shark valley

Our family is always up for cheap weekend adventures.  Luckily in South Florida there are lots of fun destinations within driving distance.  A while back we went to visit Shark Valley in the heart of the Everglades.  It was a long ride down highway 41.  As we entered to Glades canals lines either side of the road.  It was very satisfying to see big fat alligators sunning themselves on the banks just like the Everglades look in my distorted geographical file in my little peanut brain.  After all, how disappointing it would have been if we drove through the Everglades and didn’t see any.  But what’s more disappointing is that my children will no longer crane their necks and climb over each other to see the alligators when I point them out.  “It’s an alligator Gavin, get your nose out of that book and look at him.”
 








After driving through many small towns villages the gas stations became fewer and fewer and the population turned to rather outdoorsy type characters and then we finally arrived at Shark Valley. 





After paying for our deeply discounted tickets, we received our proof of payment stamps.  Finn was quite proud of his.  For most of this tour, I was certain this would be the only alligator we might actually see. 

 







It was the dry season and most of the gators were most likely somewhere else and not on display like I would have preferred.  Law of the land in Shark Valley says that those silly people who decide to bike, rather than bus through the valley must pull off into the shoulder any time a bus comes.  I secretly hoped an alligator would snag one each time they timidly pulled off into the swamp to allow us the right of way.  Not that any alligator would even be tempted to eat one of these overly muscled less than tantalizing snacks.  I guarantee however that if one of the more tender slightly chunkier bus riders fell out of the bus past the little red string railing into the swamp, they’d come out of the woodwork and snap us up.  A low fat granola bar or a piece of KFC chicken?  I know which one I’d choose (if I was the alligator I mean and not one of the extra crispy drumsticks riding the bus).



The tour tram stopped midway at the lookout tower Tower of Terror.  Turns out, according to Chris, tour guide and self proclaimed Everglades extraordinaire, sometime back (I forget how long) BP was just a baby company and was looking for oil.  They tried the here.
 


Also, according to Chris, they actually found oil, but it was dirty.  My thought was, isn’t oil always dirty?  I guess not.  Anyway, they built this tower for something and left it to ruins when they decided the oil was less than pure.
 

According to Chris, this tower was eventually converted into the Shark Valley Look Out Tower. 


I had no desire to climb up and look out.  But when some of your small children go truckin up the ramp at fifty miles per hour, the only responsible thing to do is follow behind them, snapping photos of course. 


I got about this far before my guts started giving me that very primal, protect yourself now, feeling.  I would have loved to follow that gut feeling, but…

    








I had a few children who have that underdeveloped instinct to stay on the ground.  So I pushed past my better judgment and followed them.

















But I drew the line at joining the nine less concerned silly tourists at the edge.  I don’t care that I can see X amount of miles, Heck, I wouldn’t even take another step closer if you told me I could see the Cuba.  Sorry, not worth it, not even for a great photo op also, no thanks because some of my little boys were already truckin back down the ramp, gaining speed as they did so.









I chased Finn  back down while snapping photos behind me and carefully trying not to gain too much speed myself.  Nothing scarier than a rather large woman barreling toward your large group of small statured Asian tourists.  Unless of course you are that rather large woman.

There was something very
comforting when I reached the bottom standing upright on both feet as opposed to landing at the bottom after rolling down the ramp over several horrified tourists, hot, sweaty with my skirt up over my head.  I took inventory and counted my blessings that nothing went awry while on the tower of terror, mostly because…

Had there been a real emergency, I would have called 911,  But apparently, that wouldn’t have worked because in the Everglades, they must not participate in the 911 program.  I wouldn’t have known to dial #NPS and even if I happened to be lucky enough to have an emergency in front of this nicely marked porta potty, it would have taken me quite some time to figure out what numbers even represent NPS.  Hmmmmm…. just seems like a bad idea to make up new emergency numbers while out in the Everglades.  Lots of things can probably go wrong out here.  At least I read English, what about the traveling Asians, they wouldn’t even have stood a chance had I rolled over them while descending the tower.  I could bring this up to management, however, I would probably end up speaking with the same guy who came up with the name Shark Valley.  Shark Valley?  Why not Penguin Peninsula or Aardvark Island?


As we traveled the dusty trail back to the parking lot, I resolved that the only shark I would probably see today was the one on the back of Tommy’s shirt, and the valley, well that just wasn’t happening either.  Chris tried to convince us that the Everglades were actually just one giant valley.  Hmmmm… maybe, put still feels like false advertising to me. 

   
Just before we arrived back at the parking lot we finally spotted a gator.  Again, exaggerating the sighting just trying to convince my boys to show some interest and expend just a little energy to turn their necks.  Look at the alligator, seriously, look at the stupid alligator, I paid $8 for this bus ride, at least pretend to be excited. 
We piled up into the car and headed North, semi satisfied with my cheap family destination, semi relieved that no one got hurt (our family or the Asians) and semi mystified, Shark Valley, no sharks, no valleys, dirty oil and the Tower of Terror, strange…