I was part of a research team in the Everglades National Park from 1967 to 1969 doing the first overall study of the ecology of the ‘Glades. This is one of those stories.

During my first visit to Cottonmouth Camp I found out what it was like to be both the new guy on the block AND low man on the totem pole. The cabin was on the edge of a tree island, and in the middle of all of these were gator holes. Please see the appendices for an explanation of the basic ecology of the Everglades. One of the questions we were trying to answer was what effect the wind had on the oxygenation of the water. You will notice I never refer to the Glades as a swamp. It was not. It was a broad slow-moving river in an exact geological sense. There was an anemometer suck on a pole so that its cups were right at the surface of the water. Of course, the gator wasn’t very considerate in avoiding it so we more often than not found it tilting into the water so that it couldn’t turn and measure our total wind movement. This eventually proved a fruitless avenue for our research, but we hadn’t given up by then.

Aaron says, “Phil, wade in and replant it upright”.

I said, “I thought you said that’s a gator hole?”

“Yep, it is.”

“Well, that means there’s an alligator in it!”

“No, the water is high now, so they spread out into the swamp. He won’t be there now.”

“How do you know he hasn’t come home for a change of clothes or to check his mail?”

“Spitzer, get in there and do it!”

I look around and on the corner of the cabin are hanging a couple of pair of waders.

“Well, if I’m going in there I’m putting those on!”

“We never do. I wouldn’t if I were you.” I didn’t listen. I get them on and lower myself down over the side into the water. So far so good. I start slogging toward the windmill. Just as I’m about to reach it the depth increased dramatically. They don’t call it a gator hole for nothing. Water starts pouring in over the top of the waders, and I turn around to head back to safety before I drown. Meantime Fred and Aaron are rolling around on the deck holding their sides in pain because they are laughing so hard. They knew that would happen.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting out!”

“Not until you fix the anemometer.”

I try to move. Have you ever tried to walk through foot deep mud in waders full of heavy water? Can’t be done. I try to get them off, but it is almost impossible. I take a deep breath and go under water, and after a few tries I succeed. By now I’ve roiled the waters with mud, I’ve got peat particles in every inch of my clothing, but I get the windmill replanted. I have long since forgotten about the gator. I climb out, empty and hang the waders, and I’m taking my clothes off when Fred says, “Don’t forget to pull those off.”

I look down. I am covered with leeches! I thought they only existed in Africa; you know, the African Queen and Humphrey Bogart. When you pull them off you bleed freely because their saliva has an anticoagulant to make it easier to feed and an anesthetic, so you don’t feel the bite. Brother! What a way to be introduced to the heart of the Everglades, which I had loved ever since we moved to Florida, and its innermost secrets which few people have ever experienced because of restricted access. And I did NOT disappoint Aaron and Fred who had great fun at the tinhorn’s expense that day!