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MIAMI (May 15) -- In the cool morning air of the Florida Everglades, Mitch Schall slowly steered his pickup truck along the levies in search of exotic, deadly prey.

A veteran alligator hunter who converts the reptiles' tough hides into handbags and wallets, Schall wasn't seeking his usual quarry. Rather, he was on the hunt for Burmese and African rock pythons, snakes that have no natural business living among these tall grasses and muddy waters.

In recent years, the python population has exploded in South Florida, prompting state officials to hand out hunting licenses over the winter in hopes of eradicating the interlopers and restoring the delicate balance of the Everglades ecosystem.

"These snakes just don't belong here," said Schall, peering over the truck's steering wheel for signs of the elusive reptiles. "And because they are not originally from here, and have no natural enemies, they're taking food out of the mouths of other animals and eating what's not theirs."

Environmentalists have blamed the pythons for upsetting the food chain in the Everglades -- and indeed, the snakes dine on all matter of other animals, from birds in the trees to mammals on the ground. In one photo-documented case, a python even managed to take on an alligator and swallow it whole (though it ended badly for both).

Twenty years ago, there were no pythons in the Everglades. Now, state environmentalists estimate the population is more than 200,000 -- and growing.

Just how the non-native species managed to infest the Everglades is the subject of much speculation. One popular theory among hunters and conservationists is that Floridians who keep pythons as pets release them in the Everglades once the animals grow too big to manage.

Others point to the destruction of a South Florida python breeder sanctuary when Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992, reportedly allowing thousands of pythons and other exotic snakes to slither to freedom.

Whatever the origins of the Everglades pythons, the snakes -- which are capable of reaching more than 18 feet in length and 200 pounds -- have state officials and residents increasingly worried about out-of-control breeding and encroachment on populated areas.

"One was caught in a canal near my home," said Schall, who lives along the eastern border of the Everglades, which covers much of South Florida. "Now you're talking about threatening children and pets. ... Wait till one of these snakes kills an 8-year old," he warned.

Dan Kimball, superintendent of the Everglades and Dry Tortugas National Parks, agrees there are potential dangers facing South Florida residents -- which is why state wildlife officials are educating the public about the hazards of releasing pythons into an environment where it has no natural predators.

"First we are dealing with the supply side of this problem ... trying to make sure that when people buy them, they don't [later on] let them loose," Kimball said, speaking during a training session for licensed python hunters on how to handle the powerful and potentially deadly snake.

The training session, like the newly instituted hunting season, is part of the state's efforts on the "control side" of the problem.

Using smaller pythons, wildlife officials demonstrated how to grab them either behind the head or by the tip of the tail. It's a daunting enough task when taking on a 3-foot version of the predator, never mind one that's three times the length of a grown man. The snakes don't possess venom in their bite, but instead rely on lightning-quick reflexes to pounce on prey and squeeze the life out of it.

Schall repeats an ominous warning he's heard about tracking and detaining pythons. "They'll wrap themselves around you so quick you won't even have enough time to pull out your pocket knife."

Schall and the other python hunters are at a distinct disadvantage in that they cannot kill the snakes outright, but must trap them -- by hand or whatever nonlethal means they can devise -- and deliver them to wildlife officials, who will euthanize them by injection.

Another challenge is tracking the animals down in the first place. During the hunting season that ended last month, an unusually brisk spring made the cool-blooded snakes -- which live in a state of near-hibernation when the temperatures drop -- nearly impossible to find. While Florida wildlife officials managed to bag about 200 snakes, the licensed hunters came up empty.

There may be fewer snakes to find now, too. Biologists with the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission said the record cold snap this winter dramatically reduced the numbers of Burmese pythons in the wild, maybe by as much as 50 percent.

Yet given the deadly threat the snakes pose, Brian Jones, who hunts alongside Schall for gators and pythons, said he doesn't understand why the state doesn't simply declare open season on pythons.

"It just doesn't make sense," Jones said while poking through the thick Everglades growth with a homemade two-prong pitchfork he designed to pin down a python at a safe distance (at least, that's his theory). "These snakes are non-native and we need to get rid of them."

The state seems to be coming around to python hunters' way of thinking, recently declaring a new hunting season to start in August -- when the pythons are sure to be more active in the hot South Florida summer -- and run till November.

"We'll get them eventually," Schall said optimistically, after his fruitless hunt. "There are so many out here, and their numbers just keep growing."