I woke up in the dark, was up before the sun, drinking coffee while waiting for my laundry to finish.

I’m not sure if the sun rose, it certainly wasn’t in sight.

By 8.15 I was driving through a thunderstorm back into the Everglades, multiple roads flooded, large puddles on the others. I got there, found the rain had kept everybody else away, an ideal situation. The rain slacked as I arrived but was still present, making me glad I did still have my waterproof jacket with me.

The alligators were shy, one leaving the bank and entering the water as I approached, a second watching me warily from a pool before disappearing. I’m not sure where it went, I was photographing a bird at the time. The bird photographs aren’t as spectacular as the ones yesterday but the birds are prettier.

Only as I walked back towards the car did I see other people, a gaggle of bird watchers. “Did you find a spoonbill?” asked one of them. I didn’t know I was meant to be finding a spoonbill, hadn’t looked for one.

The visitor centre had opened while I was gone so I popped in, wanting an alligator for my cats to play with. They didn’t have any cuddly ones small enough but the lady in the shop said she had a dozen baby alligators nearby, but that she hadn’t seen them this morning. Trying to make a purchase I found out I didn’t have my credit card on me, paid in cash instead, went looking for baby alligators.

Eight inch long alligators are officially cute. I have photographs.

Back at the hotel I took the detergent to reception, left it there. I mentioned I was heading back to the roadhouse to retrieve my card and she said it wouldn’t be open yet. I said there were cars there and lights on, they’d let me in if I knocked, if not I’d bang on the door. The receptionist looked at me and shook her head. “No, you’re not like that,” she said.

That fascinated me. A calm relaxed quiet well mannered veneer had utterly fooled the poor woman. I just smiled and replied, “I said bang on the door, I didn’t mention shouting and swearing.”

In the end it took neither. I found a bell, rang that. Two minutes later I rang it again, knocked on the door, knocked on the window. A man came, let me in, asked if I had ID. He took it off and I stood there for ten minutes, watching people ready the restaurant.

When he returned he shook his head, said they had cards but none matching the name on my driving licence. I described my credit card, told him the brand and its colours, gave him the last four digits, suggested that he find it and we could compare the names together.

He didn’t return. An older lady arrived and said to me that she had one last place to look. She entered arcane codes into the till, popped the drawer open, took something out. She handed me my driving licence back, with it my credit card. It had been tucked under the paper receipts that they had still expected me to sign last night, chip & pin still not ubiquitous in the US. I’m so used to waiting staff not walking off with it that I’d forgotten this one had. But I had it back, and in my hotel room I went online to check the charges on it.

Apparently dinner last night was £34. No subsequent transactions though, which is good.

A couple of hours chilling in my room then the reason for a change in my schedule. I drove 2km up the road, turned into a field, paid $5 for parking.

I wandered around, a few food stalls, someone selling jerky, a stand with sunhats in a cowboy hat design, all looking cheap and nasty next to the multiple real cowboy hats on peoples’ heads.

The stand was half empty, a wet Sunday not drawing the crowds, but the seats were dry and there was enough sun to make it comfortably warm. The show opened with a tribute to the American military, the boys overseas. It went too far, “serving in foreign lands, ready to take a bullet for freedom.” No mate, ready to take a bullet to pursue global socio-economic security, a good oil supply and cheap imports.

A barbershop quartet got onto the microphone, started singing The Halls of Montezuma. I know exactly how I recognised it, just no idea which film it was. Possibly a John Wayne one, and wouldn’t he fit right in – full of self-promoting aggrandisement.

I let it all slide, stood respectfully with my hat off. I lost it at the next bit though, couldn’t handle the comment as they followed the US military branch flags with the US flag. “And now, the biggest signal of freedom in the world.”

I laughed, turned, apologised to the lady. “Sorry, I couldn’t keep a straight face at that.”

She wasn’t impressed.

They followed that with a prayer from the Reverend someone or other. I sat that out, refusing to participate in their archaic superstitions. The lady beside me still stood, head down, eyes closed. Idiot.

What followed made me smile wryly. As the flags left the arena music played on the speaker system: Springsteen, Born in the USA. I guess they never bothered to listen to the rest of the lyrics.

The show itself was very entertaining. The bucking broncos offered awesome photo opportunities and I took pictures of the steer wrestling too but skipped the steer roping. Good skills, just not photogenic.

The local mounted drill team were mid show entertainment. “They’re amateurs” called the announcer but he could have his breath, these ladies won’t be winning any dressage competitions.

Between every event the sponsors flags were brought into the arena. Guess it makes sense, there’s a lot of money going into this – one of the riders was introduced as earning $100k in ten days, a second as having $2m in career prize earnings. That’s better funding than many international sports.

I’d sat at the back, best views for photography, gave me a fence to lean against, and proves ideal for not having screaming idiots behind me. Plenty in front..

Music between the events included such classic hits as ‘She thinks my tractor’s sexy’, to which the man sat in front of me was singing along. I guess this is the American South’s answer to The Wurzels.

Men bouncing on horses makes for serious action photography. You can predict where they’ll be, the horse helps fill the frame and there’s undeniable energy and motion in the pictures. I’m hoping a couple are in focus too.

None on my mobile, I’m sat far too far away.

The bull riding surprised me by being substantially less visually impressive, albeit with added danger.

There was further danger in the stands, my patience tested to the extreme by a man and his three children coming to sit by me. Hitting each other I could cope with, even the clapping and stamping feet merely got a glare. It was the little girl continually getting between me and the events, moving around so I couldn’t get a static spot from which to watch, then jumping up and down on the bench next to me. I considered suggesting helping her jump over the fence behind us; she was only 5 or 6, still young enough to bounce and survive the 30 foot drop the other side.

At the end they let all of the horses back into the arena, 40 horses milling around together, looking at the crowds of people. One rolled in the sand, a few of them added some texture to it.

I had no other plans so sat and watched the crowds leave. Blue jeans were definitely the dress code but there were also many people in general ‘out for the afternoon’ garb.

Overall I’m very happy I came. Quite apart from always wanting to go to a rodeo it had been an interesting experience and if I don’t have some excellent photographs it’ll be entirely my own fault. [Can confirm: Have utterly awesome magnificent photograph and several merely great ones. Even being self critical I’m bloody happy with the day’s photographs]

Dinner at a barbecue I’ve driven past multiple times. They have the sort of menu you want to see after a hard day sat watching people fall off horses.

I went for the beef brisket with a side order of pulled pork. It was ok.

Back in the hotel I backed up 661 photographs that I’ve taken today. That averages out at around 1.4 photographs per metre walked.

Tonight’s hotel hasn’t changed.