The alligators that slumbered in the quiet creeks and pools around us bristled with a quiet sense of menace, and even the buzzards wheeling and gliding into the pale, bright September skies looked well organised by comparison. It was mainly my fault. Told that we were going fishing for the alligator gar, I had assumed we would be using rod and line and had, therefore, dressed in business clothes so that I could head on to an appointment with a politician in a nearby town afterwards.