Noosa reptile sighting might be a croc, but I’ve been up close with the real thing

On the weekend, the good citizens of the Sunshine Coast woke to the alarming news that a 3.5m crocodile had reportedly been spotted – twice – at the Noosa Spit dog beach.

“At first I thought it was a bit of driftwood, but then it moved,” said local Ross Buckley, who was taking a sunrise stroll on Sunday morning. “I quickly put the dog on the lead and kept my distance. Not sure what’s going on with wildlife lately but this gave me a real fright.”

Noosa local James Graham said images from his boat’s sounding device appeared to show a crocodile. Credit: James Graham

A few hours later, there was a report of another sighting, this time by boatie James Graham, whose photo of his underwater “fish finder” showed a crocodile-shaped image.

“Tell me that’s not a croc – it’s got the tail, it’s got the snout,” he exclaimed. “That’s bizarre.”

Naturally, there was little reaction from the authorities, who are presumably looking for cane toads. A statement from the Department of the Environment, Tourism, Science and Innovation said, “we are … investigating the matter further.”

“The Boyne River near Gladstone, some 300 kilometres to the north, is commonly considered the southern boundary of typical crocodile habitat.”

The people of Noosa need to calm down. I grew up on an agricultural college in Papua New Guinea. In the 1960s, Fitzcarraldo-style, my father carved out a new community in the rainforest 50 kilometres outside Rabaul on the island of New Britain. But instead of building an opera house, he created a teaching farm; we had cattle, horses, pigs, about 50,000 species of insect and spiders so large they ate birds.

We also had crocodiles – the place was overrun with them, but no-one seemed to pay them much attention. My sisters and I would be taken to the beach for a swim with vague instructions about “getting out of the water” at dusk because of the crocs. Our mother would then go back to reading The Feminine Mystique on the sand, untroubled by the possibility that she could go home with one fewer child than when she arrived.

One day my father announced with great fanfare that he was going to breed crocodiles. Did he not realise that he could simply drive to the beach, grab one by the tail and bring it back? But no; special equipment was purchased, eggs were harvested and placed inside an incubation chamber and we were taken to see the baby crocodiles hatch, the tiny horn on the top of their heads used to break open the shell.

Crocodile skin Birkin bag, made by Hermes.Credit:

Entranced, we followed their progress to bigger and bigger pens, delighted to see Dad’s efforts rewarded with a crop of shiny, sharp-toothed reptiles. Our mother, however, was not so keen.

“I do not want to see any of those disgusting creatures until they are a pair of shoes and a matching handbag”, she would intone, rolling her eyes.

One night, there was a loud commotion on the front lawn, and I awoke to see a small delegation of local men in ceremonial dress, accompanied by a 6-metre saltie tied to a long pole. It was Dad’s birthday and the chieftain had brought a suitable gift. Alarmed, my father grabbed a large club; part of a Fred Flintstone costume he’d worn to a fancy dress party. Made of the local balsa wood, it wouldn’t have stopped a breeze, let alone a large croc in a bad mood.

When Dad pointed out that the ropes tying it to the pole were rather loose, he was told not to worry. As a precaution, they had broken one of the croc’s legs so if it escaped it wouldn’t run very fast.

Eventually, my father persuaded the chief to take back this high-status gift, the reptile version of a white elephant. Peace was restored.

I’ve stayed fascinated by crocs and a few years ago, read a story about crocodile-breeding programs in the NT, where luxury fashion houses turn them into expensive belts and handbags. Turns out Mum was right – they do make wonderful accessories!

When the crocs reach a certain size, the juveniles are put in tubes and transported in refrigerated trucks where they sleep soundly, no doubt dreaming of Steve Irwin and their rightful place in the pantheon of “Australian animals which can kill you” (No.6 on the top 30).

Last year I was fortunate enough to visit Vietnam, a country with a healthy attitude to the food chain, placing humans firmly on top.

In Ho Chi Minh City, I found a shop selling crocodile-leather goods and bought a lovely black belt at a reasonable price. As my friends are fond of pointing out, it looks exactly like “mock croc” – no-one looking at it would know it was real. But I wear it often, and enjoy remembering my dad the crocodile farmer and the night he faced down a 6-metre dinosaur armed with a chopstick.

And as for the citizens of Noosa, now in a lather over reports of a 3.5m saltie on the dog beach? That’s not a crocodile, people – that’s a lizard.

Margot Saville is deputy opinion editor of the Sydney Morning Herald.

Get a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up for our Opinion newsletter.