To save or to destroy? Life in the crocodile capital of Australia

It’s morning in Darwin Harbor and government ranger Kelly Ewin – whose job it is to capture and remove crocodiles – is balancing precariously on a floating net.

Heavy rain clouds are hanging overhead from the recent storm. The boat’s engine has been cut so it’s mostly quiet now – that is, apart from the intermittent splashing from inside the net.

“You’ve got almost zero chance with these guys,” says Ivin, attempting to tighten the noose around the agitated reptile’s jaws.

We are in Australia’s Northern Territory (NT), home to an estimated 100,000 wild saltwater crocodiles, more than anywhere else in the world.

The capital, Darwin, is a small coastal city surrounded by beaches and wetlands.

And, as you quickly learn here in the NT, where there’s water, there’s usually crocodiles.

Saltwater crocodiles – or salties, as they are known to locals – were driven to the brink of extinction 50 years ago.

After World War II, uncontrolled trade in their skins increased and numbers declined to about 3,000.

But when hunting was banned in 1971, the population began to grow again – and rapidly.

They are still a protected species, but no longer endangered.

The recovery of the saltwater crocodile has been so dramatic that Australia now faces a different dilemma: managing their numbers to keep humans safe and the public safe.

“The worst thing that can happen is when people turn (against crocodiles),” explains crocodile expert Professor Graham Webb.

“And then a politician will always come up with a thoughtless response (that) they’re going to ‘solve’ the crocodile problem.”

The NT’s warm temperatures and lush coastal surroundings create ideal habitat for cold-blooded crocodiles, which require warmth to keep their body temperatures stable.

There are also large saltmarsh populations in northern Queensland and Western Australia, as well as in parts of Southeast Asia.

While most species of crocodile are harmless, the saltire is territorial and aggressive.

Fatalities are rare in Australia, but do occur.

Last year, a 12-year-old boy was taken – the first crocodile death in the NT since 2018.

It’s the busiest time of the year for Ivin and his colleagues.

The breeding season has just begun, which means salves are in vogue.

His team is out in the water several times a week, checking 24 crocodile traps around the city of Darwin.

The area is popular for fishing as well as some brave swimmers.

Crocodiles taken out of port are often killed, as they are likely to return to port if released elsewhere.

“It’s our job to keep people as safe as possible,” says Ivin, who has been working on his “dream job” for two years. Before this he was a policeman.

“Obviously, we’re not going to catch every crocodile, but the more we take out of the port, the lower the risk of encounters with crocodiles and people.”

Another tool to help keep the public safe is education.

The NT Government goes into schools with its program “Be Crocodilewise” – which teaches people to behave responsibly around crocodile habitats.

It has been so successful that Florida and the Philippines are now considering borrowing it, to better understand how the world’s most dangerous predators can live alongside humans with minimal interaction.

“We are living in crocodile country, so it’s about how do we protect (ourselves) around waterways – how should we respond?” says ranger Natasha Hoffman, who runs the program in the NT.

“If you’re on boats while fishing, you need to know they’re there. They’re ambush predators, they sit, watch and wait. If there’s a chance for them to get some food, The opportunity is there, that’s what they’re going to do.”

In the NT, large-scale killing is not currently on the table given the protected status of the species.

Last year, however, the government approved a new 10-year crocodile management plan to help control numbers, increasing the quota of crocodiles to be killed annually from 300 to 1,200.

This is on top of work being done to remove crocodiles that pose a direct threat to humans.

Whenever a death occurs, the debate resurfaces about crocodiles living close to people.

In the days after the 12-year-old girl was taken last year, the territory’s then-leader Eva Lawler made it clear she would not allow the reptiles to outnumber the NT’s human population.

Currently it is 250,000, which is much more than the number of crocodiles in the wild.

This is a conversation that goes beyond the NT.

Queensland is home to about a quarter of the crocodiles in the NT’s Top End, but there are far more tourists and more deaths, which means the issue of killing crocodiles sometimes comes up in election debates. Is.

Top hunters may cause controversy, but they are also a big draw card for the NT – for tourists, but also for fashion brands wanting to buy their hides.

Tourists can head to the Adelaide River to watch “Croc Jumping” – in which salty people are fed pieces of meat on the end of a stick if they can jump out of the water for their spectators.

“I’ll tell you to wear a (life-jacket),” jokes Alex ‘Wookie’ Williams, head captain of Spectacular Jumping Croc Cruises, as he explains the boat’s house rules.

“I don’t need to tell you… (that) life jackets are pretty useless here.”

For Williams, who has been obsessed with crocodiles since childhood, there are plenty of opportunities to work with them.

“It has boomed in the last 10 years or so,” he says of the number of tourists visiting the region.

Farming, which was introduced when hunting was banned, has also become an economic driver.

It is estimated that there are now about 150,000 crocodiles in captivity in the NT.

Fashion labels such as Louis Vuitton and Hermès – which sells a Birkin 35 Croc handbag for up to A$800,000 ($500,000; £398,000) – have all invested in the industry.

Mick Burns, one of the NT’s most prominent farmers working with luxury brands, says, “Commercial incentives were effectively implemented to help people tolerate crocodiles, because we were able to access wildlife. Requires a social license to exist.”

His office is in Darwin city. The skin of a huge crocodile is spread on the floor. Another skin rests on the wall of the conference room, stretching at least four metres.

Burns is also linked to a farm in remote Arnhem Land, about 500 km (310 mi) east of Darwin. There, he works with tribal rangers to harvest and incubate crocodile eggs in order to sell their skins to the luxury goods industry.

Otto Bulmania Campion, one of the area’s traditional owners, who works with Burns, says more partnerships like his are important to ensure Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities share in the financial benefits of the industry.

For thousands of years, crocodiles have played an important role in indigenous cultures, shaping their sacred stories, lives and livelihoods.

“My father, all elderly, would go and catch crocodiles, bring back a skin and sell tea, flour and sugar from it. (Although) there was no money at that time,” says the Balangara man.

“Now, we want to see our people handling reptiles.”

But not everyone agrees with farming as a practice – even if those involved say it helps conservation.

Concern among animal activists is about the way crocodiles are kept in captivity.

Despite being social creatures, they are usually confined to separate enclosures to ensure that their hides are unblemished – as a scrap between two territorial crocodiles could almost certainly damage a valuable item. Is.

Everyone in Darwin has a story about these formidable creatures, whether they would like to see them hunted in greater numbers or more strictly protected.

But the threat they pose cannot be imagined.

Professor Webb actually says, “If you go (swim) in the Adelaide River next to Darwin, there is a 100% chance you will die.”

“The only question is whether it’ll take five minutes or 10 minutes. I don’t think you’ll ever get to 15 minutes – you’ll be torn to pieces,” he adds, lifting up his trouser leg to reveal a large scar. Show up on his calf – evidence of his close encounter with an angry female when he was collecting eggs some forty years ago.

He makes no apologies for the executives’ pragmatism about managing numbers and making money off people who get in the way – it’s a way of life that is here to stay, at least for the foreseeable future.

“We’ve done what very few people can do, which is to catch a very serious predator … and then manage them in a way that the public is willing (to tolerate) them.

“You try and ask people in Sydney or London or New York to put up with a serious stalker – they’re not going to do it.”