How Venezuelan researchers are saving an endangered crocodile species

Venezuelan biologist Carlos Alvarado measures a young crocodile shortly before it is released into the wild. He meticulously tracked its growth. Alvarado belongs to the Group of Crocodile Specialists of Venezuela (GECV), which is committed to saving the endangered species.

For years, the group has been raising younglings of the endangered species. But they still fear that they will not be able to win the race against time. Decades of poaching for leather have brought the Orinoco crocodile to the brink of extinction. Now, the Venezuelan hunt for their meat and eggs is also threatening the crocodiles' survival.

The researchers document the nesting sites of the Orinoco crocodiles, collect eggs and young animals and breed specimens in captivity — for example, at the Leslie Pantin Zoo in Turmero near Caracas, Venezuela's capital, and the Masaguaral Ranch near Tamarindito. There, the young crocodiles are fed meat and vitamins until they are one year old and weigh around 6 kilograms (13 pounds).

According to the Venezuelan nature conservation foundation FUDECI, fewer than 100 Orinoco crocodiles, among the largest living reptiles in the world, are left in the wild. Their natural habitat is in the catchment area of the Orinoco River. The species has long been on the International Union for Conservation of Nature's Red List of endangered species.

Adult Orinoco crocodiles can reach a length of over 5 meters (over 16 feet) and live for several decades, like the 70-year-old Picopando, who lives on the Masaguaral Ranch. With their tough, bony shells, powerful jaws and sharp teeth, these crocodiles are truly impressive but also dangerous animals.

Omar Hernandez, biologist and head of FUDECI, marks the tiny foot of a hatchling at Leslie Pantin Zoo near Caracas. In his opinion, research, protection, education and breeding management are all needed to save the species. "We are doing the management, collecting the hatchlings, raising them for a year and freeing them," he tells Reuters.

In April, the time had come again. The young crocodiles were transported from the zoo in crates with connected pines to the Capanaparo River in western Venezuela, a tributary of the Orinoco near the Colombian border. This remote stretch of the river runs through private land, which reduces the risk of the animals being hunted immediately.

Every year, the scientists and volunteers return around 200 young crocodiles to the wild. They wait until the animals are one year old before releasing them because, according to Hernandez, this first phase of life is the most dangerous. During this time, they are not only attacked by poachers but also by natural predators.

After being released, the animals quietly dive into the murky, shimmering green water, an exciting moment for all the helpers. "We're stubborn. It's a way of delaying extinction and it's something that is in our capacity to do," Omar Hernandez told Reuters news agency. He is convinced that without the help of the crocodile specialists, the animals would no longer exist.