This originally appeared in a February 2008 edition of The Gabber Newspaper.

At 5 a.m., I wait. Last night’s fire has rumbled down to embers. The wood cabin’s screen-covered openings, ideal for hot summer nights in Big Cypress offer little protection from the morning’s cold murk. As the moon begins its final descent and the sun readies itself for rise, I blink and squint at a shadow by the lake. A deer? Too tall. A person? Too tall. A skunk ape?

Perhaps.

Our camp lies less than 20 miles from Skunk Ape Research Center, at one of the last privately owned stretches of land in the Big Cypress swamp, the western part of the Everglades. The five of us — our photographer, a friend of the camp’s owner, myself, and two of The Gabber’s test dachshunds — have met in Big Cypress to learn about the skunk ape, spend the night in the wilderness, and see if we can spot the Southernmost Bigfoot in the United States. None of us know what to think, but we all agree — we want to believe.

The concept of wilderness perplexes me. I’ve read that humans cannot see wilderness; the very idea of wilderness precludes human interaction. But in the rustle of the still-winter morning, far from electricity or plumbing, no other word describes this place.

Everything outside this wood cabin remains untamed; if I step off the camp into the swamp, I have left civilization. This world tolerates humans without welcoming us.

This makes it the perfect place, then, to see skunk apes. The concept of these creatures fascinates us because, despite any of our physical commonalities, they have a biological unwillingness to cross over from wilderness to civilization.

Dan Shealy and the Skunk Ape

Dan Shealy has devoted his life to studying the skunk ape: he believes they exist and says he has seen them. He says they live in the Everglades, close to alligator holes; he says that they eat both animals and vegetables; he says you can best attract a skunk ape with lima beans.

If you prefer to ci·oss South Florida via US 41 instead of Alligator Alley, you’ve seen the Skunk Ape Research Center as you drive through Ochopee. For those of us who remember Florida roads patchworked together with bush-league tourist traps, the lure of the Skunk Ape Research Center may be too strong to resist. For those of you who don’t remember that Florida, the Skunk Ape Research Center offers a taste of vintage Florida kitsch.

If you’ve popped in hoping to learn more about the skunk ape, you’ll find the bounty of information in the gift shop; no need to pay the $3 admission. Here Shealy sells Field Guides and DVDs about his quest; they’ll tell you about the skunk ape’s habits as well as some things to expect if you’re daring enough to venture off the well-traveled paths in the ‘Glades.

Inside Skunk Ape Research Headquarters

Inside the attraction proper you won’t learn anything else about the skunk ape. Instead, you’ll see parrots and reptiles as well as a paddock of alligators. You can hold a small gator and pet a cockatoo snuggled against your neck. Do not expect the bird show from the $60-a-day places, but in its stead you can drape yourself in a (hopefully) docile yellow albino Burmese python. Despite the building’s dog-eared appearance, animal curator Rick Scholle keeps the animal pens clean and the parrots, social creatures that crave interaction, get more here than in many homes.

If you don’t know someone with land in Big Cypress but you want to spend the night in the ‘Glades, Shealy owns a campground next to the Center. It has more amenities than the cabin where I kept vigil, but odds are the campfires still smell as good and you’re still pretty close to Florida’s wilderness. And, with a little luck, the skunk ape.

As for what l saw that morning? I can’t swear I saw one. Then again, I can’t swear I didn’t.

How To Get to the Skunk Ape Research Headquarters

You’ll find the Skunk Ape Research Center and campground in Ochopee, east of Joanie’s Blue Crabs,  on US 41. SkunkApe.info;  239-695-2275