Leslie Anne Tarabella Southern With a Gulf Coast Accent

Alligators in the Bay

Yes, there are alligators in and around Mobile Bay. They’ve followed kayakers, snatched small pets, and even stalked picnicking couples. Geese at the public duck pond are feathery feasts for the leathery beasts. Tourists find alligators interesting, but locals know their devious side and stay away. 

Sitting on the beach one Sunday afternoon, I watched my 3-year-old son play on the edge of the Bay. As he played, something in the water caught my eye, and I squinted to see two beady eyes surface about 20 feet from shore. The eyes submerged then popped back up a few feet closer. As my snack-sized son moved along the beach, the alligator eyes followed, back and forth, left then right. It wasn’t the relaxing day I’d planned, so we hiked back up the bluff and went home. 

After that encounter, I was always mindful of the stealthy beasts slithering near the Bay. I know the argument; we built our city in their habitat, and they have first right of refusal on anything edible, yet we want to share the area, with our share being wherever we are and their share being far away from that. 

Many of you will understand that as my sons grew older, keeping them away from the area where the alligators rollicked and roiled became difficult. My sons and the mama alligator’s sons shared the same natural habitat. She was probably just as fearful of my sons as I was of hers, but the allure of the shared play space was so enticing; what was I to do? Generations of Fairhope children have played in the gullies and along the Bay, and several of my older friends told me it was perfectly safe to allow my sons to “roam” the town. After all, it’s what made them so incredible. “A childhood in Fairhope is wasted if the boys sit inside all day.” 

I totally agreed, and since I’ve never been one to use TV or video games as childhood entertainment, I decided to kick the boys out of the house, but only after giving them strict safety instructions. 

Basic reptile education, respect for nature, and directions to “run like crazy.” Were about all I could offer. Running in a zig-zag pattern slows the alligator down, or does it? Climbing a tree is always good, but no matter what, the #1 thing that equipped them to handle the dangerous toothy predator was prayer. A mother’s prayers are the most potent tool against childhood mishaps. So, it was up to me to keep them safe. 

One afternoon, my husband and I joined the boys on a walk to the Bay. Crossing the swamp on a homemade wobbly boardwalk consisting of two warped boards, the boys led me to their favorite spot to watch the sunset. Just as the sky turned purple, we heard an alligator give a loud “grumph-harumph!” — yes, that’s the only way I know how to explain it in writing. In person, I could give you a much better impersonation. My husband said it was no big deal, but it haunted me all night. 

The next day, I bravely walked down the wooded path to the Bay on my own, and sure enough, as I came within sight of the water, I heard the alligator again. Arriving home at a record speed, I called the Department of Alabama Wildlife Services, who redirected me to two other offices before someone took my call. 

“Yes, hello?” 

“Hi, I live in Fairhope and need to let you know about an alligator that’s in the middle of a populated area where neighborhood children play.  

I could hear the man sigh as if I were the 14th overly concerned mother he’d talked to that day. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, but have you seen this alligator yourself?”

“No, but I heard it.”

“How do you know what an alligator sounds like?”

“I grew up along the coast and just know these sort of things.” 

“Yes, ma’am, I understand. So, how exactly does this alligator sound to you?”

“Like a 300-pound frog.” And then I gave him my dead-ringer impersonation of “grumph – harumph!”

“Ummm, we’ll be out later this afternoon.” 

 “I thought so.” 

Two game officials arrived and the boys and I pointed them toward the alligator’s evil lair. After about 30 minutes, they returned and said they had indeed located the gator, and although he was larger than expected, he was still too small to relocate. 

“You’d rather move a large alligator than a small one?” 

“Yes ma’am. That’s how it works.”

Does any part of the government make sense? 

So I did what I’m called to do; I started praying the official prayer for protection from modern-day beady-eye dinosaurs. I think I originally read it in the back of the Broadman Hymnal. When I was finished, that was one prayed over and confused alligator. 

Exactly one week later, Hurricane Ivan blew through town, taking down buildings, trees, and power lines and washing away the alligator. We don’t know where he went, but he was never heard from again. 

See you later, scary gator. Prayers from moms are even greater.