Story: The Alligator Whisperer

I’m standing at the edge of a swamp in the Florida Everglades, just outside of Miami, and the first thing the U.S. Park Service ranger tells me before she hands me the alligator is “Don’t drop him.” At that moment I’m laser focused on her advice because I know, perhaps more than ever, that following her instructions to a tee will result in my best chances of walking away with all of my fingers intact. Actually, the perfect hold is an interesting combination of loose and firm: loose enough for the alligator to move around a bit but firm enough to let him know you’ve got him. In this case the alligator in question is a three-foot long, twenty-five pound juvenile American alligator. As far as I know he doesn’t have a name. I can’t say that we were properly introduced.

“Are you ready for this? You look shaky,” she tells me. I’m slightly emasculated by the question because I was sure that I was only shaking on the inside. There is something primal about being in such close proximity to a dangerous predator. I am at once fascinated and unnerved, especially by its completely unrestrained mouth. Every alligator wrangling session I’ve ever seen on TV has involved copious amounts of duct tape around the end of the alligator’s snout. Apparently this works because most of the muscles that control an alligator’s jaw have evolved to maximize the pressure for biting down as opposed to opening. But there is no duct tape in sight today. Though the alligator I’m about to hold is far from the full-sized 800 pound monster he will some day be, this juvenile can still do considerable damage on a whim. I’m told only to keep my hands away from his mouth. It is in some ways tantamount to being handed a live grenade. And the colors and textures of the two are not dissimilar. Finally, I tell her I’m ready and she hands him over gingerly.

When he is finally in my arms I’m surprised by how soft his belly is. He is also slightly cool to the touch. My hands quickly find a center-of-gravity balance, with my right hand extended, palm open, under the alligator’s head and my left hand holding him more firmly around his lower torso. I'm capable of thinking he is beautiful while at the same time adrenaline is leaking from my ears.

Alligators live only in freshwater wetlands in the American southeast and certain parts of China. The Everglades just outside of Miami is one of the best places to see them. It is a 35-minute drive from downtown Miami to a part of the Everglades National Park where a range of airboat operators offer “safaris”of the “Glades”. These airboats are a mash-up of a flat-bottomed hull and an airplane engine that literally allows the boat to skim across the water and through the tall grasses of the shallow, weedy marshes and swamps. It is not the quietest way to see nature but it is the most practical not to mention fun. The noise doesn’t seem to bother the alligators. They’re everywhere.

Large adult alligators are fairly solitary animals who defend their territory fiercely. Though they have long, heavy bodies and short legs they are incredibly powerful and are capable of surprising bursts of speed. Despite their reputation for attacking humans, alligators are actually naturally fearful of people and will avoid areas of human activity. It is usually when human development encroaches on their habitat or when people provoke them that human attacks can happen. But alligator on human violence in the US is still exceedingly rare.

The stood there for a few minutes holding that alligator and he was stock still in my hands. Such an interesting creature in that it can be so languid and still most of the time but can burst to life faster than you can react. It was sort of like holding a coiled spring. He felt like all muscle from snout to tail; simultaneously static and full of potential energy. As transfixed as I was about this marvel of natural adaptation, perhaps unchanged from prehistoric times, I didn’t hesitate to hand him back over to the ranger when it was time.

On the way out of the Everglades I stopped at a BBQ pit and had some of the most delicious pulled pork and key lime pie that I had ever tasted. I ate because I was hungry. But maybe I was also subconsciously asserting the status of my species as the world’s top predator. After coming face to face with something that would one day have the capacity to make me a meal, a little bit of carnivorous activity was just what I needed to be once again at ease.