Only in Florida do you float along next to one of nature’s most dangerous predators and think to yourself, “Hey, look at that … now, where did we put the pretzel chips?”
And it was upon that realization that I started to wonder if we’re alright. We Floridians.
There we were, kayaking along Silver Springs. Paddling through the turquoise waters and lazy river grass. My daughter had asked if I thought we would see any alligators. My wife had warned us both. She had a bit of a dream about it. Not a good one. More of a nightmarish premonition. I think it somehow involved us being devoured by a gator on some kind of fancy cracker.
She was nervous about the two of us going, in particular because earlier in the week a curator at the St. Augustine Alligator Farm had been bitten and pulled from a canoe while retrieving some photo equipment. Luckily, even while injured, he was able to get himself to safety. He was an expert and knew what to do. If something happened to us, though, what chance did we stand?
Our epitaph would read: Went out as an adornment atop a fancy cracker.
Did I think we would even see any alligators, my daughter asked as we cruised along. Nah! Probably too many people on the river. Or the spring water was too cold. Or too much shade when they could be out on some sun-drenched bank somewhere soaking it in and …
“Hey, look at that …”
I don’t know, 15-20 feet away, swimming along next to us, was an alligator!
Oh, we are in so much trouble.
Not because I thought the alligator would do anything. It was a little small. Disinterested. Aloof. Any of the other six, and much larger, gators we saw would have had a much better chance with us. Big, burly suckers. Their spiny backs and alien-looking tails so distinctive in the water. Nope, no mistaking that for a log.
But how do you report this back to the home office? Not without facing some kind of permanent ban. We had been warned. And here they were out in the general traffic flow, cruising around like they own the place. (I mean, they kind of do.)
There were direct orders to “get out of the pool” if something like this happened. Not to just keep paddling along, eating your pretzel chips, acting like this was nothing out of the ordinary.
Acting like … dare I say it? … Floridians.
Only in Florida do you float along next to one of these dangerous predators and not have a complete freak-out session. People drift along the river nonchalantly pointing them out as if they spotted a bird: “Big gator back behind me.”
“Yeah, well, three back this way … and a turtle.”
And it speaks to what a remarkable state we live in. Because imagine going to the mountains, seeing a Grizzly and doing anything except running away or trying to quickly fill out your will using an online app. Or seeing a wolf. Or a mountain lion. Or a Sasquatch, wherever they live.
Here we are, in their natural environment. So close to their gleaming white teeth. It fills you with a sense of awe, and respect. Peace, even. We all have teeth, friend. You just keep going your way and I’ll go mine. Talk about social distancing!
It’s also a part of Florida that is more and more going away. These unspoiled environments where you can experience what the state used to be like. They are quickly drifting away. Or bringing these creatures into newly populated areas where they do become more dangerous. Where people are getting injured. Where common sense and keeping your distance doesn’t always win the day.
Yet, here on the river, you find a way to co-exist. To get along. And there’s something remarkable about that. Some lesson, maybe now more than ever, that really connected deeply with me. Must find a way to get along …
“What are we going to tell mom?” my daughter asked at one point, long after she had lost confidence that she could keep count of all the floating reptiles with teeth we had seen.
“Oh, I don’t know. That we’re Floridians, I guess. And we’re smart enough not to end up on a fancy cracker … or a pretzel chip.”