It was then that the realization dawned on me that we would be deliberately entering this pen and wrestling with this 700-kg Nile crocodile, in an enclosure containing 119 other adults. To voluntarily put ourselves in such acute danger seemed utter madness, though I knew it was my ignorance of crocodilian behaviour that was elevating the danger factor in my mind. While accidents invariably happen when dealing with such dangerous animals, they are largely caused either by complacency or by ignorance of their behaviour. If we were to enter the enclosure, there was certainly a way to do it safely – but it still required an immense application of mind over matter.
One factor that would contribute to our safety was the chosen time of the capture. ‘Poikilothermic’ or cold-blooded creatures, as all reptiles are, rely on the heat of the sun to warm them up to regulate their metabolism, so any reptile is less active first thing in the morning than at the end of the day. That’s why a dog is more likely to be bitten by a snake on its morning walk than the evening one: in the morning a snake will be slower to move away from an inquisitive approaching dog and thus more likely to strike out in defence than slither off in escape, as it will tend to do later in the day.
A second factor was the day that had been chosen for the relocation. Adult crocodiles will usually only feed once a week, and feeding time for these animals had been the previous day, so they would be relatively sluggish, given the vast amount of energy it takes them to digest their meal – though their reaction time would still beat ours hands down. More significantly, though, they would not be hungry, and so, provided we didn’t interrupt their morning siesta, or accidently step on one, they would be content sunbathing rather than bother to chomp on the nearest passing leg.
This was all very well in theory, but looking across the enclosure, I could see no safe route through the sea of bodies that lined the ground, so someone would have to clear a path by gently encouraging them to move. I had no idea how easy that would be, but it was not a job for which I was going to volunteer.
One of the farm workers met us at the gate to the feeding gangway, unlocking it and ushering us through. Piet led the way, pointing to the bank on the far side of the dam, deep in conversation with Derik. Despite my frustrating ignorance of Afrikaans, it was clear that he was indicating the male crocodile we were there to move. As I focused in on the animal, it was almost as though he grew before my very eyes. While at first glance there seemed to be a uniformity to all the crocodiles in the enclosure, on closer inspection I noticed the wide range of their size and width. Without doubt, though, this boy was the biggest. Lying motionless, at an acute angle, facing away from the dam, jaws wide open, his teeth glinting in the morning sun, it was almost as though he were inviting us to catch him if we dared.
As Derik and Piet continued their conversation, another farm worker passed us by, carrying a 10-foot-long, 2-inch-wide black plastic pipe, then climbed over the gangway wall into the enclosure. He boldly proceeded to thrash the ground in front of any crocodile that lay in his path as he sought to create a safe passage to the crocodile in question from the gangway where we stood. I was convinced his method was a sure-fire way of ending up as an unexpected bonus meal. Remarkably, however, although they were none too happy for their morning basking to be so rudely interrupted – a displeasure they made perfectly clear in a series of wild snaps and hissing noises – they slowly moved away or took to the water. It was a remarkable insight into this man’s knowledge and understanding of crocodilian behaviour. After about ten minutes a path had been cleared, which he then proceeded to patrol.
Meanwhile, Piet was preparing a lasso from a 20-foot piece of industrial strapping, which he lightly fastened to a 6-foot pole. Task completed, he and another worker followed the first over the metre-high wall into the enclosure. Piet took the lead, approaching his quarry from the side. Our crocodile remained completely motionless as he eyed the potential threat. Standing at what seemed an insanely close distance, and well within striking range, Piet stretched out the primitive and clumsy contraption, attempting to lower it over the animal’s upper jaw. The crocodile was not so easily fooled, though, and as soon as he felt the contact of the lasso on his snout, snatched at it, ripping it from Piet’s hands and casting it aside, and then turned to face the water, his jaws almost shut. As if it wasn’t obvious enough that this was not part of the plan, Derik let out an Afrikaans expletive that even I could understand.
The situation was now delicately poised: at any moment the crocodile might take to the water, which would make catching him impossible. If that happened there were only two possible solutions: either to come back another day, or wait the three hours it took to drain the dam. In my experience, African wild-life work was full of wasted days, and a range of Plans B, C, D or Z. It was one of the reasons for the vast costs involved in operations like these. More than any domestic animal, wildlife requires immense patience.
With this particular job, even if we drained the dam, there was still no guarantee of success, since the crocodile might decide to stay where he was. If so, the human risk factor would be infinitely increased, since the algal slime at the bottom of these drained reservoirs would be treacherously slippery. To attempt to go into one in pursuit of an adult crocodile would be suicidal. I remembered a terrible story Cobus had once told me. He had been asked to remove 150 adult crocodiles from a farm by the owner’s wife, after her husband was killed attempting to clean a dam. He’d done the job thousands of times before, but on this occasion he slipped, and fell in, as the dam was draining. By the time the water had gone, so had most of him. Maybe coming back another day was the better option …
Fortunately, having repositioned himself, the crocodile now settled, apparently quite content to stay on the bank, showing no interest in the water. We still needed to wait for him to reopen his mouth, though, to allow Piet another attempt at lassoing his upper jaw. Giving the crocodile a chance to settle, and after reconstructing the lasso, Piet stepped back to watch him at a distance of a few metres.
It was probably ten minutes before the crocodile relaxed enough to slowly open his jaw. Piet allowed him another few minutes before slowly approaching his head for the second time. This time starting with the loop well in front of the snout, he ensured he was lined up with the upper jaw, and then in a quick movement brought the lasso into and over the animal’s mouth. The crocodile did the rest, snapping his jaw tightly shut and whipping his head and neck away from Piet in a movement that elicited all this creature’s trademark force. And that movement was exactly what was required to cause the loop of strap to tighten around his upper jaw: 4.6 metres and 700 kg of prehistoric muscle power was now caught. And he knew it.
The jaw-snap and neck-jerk was just the start of the unleashing of his fury at this unwelcome restraint. He started thrashing from side to side, deploying the immense power of his tail to create a full body movement. Backwards and forwards, side to side he went; the speed and strength with which he continued was terrifying to watch, and it was all Piet could do to hold on. The two farm workers were quick to lend added manpower, but the three of them were still no match for this creature who now, clearly dissatisfied with the progress he was making, decided to take the fight to his preferred hunting ground, and dashed into the water.