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Near Miami, Florida’s land of Seminoles and alligators

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Saturday, 22 October 2011

Near Miami, Florida’s land of Seminoles and alligators By Andrea Sachs, Published: October 20 The estimated 500 residents of the 55,000-acre Big Cypress Seminole Indian Reservation have loads of elbow room. As do the countless alligators, which drift like solitary logs in the boundless Everglades of South Florida. Yet during a two-day stay, I never felt alone. I had plenty of company to keep me amused — from a safe distance. Big Cypress Seminole Reservation: How to get there, what to do, where to stay Big Cypress, about 80 miles northwest of Miami, is the largest of Florida’s five reservations. Compared with the Seminole land in the city of Hollywood, just south of Fort Lauderdale and the site of a Hard Rock casino and hotel, it’s much purer in scenery and experience. It’s also the best place to go “Heart of Darkness” deep into the Everglades, the hideout of imperiled tribe members during the 19th-century Seminole wars. The Florida Seminoles’ knowledge of the challenging terrain was key to their survival. (Total population: 3,500, up from about 200 after the last war in 1855-58.) For example, they knew how to build dugout canoes from cypress trees, how to weave swamp palms into roofs and how to avoid some of the more treacherous threats of swamp life, such as creatures with harrowing teeth. My shameful confession: I stepped on a fire ant nest my only night on the reservation. Neither the ants nor I were happy about this situation. They expressed their anger by biting me; I responded by throwing water on myself as if I were in flames. But it could have been worse: An alligator could have mistaken me for a chew stick. Wild critters of limited cuddliness and abundant fascination inhabit Billie Swamp Safari, a 2,200-acre eco-adventure ­­park on the reservation. Created by tribal chief James Billie, the park features an energetic roster of activities, such as airboat rides, a half-mile nature trail and a rugged buggy excursion. In the center of the village-style property, a “no petting” zoo displays specimens you hope never to find in your shoe (Chilean rose hair tarantula, giant emperor scorpion) or beneath your car (caiman, alligator). Guests are also invited to a Seminole slumber party in the chickees, traditional wooden huts with a thatched roof and primitive conveniences: kerosene lanterns, beds covered with patterned Indian blankets, a door that opens and closes. Thirty cabins stud the land, some precariously close to the swamp, others conveniently near the communal restroom facility. (No sinks or toilets in the lodgings.) “Two crocodiles, or alligators, whatever they are, swam up to our porch,” said Pip, the male half of a British couple residing at Billie’s last month. “There was a little one and a big one that chased it away.” I ran into the Brits, my only homo sapiens comfort that evening, en route to the fireside storytelling, held between the alligator pit and the herpetarium. I decided that I could miss the “Once upon a time” opening for a gator sighting. I followed the pair to the back porch of their hut, the scene of their original glimpse. I leaned hard over the railing, searching for glowing eyes or a Cyrano-esque snout among the lily pads and saw grass. The gators were playing hard to get. Or perhaps they’d all escaped. http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/travel/near-miami-floridas-land-of-seminoles-and-alligators/2011/09/23/gIQAx0y60L_story.html

 

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