Chapter 19

Those Contentious Thylacine Photos

In February 2005, news broke across Australia of two thylacine photos taken by a German tourist near the Lake St Clair National Park. There appeared much doubt regarding the photos’ authenticity, with allegations they may have been digitally enhanced from a well-known picture originally taken by David Fleay in 1934. The tourist in question left for Germany soon after news broke, leaving his brother in Melbourne to handle negotiations concerning the images.

A contract was alleged to have been made with the Melbourne Age newspaper for the photographs for a sum of 15,000 euros. The first I heard about it was when I was contacted by a journalist from the Age requesting my views on the photos, closely followed by a reporter from the Sydney Morning Herald. The media proved most elusive when quizzed as to exactly what was going on with the images, and a cloud of mystery quickly descended over the whole scenario. It was all to end in something of a stalemate, with no money or photographs changing hands.

Coinciding with this was the announcement of a $1.25 million reward being offered by The Bulletin magazine for proof of the existence of the Tasmanian tiger. It was clearly unwinnable, and the Tasmanian Parks and Wildlife Department wisely placed a dampener on the whole affair by refusing to issue any permits for the trapping or containing of a thylacine. It was seen to be little more than a publicity stunt by the magazine, no doubt aimed at boosting sales.

Subsequently I was contacted by ABC Radio to do an on-air interview with 7ZR’s Rick Patterson, as well as by ABC Gippsland. The TV crews also began arriving on my doorstep, with a team from Channel 9’s A Current Affair closely followed by Southern Cross Television for the evening news bulletin. At that stage I had yet to lay eyes on any photo, and was therefore not in a position to pass judge­ment, so I naturally exercised some caution at passing an opinion.

As if to deliberately muddy the waters, Mike Bowers, photo­graphic managing editor of the Sydney Morning Herald, constructed a similar photograph in his home garden using scaled coloured cardboard cut outs. The resulting print was then hawked around the world, with many people believing it was the true image. Despite the resulting media clamour, and with the offer for the original photograph eventually withdrawn, all then went quiet, leaving many to ponder what might have been. More importantly, if it was proven to be a legitimate image of a thylacine in the wild, it would dispel once and for all the belief that the thylacine is extinct. As far as I was concerned, should it prove to be authentic, it placed the thylacine in a rather precarious predicament now that the media had hold of it. Little did I know at the time that I was later to be inadvertently drawn into this evolving saga.

***

My first actual sortie into the Jane River country came soon after Bill’s sighting. I entered that abject wilderness not to chase Bill’s tiger, as you may imagine, because in the weeks following his report that particular animal may well have traversed a significant swathe of countryside within its vast home range. This was merely a reconnaissance exercise to check out the area, and on that occasion I was definitely throwing caution to the wind regarding the weather. Parking the 4WD safely off road presented something of a problem, as I needed to find a spot that was hidden from the main road in as close a proximity to the sighting path as was possible. This was a challenge in itself, because there are not many places along that stretch of highway that this can reasonably be achieved.

Tracing the old track, I moved warily downhill, carefully noting the various landmarks as I went so as to be able to return by much the same route. Slow was the operative word owing to the precipitous nature of the terrain. Crossing the Surprise River presented little difficulty because it was not running particularly high. My aim was to skirt the Loddon Range and follow the old pack track before reaching the Adelaide River where I would make my first camp. This was a journey of some eight kilometres through some of the most miserably wet and slippery bush that could be imagined. The once functional pack track to the Jane River diggings was now a sad and sorry mess, badly overgrown in parts and with complete sections wiped out due to landslips and the numerous bridges now down due to washaways. At one time, small 4WDs could be safely driven down the track, avoiding a demanding walk of many miles. However, no such luxury now existed, with vehicle access completely out of the question. That night it rained lightly, and the sound of thunder in the distant mountains spelt problems ahead, for there were many rivers and streams to cross that would swell significantly if heavy rain fell in the ranges. The dark, surrounding bush emitted many strange sounds during the night, but nothing like a tiger’s unique cry.

Early the following morning I checked along the river and creeks for tracks wherever there was a clearing, but apart from wallaby prints I found nothing that would indicate the tiger’s movement through the area. With the rain eventually clearing, a brisk, cool breeze kept me from overheating as I trudged steadily downwards. I realised it would be a particularly hard slog to the Adelaide River, which lay some 10 kilometres from Warnes Lookout where the old track ended. Crossing the Erebus River required much ingenuity. The icy river was running high and fast and, try as I may, I was finally forced to abandon my plans and turn back. The weather to this point had been reasonable, but heavy clouds on the western horizon spelt big trouble. Seldom do you get it all your own way in this part of Tasmania, as on average it rains two days out of every three. And frequent snow squalls are quite another issue to contend with.

The return journey was mostly all uphill and extremely tiring. Trudging through fierce stands of treacherous cutting grass and dodging stands of the wicked horizontal along a slippery, muddy track in drizzling rain is no joy when your ageing body is continually flashing urgent signals to stop and rest. With aching muscles and leaden legs, I eventually made it back to the main road, definitely the worse for wear and almost totally exhausted. I now fully realised that tackling this sort of terrain was going to tax me to my absolute limit. If only I could have turned the clock back 30 years or so it would have been a breeze. Although I hadn’t achieved much in the way of evidence, I had, nevertheless, secured a reasonable foothold in establishing a search pattern in my quest to enter the Jane River country. Standing and looking out over this vast, untamed region from the West Coast Road, it looked forbidding, to say the least, as one rugged hill and valley became another in a seemingly everlasting landscape of pure, unadulterated wilderness that few had tackled since the gold-mining days decades before.

To venture into this type of wilderness alone, amounted to nothing less than sheer lunacy. Having said that, I guess at my age I can best be described as something of a lunatic, for if misadven­ture were to rear its ugly head in this type of terrain, then it is highly unlikely one would come out alive should a broken limb or worse occur. The prospectors and trappers are long gone and few hardy souls now venture into this morass of tangled undergrowth, vicious horizontal thickets and quagmires of hideous tea-tree swamps. Thus, the risks of misfortune are pronounced, and the chances of ever being found are extremely slender. I remembered Jim Hall’s story of people being eaten by Tasmanian devils, and it didn’t sit comfortably at the time. Having said that, this is the type of country where today one can rationally expect to locate a thylacine, despite its difficulties, and for this very reason I recognised that it is where I needed to be. If this exceptional animal had a grain of commonsense, this is where it would be heading, and I am completely convinced it has done exactly that. Reasonable pockets of game now exist in areas previously laid bare by snaring, and this in itself is incentive enough for a transient tiger to return to former hunting grounds. Having now experienced first-hand the inherent dangers of this region, I have nothing but admiration for the tenacity of David Fleay and his party, who spent many harrowing months there in their futile search for the thylacine in 1946.

I have at times found myself in particularly sticky situations where one wrong move can spell disaster, but fortunately somehow I have always managed to escape unscathed despite my physical infirmities. I stand resolute in my belief that it is when you have no alternatives that you are able to produce your best results. Improvisation is a truly wonderful attribute that each one of us has at our disposal and I have proven time and again that it can be a lifesaver in times of crisis.

Not long after my return from the Jane River country, I was alerted by Cameron Campbell, curator of the online Thylacine Museum website, to an alleged thylacine skin being auctioned on eBay. He believed it to be the skin of a zebra or a banded duiker, a diminutive antelope from the small African country of Sierra Leone, and asked for my opinion. Admittedly, at first glance it appeared that the skin was from a thylacine, but closer examination proved otherwise. The vendor, though, would have none of it, despite strong evidence to the contrary, and refused to withdraw the skin. Needless to say, it failed to attract sufficient bids to meet his high reserve. It was, however, a classic example of how easy it is to jump on the thylacine gravy train with dubious material. It was disappointing, too, to find certain Tasmanian enthusiasts pushing themselves forward as experts on the thylacine and giving this man erroneous advice as to the authenticity of the skin. The vendor went as far as to accuse me of jealousy, alleging it was ‘sour grapes’ on my part to accuse him of trying to hoodwink the public, even after he was presented with indisputable evidence to the contrary from several prominent Tasmanian authorities.

The following month I journeyed to Smithton to visit well-known Tasmanian tiger researcher James Malley. He spoke at length of his earlier expeditions with Jeremy Griffith and Bob Brown. It was a most interesting conversation with a man who had become something of a legend in thylacine circles over previous years. Although now somewhat physically restricted because of health problems, James Malley can still spin a tale or two from his wealth of experience gained over many years searching for the Tasmanian tiger.

During 2005, I was contacted by a Southern Midlands grazier after hearing reports of thylacine sightings in his area. His property bounds the vast Buckland Army Range, to which public entry is barred. Despite numerous trips to investigate a thylacine presence in the area, I found no evidence, although the slim possibility did exist. The farmer in question believed thylacines may have been savaging his lambs, but after field investigations, I believed wedge-tailed eagles were the main culprits, as the kills bore all the hallmarks of an eagle scavenge. What I did discover on his property were numerous Tasmanian devil carcasses, undoubtedly victims of the seemingly incurable facial tumour disease now sweeping the area.

Some 12 months previously, I had been contacted by a thylacine enthusiast who claimed to have been pursuing the tiger in this same Southern Midlands property. Claiming to have been pursuing the tiger for the past three years, he told of having carried out extensive field work adjacent to the Southern Midlands property I had recently investigated. He further claimed to have, lately, twice sighted the Tasmanian tiger in north-western Tasmania, and was currently writing a book on his experiences. ‘Tigerman’, as he preferred to be known, requested strict confidentiality regarding his identity, which was somewhat perplexing. His intentions were to contact several thylacine researchers, myself included, to write a chapter for his book detailing our experiences and our hopes for the future of the Tasmanian tiger. Originally from northern Queensland, Tigerman told of living rough off the land for several years in his endeavours to locate the tiger. He was well presented and appeared genuine, claiming to have already spent considerable time and money on his quest. When his book Magnificent Survivor eventually appeared on the internet as an ebook, it almost immediately began to draw controversy from certain quarters.

Nick Mooney, now working at the Tasmanian Nature Conservation Branch, emailed me with a lengthy discourse con­cerning my contribution, advising that fellow-contributor Ned Terry and I would, as co-authors with Tigerman, have to take some responsibility for what had been written.

Tigerman had apparently raised considerable ire with certain people directly connected with the thylacine debate. Mooney was concerned that Tigerman was presenting the views of others without ever having spoken or corresponded with them, and in doing so had neglected to refer to anything they had published and had submitted no reference material whatsoever. He believed that Tigerman was being hypocritical in saying that certain thylacine authorities were not taking people seriously. He argued that Tigerman could not be taken seriously if he continued refusing to put his name to his manuscript.

It proved over time to be little more than a storm in a teacup and the controversy soon abated. Nevertheless, a lot of what Tigerman wrote was quite unequivocal, as time and again, bureaucratic interference has been seen by researchers to seriously stifle the thylacine debate. For was it not a bureaucratic edict in 1986 that declared the thylacine extinct as far back as 1936? So what were they really grizzling about? It was, after all, simply a conservative view on the thylacine debate by someone hitherto unknown in such circles. My stance on the matter is that everyone is entitled to an opinion and as is quite often the case, feathers will be ruffled along the way. Because this is such a contentious issue, there will undoubtedly always be some who may be seen to overstep the mark.

The argument persists that it is a fool repeating his folly to refuse to put one’s name to a published work, no matter what the circumstances. Tigerman had challenged conservationists to come clean on the thylacine issue, questioning both the ability and sincerity of certain individuals, and in doing so caused controversy. Nick Mooney, as the front man for NPWS in reported thylacine sightings and the bearer of future protection strategies, was unfortunately fair game. Nick seemed perturbed by Tigerman’s assertions, asking what more could be done to locate the Tasmanian tiger? He stressed that he was satisfied he had done his share over the many years he had been connected with the thylacine issue. The real thylacine question, he believed, could only be settled by the expenditure of many millions of dollars, something that was for others in authority to manage and implement. Mooney’s dedication and commitment to thylacine research over many years has been without peer; no one person has done more to settle the argument within the confines of departmental jurisdiction. Mooney believes his main contribution has been to encourage responsible private searches for the animal. Ever obliging, his considerate approach to the individual is admirable, as is his resolve not to suffer fools, for he is a no-nonsense type who has the uncanny knack of separating the wheat from the chaff.

Despite this, there remains the niggling suspicion of bureaucratic cover-up, and unfortunately this is a climate that I believe will continue to endure well into the future. As Mooney pointed out, the conspiracy theory provides a perfect explanation for some people, a situation that is painfully demonstrated in reverse with the present fox situation. In exactly the same way, those working with the fox eradication team have been accused of manipulating evidence to further their own ends. There is of course something of a dilemma here, for as Mooney says, some are sceptical that there are foxes in Tasmania whereas they still believe there are thylacines!

Mooney claimed that several quite substantial private searches had taken place over the years that the public knew nothing about. These had brought no significant results, and he challenged anyone to come forward with indisputable evidence of the thylacine’s continued existence. Despite his best efforts, there continues to be much scepticism regarding officialdom, and for this very reason, there will be those, including myself, who choose to keep their information strictly confidential. And who can blame us? I was left wondering why the general public was kept in the dark about these so called ‘private thylacine searches’.

Mooney maintained that because these searches were privately conducted, there was no onus on the government to reveal details, mainly because they were asked to keep the matter confidential, something they appeared determined to do. He stressed that if it is a legal, private effort, then these people have every right to confidentiality. Further, in the event of the absence of useful information, it is pointless to take the matter further. Mooney went on to say that he wouldn’t buy the unsupported claims that recent habitat changes are catastrophic for thylacines, arguing there were still ample den sites and range territory and more prey than there ever was when thylacines were common. I am in the position to heartily concur with these statements, for there has never been a better time than now for thylacine resurgence.

Nevertheless, no one could dispute the fact that forestry operations bordering wilderness areas could well have caused a certain degree of interference with any previous thylacine movement throughout those areas. Mooney further declared that far more convincing thylacine reports had been coming from mainland Australia over the past few decades, and if we are going to take the ‘sub-proof’ theory seriously, we would have to concede that mainland Australia has more evidence backing the thylacine’s survival than Tasmania.

Having personally investigated the mainland thylacine situation some years ago, I have to say that this is accurate to a point, if one is to believe everything one hears. I witnessed instances of blatant pretence as some people deliberately exaggerated and falsified accounts in an attempt to appease the media and gain publicity. Media sensationalism is an unfortunate fact of life, and especially so when it comes to thylacine reports, as many researchers would attest.

Mooney emphasised the point that most thylacine researchers are biased as to what evidence they choose to believe, and these people should carefully examine the ‘rules of evidence’ that others have refined over the years to cope with the vagaries of humans. Here again, while it is a fool’s folly to believe everything you hear, over a period of time one becomes hardened, even cynical to a degree, as to ‘evidence’ and ‘proof’ in assessing sighting reports. While there is generally no hard and fast rule when it comes to thylacines, the emphasis is squarely on the researcher receiving the report to carefully check out the facts as presented. Skill is the operative word here; an attribute that comes only with experience gained by extensive hands-on research.

Thylacine researching is no different to any other study; practice makes perfect and in this case, field experience is all-important in understanding this animal, as is the careful study of the available publications dealing with the history and biology of the thylacine. In making a true assessment of the animal in question, the researcher must also be able to gauge what is fact and what is fiction, for not all published material on the tiger is accurate.

Mooney further asserted, on a more positive note, that the present ‘devil disease’ may actually help test whether thylacines do continue to exist. With the large number of automatic cameras now being used to assess devil populations in remote areas, ‘Maybe we will get lucky after all. With fewer devils, there might be less pressure on thylacine breeding stocks and more food available.’

He went on to present a plausible argument: that the government would be only too pleased if it was proved the thylacine still existed, since they could then claim that forestry wasn’t so bad after all. We might want to keep it under wraps while we assess the population, but the government per se would be busting to tell everyone. ‘The secret would soon get out for sure, since you can’t spend any money without others finding out about it.’

If this situation were ever to eventuate, special provisions would have to be implemented by a special act of parliament to safeguard the confidentiality of the thylacine issue. This is one area where the strictest discretion would need to be put in place by whichever government was in power at the time. Keeping the media at bay would be the biggest problem, and it is here that censorship would have to be employed.

Claiming to have already written up several contingency plans, Mooney asked, ‘Does Tigerman think we would make those details public? It’s very complicated because a thylacine likely needs 50 square kilometres, and in the most probable areas, that might cover five to 10 properties, state forests, roads, reserves — the lot. I can’t imagine we would be lucky enough to find one in a remote area.’

While this reasoning makes perfect sense, we also have to concede that the thylacine, through necessity, has now retreated far from human habitation, and the likelihood of locating the animal in state or federally owned wilderness areas is far more likely than on privately owned land.

Most of Nick Mooney’s reasoning on the thylacine issue made perfect sense to me, and I realised that it is folly to plunge blindly into the arguments of others at the expense of one’s own reputation. It was apparently a lesson I had yet to learn. That Mooney was directly involved in the drama surrounding Hans Naarding’s 1982 unconfirmed sighting in the north-west of the state, when details were kept off the public radar for two years before being released, speaks volumes for the man.

‘It was a reported sighting because it was not confirmed,’ Mooney said of Naarding’s finding. ‘I hoped to do so but did not succeed. Some people, myself included, thought it the most credible report for a very long time (before or since) but that’s mainly because we knew Hans and trusted him. Others would say the same about other reports and witnesses because they know and trust them and I understand that. The only thing we didn’t do was make a public announcement. Aside from that, it wasn’t particularly secret. Forestry Tasmania, the local police, service stations and all sorts of private individuals from farmers to truck drivers and chainsaw operators knew we were searching up there. About 20 different departmental staff contributed at some point, UTAS was involved through Eric Guiler and others, James Malley knew, and we had researchers visit from mainland institutions to give advice on finding cryptic species in forests. I think it speaks more for public disinterest. To people up there, it wasn’t news. It’s just a pity we didn’t have more and modern cameras and techniques (e.g. to analyse scat DNA) because we could have been far more exhaustive. We ran out of time and money and had to move on to other things before the issue was settled,’ he concluded.

Nick Mooney’s contribution to that search was second to none, and this singular event, if nothing else, went some way to establishing that the NPWS was suitably equipped to competently handle such a situation should it ever occur again. I have personally known Nick for some years now and have always found him to be professional and astute in his handling of the thylacine debate. He alone is, I feel, absolutely the best qualified professional to handle any future thylacine activity that may arise in view of his extensive work dealing with classified thylacine research over many years; and this despite the fact that he is no longer employed by the Tasmanian Government. In view of this, he would of course need to be seconded, and this is a move that I believe would be crucial should any future thylacine phenomenon arise.

In recent correspondence, Mooney told me that some years ago when he updated thylacine contingency plans, he was told by his superiors not to bother again, and this after putting together a list of interested and experienced stakeholders. These ranks have now thinned somewhat, mainly by natural attrition, and he is now losing contact with those few that remain and with the new blood coming through. Automatic cameras continue to emerge in the bush as more researchers turn to the latest in technology. But as Mooney says, with many of these cameras employed by mainland enthusiasts, where would their loyalties lie if they were to find conclusive evidence?

It was around this time that I received an unexpected call from Hans Naarding, the wildlife officer whose 1982 thylacine sighting in north-western Tasmania is considered by many as the best ever post-1936 sighting on record. Naarding, a National Parks and Wildlife Service officer at the time, was a recognised ornithologist who had vast bush experience with both Australian and African wildlife over many years, and was therefore well qualified to recognise a thylacine if he saw one.

His report was kept a closely guarded secret for more than two years by the NPWS, which indicates the weight it was given. The ongoing ramifications of Naarding’s 1982 thylacine sighting has clearly stamped it as a benchmark in the debate.

‘I had gone to sleep in the back of my vehicle which was parked at a road junction in a remote forested area in the north-west of the state,’ Naarding said at the time. ‘It was raining heavily. At 2 am I awoke and, out of habit, scanned the surrounds with a spotlight. As I swept the beam around, it came to rest on a large thylacine, standing side-on some six to seven metres distant. My camera bag was out of immediate reach so I decided to examine the animal carefully before risking movement. It was an adult male in excellent condition with twelve black stripes on a sandy coat. Eye reflection was pale yellow. It moved only once, opening its jaws and showing its teeth. After several minutes of observation I attempted to reach for my camera bag but in so doing I disturbed the animal and it moved away into the undergrowth. Leaving the vehicle and moving to where the animal has disappeared, I noted a strong scent. Despite an intensive search no further trace of the animal could be found.’

There was no mistaking his judgment.

‘I’m confident the thylacine exists because I saw it,’ he said.

Naarding’s sighting was significant for a number of reasons. That he claimed to have carefully observed the animal for several minutes, taking time to note its many distinguishing features, is important because typically most sightings are usually for a few fleeting seconds. On leaving his vehicle and moving to where the animal had been standing, Naarding noticed ‘a strong musky scent’, an odour he recognised as being similar to the African hyena. The subsequent search operation by NPWS officers, and predominantly Nick Mooney, clearly demonstrated the faith the NPWS had in Naarding. The hunt covered a vast area, and their investigations were as thorough as could possibly be achieved at that time. Working under a strict mantle of concealment, the team spent many months out in the field, carefully gathering and scrutinising evidence. An area of 250 square kilometres was monitored around the point of the sighting using remote trigger cameras purchased under a grant from the World Wildlife Fund, while stringent contingency plans were put in place in the event that a thylacine was located. Also, the fact that it was conducted in complete confidentiality for more than two years is quite remarkable in itself.

Regrettably, by the time details of Naarding’s report were finally released to the media in mid-1984, no conclusive evidence of a thylacine presence in the area had surfaced, but this by no means invalidated his sighting. The investigating team did have seven highly encouraging sight and sound reports from within the search area. Most were regarded as excellent by the group, who were steadfast in their belief that thylacines were active in the area as late as the autumn of 1982. In 1986, only ten kilometres west of Naarding’s 1982 sighting, came veteran bushman Turk Porteus’s sighting while he was clearing a walking track at the junction of the Arthur and Frankland rivers.

Naarding and I swapped notes on the pungent smell we had both recognised as having come from the thylacine, and it appeared identical. It was therefore heartening to share my testimony with this man and to receive confirmation that the animal I almost caught up with that day in the southern forests was likely a thylacine.

***

During 2006, an exciting historic thylacine photograph unex­pectedly emerged when a previously unknown image turned up on eBay. Originally falsely captioned as a family group, it actually portrayed two reclining tigers, and was taken at Mary Roberts’s Beaumaris Zoo by a photographer named Judd in the very early years of the twentieth century. The London Zoological Society claimed it to be the rarest thylacine image in existence after it had recently been discovered amongst a collection of old photographs. The interesting fact was that it had never been seen publicly before. Bidding was fierce, with several keen American collectors eventually being outbid by a UK enthusiast.

Late one afternoon in February 2006, I was unexpectedly contacted by two German tourists, Klaus Emmerichs and his partner Birgit Jansen, who wanted to show me two photos of a thylacine that Klaus claimed to have snapped near Lake St Clair National Park the previous summer. On carefully studying the two images, I noted the similarity to a well-known photo taken at Hobart’s Beaumaris Zoo in 1934 by David Fleay.

Klaus explained his frustration, complaining that no one believed him, most condemning the photos as fakes, and he was now asking me for my opinion. In the first instance I was particularly cautious not to show any sign of acceptance, but rather indifference. It was clearly a Tasmanian tiger in the images, there was no doubting that, but what was bothering me was how it got there. I must confess that where originally I was somewhat sceptical as to the authenticity of the two images, I had not to that point in time laid eyes on them. Now they were staring me in the face and I was being hard pressed for a professional opinion.

Klaus was quick to reassure me that neither he nor his partner knew anything about the thylacine prior to their arrival in Tasmania the year before. In describing the circumstances surrounding the photos numerous times over coming weeks, to his credit his account never varied; the only detail he was not revealing was the exact location of his sighting, a closely guarded secret he would later share with me. Klaus voiced a not uncommon theory that there was a conspiracy by forestry interests who were fearful of having the forests locked up should a thylacine be found.

Despite forensic analysis of the two photos, it appeared the jury was still out, and although the images could not be authenticated, the media were guarded.

Klaus and his partner have repeatedly returned to Tasmania over the years since in search of their tiger without success. That these two photos were actually taken many miles from the Cradle Mountain–Lake St Clair National Park may or may not be incidental. Klaus admits he deliberately set out to mislead in falsely stating the location in order to protect the animal, something for which he makes no apologies. But I find this strange, considering he claimed to know nothing about the tiger prior to coming to Tasmania. This is a mystery that begs solving, and although it now appears to have run its course, there may still be more to come.