Danny Vines knew he was hunting for a big alligator, but he wasn’t fully prepared for the reptile that surfaced from the murky Trinity River slough. In all its saurian splendor, the gator resembled an aquatic dinosaur from a prehistoric waterway. It was, instead, a relic that grew to enormous proportions equidistant from Dallas and Houston.

Vines, a Lufkin, Texas, businessman, knew the gator was a big one because his guides had told him about this particular animal. Steve Barclay and Sam Lovell, aka the Gar Guys, are making an international reputation hunting giant alligator gar with bow and arrow. The East Texas fishing/hunting guides have roamed the Trinity most of their lives.

For several years, they had watched the big alligator patrolling a stretch of waterway. Barclay said they were unable to get a permit in time last September.

“We were dove hunting with Danny and happened to mention this big gator, and Danny said he would be interested in hunting it,” Barclay said.

Texas Parks and Wildlife made it easier to hunt East Texas alligators this year by creating a spring season outside of the 22 coastal counties that have the densest alligator populations.

On May 2, with Vines aboard their airboat, the Gar Guys cruised into a narrow slough that penetrates private property off the main river. They had permission to hunt on the property. Lovell was driving when Barclay glimpsed a big gator as it slipped into the water. They circled back to the river, where Lovell waited with the boat as Barclay and Vines got out on the bank and stalked the alligator.

“We got to a high bank across from where we’d seen the gator,” Vines said. “It had rained the night before, and the whole place was a muddy mess. We used binoculars and glassed up and down the slough for about 15 minutes before the alligator surfaced. All we could see was his head, and Steve just wasn’t sure we were looking at the big one.”

Maybe the alligator sensed danger. It sank beneath the surface again, and the two men studied the water anxiously. Vines finally saw the alligator swimming away from them on the far side of the slough. Its entire body was visible, with its broad, powerful tail making a ripple on the water as it swam.

From that view, Barclay knew for sure this was the gator they were after. At 72 yards, Vines steadied his rifle, tracking the alligator until he was certain he could make an accurate shot. The gator was just about to disappear around a bend in the slough when Vines fired.

It was a perfect brain shot. The huge reptile shivered and rolled upside down, floating on the slough’s surface.

Barclay called his partner, who fired up the airboat and came to retrieve the hunters and their prey. In the narrow slough, the airboat ran over the gator, which sank out of sight.

The men worked for more than an hour with a grappling hook before they were able to snag the submerged carcass.

“When it came up through the murk, the first thing I saw was the white belly,” said Vines. “I couldn’t believe how big it was. It looked like a dinosaur. One of the gator’s feet surfaced, and I grabbed it. The alligator twitched, and I thought it was still alive, but I didn’t turn loose of the foot. The twitch was just a reflex action.”

As big as the Trinity River gator was, four other 13-footers have been reported to TP&W this spring, including a Harris County alligator that measured 13 feet, 9 inches. Monique Slaughter, a natural resource specialist for the state agency, said the longest Texas alligator measured since closely monitored modern alligator seasons began in 1983 totaled 14-4.