You remember that theme song. It was catchy, a little gritty, and usually followed by Paul Bedard or Jimmy Riffle wrestling a ten-foot prehistoric predator in a backyard swimming pool. For years, Gator Boys Alligator Rescue wasn't just a TV show on Animal Planet; it was a window into a very specific, very dangerous subculture of Florida life. But television is a fickle beast. One minute you're the king of the swamp with millions of viewers, and the next, people are googling your name to see if you're still alive or if the gators finally won.
The reality of alligator rescue is a lot messier than what fits into a 42-minute episode. Most people think "rescue" means the animal gets a happy ending in a pristine nature preserve. Honestly, in Florida, that’s rarely how it goes. State law is pretty strict: once an alligator is labeled a "nuisance"—meaning it’s over four feet and poses a threat to people or pets—it generally can't just be released back into the wild. Why? Because gators have a homing instinct that would make a carrier pigeon jealous. You drop a big male twenty miles away, and three weeks later, he’s back in the same golf course pond looking for a snack.
This is where the Gator Boys actually carved out a niche that mattered. They weren't just catching gators for the cameras. They were trying to subvert a system where "nuisance" usually equals "death sentence."
The Mission Beyond the Reality TV Drama
Most nuisance alligators in Florida are harvested. That’s the polite term the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) uses for killing them for their meat and hide. It's a pragmatic system, albeit a grim one. The Gator Boys Alligator Rescue team, specifically Paul Bedard, operated on a different philosophy. They wanted to prove that these animals could be relocated to facilities where they’d live out their lives as educational ambassadors or simply as residents of a captive pond.
Paul Bedard is a bit of an anomaly in the world of reptile experts. He’s a triathlete. He doesn't drink. He’s got this intense, almost monk-like focus when he’s underwater. If you watch old clips, you’ll notice he rarely uses snares or harpoons. He prefers to tire the animal out by hand. It’s exhausting to watch. It’s even more exhausting to do. He basically dives into murky canal water—where visibility is roughly the color of weak coffee—and feels around for a creature that has a bite force of over 2,000 pounds per square inch.
The heart of their operation was based out of Everglades Holiday Park. If you go there today, you can still see the influence of the show. It’s a major tourist hub in Fort Lauderdale, but for the Gator Boys, it was the sanctuary that allowed them to bypass the skinning sheds. By bringing the gators there, they provided the park with "stars" for their live shows, which in turn funded the rescue of more gators. It was a self-sustaining cycle of conservation, even if it had to be dressed up in reality TV tropes to pay the bills.
📖 Related: Gwendoline Butler Dead in a Row: Why This 1957 Mystery Still Packs a Punch
Why the Show Ended but the Rescue Didn't
People always ask why the show stopped airing. It wasn't because they ran out of gators. Florida has about 1.3 million of them. They’re everywhere. The show ended because reality TV has a shelf life. After you've pulled the fiftieth alligator out of a laundry room, the shock value starts to dip for a national audience.
But here’s the thing: the work didn't stop when the cameras moved on to the next big thing.
Jimmy Riffle, the other half of the lead duo, has been handling cold-blooded creatures since he was eleven years old. He grew up in the industry. For him, the Gator Boys Alligator Rescue brand evolved into Scale Tails, a traveling educational exhibit. He shifted focus toward teaching people that gators aren't mindless killing machines. They’re opportunistic. If you don't feed them and you don't let your poodle roam the water's edge at dusk, they generally want nothing to do with you.
The misconception is that these guys were just "cowboys" looking for a fight. If you talk to anyone in the Florida reptile community, they'll tell you Paul Bedard is actually one of the most cautious handlers in the business. He’s had his share of close calls, sure. You can't spend decades in the mud without a few scars. But the goal was always the welfare of the animal.
The Brutal Truth About Florida’s Nuisance Alligator Program
To understand why the Gator Boys' work was significant, you have to look at the SNAP (Statewide Nuisance Alligator Program). The FWC receives about 10,000 to 15,000 alligator-related complaints annually. When a trapper is dispatched, they aren't paid a salary by the state. They get a small stipend for gas, usually around $30, and then they keep the alligator.
👉 See also: Why ASAP Rocky F kin Problems Still Runs the Club Over a Decade Later
That's the part people hate to hear. The trapper makes their living by selling the meat and the skin.
- Meat prices fluctuate, but it’s a steady market for Florida tourism.
- Hides go to high-end fashion houses in Europe.
- The system works because it costs the taxpayers almost nothing to manage a dangerous predator population.
The Gator Boys broke that mold. They took the "no-kill" approach, which is significantly more expensive and logistically a nightmare. You have to feed a rescued gator. You have to provide clean water. You have to pay for liability insurance. It’s much easier to kill a gator than it is to keep one. That’s just the cold, hard math of wildlife management.
Dealing with the "Monster" Myth
We’ve all seen the viral videos of "dinosaurs" walking across Florida golf courses. They look massive. They look like they belong in a Jurassic Park sequel. The Gator Boys often had to deal with the public hysteria these sightings caused.
A big part of their rescue work was actually "people management." People see an alligator and they panic. They think it’s stalking them. Usually, the gator is just sunning itself to regulate its body temperature because, you know, it's a reptile. By the time Paul or Jimmy arrived on a scene, they weren't just catching an animal; they were de-escalating a neighborhood's collective nervous breakdown.
Where Are They Now?
The legacy of Gator Boys Alligator Rescue lives on through various channels. Paul Bedard is still very active in the rescue world and the triathlon circuit. He’s a bit of a legend in the Florida Keys, where he’s been called in for specialized removals that other trappers won't touch. He still does the underwater captures. It’s what he loves.
✨ Don't miss: Ashley My 600 Pound Life Now: What Really Happened to the Show’s Most Memorable Ashleys
Jimmy Riffle continues to run his roadshows and educational programs. He’s leaned heavily into the conservation side of things, moving away from the "combat" style of the TV years and more toward the "appreciation" side.
Everglades Holiday Park remains a massive draw. While the "Gator Boys" as a television entity might be a memory, the pit they built and the rescues they performed changed the way that park operates. It turned a boat tour stop into a legitimate rescue hub.
What You Should Actually Do If You See a Gator
If you're reading this because you have a gator in your backyard, don't try to be Paul Bedard. Seriously. Don't.
- Keep your distance. An alligator can lung faster than you can blink. On land, they’re surprisingly quick over short distances.
- Don't feed them. This is the number one reason gators become "nuisance" animals. Once they associate humans with food, they lose their fear. A fearless gator is a dead gator.
- Call the FWC. If the animal is genuinely a threat, use the Nuisance Alligator Hotline (866-FWC-GATOR).
- Seek out private rescues. If you’re adamant about the animal not being killed, you can sometimes find private trappers who have permits to relocate to licensed facilities, though these are becoming rarer due to space limitations.
The story of the Gator Boys is really a story about the clash between modern development and ancient nature. As we keep building condos in the swamps, these encounters are only going to increase. The "rescue" part of the equation is getting harder every year as habitat disappears.
The best way to honor what the Gator Boys did isn't by wrestling a gator; it's by respecting the boundary between our world and theirs. Keep your pets on a leash, stay away from the water's edge at night, and remember that we’re the ones who moved into their neighborhood, not the other way around.
If you want to support the ongoing mission, look into donating to reputable reptile sanctuaries or visiting places like Everglades Holiday Park that prioritize educational programs over simple harvesting. Conservation isn't always about the "cool" catch you see on TV; it's about the boring, daily work of feeding, cleaning, and protecting the animals that have nowhere else to go.
Next Steps for Genuinely Interested Fans:
If you want to see the work in person, head to Everglades Holiday Park in Fort Lauderdale. You can watch the live presentations and see the actual pits where many of the rescued alligators from the show still live. Additionally, follow the Scale Tails social media pages for updates on Jimmy Riffle’s current projects and live appearances across the country. For a deeper look at the legalities of alligator management, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) website provides the most accurate, up-to-date statistics on the Nuisance Alligator Program and how you can get involved in local wetland conservation efforts.