It was 1979. I’d lived in Florida two whole years and I hadn’t seen an alligator. I’d been told that they swam irrigation canals and crossed streets to get to the ponds in city parks, and even into swimming pools. I should have been tripping over alligators. It was time to go find one.
I got out my Florida map. Not too far away was an area labeled “Everglades Park.” “There,” I said, “I’m going.” I loaded my camera gear and mosquito repellent into my Pinto. “I’m going to catch me an alligator,” I said.
It was a great swamp: no admission fee, a place to park my car, and a lovely dirt path beside a slow-moving river. I walked through a shutterbug’s heaven.
Three inch technicolor spiders posed patiently in the centers of giant webs. “Let’s see, close-up lens? Or I could stand back and use the telephoto. Hmm, the macro on the zoom is good.”
Cypress knees rose in haunting shapes and caused the water to ripple sensuously past them. “The sun’s too high still. I can’t get the texture of the water.”
Mushrooms pulled me to my knees with close-up lenses, depth of field calculations running through my mind. Snapping turtles climbed onto and tumbled off of logs for my camera. Afternoon came on at last and the water turned a metallic, silky, brown-green that had me breathless. But no alligators appeared.
I got my dander up. I’d been walking upriver nearly three hours and the trails were dividing and getting smaller, the country rougher. I felt I couldn’t go much farther in that direction in a hurry, so I’d best retrace my steps and go downriver and look there.
I stowed my camera gear so I could walk quickly. The magic hour was upon the land, sunlight slanting through the trees, a golden haze in the air. God can be quite the lighting designer when He puts His mind to it. I wanted that light in my camera, and I wanted it wrapped around an alligator.
In twenty minutes, I reached the turnoff to the parking lot and kept on along the river in the direction I hadn’t gone before. And then, there he was, on the far side near the bank. I needed to get closer.
Downstream of him, about twenty feet, was an unusual tree. The trunk extended straight out over the water for eight feet, parallel to it and four inches above it, then bent straight up. The bark was worn off the top of the horizontal part. I pulled out my camera and snapped on my 70-200 millimeter zoom lens as I pondered how best to get out on the tree. I didn’t want to leave my camera bag on shore, but it was heavy, big, and awkward over my shoulder.
“I can do it,” I decided. “Anyone can walk in a space six whole inches wide. It only looks scary because there’s a river full of alligators on both sides.” I stuck my arms out like a tightrope walker and went. It felt good to hold on to the vertical part when I reached it.
The alligator was in range; the light was perfect. I just needed to be a little closer to the water to get the right angle. I took a deep breath and squatted down on the balls of my feet, one arm still around the vertical trunk. But I needed both arms for shooting. I arranged the camera bag at the side of my waist, pressed it and my hip against the tree, then carefully slid my left arm back around to my side of the trunk. “All right,” I thought, “I’m all right. I just can’t make any sudden moves. Now, where is that beastie?”
I got my lens on him. “Oh, look at him!” Click. I remembered to check my speed and aperture. “Whoa! Can I hold it still at 125 with my lens zoomed out to 200? I have to. I can.” Click.
“I wish he’d turn this way just a bit.” Click. “He did!” I adjusted the zoom to frame him better, refocused. Click. “He’s swimming. Look at the light on that water!” Click. “Oh, my gosh, there’s a dragonfly on his right eye ridge.” Click.
I pulled the zoom in a little closer because the alligator was spilling out of the frame on both sides. It hit its stop. I was staring through the lens perplexed, wondering how to get him all in without backing up when a stray thought registered. “Just how close is that alligator?”
Mindful of my balance I removed the camera from my face. The alligator was fourteen inches from my toes, exactly.
He grinned at me.
“If I could get the camera off from around my neck,” I thought, “I could wedge it in his mouth when he comes for me. But he’d probably just think that was the appetizer.”
“Ma’am?” a voice called from the bank.
“Huh?” I said without looking up. This was a heck of a time for someone to be trying to make my acquaintance.
“Do you have any marshmallows?” the man continued.
That did make me look up and I clutched wildly at the tree as I wobbled. “Marshmallows?”
“For George. He’s very fond of them.”
“George?”
“George,” he said, sweeping his arm grandly in the direction of the alligator. “Terrible old beggar, George is, and I’m afraid we do spoil him. He’s developed quite a sweet tooth.”
The man’s voice dimmed into the background as the thudding of my heart drowned him out. Shaking with reaction, I pulled myself to my feet and walked swiftly to the bank, George following me, his snout just below my feet on the trunk. From solid ground I turned to look at him, then noticed that the bank sloped gently to the river, probably shaped that way by generations of alligators climbing out after prey. George might like marshmallows for dessert, but suppose he hadn’t eaten supper yet?
He was still grinning at me.
I turned and hotfooted it to the car, casting involuntary glances over my shoulder as I went. My brief relief at being encased in steel was shattered as my imagination pictured George biting my tires flat and laying siege to my vehicle. But he hadn’t followed me; I was safe.
Lesson learned: Perspective matters.
If he had eaten you, we’d never have heard this story. lol
Should I have written a spoiler alert at the beginning?
Great story, I really liked it!
Really interesting
True story! Thanks for your comment.