Stalking the Wild Alligator, part II

My lunch breaks in Florida were spent surveying the nearby ponds. Watching the surface of the water through binoculars, I could see bubbles rise up to the surface of the dark water. Every so often, something would splash sending out telling ripples. It was clear to me that the water was quite alive.

Right outside the office, sheltered by trees at three sides, and located on a dead-end street, was a small pond. It was here that I first spotted an alligator, as I returned after a walk. He swam across the water, partialy submerged, so that no movement from his tail or feet could be seen. As I approached, he sunk low leaving only the tip of his snout and his black eyes above the water.

The next day, I went back to find him floating motionless on one side of the pond near the drainage input. In addition to him, I could see two turtles poking just their heads above the water (black and streaked with yellow), a small, diving duck, and a Florida cormorant. I sat on the bank and watched, every now and then inching closer to the alligator.

The cormorant's snakey head, here without a fish.

Of particular interest was the cormorant. When I sat down, he was on the bank, wings outstretched, drying his feathers (cormorants' feathers are not completely waterproof). After a few mintues, though, he waddled to the water and dove in. A black form turned and twisted about. When he swam close to the surface, the wake he created looked like a the unsettled ground of a mole burrowing. As he ventured down into deep water, I could follow him by the line of air bubbles that popped to the surface. After a few seconds, the cormorant came up with a fish speared onto its beak. With a few shakes of its head to position it at beak's end, it flipped the fish up and swallowed it whole. He then continued to fish the whole pond, taking care to avoid the alligator. Avoiding the gator, however, was not my objective.

I moved slowly closer to the gator, and eventually dropped out of its sight onto the opposite side of the drainage wall, behind his back. We were within ten feet of each other now, and my mind raced a little wondering if he would be waiting to snap at me when I peered over the wall. I peaked my eyes over, and saw that he had indeed moved, but only slightly, and only to keep me in his sight. Ah, I could see the leathery detail of his skin, the scales and ridges that ran down his body, and the intensity of his stare. Seeing such a specimin at hand, I was transported back to the prehistoric days when this ancient form was perfected.

I suspect that we are all creatures of habit. Susan tells me that repetition strengthens the synapsis between neurons, so it makes sense to expect the creatures of the pond to return daily. So they did, and so did I. In the coming days, I came close to all the creatures and learned quite a bit about their habits and personalities, but the most memorable part of it all was just the communion with nature. The immediacy of it touches something deep inside of me, and it makes me believe that the memory of a warm sunny day, sitting on the bank of a pond - avoiding the fire ants - and answering questions on the natural order of things is the most precious thing that I can have.