<em>This story originally appeared in the Sunday, February 24, 2008, edition of The Kansas City Star</em></p><p>EVERGLADES NATIONAL PARK, Fla. | This seems like the perfect ending to a perfect winter day on the southern tip of Florida. It’s a balmy 72 degrees, the radio DJ said a few minutes ago. The slowly sinking sun has created a soft orange light, just right for snapping a few pictures.</p><p>At the edge of a river known as Taylor Slough, a gray-and-brown cormorant spreads its wide wings to dry after a quick dip. Within a few dozen yards are anhingas and ibises, blue and green herons -- birds I wouldn’t have recognized a couple of days ago. Occasionally one dips its head beneath the water on a hunting foray.</p><p>On the surface, it’s very peaceful.</p><p>Then one by one, six alligators peek out from beneath the indigo surface as they glide effortlessly, menacingly through the water. The world is put on alert. Silently, they slide back out of sight. But they’re still out there -- and everybody knows it.</p><p>Life can be deceptive in the Everglades. It’s a good idea to pay attention.</p><p>’Gator country</p><p>The 1.5-million acre park spread before us, looking a little like the docile Kansas prairie. From the top of the 45-foot Shark Observation Tower, we could see wide swaths of brown grass interrupted by green wooded areas.</p><p>These are the Everglades, the swampy grassland that writer Marjory Stoneman Douglas described in 1947 as a "River of Grass."</p><p>During much of the year, if you take just a few steps in, you’re likely to soak your shoes. And the long brown blades are sawgrass edged with sharp teeth.</p><p>"In the rainy season the water comes to the edge of the road," guide Jose Fernandez said one afternoon as he led visitors on the Shark Valley tram tour from the park’s northern edge. "Now is the peak of the dry season, and it seems like a desert out there."</p><p>In what passes for winter in South Florida, sunny days in the 70s are common. In the hot, humid summer, the shallow swamps fill with mosquitoes.</p><p>"We have only two seasons here," Fernandez said. "Hot and hotter. Some people call it ‘mosquito’ and ‘non-mosquito.’ "</p><p>Buzzing, biting mosquitoes that make you realize winter is the best season for an Everglades visit. And speaking of bites, in any season there are alligators. Too many to count.</p><p>"Everything you see out there that looks like an old tire or a piece of rubber is an alligator," Fernandez said. "Plastic? They may seem like it. But there are no plastic alligators here."</p><p>From front to back on two tram cars, retirees, parents and kids were craning their necks and pointing their cameras toward the wide meadows, really the Shark River Slough, whose water creeps toward the Gulf of Mexico at a rate of about a quarter-mile a day.</p><p>"There’s one!" a teenage boy in the seat ahead of me would shout, he and his sister on full alert. "Look over there! Is that one?"</p><p>Halfway through the tour we reached the end of the road: the Observation Tower. A long circular ramp led to the top, where we should have been impressed by the sight before us.</p><p>But I couldn’t take my eyes off five fat alligators that lounged lazily near the edge of the Shark River, soaking up the midafternoon sun. They appeared to be perfectly content. One even rested its head on the tail of another. How smart is that?</p><p>As the tram slowed near the tower, Fernandez pointed out a short paved walking trail we might explore but warned: "If you see an alligator on the path, your hike has just ended. Don’t even think about crossing where that alligator is."