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In looking back at the series of photos taken in 2001 showing me holding the Burmese python I received in the visitor center, I can’t help but realize I was smiling in every picture (Figure 1). It’s not surprising—I chose to be a park ranger primarily out of a sense of wonder for the natural world in general, and an appreciation for south Florida ecology in particular. To me, Burmese pythons are as worthy of admiration as any alligator, orchid, or egret. I am fascinated by reptiles of every shape and size. While some people feel an affinity for birds or plants, I hold a special place in my heart for anything scaly—particularly snakes. In my mind, any creature capable of climbing so high on the food chain unaided by limbs deserves more than a modicum of respect.
Yet it was also a genuine lack of understanding that allowed me and others to easily dismiss the seriousness of such a seemingly random occurrence. Beginning in the 1970s, several isolated encounters with large constrictors had been recorded in the park. Individual specimens of both the red-tailed boa (Boa constrictor) and the ball python (Python regius) were captured, as were several reticulated pythons (Python reticulatus). As each of the aforementioned species was commonly—and cheaply—available for purchase at local pet stores, it seemed likely that the animals being recovered in the park were releases by overwhelmed owners seeking to relieve themselves of pets for which they could no longer provide care or no longer wanted.
In 1979, a lone Burmese python was found dead along the Tamiami Trail, a two-lane highway that skirts the northern boundary of Everglades National Park. At nearly twelve feet in length, the snake certainly fit the profile of other suspected releases. As is customary in parks and preserves, the observation was recorded as part of the expansive database that provides long-term documentation of the area’s natural history. Thereafter, more than 15 years lapsed before another Burmese python was collected.
In 1995, on a chilly mid-December day, a park employee driving along the main park road encountered not one, but two Burmese pythons basking on the asphalt. Both individuals were captured in close proximity to one another in an area just north of Flamingo—a remote outpost and visitor facility at the southernmost terminus of the 38-mile-long road that traverses the park. Since the 1980s, park rangers had occasionally reported seeing pythons in this area, but physically collecting two within only ten minutes provided park scientists with considerable fodder for thought. And that one of the serpents was a relatively young juvenile measuring only two feet added to the curiosity of the day’s events.
Subsequent years saw a surprising upswing in observations of pythons in the park. Whereas only one python had been collected between 1979 and 1994, eleven pythons were removed from the park between 1995 and 2000. Of these, eight were found in areas near Flamingo—an increasingly evident hotspot of invasion (Figure 2). All but one were longer than four feet, generally considered a length at which Burmese pythons are no longer juveniles. The trend caught the attention of park biologist Bill Loftus and Walter Meshaka, the park’s curator and an avid herpetologist. In 2000, the pair penned a herpetological inventory of the park in which they noted that the collection of multiple Burmese pythons of various sizes from a very specific region near Flamingo—coupled with the existence of voucher specimens carefully preserved in the park collection—provided ample evidence to consider the species to be established in the Everglades. Although some criticized their conclusion as being premature, Loftus and Meshaka would ultimately enjoy substantial vindication for their assessment.
Reports and captures of pythons by park staff and visitors continued to increase in ensuing years. Three were captured in 2001, with several more reported. The following year, an unprecedented 14 were removed. Among this number were several juveniles, which seemed to provide stronger evidence of a reproducing population. After all, owners of such small and manageable snakes would have little need to release their captives in the wild.
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The Anhinga Trail is perhaps one of the most popular visitor areas in Everglades National Park. On a typical winter day, the trail hosts literally thousands of pedestrians hoping to catch a glimpse of everything for which the Everglades is known. The network of deep water canals and lakes in the area remain wet even during the harshest droughts, providing an irresistible draw for the aquatic denizens that call the Glades home. Thousands of fish, snakes, birds, turtles, and alligators crowd the area, providing visitors the opportunity to witness interactions reminiscent of a National Geographic special—and all from the relative safety of an elevated boardwalk. A popular trail spur, known informally as Frankie Point, overlooks a relatively small patch of elevated ground, allowing visitors to feast their eyes on the dozens of alligators that routinely compete for prime real estate.
Visitors to the Anhinga Trail got an unusually exciting spectacle in January of 2003. At first glance, the gaggle of people looking out over Frankie Point might have considered the sight before them rather ordinary for the Everglades—a conspicuously large alligator approached, swimming toward them with a snake held tightly in its jaws. But as the fearsome predator drew near, it was apparent his early-morning snack was rather extraordinary. The snake, still very much alive, was roughly 10–15 feet in length and coiling the remainder of its linear mass tightly around its captor. (Figure 3)
Though appearing somewhat compromised, the alligator managed to lumber onto a nearby patch of dry ground. Now exposed, the details of the duel were easier to discern. Though the alligator had grabbed the python just behind the head in its toothy jowls, the remainder of the snake snugly girdled the trunk of the now static alligator several times around. There the pair remained locked in battle for approximately 24 hours, before a rotating cavalcade of hundreds of wide-eyed visitors and park staff. Little seemed to change during that time, save that the snake seemed to grow increasingly limp with every passing hour. By the morning of the next day, observers had written off the serpent, as it lay motionless and still—no doubt punctured to deflation by the alligator’s piercing grin.
When threatened, alligators will sometimes open their mouths and hiss loudly in an impressive defensive display. Opportunities to observe this behavior are plentiful along the Anhinga Trail. Thus, when a slightly larger alligator arrived in the area that morning and pulled close to investigate the scene for itself, it was almost expected that such a display would ensue. That the successful hunter began to open his jaws wide to avert a confrontation was not surprising. What was surprising, however, was the near-instantaneous resurrection of the snake everyone had given up for dead. In the blink of an eye, the serpent tensed its sinewy muscles and darted like a shot into nearby vegetation—never to be seen again. Though speculation ensued about whether or not the python was mortally wounded, this much was known for certain: the snake had tangled for 24 hours with the monarch of the Everglades marsh, and somehow, it had ended in a draw.
Visitors to the trail that day were privy to history—the first time ever that an Old World python had ever been observed tangling with a New World American alligator. The size of the animals, the prolonged nature of the duel, and the ultimate outcome helped stoke healthy media interest. Amidst the ensuing interviews with local reporters, park scientists were left to wonder if anything in the Everglades could successfully kill and consume a fully grown Burmese python.
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Exactly where alligators and pythons ranked in the Everglades food chain would remain unclear for nearly two years. A second alligator/python encounter was captured in a series of photographs along the main park road in June of 2005. In the open marsh of Taylor Slough, the alligator was clearly photographed pointing its snout upwards, repeatedly throwing back remnants of a large python like a bucket of raw oysters.
The 2005 encounter, unlike that at the Anhinga