When everything in your social media-mediated bubble looks depressingly like an imploding dumpster fire, it’s probably long past time to touch some grass, literally and figuratively. So when I was recently invited to take a break from my usual high-tech adventures and explore two attractions that are moving forward by preserving precious pieces of Central Florida’s pre-Disney past, I jumped at the chance.
Gatorland has been in business since 1949, but they’d never had a viral superstar like Jawlene — the world-famous jawless gator I “interviewed” in early 2024, who is still happily homed at the park — unless you count Savannah Boan, the radio personality turned crocodilian enrichment coordinator who is the international ambassador for Gatorland Global. Boan met me early last month for a morning stroll through the park before it opened for the day to the public, not long after she returned from an International Union for the Conservation of Nature conference in Morocco.
“To be able to sit among some of the most brilliant minds that work with crocodilians all over the world, and get information from them, and listen to what they’re talking about, and what their issues are in different areas of the world, is really fascinating to me,” says Boan, who departed the day after our interview for Honduras, and will soon head to Australia and East Timor.
We soon reached Gatorland’s recently opened Guzzling Gator Waterin’ Hole, the park’s newest addition. The open-air bar serves craft beers — including Grinnin’ Gator lager, custom-brewed by Crooked Can — with a view of the lagoon that zip-liners scream over. From the cartoon marquee to the satirical ads on the walls, the park’s first-ever dedicated bar was decorated by Dan Carro, the creative director behind their exceptional seasonal events. But it was a bit early to have beer for breakfast, so after a quick sip we were off to our true destination — the Swamp Walk.
Head as far as you can from Gatorland’s front entrance, past the enclosure housing “Pops” (a septuagenarian gator who starred in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom), and you’ll arrive at the park’s hidden treasure. Since 1978, the Swamp Walk has let visitors traverse 2,000 feet of scenic boardwalk inches above the soggy wetlands, and witness a 150-acre slice of nearly pristine wilderness that was once owned by Tupperware and which has miraculously survived encroaching urbanization, despite lying mere yards from Orange Blossom Trail. Gatorland recently partnered with Conservation Florida, a nonprofit land conservancy, and added updated ecological information to signage throughout the Swamp Walk, which has fully reopened after restoration.
On our way out, we walked through the breeding marsh and were greeted by its grunting inhabitants, many of whom would have been destroyed if not rehomed to Gatorland. “Every single one of their needs are met here, so they’re living the sweet life compared to their brothers and sisters that are out there in the wild,” says Boan, “They were living peacefully, then all of a sudden an apartment complex is built around their home, and then they’re the nuisance.”
If you want to take a trip even further into Old Florida, follow the Kissimmee River (or at least the Florida Turnpike) about 90 minutes south, where the Westgate River Ranch Resort and Rodeo allows you to live out all your Wild West cowboy fantasies, minus the dysentery.
My childhood camping experiences all involved failing to sleep inside a sweltering tent, so I was pleasantly unprepared for the “Conestoga wagon” Westgate hosted me in, which resembled an Oregon Trail relic on the outside, but was a fully equipped (and more importantly, fully air-conditioned) luxury suite for six on the inside. That’s just one of the faux-rustic glamping options available across the 1,700-acre estate — billed as the largest dude ranch east of the Mississippi — which also include luxe “tepees” and furnished tents, along with cabins and cottages.
As comfy as my accommodations were, I spent little time inside across my three-night visit, thanks to a full slate of outdoor activities. I rode horseback for the first time in years, traversing a forest trail atop a gentle gelding through a ghostly graveyard of retired saddles; and I fired a shotgun for the first time in decades, decisively demonstrating that hundreds of hours of experience headshotting zombies in virtual reality is useless when trying to trap-shoot flying clay discs.
The entertainment highlight was Saturday night’s rain-or-shine rodeo, the longest-running of its kind in the country, which draws a diverse and demonstrative audience to River Ranch every weekend. I could have done with less anticlimactic bull-riding and bronco-breaking, but the majority-female trick riders outshone any I’ve seen since Ringling Bros. retired their animal acts. Equine admirers should also not miss the nightly “running of the horses” between their barn and pasture, which hilariously proves there is something harder to herd than cats.
Torrential rains during our visit couldn’t dampen my relief at disconnecting from the grid, and I wish that River Ranch — which was built in the 1960s and bought by Westgate Resorts in 2001 — would lean even harder into its history. I’m hoping the upcoming expansion of their River Country water park adds shade and landscaping like its Disney namesake; and although I’m obsessed with their Smokehouse’s BBQ burnt ends and love that none of the ranch’s animals (many of whom are rescues) get eaten, I think their main restaurant should ditch the conventional chophouse menu in favor of authentic Florida Cracker grub like boar, gator tail, frog legs and swamp cabbage.
Ultimately, it was the unscripted, unglamorous moments that made my weekend at River Ranch most memorable. The tabletop “S’mores & Pours” tasting with fancy fondue fixings and top-shelf bourbon was perfectly fine; but roasting marshmallows on the fire pit behind our wagon, with “Meatball” the resident gator bellowing in the background, was fully a five-star experience. For a grand finale as we departed, the ranch’s roaming bison herd — which is being rehabilitated after generations of insufficient genetic diversity — paused behind fencing mere feet away from me, made deep soulful eye-contact … and loudly evacuated their bowels en masse. If that isn’t communing with nature, I don’t know what is.
This article appears in July 1-7, 2026 — Newcomers Guide.