Dance of the Reptiles (3 page)

Then, a few months ago, we got another chance. The producers of
Bad Boys 2
asked to use the MacArthur for a wild chase sequence, and local big shots promptly agreed to seal off the busy causeway for several days. The resulting traffic snarl was chaotic, and motorists were pretty ticked off. But all that aggravation and wasted gas surely will be worth it once the movie comes out and there’s Will Smith firing his gun out the car window, the S.S.
Norwalk
resplendent (though somewhat fuzzy) in the background.

Currently, South Florida is hosting a film called
2 Fast 2 Furious
. Unless you’re an adolescent male with an IQ hovering in the mid-80s, you might have missed the original.

Although the reviews weren’t especially kind, the movie made tons of money. The plot revolved around a group of daring young men who illegally raced their souped-up cars through crowded downtown streets in order to find their true inner selves.

Prominent in the cast was an actor named Vin Diesel, who has since ascended to big-time action stardom. Diesel opted out of the sequel, which instead will feature the major-screen debut of Ludacris, the hip-hop performer.

Okay, so we’re probably not talking Oscar bait.

Yet “FF2,” as it’s fondly known around town, offers a grand opportunity to show the screen industry how far we’ll go to get their stunt-driving business. Who needs Merchant and Ivory when you’ve got fast cars, hot babes, and miles of sunny expressways? And what better way to showcase South Florida’s natural vistas than through the windshield of a nitro-powered
Civic barreling a hundred miles an hour down the Turnpike extension?

Those who gripe about the roadblocks should be reminded that the movie production is pumping good money into our economy—hopefully enough to offset the thousands of work hours lost by commuters stuck in the gridlock.

And for those who say local film promoters ought to aim for something loftier than brainless action flicks, remember that the highest-grossing movie ever made down here was a 62-minute epic called
Deep Throat
, which earned more than $400 million.

In other words, things really could be worse.

This week, drivers in West Broward will be detoured from certain sections of I-75 and I-595, where the cast of FF2 is shooting yet another thrilling race scene. If we’re nice to them, they might even come back next year for FF3.

In which case we’ll loan them the entire Dolphin Expressway, if they want, because no sacrifice is too large in the name of art.

October 23, 2005

Will Pythons Deter Visitors? Let’s Hope So

Lock up the kids, put a GPS on your Jack Russell, and make way at the top of the food chain.

The killer pythons are here.

Visitors to South Florida recently clicked on the television to see an X-ray of a 12-footer that had eaten a rotund Siamese cat named Frances.

It was the lead story on the local news, hot on the heels of an incident in which another large python exploded after devouring a six-foot alligator in Everglades National Park.
The grisly photos of that gastronomical Vesuvius received front-page play all over the world.

Finally, the word is getting out that pythons are amok in the Sunshine State. Will this scare anyone away? We can only hope. Shark attacks, gator maulings, West Nile–oozing mosquitoes, flesh-eating bacteria, killer hurricanes every three or four weeks—none of these threats has significantly dented Florida’s insane growth rate.

An infestation of ravenous pythons, however, might deter potential newcomers to our state. Large mammal-eating snakes trigger a special primal fear in our otherwise cocky species. Sharks cruise and gators lurk, but at least we know where they hang out. Snakes, on the other hand, go wherever they please. They swim, they slither, they dig, and they climb.

Humans are as stunningly ignorant about reptiles as they are intrigued by them. About 144,000 Burmese pythons were imported by the pet trade into the United States last year, and many of those will either escape or eventually be freed by their owners.

That’s why Florida is crawling with the beasts today. Most people who buy them as babies are clueless about how fast they grow and how much space they require.

As one who owned snakes for years, I steered clear of exotic constrictors. Sharing a house with a 90-pound carnivorous predator required a deeper personal commitment than I was willing to make, not to mention a steady supply of full-grown rabbits.

Friends up north who’ve been reading about our python plague have asked if they eat humans. The same question, I suspect, is being worriedly pondered at the breakfast table in many South Florida households.

The answer is yes, though rarely. In one documented case, a teenager was devoured by a 31-foot reticulated python
in Indonesia. Ten years ago, a 23-footer killed and tried to swallow a worker at a rubber plantation in Kuala Lumpur.

More recently, Internet snake freaks eagerly disseminated a graphic photograph purporting to show a man’s corpse being removed from a dead anaconda in South America. Some experts believe the photo was faked.

In any case, it’s important to remember that snakes are primitive and undiscerning. They tend to eat whatever is available, sometimes without regard for proportions or digestibility. Witness the inflated ambitions of the now-famous Everglades python that expired after gobbling the alligator.

Tragically, there have been many cases of hungry pet snakes behaving like hungry wild ones. In 1984, an 11-month-old baby was strangled in bed by the family’s 10-foot pet reticulated python. This happened in Iowa, not the ideal climate for an active tropical reptile.

A New York man was killed in 1996 while trying to feed a live chicken to his 13-foot python, which mistook him for supper. A Colorado python owner suffered the same fate, his pet wrapping around him so tightly that it took a team of firefighters to pry the coils from his body.

In 1999, a 3-year-old Illinois boy was choked to death by his parents’ pet African rock python. Two years later, an 8-year-old Pennsylvania girl was critically injured by a 10-foot Burmese—one of five big snakes kept at her home—that wound around her neck and wouldn’t let go.

Obviously, a multitude of good reasons exist for parting company with an unmanageable python. The best way is to take it to a veterinarian or give it to an experienced reptile keeper.

Simply opening the car door and letting the snake go might be convenient, but it’s also profoundly stupid. Pythons have few natural enemies, Miami being short on wild jaguars
and tigers. The small python you set free today could be inhaling your neighbor’s prize parrot next year.

While eradication efforts are under way in the Everglades, some herpetologists believe it’s too late. They say the pythons, which breed prolifically, are here to stay.

As a public service, dire warnings should be issued to tourists and all those considering a permanent family move to Florida. Perhaps it will do some good, but who knows.

It was 16 years ago that I first wrote about the python invasion, after a 20-footer and a 17-footer were captured in local suburbs where they’d been feasting on raccoons and domestic pets.

The news didn’t seem to frighten a soul. People kept arriving, and so did the snakes.

Now we’re overrun with both, setting the stage for a classic Darwinian duel. Having seen big pythons in action, I definitely wouldn’t bet against them.

May 21, 2006

Folks Freak Out as Gator Panic Sweeps Florida

Full-bore alligator panic is sweeping Florida in the aftermath of three fatal attacks on humans.

Last weekend, a woman near Bradenton fired a handgun four times at a three-foot gator that she said was chasing her golden retriever. (If you see a gator that small eat a full-grown dog, call Ripley’s immediately.) The reptile survived the gunfire, and the woman was cited for hunting without a license.

The next day, a Pasco County sheriff’s deputy shot a nine-foot alligator in the head. The animal had entered the yard of a 75-year-old woman, supposedly “trapping” her in the home. (We must assume that the house had only one door.) In any
event, the cop’s bullet failed to dispatch the gator, which was later captured by a professional trapper.

On Wednesday, a Miramar police officer actually managed to kill one of the critters, plugging it in a residential neighborhood where it was allegedly menacing a Labrador retriever. The owner of the dog said his wife is so upset that she wants to sell the house and move away. To find a place that’s gator-free, they’ll have to leave the state.

Fear is a predictable public reaction to the recent spate of attacks, but you’re more likely to be hurt by someone shooting at a gator than you are by the gator itself.

They are not easy to kill. Their hide is thick and their brains are small, and if you miss the target, you’ll have succeeded in ticking off one of the earth’s most efficient predators.

That won’t stop a few people from trying. It will be a miracle if we get through the next few weeks without some half-wit shooting himself, his truck, or his drinking buddy instead of the alligator at which he’s aiming.

Considering how much of their native habitat has been drained and bulldozed, the hefty saurians have behaved themselves fairly well for a long time in Florida. Since 1948, 17 persons had been killed by gators—a remarkably low figure, given the constant interaction between the species. Then, this month, three women died in gruesome attacks. It’s not surprising that people are freaking out. The same thing happens after a wave of shark incidents. The difference is that sharks don’t crawl out of the water to sun themselves in your backyard.

The sight of even a puny alligator is now cause for delirium. The state’s Nuisance Alligator hotline is being flooded with calls—225 in one day last week.

Wildlife experts interviewed by the media are asked again and again: What’s going on out there? The dark implication is that gators have suddenly turned on humans, in revenge for us turning so many of them into handbags, shoes, and belts.

In reality, the answer is much less sinister. Florida has been experiencing uncommonly dry weather, and alligators are moving around in search of water and food. It’s also mating season, when they become more aggressive.

Still, the biggest factor in the attacks is the continuing encroachment of humanity. For eons the critters had the wetlands to themselves, and now the wetlands are subdivisions, and the subdivisions are full of people.

As primitive as they are, gators have adjusted to our presence far better than we’ve adjusted to theirs. That’s the problem with suburban specimens such as the one that tragically killed a jogger in Sunrise—they see so many people that they’re not particularly afraid of them anymore.

As reckless kids, my friends and I used to go bass fishing from inner tubes in the canals along Alligator Alley. We spotted plenty of gators, large and small, but they stayed away. Today they’ll follow you around like hungry mutts. It is definitely inadvisable to float among the lily pads, dangling one’s legs while dragging a stringer of fish.

One reason that alligators don’t mind people so much these days is that people feed them. This is an act of profound stupidity, and it’s also against the law. Hand-fed gators lose all fear and will, in the absence of table scraps, eagerly go after a pet poodle or even a child. Anybody caught feeding an alligator should be bound with duct tape and hauled off in the back of a pickup truck.

The smartest way to deal with gators is to avoid them,
which isn’t always easy in Florida. They were here first, and obviously, they’re not going anywhere.

Humans have always had a primal curiosity about the beasts that we dread, whether it’s a great white or a grizzly bear or a king cobra. This isn’t necessarily an unhealthy curiosity, unless it manifests itself in perilous behavior.

Alligators are fascinating animals to see up close, one of the last living dinosaurs on the planet. And they are the preeminent icon of Florida’s wilderness.

But they’re also killing machines. In millions of years, they haven’t changed their agenda, and they’re not going to change for us.

January 13, 2008

Good News: Fewer People Moving to Florida

The mad stampede of new residents into Florida is finally slowing down, the inevitable result of high taxes, miserable traffic, overcrowded classrooms, and other unappealing urban problems.

According to the Census Bureau, the state’s population grew by only 1.1 percent during the 12-month span ending last July 1. That’s a significant dip from the 1.8 percent increase recorded the previous year, and it drops Florida’s growth rate to 19th in the nation.

This is a cause for relief, not panic. Any lull in the avalanche of incoming humanity should be eagerly welcomed by the 18.3 million souls already living here. The last thing we need is more warm bodies clogging the roads, schools, courts, jails, and hospitals.

A break is long overdue. It’s not a crisis but rather an opportunity. At long last, state and community leaders might
be forced to intelligently confront the economic blowback from decades of inept planning and greed-fueled runaway growth.

With each passing day, Florida is becoming a less desirable place to live. For the first time in modern memory, moving companies report that they’re transporting more families out of the Sunshine State than into it.

The disenchantment is widespread and deep-seated, judging by a new Mason-Dixon survey that was released by Leadership Florida, a group founded by the state Chamber of Commerce.

Of more than 1,100 residents interviewed by telephone in November, 43 percent said their quality of life has declined over the last five years. That’s an eye-popping number, up 7 percent from 2006.

More evidence that lots of people see their Florida dream dissolving: Of those surveyed, only 24 percent said they think things will get better during the next five years. Thirty-seven percent believe the state will become a worse place to live during that time.

The increasingly glum outlook of many Floridians isn’t just a reaction to off-the-chart property taxes and insurance rates, as politicians want us to believe.