Alligator Saga #1

It was on the University of Florida campus that I first met alligators face-to-face, so to speak. On a warm early April day, toward the end of my first year as a doctoral student, I was sitting outside one of the University’s large lecture halls waiting for a fellow grad student. We had arranged to have lunch together. Since the walkways would be flooded with thousands of students pouring out of the wall of doors in the lecture hall as soon as the hour was up, I had selected a vantage point that provided an unequaled view of the surroundings. A four-foot high limestone outcrop at the edge of a circular sinkhole lake. Incidentally, the University of Florida campus contains over a hundred sinkhole lakes large and small so the situation, though quite lovely, was nothing out of the ordinary. And no, I’m not shamelessly bragging about my alma mater.

I stood on the ledge and surveyed the surrounding area. In many ways it was a picture-perfect location. A tranquil lake with several small sandy areas along the water’s edge shaded by two or three palms and a few tall pines. An attractive young woman sat eating her lunch on one of the miniature “beaches.” She sat about five feet from the water, engrossed in a magazine. Truth be told, I probably paid more attention because she was a little older than the typical coed undergraduate, therefore fairly close to my age. And was, as I mentioned above, attractive.

A well-padded female Mallard waddled across the sand toward the young woman, quacking softly. It was as domesticated as a pigeon, exhibiting no fear of the boisterous crowd of nearby students. It’s my guess that begging bread scraps from accommodating students was part of its modus operandi. It simply regarded the woman sitting on the sand as a lunch opportunity.

I quickly scanned the ever-increasing mob pouring out of the building. But my friend was not among them. At six foot-five he would be relatively difficult to miss. Not seeing him, my attention turned back to the young woman.

That’s when I noticed the alligator in the lake. It wasn’t large. Certainly less than six feet. It’s total length was difficult to see because its body was hanging down in the water at a 60° angle. Only the upper part of its head broke the surface. Moving slowly but steadily through the water, it was absolutely intent on the duck. Which the gator without doubt regarded as a lunch opportunity.

Before I could warn the young woman the gator literally exploded from the water, its tail driving it upward like the powerful organic machine it was. It pounced on the hapless duck, clamped it in its mouth, instantly flopping back into the water and disappearing from sight. All in no more than a second. And literally at the young woman’s feet. As I remember, her shorts and blouse were wet from the gator’s re-entry splash.

Naturally, the unanticipated attack scared the absolute living shit out of her. She screamed hysterically, not believing what had happened. Trying unsuccessfully at first to scramble to her feet, she fell in the sand. Her entire body was shaking. Legs unable to work properly. The appropriately cute damsel in distress. My ass didn’t move an inch from the ledge, content the observer to be.

A moment later, as students gathered around to offer help and find out just what the hell had happened, the successful predator surfaced in the middle of the lake, its body nearly vertical, duck firmly in its pearly teeth. The gator’s jaws opened as it prepared to consummate its tasty snack and the poor bird uttered its final lamentation, “Quaaaaack,” before disappearing from sight forever. The event gave sinister meaning to the popular saying, “Let’s do lunch.”