Mr. Write's Page

I just got back from one of my periodic road trips. Every month or two, I load up my RV Old Blue and head out for a few days, just because I can.

This time, it was a leisurely drive from Panama City west along the Gulf coast. I took my time, walked on the beach, strolled along the docks, took photos, ate seafood. The weather was idyllic.

The trip had its high points, as do they all.

In Panama City, I went to see the house where I lived in the 1950s, during junior high school. The old place has been renovated and looks really good.

In Alabama, I took the 30-minute car ferry ride across the mouth of Mobile Bay. The ferry was escorted by assorted dolphins and swarms of seabirds.

And, in Mississippi, I took my first-ever ride through the swamp on an airboat. You know, one of these things:

The experience was as wild and as loud as I expected.

The Gulf coast turns swampy west of Mobile Bay, and all along coastal Mississippi and Louisiana, airboat tours are everywhere. They all claim to offer the best and most exciting airboat rides on earth. That being the case, I chose one at random, and it worked out fine.

The place I picked was Gulf Coast Gator Ranch in Moss Point, Mississippi.

In addition to airboat tours, they offer a self-guided tour of the “gator ranch,” which is a fenced compound full of hundreds of alligators of all sizes.

For the gators, the ranch is a sweet deal. They have plenty of space in which to live and socialize, and they all get fed regularly. True, humans are constantly hovering nearby, but the people are fenced in and don’t pose a threat.

The airboat ride was a blast. The craft, which held the operator (a friendly fellow named Rob) and five tourists, was spacious, lightweight, stable, and very agile.

Rob gave us a few instructions as we eased away from the dock. The six of us donned our ear protectors, we reached open water, and Rob gunned it.

I wasn’t worried that the craft might flip, but the possibility certainly occurred to me. The airboat was going crazy fast, cutting trails through the marsh grass, making tight circles around the mud bars, and sending out rooster tails of swamp water as we banked hither and yon.

Rob was performing the nautical equivalent of doing donuts and leaving rubber. He stopped short of popping a wheelie.

I was trying to protect my camera from the spray, so I didn’t turn around to see, but I’m sure he had a huge grin on his face.

Finally, in a narrow channel next to a railroad trestle, Rob brought the airboat to a stop. He cut the engine. We all took off our ear protectors.

Rob stood up and bellowed, “Nuisance! Nuisance, old gal! Where you at?”

Thirty yards away, next to the trestle in a small cove, an alligator slid into the water and headed our way.

“Here she comes,” said Rob. “Nuisance is an adult female, about nine feet long. This inlet is her spot. She staked it out last year.”

Rob reached behind his seat and emerged with a bag of marshmallows. “Come on, Nuisance!” he yelled again. “Hoo, girl! Come and get it!”

When Nuisance was within 15 yards of the boat, Rob tossed a marshmallow into the water. Nuisance cruised forward and deftly glommed it up.

After feeding Nuisance several more marshmallows, Rob pointed out a second gator in the distance on the far side of the trestle.

“Over there, that’s Big Mac,” he told us. “He’s been hangin’ around for about a week. Nuisance don’t like it one bit.”

Rob yelled out for Big Mac to come get his marshmallows. Big Mac slipped into the water and came toward us. As he did, Nuisance retreated a discrete distance from the boat.

“Right now, the weather is warmer than usual,” said Rob, “So Mac thinks it’s matin’ season. Nuisance knows better, but Mac is confused.”

“You’re confused, ain’t you boy?” said Rob. He tossed a marshmallow into the water. Big Mac picked it off with practiced efficiency.

Several marshmallows later, Rob cranked the engine, and we donned our ear protection, and the airboat was off for another wild ride.

At one point, I gingerly lifted the protector away from one ear to check the level of the engine noise. I covered my ear again immediately.

A few minutes later, Rob stopped the airboat in another channel opposite a small cove. He stood up and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Hoo, Fang!” he hollered. “Fang, where you at? Come on out, boy!”

Moments later, the grass swayed on the bank of the cove, and an alligator, this one noticeably larger than Nuisance and Big Mac, slipped silently into the water and swam toward us.

“We call him Fang ’cause he’s snaggle-toothed. Lost a few teeth at some point,” said Rob. “He’s an old fella. Been here a long time.”

Fang arrived next to the boat and collected a marshmallow. As he cruised alongside us in pursuit of another one, Rob reached down and patted Fang on the top of his massive head.

“Gators like bein’ patted and scratched on the top of their heads,” said Rob. “It relaxes ’em.”

“Fang, come over here, boy!” Rob yelled. Fang swam alongside the boat.

“Roll over, boy! Roll over on your side and show me them teeth!”

Fang rolled onto his side and executed what I can only describe as a grimace, his jaws slightly apart and his teeth on full display.

“Attaboy!” said Rob. He reached down and, much as I would affectionately scratch my dog, he rubbed and patted Fang on the belly. “Yeah, look at dem big shiny teeth!” he cooed.

“I can’t believe you’re doing that!” said one of the passengers. “That alligator could bite your hand off!”

“Fang?” Rob replied in mock dismay. “Fang wouldn’t hurt me! Me and him is pals!”

“But he’s a wild gator!”

“Well, Fang has been here a long time, and he ain’t that wild any more.” said Rob. “I trust him. He knows me, knows I won’t hurt him. I bring him snacks, and we keep him well fed. I ain’t worried about Fang.”

“On the other hand,” he added, “You didn’t see me puttin’ my hand anywhere near Big Mac or Nuisance.”

After another high-speed ride through the swamp, Rob took us back to Gator Ranch. With the drive in neutral, he ran the engine at full throttle. The tremendous wash of air caused us to drift sideways into place against the dock.

I walked next to him up the long pathway back to the office.

“I haven’t seen any ‘you-drive-it’ airboat rentals,” I said. “That must mean they take practice to operate.”

“They sure do,” he said. “You know that lady inside who took your money? Last year, she was pesterin’ us to learn to drive. The first time, she got stuck in the mud. The second time, she blew out the engine. There wadn’t no third time.”

Back at the ranch, Rob assembled his five passengers and asked, “Any of y’all ever held a baby gator?”

Nope.

He opened the lid of a large cooler, reached inside, and brought out a docile, two-foot-long alligator with a rubber band around its jaws. He handed the gator to the nearest tourist.

“Dang,” said the tourist, “He feels cold, like a snake.”

“What’s his name?” asked another.

“We don’t name the little ones,” said Rob.

When my turn came to hold the unnamed gator, Rob asked for my camera. This is the shot he took.