RISING WATERS
Are these cold-blooded apex predators South Carolina’s new climate-change refugees?
By Jonah Chester
April 26, 2026
GEORGETOWN — The pickup bumped and jostled as it rolled down the dirt road. Suddenly, a fist pounded on the hood. Thomas Rainwater pulled to an abrupt stop as Miriam Boucher rocketed out of the truck bed, fishing rod in hand. She made a bee-line for the area where she spotted the gator, which had slid quickly into its dark pond.
Miriam Boucher looks over the landscape of the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center while on a research visit to document the gator population at the reserve, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
In the blink of an eye, Boucher was by the water. A practiced flick of the wrist, and the line whizzed out and plopped into the pond. Haste became patience, a steady reeling of the line, eyes scanning the pond for disturbances.
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There’s an art to catching alligators. Boucher and Rainwater — both crocodilian biologists with Clemson University’s Baruch Institute — are practiced artists. This is their studio.
Located on the southern end of Winyah Bay, the 24,000-acre Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center is one of the premiere destinations for alligator researchers in the Southeast. It’s the site of the world’s longest-running alligator study, which kicked off in 1979, and has been a field work location for more than three-dozen peer-reviewed gator studies.
Yawkey is managed and owned by the S.C. Department of Natural Resources, but all of its operations are privately funded by the Yawkey Foundation. Hunting and fishing are off-limits since this isn’t a taxpayer-funded preserve.
Miriam Boucher holds a snare in one hand and an alligator with the tension of a heavy fishing rod in the other on a research trip at the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
But rising seas are encroaching on the preserve and flushing salt water into its wetlands, threatening the future of alligator research here. And as waters rise and disrupt gator habitats, the creatures might seek greener pastures.
TOM YAWKEY WILDLIFE CENTER: The Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center covers about 24,000 acres in Georgetown County. (Source: Esri)
Boucher, a PhD candidate who previously has worked with crocodiles in South America, said that if gators start moving into developed areas, they risk hitting what she calls a “cultural carrying capacity.”
“How many alligators will human populations tolerate within these urban or suburban systems?” she asked.
That displacement could already be happening.
South Carolina has experienced six gator-caused fatalities over the past decade, according to the nonprofit CrocAttack, which maintains a global database of more than 8,500 crocodilian assaults. (Crocodilia is the order encompassing both alligators and crocodiles.)
Prior to that, the state didn’t experience a single gator-related fatality since at least 1967 — the earliest year for which the database has records.
Miriam Boucher tosses hooks on the end of kevlar strings to drag across the water’s floor to catch alligator as a part of a research expedition into the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
The fatalities coincide roughly with both a sea level rise-driven surge in tidal flooding and a population boom across coastal South Carolina.
Jamie Dozier, who oversees the preserve for SCDNR and has worked at Yawkey since 2006, has noticed the rising waters.
“ Since about 2016, there seems to be a much higher frequency and amplitude of flooding from big tide events,” Dozier said in a phone interview. “We used to have one or two of the big amplitude tides a year. Now it seems to be almost monthly.”
Miriam Boucher casts her rod over Thomas Rainwater as the two crocodile biologists search for “Bertha, a large female residing at the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center which has been documented in the area for over 40 years, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
That frequency likely will continue to increase.
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration predicts that sea levels across coastal South Carolina will rise roughly a foot over the next 25 years. Rising waters also are warming waters, and marine heatwaves are helping to fuel a more powerful generation of tropical cyclones.
“With sea level rise, (alligators) that are going to be displaced have nowhere to go,” Rainwater said. “They’re going to collide with humans. Humans usually win.”
The rod arched with tension. Boucher hooked the gator. Nearby, Rainwater cast another line into the pond, the lures de-barbed to ensure the creature wouldn’t be harmed.
An alligator sunbathes on the shore of a waterway inside the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Getting the alligator on the line was the easy part. Now, the two had to get the creature off the bottom of the pond and on to dry land.
Boucher’s line was taut. The alligator would have to come up for air. Now it became a game of endurance. Who would win?
A grey heron flies over the marsh grass after jumping away ahead of Thomas Rainwater driving down the roads of the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
To land an alligator
Minutes passed. The gator refused to surface, despite the coaxing of Rainwater and Boucher. They speculated that he’d set up shop under a log, and was using it to bolster his leverage on the humans.
Gators have extremely high site fidelity. Once they lock in on an area, they don’t like to move. If they are relocated, they’ll typically strive to find their way back home — even if that journey might be several miles.
Miriam Boucher jumps out of the bed of a truck after seeing an alligator on the shore of a body of water she believed to be “Bertha,” a large female at the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
DNR often will euthanize a gator instead of trying to relocate it. And feeding a gator, even if well-intentioned, is essentially signing the creature’s death warrant. An alligator that’s lost its fear of humans is flagged as a “nuisance gator” and quickly dispatched.
“If moved to a ‘wild’ place where it might not be a nuisance to people, it can cause major problems for the alligators already living there,” according to DNR. “Alligators have a complex social structure and will kill smaller alligators that move into their territory.”
Thomas Rainwater, left, and Miriam Boucher, right, keep tension on their lines as they work to wait out an alligator they hope to capture and take census data on at the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Even if they can be moved, many of those “wild” places might not be suitable habitat for much longer.
Yawkey is dotted with “managed wetlands” which are slowly filling with salt water and becoming a flood risk. Rice trunks (wooden tide gates) scattered across the landscape should allow DNR to control the water levels in these areas.
Dozier explained that water can only be let out of the ponds during low tide when levels outside of the gate are lower than those inside. But water levels at low tide have risen noticeably in the past few years, he said.
Heavy fishing rods and snares stick out of the bed of a truck used by Miriam Boucher and Thomas Rainwater on a research trip to the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
“ Most of the time when people think about impacts of flooding, they’re thinking about the high water events,” he said. “Those are definitely a problem. But I think what gets overlooked oftentimes is that low tide is not getting as low and staying low as long as it once did.”
Dozier said it’s possible that those areas may end up becoming permanently flooded.
“ Which may not be as good for some species, but we may be able to kind of tweak that to make it work as well as we can,” he said. He said DNR might also have to retreat certain buildings and roads from rising waters, potentially complicating their work on the preserve.
Thomas Rainwater holds onto kevlar strings on heavy tension with an alligator on the other end of them during a research trip at the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Bubbles started rippling on the surface of the pond. Just a simmer, then a boil. A plume of mud shot up and spread across the water, turning it from black to brown. Something was moving down there.
The gator’s snout broke the surface of the pond. Boucher and Rainwater pulled hard to get it out of the water; he grabbed the tail and she got ahold of the front end. Inch by inch, all 12 feet of the alligator grudgingly emerged from the dark water.
The creature might’ve been forced into the open air, but he wasn’t inclined to move much more. Fresh out of brumation (essentially cold-blooded hibernation), the chilly March air left him lethargic.
Bubbles surface from the location where a snagged gator waits out researchers at the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Rainwater held the line to keep the gator from submerging again. Boucher dashed over to the truck. She tied the line holding the gator onto the front grill, and threw the vehicle into reverse. The gator slid over the grass and into the row.
“This is probably one of the biggest ones out here right now,” Rainwater said.
The alligator is maybe a little annoyed at having his day disrupted, but none the worse for wear. This isn’t his first rodeo. He already has a metal tag marked “CLEMSON” on his back flipper, indicating he’s been pulled to shore before.
A snared alligator begins to death roll while on a line set by researchers during a visit to the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Battle scars
Boucher tied the creature so she and Rainwater could log info on him and run a series of field tests. It’ll be one more small addition to the mountain of research that is Yawkey’s Crocodilian Library of Alexandria.
Across his armored back, the alligator wore the wounds of past battles.
Thomas Rainwater jumps to cover the eyes of and put pressure on the jaws of a 12-foot alligator he and Miriam Boucher caught during a research trip into the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
“Here’s a big scar,” Boucher said, indicating a pockmark on his back. “That’s a hole from a tooth right there.”
His skin was chilly and rough to the touch. Beneath a scaly exterior, solid muscle indicated his strength and speed.
A snare holds on at full tension to the tail of a 12-foot alligator during a research trip to the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
“This guy certainly hasn’t been missing meals,” Boucher observed as she marked down measurements on a clip board.
Modern alligators have been around for millions of years. They have seen the oceans rise and fall, albeit far more slowly than they’re currently changing.
Thomas Rainwater and Miriam Boucher prepare to release an alligator caught during a research trip into the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Prior research out of Yawkey shows that a warming world could skew their population make-up. Gators have temperature-dependent sex determination.
Generally speaking, the hotter things are, the more likely an egg will hatch a female. The Clemson study notes that “nest temperatures are projected to increase by 1.6–3.7°C by the year 2100,” and that “these changes are predicted to have dramatic consequences for offspring sex ratios.”
Thomas Rainwater stretches measuring tape across the back of an alligator to measure it’s length on a visit to the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Even that might not be beyond their adaptation abilities, as Rainwater said gators may start nesting earlier in the season to account for hotter temperatures.
“They’ve experienced climate change before,” Rainwater noted. “They’ll likely adapt.”
The biggest issue, he said, is the fleshy bipeds blocking alligators’ retreat and transforming the habitats the gators might have relocated to.
“Once alligators lose their refuge in a place like this, they have to go somewhere else,” he said.
As sea levels rise, South Carolina’s coastal marshes and wetlands retreat. Marsh migration occurs when once-freshwater wetlands turn increasingly brackish, and brackish wetlands get saltier. The marshes closest to the ocean eventually become open sea water.
Thomas Rainwater braces his feet on the ground behind a caught alligator’s paws, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
But the migration corridors those wetlands could follow are being blocked. Coastal squeeze occurs when migrating marshes meets a heavily developed shoreline. Stuck between a proverbial rock and a literal hard place, the marshes and wetlands slowly drown.
A snared gator’s snout is wrapped in electrical tape to keep it shut during a research trip into the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
“Will we allow alligators to have refuge in other waterbodies or other systems?” Boucher asks. “ If these alligators are migrating, that means more road collisions, more fatalities, less optimal habitat, getting pushed into urban areas, higher human-alligator conflict and potentially a lesser tolerance for them.”
Alligators have been pushed to the edge before.
A webbing of osteoderms from the broken down skeleton of an alligator lies on the ground between bodies of water at the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
Spurred by shrinking habitats and over-hunting, American alligators were nearing extinction in the 20th century. The federal government stepped in to protect the creatures in the late 1960s, and the species later was added to the modern Endangered Species list after its creation in 1973. Their population quickly rebounded.
American alligators still are considered a “threatened” species, but they were stripped of “total protection” in the late 1980s, according to DNR. This allowed “greater flexibility for South Carolina and other Southeastern states to manage alligator populations,” according to DNR’s 2025 gator hunting guide.
The tag for an alligator clipped into the webbing between its toes after being caught on a research visit to the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
To the depths
On most trips, Boucher and Rainwater can snag multiple gators — a process that sometimes can take as little as 10 to 15 minutes. Today was the exception to the rule. Beginning to end, landing and documenting this reptile took the better part of an hour. He was the only gator the researchers would capture this day.
An alligator swims back into the water it was caught out of during a research trip into the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
In an email after the trip, Rainwater wrote that this alligator has been captured three times. The first was in April 2016. He’s only grown about 5 inches since then.
“He has been in excellent health at each capture,” Rainwater wrote.
Their field measurements done, Boucher carefully untied the creature. She rigged a rope to remove the band keeping his mouth closed, then gave the line a tug. The band slipped free.
From deep within the alligator’s chest, a guttural hiss pierced the air.
A 12-foot alligator caught for a research project documenting gator populations in the Tom Yawkey Wildlife Center walks back towards the water after release, Thursday, March 19, 2026, in Georgetown County.
Henry Taylor/Staff
The alligator slowly stood up and looked about. His lumbering, heavy body turned back toward his pond, moving unhurriedly to the banks. He slid in, as gracefully as a creature his size can manage.
“That might have been the best release walk-off that I have ever seen,” Boucher said.
The water barely rippled as the gator resubmerged. All 12 feet vanished quietly into the water. Bubbles popped and simmered at the surface. Then the water was still and black again, the alligator hidden somewhere below.