There’s Always One Swimmin’ Swine That’s Mean and Nasty

Bit on Leg, New Yorker Sues Cruise Line That Promised Cute, Friendly Bahamas Pigs

Peter Swanson Aug 9

READ IN APP

This one is a salute to Jonathan Cooper, an old colleague of mine. A swimming pig in the Bahamas bit him on the ass, and he took it like a man.

Unlike that wimp from New York who has parlayed his Bahamas pig bite into a federal case. Jason Gordon was on a “swim with pigs” excursion at the Great Stirrup Cay cruise-ship playground when a pig bit him on the leg.

Last week, Gordon filed suit against Norwegian Cruise Lines in U.S. District Court in Miami because he had required emergency medical treatment and rabies shots. He wants the court to award him a pile of cash for permanent injuries and impairment, including:

Physical pain, mental anguish, loss of enjoyment of life, disability, disfigurement, aggravation of any previously existing conditions therefrom, incurred medical expenses in the care and treatment of plaintiff’s injuries, suffered physical handicap, and lost earnings.

My guy Cooper was happy to treat his wound with a couple of stiff drinks at the Staniel Cay Yacht Club, or were they pints? He’s a craft-beer guy.

Even if he wanted to, who could he sue? Nobody.

The swimming-pig attraction at Big Major’s Spot is the only such spectacle that has sprung up organically. Folks on Staniel could fatten their swine on the nearby and otherwise uninhabited island, thus avoiding pig damage (which is an actual thing) and the expense of having to keep them fed.

Feeding those pigs became our job, we happy campers on cruising boats.

Share

I remember once searching a stock photo service for pictures of the Exumas, and found more than 2,000 pictures of swimming pigs, strutting iguanas, swarming nurse sharks and a woman in a yellow bikini photographed from multiple angles, but especially pigs. Swimming pigs—this is how the world sees this Bahamian archipelago.

Amphibious hoggery has become a franchise. Now, there are four to five more swim-with-the-pigs locales catering to tourists across the Bahamas. Besides Great Stirrup at the north end of the Berry islands, there are pigs at No Name Cay in the Abacos, Ship Channel Cay and at Grand Bahama and Eleuthera.

False Advertising?

Frankly, Norwegian was asking for it when it convinced gullible passengers to pay almost $200 per person with this kind of nonsense marketing prose:

Once you wade into the shallow waters, you can expect the pigs to follow, knowing that food awaits. The guide will show you how to feed the pigs and the best ways to interact with them while swimming. The pigs couldn’t be friendlier, cuter or more enthusiastic about the attention.

Yeah, they’re hungry alright. They are pigs. And maybe there’s a friendly one in the bunch. But usually there’s a girl boss pig, and she is a nasty bitch. Ask Cooper.

Our encounter began peacefully enough as we dinghied toward “Pig Beach,” he with the camera, me with one hand on the tiller and the other holding a plastic tub of leftover pasta. The beach was mobbed with tourists mingling with seemingly cheerful pigs; one nice sow was even lying on her back so a little girl could scratch her belly.

The nice sow was not the one that welcomed us, however. Ours was big, a 200-pounder, and she came at us through the water like a hog-torpedo. She lurched upward and thrust her hooves onto the portside tube, maw agape and demanding.

It was a scary moment, like being mugged. “Here, take my wallet, please”—I tried to empty the pasta bits into her mouth, but much of it fell into the water instead, and a pig, as it happens, cannot feed on floating food.

At this point, Cooper slid into the waist-deep water to get some good pictures for our magazine stories—yeah, we were on the clock.

He didn’t have any food, so nothing to worry about, he figured. But our pig was aggravated now, feeling cheated. She swam round to his side of the boat and went right for him.

Cooper stood his ground for a few images, but the last one was poorly framed, I later noticed, marking the exact moment he had decided to turn tail and flee.

Watching from the boat, the movie at that moment downshifted into slow-mo. The pig opened her jaws wide enough to clutch a cantaloupe…then…she clamped down…on Cooper’s…right buttock!

In times of peace, Cooper takes excellent care of his equipment, but under duress he tossed that $2,000 Canon onto the fiberglass floor of the dinghy like an empty Bud Light can. He followed a millisecond later, rolling over the tube into the boat.

That night we shared our story with a couple wealthy Ohioans at the yacht club on Staniel; they owned villas there.

“The one with the black spots?” the car dealer asked. “Yeah, they call her ‘Big Momma’,” the investment banker added. “They used to have a sign on the beach warning about her. She bites. She’s gonna be double-crispy bacon soon.”