In the fading light of a Louisiana October evening, a routine deer hunt turned into a nightmare for Keith Price, a seasoned outdoorsman from New Iberia. As he stepped down from his deer stand with his young grandson by his side, an unexpected predator lurked in the shadows, ready to strike. What started as a simple noise in the brush escalated into a desperate struggle against a 7-foot alligator, testing Price's quick thinking and resolve in ways he never imagined.
Keith Price, 67, has spent decades immersed in the world of archery and bowhunting. For 25 years, he built a reputation in the South-Central region of Louisiana, where fellow hunters and competitive archers knew him well for his expertise and passion for the sport. On October 20, he took his 9-year-old grandson, Owen Edwards, also from New Iberia, out to his leased land in St. Mary Parish for what should have been a straightforward afternoon in the woods. The pair climbed into a double ladder stand, hoping to spot some deer as the sun dipped low on the horizon. But as daylight waned and darkness crept in, the real danger wasn't from above—it was waiting below.
Price decided it was time to head out as the light faded. "I told Owen to go ahead and climb down," he recalled later, thinking back on the tense moments. Owen hit the ground first, and Price followed right behind. He had only taken a couple of steps when he heard rustling in the palmettos near a flooded ditch close to the stand. The area was wet and overgrown, the kind of spot where wildlife often hides. At first, Price brushed it off as nothing serious. "I said, ‘Owen, you threw something in those palmettos?’ He said, ‘No, Paw.’ I heard it again."
The experienced hunter figured it might be a possum or an armadillo shuffling around—common critters in those parts that usually scatter when disturbed. He wasn't overly concerned, especially with his grandson nearby. But as he moved forward, something felt off. "I thought it would go away. I saw a flash of white," Price said, describing what he later realized was the inside of the alligator's gaping mouth. In a split-second decision, he tried to kick whatever it was away, not yet grasping the full threat. That's when the alligator lunged, clamping its jaws around his lower right leg in a grip like a steel trap.
The attack came fast and furious. The 7-foot reptile had likely been eyeing Owen's boots as the first target on the ground, but Price unwittingly stepped between them, drawing the beast's attention. Throughout the ordeal, Price's mind raced not just about his own pain but about protecting Owen. "An alligator’s got me," he shouted when the boy asked about the commotion. "I told him to stay back." His two headlights were still packed away in his backpack—he never wore them while climbing down the stand to avoid any slips. In the dim light, he fought back instinctively, using whatever he had.
The skirmish was chaotic. Price balanced himself as best he could and started kicking at the gator with his left foot, aiming for its head and body. "When I could catch my balance, I would kick him with my left leg," he explained. In the heat of the moment, he even thought about grabbing a crossbow for defense and mentioned it out loud. But Owen, trying to help, couldn't untie the rope holding it. Looking back, Price was grateful for that. "He might have shot me in the butt," he admitted with a wry sense of relief.
Desperate to break free, Price hurled his backpack at the alligator, hoping to distract or stun it. He credited his neoprene boots for saving him from worse injury—they provided just enough padding against the gator's razor-sharp teeth. "I think with those neoprene boots on, after I kicked him five or six times, he finally let go of my leg," Price said. The whole fight lasted less than two minutes, but it felt like an eternity in the growing darkness.
Once the alligator released its hold, a tense standoff followed. "He was just standing there, hissing," Price remembered, the sound echoing in the quiet woods. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the gator slipped away, likely retreating to the safety of the flooded ditch amid the palmettos that surrounded the clearing. Price, shaken to his core, took a moment to gather himself. "Oh, yeah, it took a while to calm down," he said. He grabbed his backpack, pulled out the headlights, and urged Owen, "Let’s get out of here."
The short hike back to the pickup truck felt longer than usual, adrenaline still pumping through Price's veins. Once there, Owen shined a light on his grandfather's leg to assess the damage. Teeth marks dotted his shin, leaving bruises, and the back of the neoprene boot over his calf was torn where the gator's jaws had clamped down. It could have been much worse—Price knew that all too well. "Thank God there was no real damage and thank God he didn’t get Owen. He would have snapped his leg," he said, his voice steady but filled with the weight of what might have been. If the alligator had grabbed the boy instead, it could have dragged him toward the water. In that scenario, Price didn't hesitate in his resolve: "I would have gone in there with a pocketknife."
Back home, Price dropped Owen off and shared the wild tale with his daughter, Cassie Edwards, who is Owen's mother. She started with the usual post-hunt question: Did they see any deer? Owen's response was straight to the point. "No, mom. No deer. But Paw got bit by an alligator." The news spread quickly. Owen's father, Nick Edwards, was in a meeting when he got a text about the "run-in with a ‘gator." It jolted him upright. "I sat up pretty quick. I tell you, it scared the crap out of me," he said. But hearing everyone was okay brought immediate relief. "I texted back, ‘OK. Good. That’s what counts,’" Nick added. As a dad, the thought terrified him, but he trusted Price's instincts. "Considering who he was with, I have no doubt he would have been all right."
For Owen, the experience was a mix of fear and adventure. "I was scared at first. Once we left, I was feeling a lot better. I felt good that Paw didn’t get eaten," the boy said, summing up the relief that washed over them both.
The next day, October 21, brought some closure. A nuisance alligator hunter took down the same gator that had attacked Price, ending any lingering threat in that spot. The incident left visible marks—not just on Price's boot, where the teeth had punctured and ripped the material, but in the stories that would be retold around campfires and family gatherings for years.
This brush with danger highlights the unpredictable side of hunting in Louisiana's wetlands, where alligators share the territory with deer and humans alike. For men like Price, who have spent lifetimes in the outdoors, it's a reminder that preparation and quick reflexes can make all the difference. He walked away with bruises and a ripped boot, but also with a deeper appreciation for the simple joys of time spent in the woods with family—and the raw power of nature that demands respect. In the end, no deer were harvested that day, but the memories forged in those frantic minutes will last a lifetime, a testament to resilience in the face of the wild.
