Paddleboarding with alligators

“We can paddle the Winter Park chain of lakes, where you’ll see lots of other people kayaking, swimming and paddleboarding. Or we can head to the wild and scenic Econ which is teeming with alligators - your choice.”

Now at this point you’re probably thinking that choice would be a fairly easy one to make. But this was an assignment for WideWorld magazine, after all, and who wants to read about a paddleboarding trip along a scenic waterway teeming with other people doing the same thing?

“Alligator river,” I said, immediately regretting it.

The good news was, if anyone looked like they could protect us from a Florida alligator hell-bent on human destruction, it was our guide, Ned Johnson. Ned looked like Crocodile Dundee but with shorter hair and an American accent. He even had a nickname that sounded like someone who could handle himself: Paddleboard Jack.

“Do you have a gun, in case we get attacked?” I asked.

“Gator knife,” he replied, cackling.

Although Ned insisted that, unlike crocodiles which are known for their aggression, alligators rarely attack humans, he then regaled us with the tale of a girl who had been bitten recently at a nearby state park. It was the ‘recently’ bit that I didn’t like, but Ned assured me that alligators generally sit still on the riverbed, mouths open, waiting for passing fish. And as long as we didn’t corner one - or, presumably, put our feet in its mouth - we’d be okay.

The night before, my friend Matt and I had eaten deep fried strips of alligator meat at a seafood restaurant in Orlando. I secretly hoped that perhaps the smell of last night’s dinner emitting from our pores would warn off any predators. Come near us and you’ll be tonight’s supper, our scent screamed at them. At the very least, if I was to be their next meal, at least I’d had the last laugh in a funny sort of way.

The Econlockhatchee river - known, thankfully, as the Econ for short - is about an hour east of Orlando, Florida. And its abundant population of alligators is thanks largely to its remoteness. We’d be maneuvering our stand-up paddleboards through the Econ River Wilderness Area, a 240 acre park of pines and swamps. It was to be just us, the trees, the river and the abundant wildlife including sandhill cranes, bald eagles, ospreys, hawks, deer. And alligators.

I’d paddleboarded before, so I knew vaguely what I was doing. It’s a fairly easy sport to take up - it takes about 30 minutes to get your balance, and after that you’re away. Ned actually had 10-plus years under his belt as a world champion wakeboarder before he took up paddleboarding. He still competes, but paddleboarding is his way of relaxing.

We put in at a secluded spot under a road bridge and we planned to paddle against the current for the afternoon before turning around and letting it take us, effortlessly, back to the bridge.

Aside from me, Ned and Matt, there was David, Ned’s colleague who helps run the paddleboarding business.

The four of us headed upriver and immediately, as we turned the bend, the remoteness of this place hit us. The Econ isn’t a wide river - maybe 30 feet at most - and for the entire afternoon we’d encounter only three other people: kayakers out braving the alligator river for the day..

We hadn’t been gone 30 minutes when I heard a splash behind me - Matt had toppled off his board into the murky depths of the Econ. He emerged laughing, but climbed on his paddleboard fairly quickly when Ned pointed out it probably wasn’t a good idea to fall in here. “I saw a big gator in this same spot last week,” he said. “They tend to stick around the same place. They’re very territorial.”

And that’s when we saw it. “Look over to the left,” Ned said, quietly. “Woah, that’s a monster.”

I couldn’t see anything at first - just the overhanging branches of a tree and a bank of white sand flecked with twigs and river debris. But then something moved.

Ned estimated this particular ‘monster’ to be about 12 feet long. Evidently disturbed by the commotion of Matt’s fall and our subsequent laughter, it dropped in off the bank and began swimming towards us. “Keep paddling, gently,” Ned said.

The reptile looked even bigger as it approached, but for some strange reason I think I was too in awe of its size and the fact I had never been this close to one before to be scared. As it got within three feet or so of my paddleboard, it disappeared, sinking below the surface, leaving just bubbles where its gnarly head had been.

“It’s, er, underneath me,” I said.

“Don’t fall in,” Ned cackled.

For the next five minutes, we continued paddling upriver, but with a stream of bubbles following faithfully by our side. And then, it was gone - just as quickly as it had appeared.

We kept looking on both sides of the bank for any more signs of life. There was the occasional splosh of a critter - probably an alligator - entering the water, but I didn’t see any more for the rest of our journey. After a few hours of paddling we reached a bridge, the water became shallow enough to see the sandy bed, and we pulled our paddleboards up on a sparse bank. I even dared to swim - Ned assured us that all that splashing about would deter any unwanted company.

“Anyone for some Pirate Punch,” Ned asked. It was just the thing for frayed nerves but strangely I wasn’t phased by my close encounter. Still, I couldn’t resist Ned’s concoction of rum and Gatorade. It was the perfect toast to the monster of the Econ that had, thankfully, spared us. This time.

Ned and David run Paddleboard Orlando. To book lessons or a trip to see gators on the Econ, visit: www.paddleboardorlando.com
Ned posted some of our trip online at: www.youtube.com/totalnedtraining