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Alligator hunter's plea: Please don't feed the animals!

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It was 10 a.m. Tuesday and Joe Maffo's Critter Management had three alligator pulls to complete.

Spring is when the animals come out of torper, similar to hibernation. In April, they begin to look for mates.

Mark Galyon, a former Marine and Maffo's newest gator wrangler, was about to get a shot at catching his first.

First stop: Comfort Inn. There's a gator there Maffo's been trying to catch since last fall.

Maffo, who started his business in 1994, fields nearly 100 calls a year from residents concerned about gators in nearby lagoons, or, at times, swimming in their pools. If the alligator is aggressive -- usually because it's been fed by people -- or is in an inappropriate location, Maffo will remove it.

His fees range from $400 to $1,000, depending on the number of gators and the time it takes to catch them.

The law requires Maffo kill any alligator he captures under the nuisance alligator program. He captures and kills about 30 a year. The number so far for 2008 is six.

In 14 years of catching gators, "I've only had one alligator turn and run back after me," Maffo says. "I don't say they're smart, but typically they don't make the same mistake twice."

'I GOT HIM!'

Maffo keeps his truck bed filled with the tools of his trade: three fishing poles, rope, black electrical tape, a wire noose and bait: frozen chicken and bag of marshmallows.

Not far from the hotel, Maffo spots an alligator sunning on the bank of a Tanglewood Drive lagoon surrounded by condos.

"We're going to try and rig up and catch him," Maffo says. "Mark, try to get him to look at me."

The gator slides into the lagoon, and slips beneath the surface.

Maffo casts his fishing rod with a three-pronged hook. The line goes taut at first snag.

"You try to loop his head," Maffo yells to Galyon. Maffo's arms tremble as he tries to hold the 180-pound alligator. "You're going to have to be careful," he cautions his aide.

Galyon takes the wire noose, rigged to a pole that can extend 16 feet.

"Don't walk toward him," Maffo says. "He's coming right at me, buddy."

As Maffo pulls his rod up, Galyon slowly loops the gator's head and pulls the noose tight.

The gator thrashes and rolls around in the water, trying to free himself from the wire cable around his neck.

"Let him roll," Maffo says. "Wear him out."

As they wait for the animal to tire, the gator finds an underwater drain pipe -- and gets stuck.

"It was my fault for letting him run so far," Maffo says.

A gator pull usually takes only about 10 to 12 minutes.

While they wait for the animal to run out of air, a small crowd of 30 or so folks begins to gather. Some nearby construction workers take a break to watch. Cars stop in the middle of the road. Tourists in the crowd say there's another gator by the hotel pool -- Maffo will head there later.

About 20 minutes after the initial cast, the rope slackens.

Either the gator is no longer stuck or has broken free.

"I got him, Joe," Galyon says as he pulls the rope as fast as he can, before the gator realizes he can escape.

Galyon pulls the gator up on the bank. It's exhausted, but still struggles to escape. His jaws are open, ready to clamp down hard if necessary.

Maffo, shorter and 30 pounds lighter than his captive, jumps atop the gator and holds the jaws shut. Galyon grabs tape and secures the closed jaw.

"I feel better now," Maffo says, allowing himself a small laugh.

They tape the legs and arms so the gator can't run away. Then, they carry the 7-footer toward the crowd that's been snapping photos and yelling out questions.

Maffo sees it as a chance to educate people on the dangers of feeding alligators.

"If you leave them alone, they won't get aggressive," he shouts. But this one's been fed and that means he'll be harvested in the program, he says.

"People feed them, I kill them," he says. "There's no place I can take him. They are very territorial. A bigger gator will eat him up."

A LOVE OF GATORS

Once the gator is killed, the hide can be sent for tanning. However, the hides of wild gators are usually worthless. The meat is given to anyone who asks for it since Maffo does not have a government-certified facility that allows him to sell it. The heads are also given away. The carcass is buried.

Relocating gators is not an option under state law though Maffo admits that if he finds a small gator in a koi pond, he will.

Dean Harrigal, a wildlife biologist with the state Department of Natural Resources said if the alligator is a nuisance in one area, it'll be a nuisance in another. Alligators also have a "strong homing instinct" and will return to the lagoons from which they were removed, Harrigal said.

Maffo loves gators and wishes he could find a way to save them. He hopes to one day open an alligator park as a way to educate folks.

FINDING PROOF

Galyon is getting his education, too. If he had any fear during his first pull, he lost it in the rush of trying to trap an alligator, he said.

From the Comfort Inn, Maffo and Galyon head to First Baptist Church, off South Forest Beach Drive. Teachers reported a gator hissing at preschool children on the playground from behind a three-foot fence.

After 50 minutes of trying to catch the gator in thick brush, it gets away.

Maffo put out a chicken trap. So far, the gator has remained free and apparently well-fed. He's figured out how to get the raw, frozen chicken out of the trap and elude the hook.

Now, it's back to Comfort Inn for that second gator.

With the help of some tourists, Maffo spots him on the lagoon bank only a few feet from the hotel's parking garage, near the pool. He's about 7-feet and 130 pounds.

"This gator doesn't have to be fed, he just can't be where he is," Maffo said. "I have no doubt in my mind, though, that he's been fed."

Galyon sneaks up behind the gator and, on the first try, loops the noose over his head, pulling tight. The gator rolls into the water, whipping its tail, and gets caught in the rope.

The two-man team pulls it onto the bank and secures it.

"Development has caused all these conflicts," Maffo tells the crowd that has formed. "As long as we continue to develop and take their territory away, we have to catch them."

Maffo takes the gators back to his shop on Dunnagans Alley.

He hates this part.

The law requires him to shoot the gator.

Maffo smokes a cigarette.

Then, using a .22-caliber rifle, he fires a shot into the animal's brain.

Biologist Matt Kraycar, one of Maffo's employees, wants the head.

The gator is headless and on the ground when Maffo cuts open its stomach. In bigger gators, he's found chunks of rubber tires, dozens of golf balls and, once, a basketball.

Inside this one he finds two tennis balls, three corn cobs, a few spare rib bones, berries, a peanut, a fish, a small turtle, a snail and a rock.

"You believe that?" he said. "Proof."

He points to the corn and ribs -- human food.

"Tell me some s....... ain't feeding gators."

After a moment, Maffo was less angry.

"That's a prime example of why we destroy gators."

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