In October 1996 while finishing my degree at the University of Georgia, I met my family at Hilton Head Island for an end-of-summer vacation. One afternoon, I headed out by myself to the Pickney Island National Wildlife Refuge that lies along the bridge onto Hilton Head.
 
While I have a made a few trips back to the refuge, I believe this my have been my first visit. And after searching old albums and boxes, these are the earliest bird photos I can find. Therefore, these are my life bird photos for the Great Blue Heron and Tricolored Heron. The photos were shot with a Minolta X-700 35mm film camera. 

​A pet store coworker and fellow reptile enthusiast took me down to Savannah to snake hunt at a place he called “The Pipeline”. It was a network of above-ground pipes that ran through a swampy area next to a neighborhood that he grew up in.
 
To get onto the pipeline, you had to brave an eerie wade through waist deep swamp water hoping to not step on a submerged snapping turtle or alligator. Once up on the pipes, you could safely tour the swamp on foot. We made a couple of trips back to The Pipeline whenever our reptile excursions took us near that Savannah neighborhood.

​I conducted my UGA Forestry School senior project research on a cattle farmer’s ranch in Warthen, Washington County, Georgia.  For several weeks in a row, I went down to check coyote bait stations and survey White-tailed Deer food plots.
 
I had occasion to come across several critters in the low lying wet areas of the property. I pulled a large Common Snapping Turtle out of the muck for a few photos. He even went back home with me for a short stay in my large aquarium until proving too dirty to keep contained. 
 
The biggest thrill for me, being a young reptile enthusiast was seeing my first Cottonmouth. During one food plot survey in a swampy area, a medium sized but heavy-bodied Cottonmouth shot out from the grasses. Most normal people would run the other way, but I chased after him with my Minolta film camera!

While getting my wildlife sciences degree from the University of Georgia’s Warnell School of Forestry and Natural Resources, I had the privilege of participating in a capture and release program. No, this wasn’t like the feral cat TNR related to my job now. But it was an American Alligator tagging program!

In the spring of 1996 (yes, way back in the 1900’s), several Warnell students went to Bear Island Wildlife Management Area in Green Pond, South Carolina. Often, state game and fish agencies sacrifice, I mean “utilize”, graduate and undergrad students to help in research. Our job was to capture as many alligators as we could in one weekend to measure, sex, weigh and tag.

During the day, we constructed snares along the banks. Two boards were placed upright a few feet apart to funnel alligators in toward the bait (dead fish). As they passed between the boards, their head went through a snare. As soon as the fish was grabbed, the trigger would release and a long elastic band stretched over the top of a vertical pole pulled the snare tight around the gator’s neck. 

We also had the joy of going out on small, flat boats all night and into the wee hours of the morning. Our job: paddle as slowly and quietly as possible toward red alligator eyes illuminated by our head lamps, slip the animal control pole over its head, and haul it into the boat with us. We then had to hold it down and safely (if that’s even possible) slip rubber bands over the jaws.   

The next day was spent taking turns mounting the bigger gators so they could be measured from snout to tail and determined if male or female (look up how its done, not fun… sort of like checking an alligator’s prostate!). They were then tagged and released once the data was collected.
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Before releasing, game officers had an ingenious way of removing the rubber bands from the alligators’ mouths. A rope was tied around the bands and the gator was placed on the bank. As the officer backed away, and the gator (in theory) backed into the water… pop! The bands were off its mouth. In only one instance did a gator not play along and actually came up out of the water towards us wide-eyed undergrads! 

​While on an overnight trip to Di-Lane Wildlife Management Area with a UGA Forestry school class, we passed the evening in a manner that only forestry students would think of. It wasn’t a game of capture the flag, but capture the armadillo! Several teams of students spent well over two hours scrambling in the palmettos before one team (my team; and caught by yours truly) finally caught a little armored fellow and won the competition. 

​Having just gotten saved last December, two friends and I jumped in the car to drive across country to the Tucson Bible Conference. The miles passed along slowly, but in the middle of Texas, a large yellow Billboard appeared on the horizon. Just what us young reptile enthusiasts we’re looking for: the Brazos River Rattlesnake Ranch!
 
Just inside the front door, a huge bull snake lay in a wire cage. Sounding just like the rattle of a big diamondback, the bull snake forcefully exhaled a loud hiss, startling every visitor through the front door.

My passion for reptiles was spared in 1991 while living the Russell Hall dormitory at the University of Georgia. Two guys near the end of the 5th floor had an iguana they kept hidden from the hall monitors. The following year when I moved out of campus housing and into an apartment, I had an iguana… and then a second iguana!

I bought Oliver sometime in 1992 or 1993, and Yoshi followed shortly thereafter. Both were quite small at the time but I built them a large cage in the closet of my apartment room; not that they staying in their cage very often. They typically had the run of the room and basked on the window ledge. They had a pampered life and even had weekly swims in the bathtub.
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As well-fed iguanas do, they grew and grew. Oliver matured into a thick-necked and handsome male with quite a crest of spikes. Eventually, a few years later when my interests turned more toward snakes and the repeated trips to the grocery store for fresh collards and squash got old, I sold them both to a friend. The last I had heard was the both were doing well, but that their new owner had to make a trip to the hospital when he was bitten on the nose while trying to give Oliver a kiss!