See You Later, Alligator
Think America, and what images does it conjure? Skyscrapers, five-lane interstate highways, gun-toting cops and junk food–a kaleidoscope of images from film that linger on. But Way down South in Louisiana is an area unchanged by the ravages of time. Difficult to imagine?
45 miles from New Orleans is Slidell City, and it was there, on the banks of the Pearl River, that Captain Jack waited for us to embark his boat. With 20 people onboard, we set off, easing away past tired-looking floating shacks and weekend retreats for fishermen. Turning to port toward a quiet swamp, Captain Jack suddenly cut the engines and raised his southern-accented voice, resounding in the quiet of the afternoon. “Here Baby Girl, Baby Girl.” We sat still in anticipation.
In the distance ripples appeared on sluggish brown water. A large pair of eyes swam slowly and intently into view. “Hands inside the boat please.” We hastened to obey. Captain Jack skewered a small sausage on to a long stick and held it temptingly at arm’s length, crooning all the while. As if on cue, Baby Girl’s large jaw opened wide to reveal two rows of large yellow pointed teeth. Snap! Sausage followed sausage; each offering enticed her closer to the side of the boat. Captain Jack then held a sausage high, and 15-feet of female alligator reared up, revealing a soft white underbelly. Undeterred by the shrieks of amazement, they performed this awesome party piece again and again.
Captain Jack took her foreleg, and with her immense body lying parallel to the hull, encouraged us to “touch and feel.” Most of us did¬–but avoiding the sharp ends. She was tolerant of our touches, and allowed Captain Jack to lift her tail, which was the same length as an average man. We were stuck, not by the actual tail, but at the latent power within. Further excitement ensued, turning into gasps of amazement and clicking of cameras.
Photo-shoot over, patience and performance rewarded. Captain Jack threw marshmallows out at a distance from the boat, and Baby Girl swam off to snap up her treat. “Why marshmallows?” “Because she likes them.” With experience borne of many years working with ’gators, the evidence of his rapport with them was a tangible two-way exchange of trust and respect.
Discovering that these hard-skinned me
at-eaters like soft fluffy, squashy marshmallows says much about the man. For Captain Jack, the river was his life, and had been for the past 30 years. What he didn’t know about the river and its life was not worth knowing. His knowledge and enthusiasm shone through, as he kept up a running commentary as we motored on.
 The engine revved, and we headed back south. Most of the tour was along open river, the swamps extending to form deep, impenetrable areas along its length. Here, nature lies undisturbed by human intervention. The rhythm of life takes its natural course.
The Honey Island Swamp earned its name because of the honeybees once seen on a nearby island. It covers 250 square miles and is one of the least—altered river swamps in the United States. Almost 75,000 acres of it is a permanently protected wildlife area, the Nature Conservancy’s First Lousianna Nature Reserve. Much of the area is in its original condition—pristine wilderness. In the face of such untamed beauty and the glory of the setting sun, it was easy to be overawed, easy to believe that somewhere amongst the eerie shadows of the cypress trees that Big Foot exists, and is not the figment of an overactive imagination. And yes, there have been sightings.
Text and photos by Charlotte Hamilton |
