We hooked the rope to the trailer hitch on kenneth's pickup and
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drug him to a large willow tree on the bank. We attached my cotton scales to the gar then threw the rope over a limb and hooked it back to the pickup. The rope tightened as Kenneth eased the pickup forward. We watched as the needle on my cotton scales began to register,
one hundred, one twenty five, one fifty and then the needle passed the one hundred seventy five pound mark and kept traveling. That’s as much as my scales weigh! The needle continued to travel until it bottomed out against the peg.
“Huh, don’t tell us much, what with his tail still dragging the ground!” Kenneth said.
We all put our heads together. Considering the gar was as big around as a five gallon bucket and six feet nine inches long, we agreed upon a best guesstimate. Over two-hundred pounds! By the time we returned the brute back to the water over an hour had passed. He lay there recuperating. Sometime before daybreak he regained his composure. All of a sudden he exploded into a massive bundle of nerves, intent on returning to his bailiwick — or at least getting as far away from us as he could.
