Adventures with Alligators

Before the traditional “surround sound” system, there was nature. Sitting in a canoe in the middle of a lazy Florida river, the narrow passage between shores creates the best acoustics on earth. An owl hoots deep in the forest to our left. Seconds later, another echoes the eerie cry behind us. The dry palm leaves scratch against each other on the banks as accompaniment. Up next, the harmonious whir of the katydids, the strumming chirp of crickets. Then, for a brief moment, complete silence.

It’s at this moment that my nose kicks in. The rich scents of all growing, green things: crisp eucalyptus, soft grasses, bright spring flowers. Like honey and dew, the freshness fills me in one slow breath as if the entire scent has circulated through my bloodstream like medicine. The impending sensation: total calm.

I close my eyes. The warmth of the sun filtering through the trees swathes me like a personal space heater set to “perfect.”

Then, like a bucket of ice water being splashed over me as a college-boy prank, a racket cuts through the silence.

 “Turrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr … Turrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr … Turrrrrrrrrrrrr!” A motorboat, engine revved to full throttle, is racing toward us. In this narrow channel, there is barely room for one canoe, let alone a fishing boat. And the speed! It’s as if life thrust us from one century to the next in a single moment. All calm evaporates as “fight or flight” kicks in.

“Paddle right! Hard right!” my husband shouts over the engine.

I dig my paddle deep into the green-brown water, fighting against the liquid with biceps tightened. To our right is a tree stump. If we hit it, it could tip us into these alligator-infested waters. We cannot stop for the boat, because the current commands us to keep moving forward. We slip precariously, but surely, through the narrow pass between tree stump and shore. The motorboat barrels forward.

As the stranger’s boat cuts around the narrow bend ahead of us, the driver suddenly spies our tiny craft and quickly cuts his motor. He gives us a friendly wave as he sweeps past us, rocking our canoe unsteadily in his wake. We hold onto the sides with white knuckles, hopeful that the canoe remains upright. We are lucky, and it does.