Florida alligator attacks won't keep me off the water | Opinion

There's an old expression in the journalism business: "When dog bites man, that's not news. When man bites dog, that's news."

It suggests people aren't going to be interested in stories about dog bites, because in spite of dogs' reputation as "man's best friend," there's nothing really unusual about them biting people.

Alligator attacks are something altogether different. Despite their fearsome appearance, alligator attacks on humans are relatively rare. That's why a recent spate of attacks near where I live in Florida has gotten some people around here a little jumpy.

Within a seven-day span, three people were bitten by alligators in separate incidents. One of them did not survive.

This is concerning to many Florida residents, myself included. As these attacks were happening, I was in the process of moving to a new home along an alligator-infested riverfront.

The incidents reminded me of a monumentally stupid decision I recently made that could have made me a contender for "Florida Man" mockery.

Humans, alligators a bad mix in summertime heat

Alligator bites in Florida are, paradoxically, both uncommon and almost unavoidable.

Florida is home to more than 23 million human residents, and – as I've written before – our state's leaders seemed determined to cram as many people onto this peninsula as they can. Florida is also home to about 1.3 million alligators.

Not to make anyone planning a summer vacation down here queasy, but some of those alligators are much closer to "civilization" than outsiders may realize.

About 18% of our state is covered with water – lakes, rivers, streams, ponds and canals. Savvy Floridians realize that the dinosaur-like creatures can be found in virtually any body of fresh or brackish water in the state.

That includes retention ponds next to office parks or highway interchanges. Large puddles that don't drain properly after rainstorms. Even backyard swimming pools. Those videos you've seen on the internet of alligators scaling fences aren't AI-generated. (At least not all of them.)

Still, it's not like we're all living in a "Jurassic Park" movie, constantly stressing about 12-foot-long gators leaping from the bushes every time we take out the trash.

In fact, since we're suffering through the same heat wave that's affected the rest of the eastern United States, many of us are spending more time near, on or in the water to cool down.

Even though alligator mating season – a time when the animals tend to be more aggressive – is coming to an end, there are still lots of opportunities for people to have up close and personal encounters with their scaly neighbors.

According to state records, there have been 487 unprovoked alligator bites recorded in Florida's history since 1948 ‒ 27 of which resulted in fatalities.

To put that into perspective, a single 10-mile stretch of Interstate 95 in Miami was the site of 146 traffic-related deaths from 2000 through 2019. You're much more likely to die in your car on the way to Disney World than you are in an alligator's jaws.

Following 'alligator smart' safety tips

There are certain commonsense rules we follow here.

We don't feed alligators because conditioning their lizard brains to associate humans with food is a bad idea. We avoid walking dogs or other pets near water's edges for the same reason.

We don't swim in areas where alligators are known to frequent. Which, as previously mentioned, is pretty much anywhere that's not carefully guarded and monitored.

The most important rule of all is: Leave them the heck alone. Most alligators have a natural fear of humans, so if we don't harass or provoke them, they're most likely to leave us alone, too.

A lucky escape provided an important warning

Which brings me back to the aforementioned monumentally stupid thing I did a few months ago.

In March, my girlfriend and I were kayaking along a stretch of the Withlacoochee River, not far from where I just moved, when we spotted a good-sized gator lounging near the shore. Since I hadn't seen one in the wild in a while, I decided to stop and take a photo.

Unfortunately, I underestimated the swiftness of the current and overestimated my ability to frame the shot correctly, meaning I drifted way too close for comfort.

I could have ended up like one of those tourists out West who pose for selfies with wild bison, only to get tossed around like beach balls and ridiculed on the internet as examples of Darwinism at work.

So what did the gator do?

It wasn't like I was on the USS Missouri battleship. I was in an 8-foot plastic kayak, which was roughly the same size (or maybe a bit smaller) than the gator. If it had wanted to chomp me, I could have been in a lot of trouble.

Instead, it did what gators usually do when humans get too close: It submerged and swam away. Looking back on the recent attacks, it was a "there, but for the grace of God go I" moment for me.

When my girlfriend and I made the return trip downriver later that day, the gator had returned to its original spot, watching us passively as we paddled past at a respectful distance. I don't plan on playing chicken with that or any other gators in the future.

I don't have any keen insights into why those three people got bitten recently. Nature, like life itself, can be unpredictable.

With as many people and alligators as there are in Florida, the occasional attack is a sad toll we must pay as part of the price for living in paradise. That won't keep me off the water, though.

After all, I feel a lot safer out there than I do driving my car just about anywhere in Florida during tourist season.

Blake Fontenay is USA TODAY's commentary editor.

This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Florida alligator attacks won't keep me off the water | Opinion

Reporting by Blake Fontenay, USA TODAY / USA TODAY

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This story was originally published July 9, 2026 at 7:52 AM.