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Friends and Crocodiles?


Friends and Crocodiles

No, this has nothing to do with the Damian Lewis movie —that I own but have never watched (I fell asleep and either did not try again or fell asleep again.) Par! This is about Crocodiles that are now being found in Kingston Harbour and its environs and the fear that their presence evokes, even from 3,000 miles distant.

Growing up in Bournemouth Gardens makes me an expert on everything; ask my wife. However, this past summer Mr. Know-It-All was found wanting. This is because a dread story appeared, in the Jamaica Gleaner, I think, about a father who went fishing for fish and was himself fished for; taken by a Crocodile, in Portmore. Portmore may not be in Kingston Harbour, but I am willing to argue with those who say that it is not. It looks like it is, and now I know they have lots of crocodiles there, and that they have always been there, in its rivulets and lagoons. In my youth it was not so, or so I think, or thought, or remember. Are the numbers of crocodiles , now, the result of protection of the species? I doubt it, even as I remain mindful that the fine for harassing crocodiles is around $100kJ. During my growing up, crocs and alligators were seen alive at the Institute of Jamaica and were known to be farmed by the Gore and Swaby brothers (Live and Let Die) in some far-flung place; safe from predators like me. Nowadays, the predated predate and are omnipresent.



We, boys went swimming in the harbor just about every day, and all that I ever feared was sharks; there were none, but I wanted them to be there, so that I could boast about how brave I was. The only time that I ever saw a shark, in the wild, was during a shark-fishing trip to Port Henderson where we were all safe on a jetty, in an area that approximates today's Dream Beach (I would not have dreamt of swimming there.) The poor shark, a thing that avoided our liver-baited hook secured to the line by piano-wire, was no more than 3-4 feet long; barely longer than the dogfish that failed to escape my scalpel. Now, my imagination is being assaulted by the un-evolved companion of dinosaurs, shudder-inducing beasts that did not make their presence known to me, or to many; not in my youth.

Most evenings, after having “kicked the seed”, we would cool off by walking into the water and swimming, reversing course only when we thought it unsafe to continue. Most often we would swim towards Springfield Gardens[1], turning around, at the yacht club (RJYC) and head back. Neither sharks nor crocodiles were our company; I think. I would not even think of swimming there today.
Highly persuasive was the story of the crocodile captured in Rae Town; a place less than 2 miles distant and west of Bournemouth.

More persuasive is the story of the crocodile that was captured in a culvert at the cement factory; a place even more distant, but east, and one that means that our friend swam past Bournemouth and Springfield gardens to get to the cement factory culvert.

No, crocodiles are not Mr. Know-Nothing’s friends.



[1] The direction towards the cement factory: east. Portmore is west.

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