnny” was the official “cusser” of the team. Daddy did allow some verbal abuse of the alligator and Uncle Johnny’s colorful vocabulary was always equal to the occasion. The alligators never seemed to suffer any ill effects from his glowing descriptions.

Curtis Olds and Cousin Lamarr Olds were the youngest members actually participating in the hunt. Curtis, my brother, provided a sure aim with a single-shot .22 rifle. In those summers of his youth, he considerably thinned out the water moccasin population of Horn Bottom. Lamarr was always ready to provide young muscles when it came time to pull the ‘gator from his den.

When Cleo had tracked the ‘gator to his den Daddy would lay out the ropes. One man would cut a sturdy pole and lay it with the ropes. Some of the younger men would dig a big hole from the top of the den down to within a foot of breaking through to the ‘gator. Then, Daddy jumped into that hole with his shovel and ropes. He then dug a smaller hole down to the alligator.

It never failed. With wary curiosity the ‘gator would stick his snout up through that hole. At about this time each man became acutely aware that he was participating in a dangerous sport. But, no time for doubts now; Daddy dropped a loop over the alligator’s jaws and handed the end of the rope to the men on top. While they held, Daddy got another loop on the ‘gator’s jaws. With a group of men on each side of the hole holding ropes on the ‘gator, they held him fast between them.

Then Daddy would begin to enlarge the hole. When the opening was big enough for the alligator to come through, the show began. The ‘gator lunged this way and that with the two groups of men pulling him back by the ropes. It was a test of endurance between six or seven strong men and one big alligator. After a fierce battle it was always the alligator that tired and gave up. The men then trussed him up to the sturdy pole, lashing down that dangerous tail and binding his jaws.

He was then loaded onto the back of a pick-up truck and carried to Bessie and Morris Smith’s Store in Magnolia Springs for everyone to see.

The last of these big alligator hunts occurred somewhere around late summer of 1958 or ’59. The biggest ‘gator the men ever caught was 10’ 5” long. That particular one was sold to a Beaumont zoo. All the others were released to swim happily away in the waters of Horn Bottom.