Suburban Goddess

While on a photo assignment today, I found myself on the Southwest side of Houston in the Brazos Bend State Park. My co-worker & I were in search of the perfect photo of a small wooden bridge found near an observation tower overlooking the swamp.

We arrived around 10am, and were directed to the Nature Center in the middle of the park. When we walked in, I knew I was in trouble. Aquariums of live snakes were everywhere; in a large glass case there were hundreds of species of bugs pinned down with their Latin names. Around the corner a tank housed four baby alligators. I immediately got the heebie-jeebies. I love a nature hike as much as the next person, but this is the side of nature I have NO desire to see. Stay under your rocks, in your holes, where EVER you live, and I promise to stay on the well worn path, far from your creepy little abode. The ranger was amused by my creeped-outedness.

We showed her the photo of the bridge we were looking for, and of course she knew exactly where it was.

“Take the path behind here,” she said, pointing to a map. “It’s about 1 mile back. Now, when you pass the alligators, we have a few rules.”

Pass the alligators? Like, LIVE?

“If the tail is pointing toward the trail, you’re good to go. If they’re lying parallel to the trail, that’s okay too. You only have to worry if the business end is facing the trail, and then, you don’t have to worry unless they’re larger than four feet. If you find yourself in that situation, call this number and a park ranger will come out and scare it off for you.”

WHAT??? FOUR FEET?

“Yeah, where you guys are going, you’ll definately see them.”

WHAT WHAT???

So my co-worker (from the midwest, NOT Louisiana) and I head out in search of the bridge. As we round a bend, we pass a beautiful field of wildflowers on the left, and a wooded area to the right. So far, so good. I can handle this. But then we round another corner and directly ahead, there is a pathway, about six feet wide, that is surrounded on either side by murky black water.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble, adjusting the ten pounds of camera equipment I’m holding. I extended the legs of the tripod, just in case I needed to bop an alligator on the nose. We take a few steps up the pathway & sure enough… four foot alligator directly off the right bank. But it was just the tail, and he quickly slipped into the water. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that our odds were good we probably wouldn’t run into another one.

WRONG.

About ten yards later, another one. Ten yards after that, still another one. The fourth one snuck up on us; he was so close to the bank we didn’t see him until he was directly next to us, which caused my co-worker to jump and shriek, which of course has a chain reaction on anyone else around when you’re surrounded by four foot long reptiles.

By this point, my adreniline gland was working overtime while my mind was feverishly going through my last will and testament. I could see the observation tower ahead, about thirty yards, when my co-worker grabbed my arm.

“Oh my GOD. Look at THAT ONE.” Directly ahead sat a seven-footer, and his head was within chomping distance of my feet. Now, I feel the need to tell you, as a girl from Louisiana, I’ve had run-ins with gators before. So I know a thing or two about them. I know that even though they appear to be sleeping, they’re NOT. I know that they can run just as fast as me if they want to. And I know that if it DID manage to get me, I should bop it on the nose, because they HATE that. But right now, I was assessing the speed of my co-worker because honestly, I didn’t have to be faster than the alligator.

I just had to be faster than HER.

But considering I had all the camera equipment, I realized I was at a distinct disadvantage. So we sat for a moment, the prize directly beyond the obstacle. At this point, I was scared to turn back, too. I mean, there was only ONE in front of us (albeit a BIG one), but I knew there were at least FOUR behind us.

“What should we do?” she asked.

“Call the ranger,” I answered quickly. “They said over four feet, call them!” So she fished out her cell phone while we both kept a wary eye on the monster ahead. A moment later, I listened with trepidition to her side of the conversation…”

“Uh huh, they said over four feet with the head facing the trail that we should call…no, he’s not moving…it looks like he’s sleeping…no, wait, his eyes just opened…. throw pebbles? Where?… in the water…okay…” She put her hand over the reciever and whispered loudly, “She said throw pebbles in the water behind him. He’ll think it’s BAIT.”

BAIT? As in, I’m hungry and I’d like to eat? So I picked up a few pebbles and chunked them in the water. He didn’t move.

“He’s not moving… try again??” I threw another one. No response. She leaned down and picked up one, throwing it off slightly. I watched in horror as the rock landed squarely on the alligator’s back. Prepared to sacrifice my camera equipment (as well as my co-worker), I waited for the attack, but it still sat…like a statue. “He’s still not moving… that should work??…no, it didn’t…okay, thank you.” She clicked her cell phone shut. “They’re sending a ranger.”

So I breathed a sigh of relief and waited for the knight in shining armor… and waited… and waited… the ten pounds of camera crap cutting into my shoulder… the mosquitoes starting to call all their buddies over for the flesh buffet…. I glared at the alligator with annoyance.

“Go away!” I whispered. Surprisingly, he ignored me. We waited some more… and a little longer… and still a little longer… until I grew aggrivated. “Hell, we could be at the bottom of the damn swamp by now!” I huffed. “That’s it. I’m going!” My co-worker’s eyes grew wide.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, dammit. Are you with me or not?”

“Well, YEAH. You’re not LEAVING ME HERE.”

So I gathered up all the equipment and moved as far to the left hand side of the path that I could. I realized as I walked past the giant that I wasn’t looking at him, as if making eye contact would provoke him, and I wondered about the intellegence of that decision. If he was gonna pounce, I don’t think I really wanted to know.

Once I was about three steps in front of him, I picked up the pace, almost running for the steps of the tower. I reached them breathlessly, went up about two flights, dropped my equipment and proceeded to shake uncontrollably.

I have no future with National Geographic, and I am perfectly okay with that.

The ranger showed up about five minutes later. Seeing that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he offered us a ride back to the car, which we quickly and graciously accepted. On the way back, we spotted six more, one over ten feet long.

“Oh, he’s mad…” said the ranger with a grin. “See how his back and tail are all puffed up in the water? Something’s upsetting him.”

Good to know. If you’re ever wandering around the swamp and see an alligator puff up, be prepared to run. Or at least be prepared to run faster than who ever you’ve got with you. That’s my lesson of the day. It could save your life.

This entry was posted on March 28, 2007 at 6:44 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.