Florida harbors unusual residents. This morning in the lanai my sister discovered a lizard on the screen door, belly-worshiping the morning sun. The little creature watched her, reflecting perhaps, that eons ago when it was as long as her condo, she would have been a light lunch. Now those halcyon days exist only as a vague, haunting wisp of reptilian memory…
Today its miniaturized self dines on flies, and suchlike.
Kath fetched a broom to sweep it off, and gently out. But, lizard-quick, it had vanished deeper into her home. A careful search yielded nothing.
How had it known?
In the warm afternoon Joe and I drove steadily southeast on US 41’s lonely two-lane highway, hoping to glimpse an alligator. Squat cinderblock buildings of no significance gradually yielded to endless wetland. (For most of its geological history Florida’s been submerged. Now its highest point, a hilltop in the Panhandle, registers just 345 feet above sea level. The rest sits mere inches above. And, as with Britain, no spot in this state is more than 70 miles from the sea.)
We were penetrating a featureless, dead-flat landscape so vast it met the horizon. Opaque water wove random paths through sharp sawgrass and thick, shrubby vegetation as it flowed, imperceptively, toward Mother Ocean.
Leggy white herons moved in delicate slow motion through the primeval scene, leaving no ripples in those eerie ‘canals.’ Occasionally they’d spear fish, position them headfirst (so the scales wouldn’t scratch), and devour them.
Cruising along, safely inside our metal carapace, we speculated about what else lurked beneath all that brackish liquid. Tourists might be tempted to pull over for a minute, stretch their legs- and maybe munch a snack. Then they’d walk yippy-dog down well-traveled (animal) trails just off the highway, that gradually disappeared behind thick vegetation.
Bad idea.
They’d be snacks, I thought.
And their little dog, too.
About 45 minutes later we came upon a state park in the middle of nowhere. Joe pulled into the pebbled lot and began to snap pictures. A ranger chatted with a small pod of tourists. I padded across the little picnic-tabled area to a slim boardwalk hugging the edge of a wide, tangled river/swamp that meandered into forever.
I walked the plank path for a bit, then leaned against its waist-high wooden railing to carefully scan the landscape. Submerged tree-skeletons rose from the black water here and there. Mysterious bubbles appeared, traveled a few feet, then disappeared. Birds occasionally screamed in the distance. Huge herons fished silently. I looked…and looked…and looked for reptilian life…. and found nothing….nothing….just nothing at all.
A tourist near me gasped and stabbed the air with his forefinger. THERE! Below me, not fifteen feet out, a monstrous gray alligator lay suspended in the water, with much of its head and most of its bumpy, armored back exposed. I yelped with shock and jumped back from the rail. God, it was a living log. Right there. I had failed to see what was practically at my feet.
Horror washed over me.
That monster did not move- not one millimeter. It didn’t blink, even once, or breathe. (Alligator eyes possess two lids- and the beasts easily hold their breath for well over half an hour.) This one simply watched- waited- longed for me, in an idle sort of way.
Patience defines an alligator.
I stared, and stared.
It was so close…
So lethally, passively interested.
I felt incredibly vulnerable. In a singularly awful, gob-smacked moment I realized that that glassy-eyed Master Predator viewed me simply as fresh meat. A morsel.
The ranger, noticing my rigid posture, wandered over. Touched my arm. Pointed down. Two feet below my shoes a huge water moccasin lay coiled on a tangle of branches growing from a partially submerged, fully leafed swamp tree. It was close enough to touch. The snake slept, I think: It had no eyelids.
Beyond reaction now, I simply stared down at it, stunned.
After a decent interval he pointed again, and said, softly, “ There’s another.” I borrowed his quiet manner - and didn’t bolt.
Four feet away from the first snake another thick-bodied, very long moccasin had stretched itself out along a different tree branch a mere foot below my path. It watched the water, indifferent to our presence. Both motionless reptiles blended perfectly with their surroundings. When I looked away for an instant I had to search for them all over again.
I never - ever - would have spotted them on my own.
“Have you noticed the bubbles on the water?” I nodded. “Those are turtles, only just submerged. Some are quite large.” He pointed across the water toward thick swampland. “See that enormous log? It’s actually a granddaddy alligator, sunbathing on that muddy bank.”
I took a very long time to find it, and when I did, I could see nothing else. HOW could I have overlooked such a massive beast?
The ranger read my mind. “Perceiving what’s before you takes time, and practice. Huge swathes of Florida are crammed with masterfully camouflaged life; its sheer abundance still astounds me, though I’ve been studying, and living in, wetlands like this one for a quarter of a century.”
The sky, which had threatened rain for some time, turned black. Fat drops plopped down. Run! Monsoon-heavy rain pummeled our car while we huddled inside. Two minutes later, the deluge ended, and I got out again for one last look. The reptiles hadn’t moved.
The rapt ranger, still standing where I’d left him, was turtle-wet. It didn’t matter. He looked out at that wildly primitive, freshened swampland with deep affection.
He was a completely happy man.
Joe started the car and we drove toward Naples in thoughtful silence.
Alligators and snakes overran our simian brains.
I checked the back seats and floor.
It was that kind of day.
Dear readers:
My book, The View From Sunnybank, is stuffed with over 90 true stories of people and animals and other interesting stuff. They’ll trigger laughter, a gasp or two, and perhaps some rueful nods….It makes a fine holiday gift, and every penny supports my secret garden. The View has temporary digs at Horizon Books in Traverse City, Leelanau Books in Leland, and Dog-Ears Books in Northport.