In Florida, more close encounters of the toothy kind

Ralph Othus was raking recently behind his mobile home in Tavares, Fla., when a surprise visitor showed up. As he mounded up the last bit of weeds near a canal, a several-hundred-pound alligator suddenly lunged at him from out of the water.

Mr. Othus did what any self-respecting retired insurance manager would probably do, as long as he still had insurance: He stood his ground and kept the menacing intruder at bay with his rake. After a brief clash of teeth and tongs, Othus was triumphant, sending the alligator wriggling back into the canal.

His backyard encounter is one of a growing number of alligator sightings and scuffles in Florida this summer - some of them serious.

True, alligator attacks are as much a part of the culture and mythology of the Sunshine State as bear encounters in Montana or jellyfish stings in California. But in recent months, the intrusions have been numerous enough - and strange enough - to wonder if there's not some wildlife conspiracy going on, orchestrated as fodder for a new Carl Hiaasen book.

Take Ruth Gay's recent scary - but ultimately triumphant - night. The great-grandmother from Fort Myers was out in her backyard, walking the family dog, when she slipped on the dewy grass. Injured and unable to move, she cried softly.

That alerted an alligator, who crept out of a nearby canal and headed straight for her. But then, the dog - a scrappy Australian blue heeler - started growling. He chased the gator into the darkness, eventually forcing it to retreat. In the end, both great-grandmother and dog received medical attention, but are recovering. For their pet's heroism, the family gave him a new toy - a plastic alligator.

Granted, alligator clashes don't occur every day. So far this year, Florida has officially recorded eight attacks on humans. Last year, there were 21.

Yet the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission says these numbers represent an increase. From 1948 to 1959, Florida recorded only two attacks total. From 1960 to 1971, there were none.

The attacks also appear to be more violent. Of the 11 deaths attributed to alligators since 1948, two have been this year alone.

One involved a 2-year-old, who wandered away from her Winter Haven home to a nearby lake. The other was a man who was found floating in a Venice retention pond this summer with an eight-foot alligator circling it.

While some incidents are serious, others are more plain bizarre. Gators are turning up in unusual places, like drainage ditches, heavily traveled roads, and even swimming pools.

A prime reason for the turn of events is the state's drought of the past two years. With their usual habitats drying up, gators have had to travel farther for food. That means they often end up roaming waterfront neighborhoods. And since such properties have exploded in popularity, more people are coming into contact with the reptiles.

Then, too, many newcomers to Florida aren't familiar with the usual rules of alligator etiquette. Rule No. 1: Never feed them, which is not only unwise but against the law.

"A typical example is you have a new subdivision with a retention pond in the middle, and an alligator lives there," says Henry Cabbage, a spokesman for the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission and an alligator expert. "The people living there name the alligator Old Joe and throw hot dogs to him. Then what you've got is a 12-foot-monster, with a brain the size of thumb, that associates people with food."

The growing man-alligator encounters have heightened an enduring debate over whether harsher measures are needed to deal with the reptiles. Some residents want the alligators removed from their communities, while others argue they should be left to do what gators do - catch birds and sunbathe along the banks.

Joe Dougherty, a St. Petersburg resident, has taken up a campaign for the former - even though a 350-pound gator that was believed to have eaten his dog has been trapped and killed. "I think every alligator should be removed from neighborhoods and relocated to some place in the swamp where they won't hurt anyone."

The retired hardware-store worker has passed out letters and copies of newspaper articles in his neighborhood and even mailed one to Gov. Jeb Bush.

But Cabbage says the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission will not approve the removal on an alligator "just because it's there. It has to demonstrate some threat, that it has lost its natural fear of man," he says.

The Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission gets about 15,000 gator complaints a year. A third of those are acted on, with the state contracting independent trappers to catch and kill the dangerous alligators.

Meanwhile, some residents accept gators as just a part of living in Florida. Albert Gibson, who has lived on a canal for 20 years, says he has no hard feelings toward the now-one-eyed gator suspected in the attack on his mother-in-law, Ruth Gay. "I think under the circumstances it was understandable," he says. "The gator is just a wild animal. Wildlife has their place. A lot of people don't understand that and take chances they ought not to take."