The Alligators Among Us

Part of Everyday Life

I couldn’t tell you about the first alligator I ever saw. Growing up in Florida, there were simply too many of them. They were always in the neighborhood pond and ditches, and occasionally one wandered right into our yard. Seeing an alligator wasn’t an extraordinary event—it was simply part of living in Old Florida.

When one appeared in our yard, we didn’t make a fuss. It wasn’t there to bother anyone; it was simply passing through. We left it alone, and before long, it moved along on its own.

That was the understanding we had with Florida wildlife: give it space, respect it, and let it go on its way.

What Mom Taught Us

Because alligators were part of our surroundings, Mom made sure we knew what to do if one ever attacked. She taught us that if a gator clamped its jaws around us, we should fight back and shove our fingers into its nostrils to make it release its grip.

It may sound like old-fashioned Florida wisdom, but there was a sound basis behind her advice. Wildlife experts recommend fighting back during an alligator attack and targeting sensitive areas such as the eyes and nostrils—anything that may make the animal release its hold.

Thankfully, none of us ever had to put Mom’s lesson to the test.

Verification: Gator expert recommends targeting the eyes or nostrils during an attack — WPTV

Where We Played

The presence of alligators didn’t keep us children away from the water. We swam in that neighborhood ditch and sometimes went tubing through it. To us, it wasn’t a daring encounter with dangerous wildlife. It was simply where we played and part of the Florida childhood we knew.

My brothers and the other neighborhood boys were far more daring—or perhaps simply more foolish. They would walk right up to the alligators beside the pond and poke them with sticks just to make them hiss.

It sounds unbelievably dangerous now, but at the time, the alligators were such an ordinary part of our surroundings that the boys treated provoking one almost like another childhood game.

I always stood at a distance. I knew that when an alligator hissed, it was angry, and that hiss was a warning. I was accustomed to living around alligators, but I also understood that they deserved respect.

The boys may have wanted a reaction; I was sensible enough to listen when the alligator told us we were too close.

Sunsets at Lake Maggiore

Years later, Gary and I would go to Lake Maggiore just to watch the alligators. There was a covered shelter at the park, but we always chose a picnic table in the open grassy area beside the lake.

From there, with nothing between us and the water, we could sit together and watch the alligators in their natural surroundings. We weren’t the only people who came to watch. There were never many others, but there were usually a few.

As the sun began to set, the alligators would leave the water and disperse through the park surrounding the lake. They hunted at night, and for a little while we would be completely surrounded by them. There were alligators as far as the eye could see.

Gary and I would climb on top of the picnic table as a precaution and sit there with beers in our hands, watching as the alligators moved through the fading light below us.

None of them ever tried to mess with us because we weren’t messing with them. We respected their space, and they went about their business. We weren’t trying to conquer them or disturb them. We only wanted to watch.

Once the alligators had dispersed farther into the park, we would climb down from the table and go home.

When Old Florida Began to Fade

I haven’t been to Lake Maggiore in years, so I don’t know what it is like there now. But the last time I visited at sunset, there were far fewer alligators than I remembered.

The place was still familiar, yet something about Old Florida had already begun to fade.

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Source: Gator expert recommends targeting the eyes or nostrils during an attack — WPTV