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Esquire Magazine

Part 1







What It Feels Like...to Be Attacked by an Alligator

By Don Goodman, 59, director of the Kanapaha Botanical Gardens, Gainesville, Florida, as told to Jeff Klinkenberg

Mojo showed up at our gardens last March with three other alligators. I guess they crawled over from a nearby lake. We called him Quasimodo at first because he had a hump on his back. We shortened it to Modo and finally to Mojo. Right away he ate two of the smaller gators and settled down. He ate a lot of turtles, crunching through the shells like they were potato chips. When an alligator is about six feet long, it's a lizard. When an alligator grows larger, when it really bulks up, it's a dragon. Mojo was almost twelve feet long. He was a dragon.

Last September, I decided to clear algae out of the big pond. Before I went in the water, I looked for Mojo. He was on the bank a few hundred feet away. When Mojo was on the bank, I didn't worry; alligators mostly feed in the water and at night. So I spent the morning in the pond. Then I got lunch. I came back a few hours later and waded back into the pond. That was my mistake. I should have first looked for Mojo. While I was gone, he'd crawled over land and gone into the water exactly where I planned to work.

He was motionless on the bottom in thigh-deep water. I never saw him. He must have seen the shadow of my arm and just reacted. He exploded out of the water and grabbed my right arm just below the elbow. I was alarmed; I knew he had me, but my mind stayed clear. Usually, when an alligator latches on to a person, it's a mistake. Once you raise heck, bang him on the nose, he lets go. You end up with a few bite marks and a story to tell. Mojo was very large, and he didn't care.

The first time he pulled me to my knees, I didn't feel pain at all. I was all adrenaline. I got back on my feet. The second time, he jerked me with great force completely underwater and I swallowed a mouthful. Then he started spinning. That's what a big gator does. It spins, drowns the prey, tears it apart. I struggled to my feet again. He was still spinning, but I wasn't. That's when I knew. I looked at my arm. It was attached to Mojo by a little rope of flesh. I still had complete clarity of mind. I realized that it was either part of me or all of me; I was going to have to give him my arm. I backed away and broke that rope of tissue and waded out of the pond.

Strange world, isn't it? One second you're in the pond doing something you love, and the next you're stumbling out of the water with half an arm. I didn't bleed that much; I used my T-shirt as a tourniquet. A woman planting flowers on the hill hurried down with a golf cart and took me to the office and called 911. I drove the cart through the gate and waited for the ambulance. The emergency technician asked if I needed anything. "Well, there's that bottle of Tylenol in my desk," I told him. The pain was this burning, burning pain, but they couldn't do anything for it.

While they transported me to the hospital, a state trapper came and shot Mojo, opened him up, and retrieved my arm. But the digestive process had damaged it; they couldn't reattach it. I'm getting used to the prosthesis, but I still have phantom pain -- an intense pressure on my right hand and fingers. In my mind, Mojo still has me.

Esquire Magazine

Part 2



What It Feels Like... to Be Bitten by a Shark

By Rodney Orr, 61, electrician, as told to Matt Claus

I was on my paddleboard in the Pacific near Santa Rosa, California. I was getting ready to dive off the side and go spearfishing when the lights went out. I heard this big, loud noise like a garage door slamming, and it was completely dark.

All of a sudden, I could see these big white things out of my left eye. At first I thought it was busted fiberglass. The first thing that went through my mind was that a boat ran over me and stuffed my head through my board. But as soon as I touched the white things, I realized they were teeth.

He had a hold of my head. I was at a right angle to his mouth, hanging out the side. The front teeth were buried in through my cheekbones and my nose. It was quick and sharp. The teeth were like razors. When he clamped onto me, it was a god-awful crunch. I heard the crunching of teeth plowing through bone, but it didn't hurt. Something in the brain clicks so you don't feel it till later.

He didn't take me down -- he took me out of the water. When I saw the water, it was like three feet below me, but I could see we were moving fast. I tried to pull my head out. I reached up on the shark and it was flat, like the side of a Buick, and it had a sandpapery feel. And then I just started pounding on it. I went berserk. I shredded my gloves on its teeth. I was just striking at him blind. I don't know if that's what made him let loose of me. If he would've finished the bite, I would've had no brain.

When the thing let go, it went underneath me, and I saw part of its head. It was a great white; it was wider than my shoulders.

He had a hold of me for eight to twelve seconds. We probably traveled about sixty to seventy feet.

I swam back to my board. I was bleeding like hell, blood pouring out of my nose, out of my face. I couldn't feel nothing from the top of my head to my butt on the right side. I had a two-and-a-quarter-inch hole in the back of my neck. I looked like hamburger. They took me away in a helicopter, and I got to Santa Rosa hospital. Now I've got one bad scar near the corner of my eye and across my nose, but, hell, they've faded down. They fit in with the wrinkles.

Two extremely lucky people ! What horrifying experiences !

G#Gill;1285495 wrote: Two extremely lucky people ! What horrifying experiences !


Still in some way I envy them. I mean who gets to say a shark ate my face?

You cant buy a great story like that.

nomad;1285357 wrote: esquire magazine

part 1







what it feels like...to be attacked by an alligator

by don goodman, 59, director of the kanapaha botanical gardens, gainesville, florida, as told to jeff klinkenberg

mojo showed up at our gardens last march with three other alligators. I guess they crawled over from a nearby lake. We called him quasimodo at first because he had a hump on his back. We shortened it to modo and finally to mojo. Right away he ate two of the smaller gators and settled down. He ate a lot of turtles, crunching through the shells like they were potato chips. When an alligator is about six feet long, it's a lizard. When an alligator grows larger, when it really bulks up, it's a dragon. Mojo was almost twelve feet long. He was a dragon.

Last september, i decided to clear algae out of the big pond. Before i went in the water, i looked for mojo. He was on the bank a few hundred feet away. When mojo was on the bank, i didn't worry; alligators mostly feed in the water and at night. So i spent the morning in the pond. Then i got lunch. I came back a few hours later and waded back into the pond. That was my mistake. I should have first looked for mojo. While i was gone, he'd crawled over land and gone into the water exactly where i planned to work.

He was motionless on the bottom in thigh-deep water. I never saw him. He must have seen the shadow of my arm and just reacted. He exploded out of the water and grabbed my right arm just below the elbow. I was alarmed; i knew he had me, but my mind stayed clear. Usually, when an alligator latches on to a person, it's a mistake. Once you raise heck, bang him on the nose, he lets go. You end up with a few bite marks and a story to tell. Mojo was very large, and he didn't care.

The first time he pulled me to my knees, i didn't feel pain at all. I was all adrenaline. I got back on my feet. The second time, he jerked me with great force completely underwater and i swallowed a mouthful. Then he started spinning. That's what a big gator does. It spins, drowns the prey, tears it apart. I struggled to my feet again. He was still spinning, but i wasn't. That's when i knew. I looked at my arm. It was attached to mojo by a little rope of flesh. I still had complete clarity of mind. I realized that it was either part of me or all of me; i was going to have to give him my arm. I backed away and broke that rope of tissue and waded out of the pond.

Strange world, isn't it? One second you're in the pond doing something you love, and the next you're stumbling out of the water with half an arm. I didn't bleed that much; i used my t-shirt as a tourniquet. A woman planting flowers on the hill hurried down with a golf cart and took me to the office and called 911. I drove the cart through the gate and waited for the ambulance. The emergency technician asked if i needed anything. "well, there's that bottle of tylenol in my desk," i told him. The pain was this burning, burning pain, but they couldn't do anything for it.

While they transported me to the hospital, a state trapper came and shot mojo, opened him up, and retrieved my arm. But the digestive process had damaged it; they couldn't reattach it. I'm getting used to the prosthesis, but i still have phantom pain -- an intense pressure on my right hand and fingers. In my mind, mojo still has me.








o m g, how terrifying!

nomad;1285488 wrote: esquire magazine

part 2



what it feels like... To be bitten by a shark

by rodney orr, 61, electrician, as told to matt claus

i was on my paddleboard in the pacific near santa rosa, california. I was getting ready to dive off the side and go spearfishing when the lights went out. I heard this big, loud noise like a garage door slamming, and it was completely dark.

All of a sudden, i could see these big white things out of my left eye. At first i thought it was busted fiberglass. The first thing that went through my mind was that a boat ran over me and stuffed my head through my board. But as soon as i touched the white things, i realized they were teeth.

He had a hold of my head. I was at a right angle to his mouth, hanging out the side. The front teeth were buried in through my cheekbones and my nose. It was quick and sharp. The teeth were like razors. When he clamped onto me, it was a god-awful crunch. I heard the crunching of teeth plowing through bone, but it didn't hurt. Something in the brain clicks so you don't feel it till later.

He didn't take me down -- he took me out of the water. When i saw the water, it was like three feet below me, but i could see we were moving fast. I tried to pull my head out. I reached up on the shark and it was flat, like the side of a buick, and it had a sandpapery feel. And then i just started pounding on it. I went berserk. I shredded my gloves on its teeth. I was just striking at him blind. I don't know if that's what made him let loose of me. If he would've finished the bite, i would've had no brain.

When the thing let go, it went underneath me, and i saw part of its head. It was a great white; it was wider than my shoulders.

He had a hold of me for eight to twelve seconds. We probably traveled about sixty to seventy feet.

I swam back to my board. I was bleeding like hell, blood pouring out of my nose, out of my face. I couldn't feel nothing from the top of my head to my butt on the right side. I had a two-and-a-quarter-inch hole in the back of my neck. I looked like hamburger. They took me away in a helicopter, and i got to santa rosa hospital. Now i've got one bad scar near the corner of my eye and across my nose, but, hell, they've faded down. They fit in with the wrinkles.








bloody hell!

If Gators are around either on land our in the water stay the heck out of the water they will eat you. :eek:



I have seen a few Sharks in my youth surfing the waters of the Pacific up and down the coast. Back in the 60's and 70's the boards were made of balsa wood and about 8 feet long we looked like a Shark to a Shark. Never saw a great white, never want to see one up close and personal they will eat you also. :eek:

Esquire

Part 3



What it feels like to smoke dope with Willie Nelson and [Snoop Dog]



By Andy Langer, 32, writer

There are no cookies in this Mrs. Fields tin. Just the greenest, stickiest bud you've ever laid eyes upon. Just say no? Not this time. Not when Willie Nelson has dipped into his stash to roll one for you. "Let's adjust our personalities," he said. And then the joint passed straight from his mouth to mine. Legend -- and there's plenty of it -- has it Willie's got knock-you-on-your-ass stuff. But I was most surprised by how subtle it was: The high was as warm and welcoming as the man himself. I stepped off Willie's bus neither lethargic nor hungry. Just a little giddy -- like I just teed up with Tiger or rode the bike with Lance.

What will I remember? Not much. I vaguely recall asking Willie if he'd ever sparked up with Snoop Dogg. Nope. From stoner small talk, a seed was planted. I could be their link -- a bridge between the marijuana culture's two most identifiable connoisseurs. Sure, I hadn't smoked since college -- my sophomore year, 1991. But how cool would it be to bust open a fifteen-year streak getting high with Willie and Snoop back-to-back? Six days later, Willie was on the road again, but Snoop just so happened to be in town. I called in a favor, dropped some names, and arranged to meet him after his show. I told Snoop I'd just gotten high with Willie. And before I could ask to complete my mission, he pulled his own hip-hop ninja move -- some real behind-the-back, through-the-legs Globetrotter ****. I still have no idea from where the lit blunt came; Snoop's tracksuit didn't appear to have any pockets. His rule was simple: You take two hits and pass it. And so it was.

It was just the two of us -- taking hits in multiples of two. He asked if we needed to do an interview. I told him this was just about the experience. "The experience, mon, the experience," he said. Over and over. Or maybe just once. Maybe his phrasing took on a Jamaican affectation. Or maybe that's how I want to remember it. I'm also not sure what exactly was in that blunt. Maybe I don't want to know. I left Snoop at 2:30 a.m., drove a block, reparked, and didn't make it home until moms were dropping their kids off at kindergarten. For six hours in my backseat, I couldn't feel my arms and legs. At all. Only my crotch and my toes -- and that was just a dull but warm vibrating sensation. Two hours in, it took everything I had to shift my body inches -- just enough to calm my fears of coach-class thrombosis. And while I'm certain I called a friend to rescue me, I can't be sure how many times: Was it six times in three minutes or three times in six hours? Paranoia had set in. My parents will know their only son died stoned. Really stoned. My friends who smoke dope say I shouldn't have been that high. With Willie, everything had been a little funnier -- just a little fuzzier. With Snoop, nothing was funny and everything was blurry. If getting high with Willie was like sipping Scotch with an old friend, getting high with Snoop was like being goaded into doing a keg stand. I tell this story and folks invariably want to know who has the better dope. Better depends on how much you like a coma, doesn't it? They also want to know if I'll smoke again. I think not -- not unless somebody out there knows how I can get in touch with Cheech.

CARLA;1285514 wrote: If Gators are around either on land our in the water stay the heck out of the water they will eat you. :eek:



I have seen a few Sharks in my youth surfing the waters of the Pacific up and down the coast. Back in the 60's and 70's the boards were made of balsa wood and about 8 feet long we looked like a Shark to a Shark. Never saw a great white, never want to see one up close and personal they will eat you also. :eek:


whew, I'm safe right here!:wah:

I've never seen either, just in zoos.

Esquire Magazine

Part 4



What it feels like to be attacked by an Elephant

As told to Christian DeBenedetti



Gabon, New Year's Eve, 2002: She was about seven feet at the shoulder, with sixteen-inch tusks, and weighed two tons. I used to have zero fear. Zero. I could walk up to any elephant I saw. So when she charges, I bluff back, but it doesn't stop her. I run to get between her and the group I'm with, including my girlfriend. The elephant's got her head down, ears tucked, doing this kind of shuffle. I'm thinking, I've got about a second to stop this thing. She's thinking, I'm going to kill you. Do I straight-arm her, or do I run? But when she gets within three feet, I take three steps to run and -- boom -- I trip and hit the ground.

I immediately turn. She's already airborne, ****ing trying to put her tusks through my chest, so I grab on with both hands and move my body out of the way. She hits the ground. At that moment, tusks planted, her eyeball is four inches from mine. Okay, here we are. Now what?

Then I realize she's trying to crush me with her body. Elephants do that. My adrenaline is going, so I can't feel anything, but I can hear -- kfoonk -- one of my ribs breaking. It's like one-two-three: In one second, my lungs are going to be squashed, and I'm going to be dead. I'm not feeling any anguish or panic or sorrow. I'm thinking, This is going to be incredible. This is it! But just as she's about to keel and lose control, she starts getting up. I've got more life! I'm not going to die!

A female African forest elephant has tusks like stilettos, with fine, sharp chiseled ends to carve bark. So I'm still holding on, but then she starts trying to stab me, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing, but I won't -- can't -- let go. She's trying to shake me off to stab me, but I've still got her by the tusks, gripped at elbow's length. It's like a rodeo guy: I'm gonna hold ****ing on until the bell rings. So then I'm getting whipped around like a rag doll. All my girlfriend could see was my body going up above the horizon, up and down. I must have been completely vertical, inverted. A few seconds later, I go flying ten or fifteen feet, vooomp!

When I land on all fours, it's slow motion; I'm glued to the ground. I think, You idiot, Fay. Those ****ing tusks are going to come right through my back.

So I turn around, and she's gone. Just gone. Did you ever see Pulp Fiction, where the guy shoots at him like six times with a .357, and he doesn't get hit? That's basically the feeling. Damn! How did that happen? I'm the happiest guy on the planet.

Then I see the blood. It's like someone has taken a big old machete and chopped my left bicep open an inch wide and four high. I see tendons, the artery. My other arm starts to itch; it's punctured through. One kneecap's sliced wide open, the other leg is gashed above the knee. I feel the blood running down my back. She got me eight times back there. I have no idea how.