The Gator

I also found Florida’s natural springs and waterways fascinating. Floating the murky, winding rivers on canoes or inner tubes is a great way to experience the lush tropical jungles. At least that’s what they seemed like. When down on a river banked with dense foliage you feel like you’re in a remote jungle even if suburban sprawl starts just a hundred yards away. Floating on inner tubes is relaxing, but you feel a little vulnerable to alligators on them even though you’re quite safe in areas where tubing is allowed. I felt safer and more in control in a canoe. Canoes are great for manatee watching too. I still can’t decide what thrilled me more, watching manatees from my canoe or snorkeling down into the natural springs.

Florida is peppered with huge springs gushing fresh water from submerged caves. The water gushes out so forcefully that scuba divers can’t get in to explore the caves. I found it thrilling to snorkel out and dive down into the perfectly transparent, clean springs until the current pushed me out or the light grew too dim to see.

Snorkeling the coral reefs off the Florida Keys thrilled me even more though. Most of the reefs were only about 30 feet below the surface even though they were miles from shore. I drove down with friends, and we road out to the reefs on boats. We’d watch flying fish jump out and glide above the water’s surface and gaze down at the ocean bottom through crystal-clear water. I liked snorkeling better than scuba diving because I could slip my gear on and jump in while they took another 15 or 20 minutes getting their gear on and checking it. Then I could move fast and free through the water, chasing fish and studying the coral.

I’ve never been a good swimmer. At the USAF Academy I exhausted myself just barely passing their minimum swimming requirements. My instructor penalized me during the floating test because I couldn’t float without moving. When I sat perfectly still I sank slowly down to the bottom. But I seemed to be a natural at snorkeling. Perhaps my running routine helped, because I could hold my breath a long time. I was strong and athletic and since my snorkel allowed me to breathe with my face in the water while the fins on my feat magnified the stroking power of my legs staying afloat was easy.

I could quickly dive the 30 feet down and get my face right there in the coral studying the brilliantly colored fish, sea anemones, cucumbers, stars, urchins, and many life forms that I didn’t even recognize. The remarkable structures of coral with their intricate patterns captivated me endlessly. Holding my breath a long time enabled me to study the coral close up and notice fine details. I found colonies of little delicate fan-like structures adorned with such brilliant colors that they put to shame the finest lace humans have ever made. I stared at them in awe for several dives, and then I finally reached out and touched one very gently with my finger tip. In an instant it disappeared. When disturbed they suck themselves down into hard little homes that blend in with the coral and sand. I don’t know what they’re called, but I found out later that what I thought were delicate little plants were actually unusual little animals feeding on microscopic plankton in the water.

There were larger creatures in the ocean there too. I kept my distance from sharks and they didn’t seem interested in me, but when I saw a 5 foot fish, skinny as a stick and floating perfectly still in the water I had to get a closer look. From about 10 feet away I could see its long, slender snout was lined with sharp teeth that looked more dangerous than alligator teeth. I stopped and looked back to my diving partner, a Florida native who was forcefully waving his hands and shaking his head back and forth with wide eyes. I interpreted that as a hazard warning and backed away from the unmoving skinny fish. My friend told me it was a barracuda, the most aggressive creature in the water here, much more likely to bite me than a shark.

That wasn’t the last encounter this naive northerner had with a dangerous creature of the south, so I guess it’s time I move on the story I’m supposed to be telling here about my first alligator contact.

While living in Florida I thoroughly enjoyed hiking along tropical trails. My first year there I logged more miles hiking through mosquito infested tropical Florida forest than most of my native friends had their entire lifetimes in Florida. One of my most memorable adventures took me to the Florida Everglades.

I had a friend named Pat Hanford who had attended “His” Bible Study in Colorado Springs with me but now flew helicopters out of Homestead AFB south of Miami. One day shortly before a 3 day weekend I called Pat on the phone and asked him if he’d visited the Everglades yet. He surprised me when he said no because he’d been in Florida longer than me and he was so close to them. I’d heard about the Everglades from my early childhood and could hardly wait to see them!

Pat had no plans yet for the upcoming 3 day weekend (I think it was a President’s Day weekend in February) so we made plans. I would drive down Friday evening and spend the night at his apartment. Then we’d drive down to the Everglades, spend the day hiking, and camp overnight at the southernmost part of the park. After a second day of hiking and exploring we’d return to his home and I’d have a whole day for my 4 hour drive back to Cape Canaveral.

We also worked out details of food, camping gear, gas, getting our park pass, etc., all the way down to what kind of mosquito repellant to bring. I had a little bottle of Deep-woods Off that was 100% diethyltoluamide, more commonly known as deet. It worked wonders in the Florida wild lands where mosquitoes swarmed so think they could carry you away if they knew how to work together! (Did you know that mosquitoes are the most deadly animal in the world? I’m telling this story about a scary alligator, but more people die from mosquito borne illnesses every day than have ever been attacked by alligators! So if you ever see an alligator in the wild don’t shudder in fear. You should have more respect for the little mosquito that just bit you.)

Our detailed planning must have been effective because the entire trip went without a hitch except for the gator and mosquitoes in our tent. (Mosquitoes invaded our tent, not the gator!) We discovered that the mosquitoes in Florida are so dense that you can’t pitch a tent without a few dozen getting in. In spite of the deet we used mosquitoes occasionally bit us, and it’s impossible to go to sleep when you hear them buzzing around your head and landing on your face. So after lying in our tent for a while Pat and I turned on our flashlights and swatted mosquitoes until we killed every single one inside the tent! It took a while, but it was the only way we’d get any sleep. Now I’m getting sidetracked again, and that actually happened after our alligator encounter, so let’s back up.

As we entered the National Park I remember being impressed with how flat the everglades were. I gazed out over a sea of grass extending all the way to the horizon in every direction. Little islands covered with trees scattered themselves across the grassy sea.

Within minutes of entering the sea of grass we came to the entrance gate ranger station. It was small building where we paid our fee and they gave us a map. I think they had some interpretive displays and a trail that went a short distance into the grass. We learned that the sea of grass hid an immense, thinly veiled, limestone bed.

When Pat and I walked down the short trail into the grass I could see the jagged limestone surface. I imagined trying to hike over that surface. I’d have to plan each step, careful to place my foot on the top of the sharp limestone projections jutting up from the marsh. The troughs between projections held shallow puddles of water and more jagged limestone. I guessed it would take a couple hours just to walk a mile that way and if I managed to avoid twisting an ankle my boots would be shredded. Falling down on that looked like it’d cut me up worse than getting thrown through a car windshield in an accident! Generally I stick to trails to minimize my impact on nature, but in this place I’d need to stay on the trails to minimize nature’s impact on me!

The interpretive signs told us that the limestone plane was very level, but in spots it rose two or three feet. That’s all it took for larger plants to establish themselves forming “hardwood hammocks.” Just a few feet of elevation rise was enough to create a totally different habitat with large bushes, tropical trees, different animals, etc. The “islands” that Pat and I had observed peppered all over the sea of grass were actually little tropical forests anchored on patches of land only a few feet above the flat limestone plane. Later we’d hike through some of these hardwood hammocks and experience the beauty of the plants and animals living there, but right now we were more interested in the water creatures.

Those same interpretive signs and information on the map the rangers had provided told us that it was now the dry season. Even though everything seemed wet to me I learned that during the summer rains the water levels rise to cover most of the limestone that was now exposed. With the higher water levels aquatic and amphibious animals spread out all over the everglades, but during the winter dry season those animals, and all the creatures who prey on them (such as alligators) congregate densely into the low-lying areas where the water pools more deeply year around.

Looking at our map we noticed one of these lower areas with plenty of water just a short distance up the road. The map revealed a couple longer trails with the fascinating names “Anhinga Trail” and “Gumbo Limbo Trail.” With such intriguing names and the promise of trails long enough to take a real hike, and the mysterious hint of wildlife, including all levels of the food chain, congregated densely into small areas of deeper water, I grew almost giddy with anticipation as we set off down the road.

As we parked our car we could already see that this place would not disappoint our hopes to watch some wildlife. Birds swarmed all over. From the day I arrived in Florida I’d been fascinated by the birds—gulls, pelicans, egrets, ospreys, plovers, spoonbills, herons, and dozens of other bird types both common and rare. Here at the Anhinga Trail I found a concentrated showcase of the most striking, greatest quantity, and variety of birds I’d ever seen! At the pond just a few paces from our parking space we were overwhelmed with birds strutting bizarre shapes and dazzling colors. The birds were so fascinating that at first I didn’t even notice the turtles, frogs, snakes, and water teaming with fish. Everything was in motion with life.

Anhinga turned out to be a short trail, about half a mile, but there was so much to see I think we spent a couple hours walking that half mile. The entire trail is either paved walkway or boardwalk making it easily accessible to everyone. There were tourists everywhere: retirees, young couples, families, parents pushing strollers, people in wheel chairs, children running, even young toddlers waddling along. Normally the only wildlife you’ll find among such crowds of humans is squirrels, sparrows and similar familiar creatures looking for handouts and spilled crumbs. But the need for precious water during the dry season drew all the aquatic and amphibian species into such dense quantities that they had to just ignore the humans gawking at them as they avoided the predatory birds and reptiles congregating there to eat them.

I finally concluded that they must be another of the many species of birds in Florida that dives into water to catch fish, and they need to dry their feathers to fly better. Black feathers would absorb the sun’s heat and dry off quickly even in Florida’s humid climate. But I still puzzled that these birds seemed to spend more time drying their feathers than flying. I saw them hanging out in the trees with wings spread wide all the time, but I rarely saw them fly. They are large birds with wings as long as bald eagles, but they are much thinner. I usually saw eagles flying overhead presumably searching for food. I’ve only seen them perched in trees a few times. These cormorants were eagle sized birds but skinny with much longer necks. I never saw them gliding overhead looking for prey. After watching the cormorant that dove into the water next to us on the Anhinga Trail I was able to put together the rest of the story.

The bird dove deep into the water and immerged with a fish impaled on its beak. That got my attention—and Pat’s too! Neither of us had ever seen a bird spear a fish with its beak. We assumed it would open its mouth and grab them. Stabbing clear through the fish impressed us both, but what we saw next impressed us even more. The bird’s struggle had just begun.

Coming out of the water its feathers were soaked and it couldn’t fly well. With a flurry of flapping it managed to grab a branch on a bush a couple feet above the water. It was so close to us we could see the fish’s eyes staring blankly. It even sat there for a couple minutes so I could get a good picture. Then Pat and I realized that it couldn’t eat the fish because it couldn’t open its mouth with its beak stuck through the middle of the fish. I began to wonder if it would spread its wings and dry them before it flew away to eat lunch.

Then the cormorant started shaking its head. The fish slid a little further out with each shake until it hung just at the tip of the long, slender beak. The cormorant paused, lowered it long neck slowly downward, and then flung its head up, tossing the fish into the air. When the fish fell down, the cormorant held its wide open mouth beneath it for the catch, but while the fish flew through the air an amazing thing happened—it started flopping! The fish was still alive and now it was flailing around to save its life! It bounced off the bird’s beak and into the water.

Pat and I stood, mouths open wide in astonishment, watching that fish swim away after being speared clean through, held out of the water for several minutes, shaken thoroughly, and tossed in the air. Just as the thought, “Wow, the fish got way” formed in my mind I heard a splash and saw the cormorant back in the water, flapping its wings, chasing the fish. It swam with its wings just as if it was flying in the water. The fish and bird disappeared under the boardwalk that Pat and I stood on so we went to the other side to watch them come out. Our fascination compelled us to witness the end of this life-and-death natural drama. But they never emerged. We looked back on the other side—no fish-chasing cormorant. Pat and I spent at least 5 minutes searching up and down along the boardwalk but never found them.

We were disappointed to miss the end of the show and find out who won this life and death struggle, but we felt privileged to witness something so rare. It also made me reflect. I wondered how often such dramas play out here in this beautiful natural paradise. We humans probably don’t see them a lot, but I’m sure life-and-death struggles are constantly taking place here.

I also recognized something about the cormorant’s design. Now I could see that the slender wings and body of this bird enabled it to maneuver under water to catch food. Eagles have to catch food near the surface using a surprise snag and grab attack, but cormorants can pursue prey below the surface. I also realized their feather design differs dramatically from most water birds. Most aquatic fowl like ducks and geese have oily feathers designed to create a water barrier. It keeps their feathers and skin dry so they can fly quickly. It traps enough air inside to make them buoyant and insulate them from the cold.

Cormorants turn these design features upside down! Their feathers are designed to let the water penetrate to their skin driving out all the air. In order to maneuver fast under water they can’t carry around a bunch of air that pulls them to the surface. The price of this design is they don’t have insulation. They need to fish in warm temperatures. Also, they can’t fly very well after diving. They need to take time to dry off first, hence their black color and habit of spreading their wings in the sun.

Well, I’m sidetracked again, this time with a nature lesson. I hope you don’t mind. For me, the cormorant and fish were about as exciting as the alligator.

Pat and I reluctantly continued down the trail after we lost hope of seeing the cormorant with its fish, but drawn on by the amazing variety of plants and animals surrounding us. As we walked down a boardwalk ramp onto paved trail again I looked ahead and saw a plastic alligator on the trail. If I had seen this same alligator partially hidden in the plants at the edge of the water I would have thought it was alive because it looked quite real. But since it was stretched across the trail in front of us I assumed it had to be fake without ever considering the possibility that it could be a real gator.

From the moment we arrived in the everglades Pat and I had our eyes focused on seeing gators. We’d been searching the grass and weeds for glimpses of their leathery bodies. We scanned every watery surface for noses or eyeballs lurking. Every time some unseen creature disturbed the water we’d look to see if a gator could be making the ripples. We maintained this constant state of alert hoping to catch a glimpse of these elusive, vicious predators that neither of us had ever seen in the wild before.

So when I saw this form of an alligator sitting statue-still on this high traffic, asphalt trail where mom’s pushed their babies in strollers and little kids ran freely I knew it couldn’t be real. This was Florida, home of Disney World, where realistic looking things made of plastic were ubiquitous!

So I glanced over my right shoulder saying, “Look at the plastic alligator in the trail, Pat! If I go sit on it will you take my picture?”

Pat responded without hesitation, “Sure, let’s go!”

So I handed him my camera and we strolled over. There was a wooden railing along the left side of the trail and the gator sat with its head and front feet extended under this railing in the grass. Its tail stretched back across the paved path. It wasn’t a big alligator—probably 6 feet long from nose to the tip of its tail. I stopped with my feet about 18 inches from its head and leaned over the railing to study its face, reporting my observations to Pat.

“Wow, Pat, they did an amazing job with this plastic alligator. The teeth look extremely real! The entire face is very detailed. And these front feet—every tiny scale painted perfectly and textured to look like real alligator skin!”

While I shared these observation Pat noticed that the plastic on its back was a little worn and needed touching up, but I had just focused on the green grass under the gator’s foot. The blades were freshly bent as if the model had just been placed there this morning or even possibly a few minutes ago. What are the odds of that? For the first time it crossed my mind that this alligator could be real.

Then my eyes continued scanning back just behind the front leg where its chest rested on the pavement. I could see a small, but distinct swelling and receding movement. It was breathing! I think Pat noticed it about the same time I did because without a word we both froze and began to shift our bodies to step back very slowly. My right foot was only 18 inches from those big, very real teeth. Pat’s left foot rested similarly close to its powerful, bone cracking, tail.

Before I was able to take even a single step backward I heard loud squealing voices accompanied by the stomping of little feet. Some young children behind me ran in wild abandon with joyous excitement contrasting dramatically with my intense sense of danger as I cautiously backed away, heart in my throat. Apparently the kids were chasing birds because a vigorous chorus of squawking and flapping wings erupted with the kid’s squealing. That pushed our frightened alligator into action. It launched its body forward with incredible speed and power covering the 15 -20 feet of ground to the nearest water in less than a second and what appeared like just two or three strokes of its muscular legs.

Pat and I looked at each other with our jaws hanging open and our eyes wide then looked back at the spot in the water where the gator had disappeared with a splash. My heart pounded as I considered what just happened.

I figured the poor alligator may have been more frightened than we were. It was probably accustomed to people so it enjoyed sunning itself on the warm pavement even with tourists strolling around. But most tourists would be smart enough to keep their distance. The gator had probably never experienced two guys insane enough to walk right up beside it and start scrutinizing the details of its teeth, scales, etc. I’m guessing it froze in a state of tension waiting for one of us to do something that would trigger a fight or flight response. The rousing noise from the kids and birds triggered the swift exit that sent the gator rapidly into the water, its place of safety. I wonder what kind of response I would have triggered if I’d turned around and sat on it for my photo?

Needless to say, Pat and I felt sheepishly dumb, but thrilled to have observed so closely the first alligator either of us had ever seen in the wild.

After the adrenalin in my bloodstream dissipated I mentally analyzed what we’d done, trying to assess how much danger we were really in. I knew that alligators had powerful muscles in their jaws so that once they bite you can’t pry their mouths open to get free. But I also knew that their bite isn’t usually fatal. They usually kill their prey by drowning them in the water. They don’t usually even attack on land unless they encounter something small like a young child, cat, or small dog.

This alligator was about 6 feet long, but I towered nearly 6 feet high so I probably appeared imposing to the gator. Its slender body probably weighed 60 to 80 pounds, less than half my weight, so even if it did get a bite on one of my legs it’d have a major struggle to drag me into the water. At that weight the gator’s powerful tail could probably have given Pat a serious bruise, maybe even knocked him off his feet, but wouldn’t likely break his legs.

I later learned that alligators can’t turn fast on land. When they do attack on land they need to lunge forward. If it did try to bite one of us, the time it took to spin around would have given us a chance to jump away. So I’ve decided that even though Pat and I were way too close to the gator, we weren’t in great danger—yet. If we hadn’t realized the “plastic” alligator was alive it could have gotten nasty. I’ve seen dozens of wild alligators since that first encounter but have never tried to get that close again.

I also learned a valuable life lesson. I’m a natural skeptic who usually assumes things in life aren’t really what they appear to be, but sometimes they are exactly what they look like, even when they seem improbable.