The lizard king

Feared, derided - and growing in number - the American crocodile isn't the bad boy we think he is. At least not according to one protector of the little nippers.

By JEFF KLINKENBERG, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published September 1, 2002

[AP photos] Biologist Joe Wasilewski with a handful of American crocodile hatchlings that will be released into a freshwater pond near the Turkey Point Nuclear Plant in Homestead.

HOMESTEAD -- The last time a crocodile bit Joe Wasilewski it really hurt. After a few satisfying cuss words he stitched himself up, took a deep breath and went back to work. Talk about the crocodile hunter, by crikey.

A biologist, Wasilewski studies the rarest reptile found in the United States in wilderness adjacent to a South Florida power plant. Day and night he stalks the American crocodile on 20,000 acres barely a half hour from Miami.

"Most people don't even know we have crocodiles in Florida," says the raspy-voiced Wasilewski, who has handled thousands of toothy critters during his 50 years -- and has the scars to prove it.

During a good summer, he catches crocodiles by the dozens, marks them and lets them go. He catches hundreds of crocodile hatchlings, marks them and lets them go, too.

He sees more than he once did. Only 25 years ago, when it was placed on the endangered species list, the American crocodile seemed to be hanging to survival by the skin of its tail. Fewer than 400 were left, isolated on tiny patches of Key Largo and coastal Everglades National Park. They'd been hunted for a century while their mangrove habitat was turned into concrete.

With protection they've come crawling back. Now as their numbers approach 1,000, as they begin sunbathing in golf course sand traps and lurking in busy marinas, federal officials are talking about the possibility of changing their status from "endangered" to "threatened." While the change would make little difference in terms of protection, it would publicly signal that things are looking better for Crocodylus acutus.

Not everyone agrees the American crocodile's future is secure. After all, Wasilewski points out, the American crocodile is a tropical animal and limited to a mangrove environment where temperatures rarely dip as low as the 40s -- basically only South Florida.

"It's not going to be like the alligator, spreading all over the state," he says.

He also worries that the American crocodile, if it continues showing up in the suburbs, might develop a public relations problem. Although alligators are considered much more aggressive, it hardly means an American croc won't eat somebody's beloved dog or mistake a hand for handout. Then Wasilewski fears will come the inevitable public outcry to kill the crocs.

"When people hear the word crocodile, it conjures up the image of a beast that is going to be dragging children into the water and devouring them," he says. "People aren't going to be pleased to be sharing Florida with crocodiles. They're going to want to get rid of them."

Joe Wasilewski releases crocodile hatchlings in a freshwater pond near the Turkey Point Nuclear Plant in Homestead.

An old softie

The American crocodile, found in 17 tropical countries, is a scary-looking critter to be sure. At 16 feet, Florida's version grows even bigger than the alligator. But whereas gators bite about 15 Floridians a year, American crocs are softies

Although crocs have been blamed for a few fatalities in the Caribbean over decades, it has happened only once in Florida. That was in 1925, when a hide hunter shot a 14-footer twice in the head in Miami's Biscayne Bay. The croc had the last word.

"I'm scared to handle them, I'll admit it," Wasilewski says. "I respect them completely. They're huge and they have sharp teeth. But they're not out to eat humans."

Fortunately, crocs are mostly nocturnal. And they're active in places where people avoid swimming, mainly hot, dark, mangrove-lined creeks, canals and lakes patrolled by swarms of mosquitoes. The opportunity for interaction, at least in the past, has been limited.

But things might be changing. Recently biologists removed crocodiles from a marina in Everglades National Park. They weren't bothering anybody, but they were hanging around a place popular with people -- unnatural behavior for American crocodiles.

Now other crocs have arrived to replace the ones that were moved. This summer a 12-footer showed up near the fish-cleaning area in the park's most southern community at Flamingo. In the late afternoon, it lies contentedly on a boat ramp only a few feet from excited tourists and their cameras.

"I wouldn't be worried about the croc unless somebody's been feeding it," says Frank Mazzotti, who has studied crocodiles for the University of Florida for a quarter of a century. "When they've been fed, they might become dangerous like alligators."

Reptile friendly

Joe Wasilewski sometimes thinks he's the luckiest guy on the planet. He gets to study reptiles in the tropics instead of working in a slaughterhouse in Chicago. That's where he was born and grew up. All he wanted to do was study creepy crawlies. His aunts never let him into the house without making him first empty his pockets.

"Everybody thought I was weird. My dad still is hoping I'll get a real job."

Drafted in 1972, he had a choice of traveling to Vietnam or Miami. Miami, land of snakes, crocs and Bill Haast, won his heart. Haast ran the famous Serpentarium, where he milked cobras and rattlesnakes for the entertainment of chalky-faced tourists. Haast was equally famous for being frequently bitten. He became Wasilewski's mentor.

When he wasn't training attack dogs for the Army, Wasilewski cleaned cages and swept floors for Haast. Eventually Haast took pity on him and let him handle something with scales.

After the service, Wasilewski got a biology degree from Florida International University. He opened a roadside reptile farm, lectured college classes about herpetology and started another business, Natural Selections, which he continues today. He supplies television and film industries with various reptiles for their stories. And he hangs around to make sure nature doesn't get out of hand.

When you watch one of those TV shows featuring Florida on the Discovery Channel, for example, it's usually Wasilewski making animals appear on cue. "A television crew is on a tight deadline. Nobody is going to walk into the woods, look down at random and just happen to see a rattlesnake. It's my snake."

At his house in Homestead, Wasilewski has a pen with an 8-foot American crocodile that he raised, legally, from an egg. Wasilewski uses the croc in his TV and film production work.

If the show is educational he doesn't object too strenuously to the fakery.

When people hear about his line of work, they want to compare him to Steve Irwin, "The Crocodile Hunter" -- at least until he opens his mouth and out comes that south Chicago accent. Folks are also disappointed that he doesn't say "crikey." But he actually looks like the TV star, tall and stocky with unruly red hair and a youthful swagger.

And yes, he might be a little nuts.

When you enter his bachelor quarters at his sprawling ranch home in Homestead, brace yourself for animal skulls, skins and gamey odors. In his bedroom prepare to be greeted by the angry buzzing of rattlesnakes inside their cages. Much quieter are the king cobra, anaconda and gila monster. Outside in a big pen is an 8-foot American crocodile he raised, legally, from an egg. He feeds it chicken, but a couple of times it has nipped him on the wing.

Stuff happens. He also has been bitten by rattlers, moccasins and, at least once, a forest cobra that blinded and paralyzed him for an hour. The eighth vial of antivenin saved his life.

"If you're going to do something stupid, you'd better be tough," he tells people.

Keeping his distance

Wasilewski injects a microchip into a 2-day-old crocodile. The microchips, which are about the size of grain of rice, help in identification and the study of eating habits. They eat their own.

Dangers abound in South Florida. When Wasilewski arrives at work, he usually is greeted by men carrying machine guns.

That's because his regular study site is the closely guarded Florida Power & Light's Turkey Point Nuclear Plant. When the plant was under construction in 1972, engineers initially proposed draining into Biscayne Bay the hot water used for cooling the nuclear reactors. Instead, for the environment's sake, 168 miles of canals were built. They cool the water before it re-enters the bay.

In 1976 somebody discovered crocodiles in a canal. In 1989 the power plant hired Wasilewski to monitor the growing population.

"They're not here because a few miles of the canals have warm water," he says. "They're here because they've got lots of habitat."

Between every canal is an island almost perfect for crocodile nesting. And nobody but Wasilewski ever bothers them.

He fires up his Dodge pickup, rides the dirt roads between canals and searches for crocodiles.

"Nobody home," he says.

But at the last canal, near the edge of the property, he hits the brakes. Somebody's home.

An 8-foot crocodile stares back.

Even someone who knows little about reptiles probably could tell a crocodile from an alligator. An alligator looks almost black and has a blunt snout. A crocodile is olive green (though large ones can look gray) and has a narrow snout.

The croc doesn't let Wasilewski get close.

Maybe Wasilewski caught him before.

"Once you catch a crocodile, it never forgets," he says. "If it hears an engine, it disappears."

Driving along the canal, he sees a half dozen others, including a couple that might measure 10 feet long or more if he could get a noose on them. When they see him, they sink to the bottom.

Years ago, a crocodile sighting was a rare event even for experts. It required a late-night trip to a mosquito-infested wilderness creek in the Everglades. A lucky visitor might see a glowing pair of red eyes by flashlight for a few seconds.

It's easier now.

Recently one was removed from a golf course in Miami. It was released in Naples, but a few weeks later showed up again in the sand trap. It has been removed again and wildlife officials hope it will find a more suitable wilderness home. Another croc was sighted in the surf at tony Boca Raton. Even Sanibel Island has a resident crocodile.

Last week a 12-footer was hit by a car in Key Largo. Somebody cut off its tail. Crocodile is said to be as tasty as alligator.

Croc eat croc world

Wasilewski uses an airboat to navigate the cooling canal system at Turkey Point Nuclear Plant en route to release croc hatchlings.

"Let's take a boat ride."

A dirty pillowcase in Wasilewski's huge hands shudders ominously. Inside are a dozen baby crocodiles he caught in August. He brought them back to his lab and marked their scutes -- the ridges on their backs -- for identification. He also injected each croc with a microchip the size of a grain of rice.

He's doing a cannibalism study.

Every time he catches an adult crocodile he scans it for microchips. He found one 4-footer with a half dozen microchips in its belly. He saw a 10-foot croc carrying a dead 8-footer in its jaws.

"We always knew they eat each other, but not this much."

Revving up the airboat, he points it into the mouth of a canal, which leads to another canal, which keeps going and going for miles. Roseate spoonbills turn the sky pink.

He gets out on an overgrown island swarming with mosquitoes. Hunkering at the edge of a pond, he releases the little crocs. This year, he found a record 19 nests and hundreds of hatchlings. Only about 1 in 20 will survive to adulthood. It's a hard world for crocs. For crocodile hunters too.

"When I'm near a nest," he says. "I'm very alert. Croc mothers aren't as aggressive as alligator mothers. But it's good to be nervous. One time I almost stepped on an 8-footer. I jumped and she jumped and she brushed me on the way to the water. I was lucky not to get bit."

Not all croc eggs are fertile. These three were found at a nest near Turkey Point Nuclear Plant in Homestead.

Not all crocs are so kind.

For years he headed to the emergency room. But that got old.

"I'm a busy man," he says. "You go to the hospital, you freeze your a- off for six hours, and when you finally see the doctor he's rude. He pokes and prods and pricks you and it hurts.

"I prefer to do the stitching myself when I can. It hurts, but it's over in 20 minutes and I can go back to work."

For more information, see the Crocodile Specialist Group's Web site:

www.flmnh.ufl.edu/natsci/herpetology/crocs/CSGcrocsites.htm.

Joe Wasilewski's Web site: www.natselections.com.

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