Our Epic Everglades Adventure

January 18th, 2023: Everglades Safari Park brings you deep into the magnificent landscape that’s home to exotic wildlife and vegetation unique to the Sunshine State.

I'm in my absolute glory when I'm out on the road, national park bound with hundreds of miles behind me, a Subway sandwich beside me, and new adventures ahead of me.

I rarely have a co-pilot or a convoy on my trail, but the few times I do, I'm experiencing an almost indescribable high.

Just as January 2023 began, I was itching to hit the road. I've noticed roughly every two months, my travel bug flares up, and the only prescription is more cowbell—I mean, travel. Luckily, I had a flight to Florida already booked, and my plan to stay with my Mom and Stepdad, who rented a house down there for a month to try out retiree living, was already underway.

Florida has never been a favorite of mine—it's just not my kind of climate, but I'm not in the business of turning down gift trips! Still, the thought of staying put anywhere for a week isn't exactly my idea of a vacation. But covering 350 miles a day in a car I'll give back after a week or two—now you're speaking my vacay love language. So to appease my adventurous needs, I threw a few ideas out to my family to see if I had any takers. The consensus on Disney World was lukewarm at best. Been there, done that, said my aunts, who strolled my cranky, heat-hating self around the parks one August more than 20 years ago.

Next, I pitched Everglades National Park. I braced myself for rejection because it's not exactly around the corner from the Tampa area, and it seemed like it would've been too good to be true for everyone to be into a total me adventure. But to my surprise, everyone was all in on an Everglades excursion! Not only were my mom, Stepdad, aunts, and uncle on board with the journey way downstate, but they were also up for airboat rides, a swamp buggy tour, and spending a night down there. We even added Big Cypress National Preserve to our itinerary! 

I was elated—floored by my down-ass crew family! All I could think about in the days leading up to this adventure was, "I'm about to take a road trip with my family—my extended family! My extended family…is about to take a road trip…with me!"

We rented two cars which kind of made it even neater—we were rolling deep. If only we had walkie-talkies for quicker, cooler communication between cars. On January 18th, we were hitting the pavement bright and early, which was fine by me because that's how I operate on a big drive day. We all crisscrossed through the condo, grabbing last-minute sunscreen and safari hats. Those born to be early risers—Jim and my Aunt Fran, sipped coffee casually while the rest of us floundered, hunting down sunglasses on top of our heads.

I have to give myself credit because here's a case where I would've expected myself to be getting antsy or envying my alone time on the road so I could bolt the second the urge arises or lounge a little longer out of pure laziness just because I feel like it, but all of those independent reflexes were silenced by sheer gratitude for a unique experience that can never be replicated. I was so overcome with appreciation that my Mom Marianne, my Stepdad Jim, my Aunt Mary, my Aunt Fran, and my Uncle Teddy were all gathered here today to do the thing I love most, all because I suggested it. I'm still so touched that we did this together.

That morning, I led our caravan out of Reddington Shores and down to the depths of Alligator Alley. We were making great time on the count of the speed limit being pretty much whatever you want it to be. I think the sneakers I wore that day allegedly had some bricks in the bottom, which may have also played a role—not sure, though. We had a 1:00 pm reservation for a 50-minute tour of Big Cypress Preserve booked with Wooten's Everglades Airboat Tours, and since it was a 3.5-hour journey—it didn't hurt to give our ponies a little horsepower.

Barrelling down I-75, a call came in from the other car—it was a request for a bio break—a term I'd never heard, but instinctively I knew what it meant. They were reeling me back in, saying slow your roll, sister—we need restrooms and refreshments! I laughed because I needed those things too, but my brick boots often overrule what my body wants.

We pulled into the gas station, and instinctively, I knew what was coming, "Well, if it isn't Miss Danica Patrick, finally slowing down to give us a rest!" my uncle said, making us all laugh. My Aunt Mary reminded me, "Yea, Lauren, we're old people, we've got needs!" They all agreed that I would've driven all the way there if they hadn't called to request a stop. My poor Mom and Jim being held hostage bathroom-less in my vehicle.

Already, we were off to a great start—laughing, making inside jokes, scouting out nearby fast-food joints. And it's a good thing they were with me, too, because on the road alone, I don't always prioritize my own bathroom and eating needs. Ah, there's a pee cup in the back, and I've got pretzels in the front—I'm good—carry on. But thanks to them, I got to sink my teeth into delicious chicken McNuggets dipped in ranch and the famous fries that are salted to perfection just beyond those iconic golden arches.

With only an hour before go-time in Big Cypress, we didn't linger for long. We hopped right back onto I-75 South and resumed follow-the-leader mode. With Danica leading the charge in the left lane, we were quick to reach what would become one of my favorite two-lane highways: Tamiami Trail, aka the Highway to the Everglades. 

We pulled into Wooten's gravel parking lot with only seven minutes to spare—just barely enough time for one last bio break. We hustled from the bathroom to the boats that were glistening in the gator-filled water. Those of us unsure of how the motion of an airboat would influence our tender tummies quickly strapped on our anti-nausea wristbands. I, for one, put my heaviest-duty band on since even the gentle sway of a swinging bench can send me straight to the bowl.

We stepped onto a wide, silver boat with three benches at least eight feet across. Our mere footsteps made the boat move. I got a little panicky when I realized what a lightweight vehicle it was. It almost felt like a big empty can that I could lift if I were in the water. Our captain Matt welcomed us with a quick overview of our tour and some things we'd see and learn. Each of us had a pair of bulky, over-ear headphones wrapped around the back of our seats. As we maneuvered them over our safari hats and fastened our chin chords, I noticed Matt wasn't putting on headphones. His tenth-degree tan signaled to me that he was a man who had grown so accustomed to the Florida sun and the songs of the airboat's motor that his ears and skin didn't require the same protection we Yanks did. Let it be known that Captain Matt was also a sight for sore eyes—a Floridian Crocodile Dundee providing as much visual intrigue as the gators around him.

Once we were all seated and settled, he asked if we were ready to go really fast, and indeed we were. I was pumped to see what that airboat could really do—and just a bit nervous about what it might do to my stomach, but excitement overpowered fear, and with a rev of the engine, we were off! We launched from the dock at bullet speed—wind at our faces, whipping my hair into a frenzy. I couldn't help but squeal with excitement. I reached to my right to make sure my emergency bag full of all sorts of stomach remedies and GoPro accessories, was still at my side, and indeed, it wasn't. Panicked, I looked behind me, and my Stepdad was holding it. When we took off, it flew backward—luckily, Jim was quick enough to catch it. We were really moving.

Mini waves crashed beneath us, countless mangroves bowed beside us, welcoming us deeper into the preserve Matt knew by heart. He did some side-skidding twists and tricks to change direction and give us a taste of what an airboat could really do. It was exhilarating! He cut the motor anytime there was a hint of a gator sighting. And every time he even remotely saw signs of a gator, he was right, there was indeed an eight-to-thirteen-foot gator lurking in the mangroves or swimming slowly through the swamp.

Matt brought us to our first look-and-learn stop in a nook under a tree. As he maneuvered the boat onto what looked and felt like a sandbar, I realized, we were barely in the water. I exhaled, knowing I didn't have to be afraid of feeling sick while we waded there. Matt climbed to the front of the boat and explained that the water throughout the preserve ranges from 1 inch to 1 foot deep. He asked how we all did with the ride into the preserve and explained that he noticed we were wearing anti-motion-sickness wristbands and said he'd be happy to make any adjustments to make it as comfortable a ride as possible. Cute and thoughtful, I thought to myself. We were all impressed by how observant he was to notice a detail like that. Truthfully, we were all fine—no nausea and no more nerves for me now that I knew what I was dealing with and that there wasn't much depth to the water.

We didn't realize it at first, but Matt had parked us directly across from a gator sunbathing at the base of some mangroves. Wow! He was so close, yet a safe distance away, but what a perfect sighting—almost as if it was staged, but of course, it wasn't—there's nothing but nature out in the preserve. Matt went on to explain so many fascinating gator facts and statistics—like how they all become killers once they hit eight feet, but how they're the laziest creatures alive during the day and really wouldn't bother you unless provoked.

Before this trip, I had been on a "who would win in a fight" kick, particularly as it related to sharks and bears. So, naturally, when Matt started to explain how pythons are basically taking over the world—or at least the southeast—I was pretty intrigued and vocal about it. "Ah ok, I can see you're a fan of hypothetical scenarios. Well here's another one for you, young lady—who would win python vs. gator?" Tickled by being called young lady and being indulged in my love of hypotheticals, I blurted out, "Gator!" maybe just in hopes that my favorite of the two species would come out on top. Matt regretted to inform me that I was incorrect. Damnit. I hate being incorrect. He explained that a python could swallow a gator whole. Deer antlers have been found in the bellies of pythons. He went on to explain what a problem they are and how they've been multiplying and making their way north ever since Hurricane Andrew decimated a zoo freeing the reptiles that were held in captivity. They've been ravaging Florida and everything that crosses their paths ever since.

I was fascinated—enthralled by the whole experience. Combine mental stimulation with a thrilling ride through the wild, and for me, it's a paring as delectable as chocolate on strawberries. I never wanted the excursion to end, so naturally, it went by way too fast. We passed other airboats on our way through the mangrove avenues—Matt let the boat sit in particular places so we could watch other boats go flying by. He knew the exact moment they'd approach, and we watched in awe.

I had many questions for Matt, and he was more than happy to answer each one with informative tidbits. Finally, I asked him how much fun it is to drive one of those things, and he admitted that it never gets old—it's an absolute blast every time. Then he asked if I would be interested in learning how to drive one, and my brain almost blew a fuse firing off its most innate response, "YES!" Me?! Drive an airboat?! I want to drive anything and everything—oh please, oh please, let me drive your airboat—I thought to myself. "Well if you come back down in August when it's too hot for most folks to want to visit here, I'll take you out and teach you how to drive." My eyes were the size of gator eggs, and my brain was already booking Delta flights down for August. I'm not sure anybody hates the heat and humidity quite as passionately as I do, but my love for driving things dominates. This was basically the equivalent of a marriage proposal in my book, so I was mentally already on my way back down.

What an adventure we had! What an education we got! And next, we got to have a hands-on experience with real-life baby gators. We lined up with kids and adults alike for a chance to hold a sweet, scaly gator, and ours was named Jelly Bean. She was precious and couldn't have been more than 16-18 inches long and two months old. It's hard to imagine how a creature so cute and tiny could grow a foot evolving into the predator she was born to be. 

We learned that gators are coldblooded, which makes them able to run fast for about ten seconds before they get tired and need to rest. American gators can live up to 50 years, sink their eyeballs into their skulls, and their tails are 90% muscle. We also learned that gator teeth are hollow, and these beasts go through about 3,000 in a lifetime.

We ended our day at Wooten's with a swamp buggy tour through the woodlands of Big Cypress National Preserve. If you've never heard of or seen a swamp buggy, it's sort of like the Floridian version of Boston's duck boats—it's a large vehicle designed to drive through water and over dry land. But duck boats look more amphibious, and swamp buggies look more like relatives of John Deere machinery. Our driver, Michael, knew just about everything there was to know about the terrain he took us through. I could've pointed to any plant, scat, or animal track, and he would've been able to tell me what it was or where it came from.

By the end of the day, I was ready to segue into a second career as an airboat guide and change my name legally to Vicki Vallencourt. The next morning, we took another tour on the water, this time through the river of grass—Everglades National Park, which absolutely blew me away. I always imagined the Everglades being jungle-like. I pictured guides having to chop through vegetation to lead the way—similar to what you'd see in Tarzan movies. But the reality of the Florida Everglades was the polar opposite. Picture a sprawling expanse that stretches as far as you can see—a maze of freshwater filled with patches of grass and lily pads strewn throughout. Imagine your airboat gliding seamlessly over everything in sight, merely bending tall grasses and barely leaving a trace of their presence behind.

We were guided by another Everglades aficionado who knew the terrain like the back of his hand and could easily spot a gator hiding nearby, even when he was cloaked in plants and water. This park was unlike any I'd ever experienced—each curve of the river of grass was more beautiful than the last. I could have ridden around out there till the moon lit the water and the eyes of wildlife lurking in their habitat. I just couldn't get enough. 

We were given biodegradable earplugs on this tour to muffle the sound of the airboat's motor. I unplugged my ears less than halfway through for a full-on surround-sound experience. The fresh air on my face, the bits of water that splashed up on my legs when we skidded around a sharp turn, my family experiencing all of it with me, having my mom right behind me to exchange excited faces with—every element came together to make my time awe-inspiring and unforgettable.

As with most of my precious road memories, the gas stations I stop at along the way serve as refuel and reflection points—moments where I pause to reflect on where I've been, where I am, and how I'd like to relive it on repeat for a thousand years. It was at the Wawa somewhere between where we started and where we were headed that I took one last great big sip of it and vowed to slow it down the rest of the ride home to make it last.