15 Jan Turks and Caicos Iguanas: An Approach to Sustainable Wildlife Tourism
A swarm of jet skis masquerading as race cars zoomed across sapphire waters in the Turks and Caicos Islands, their wake causing our captain to shift course as our boat glided toward Little Water Cay. It was my first experience with these water-bound speedsters and the sight was admittedly surreal, though airport advertising had made it clear that watersports were part of the islands’ draw. I’d spent enough time in the Caribbean to know this was almost always part of the commercial allure, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Turks and Caicos Rock Iguana, my own draw to the islands, was also being advertised at the airport.
I’d first learned about the Turks and Caicos Rock Iguana while camped on an island in the Exumas, The Bahamas, studying one of the Caribbean’s other 11 species of Rock Iguana – the Allen Cays Rock Iguana. My professor, Dr. Iverson, had recounted an experience from early in his career documenting a terrifying decline of several thousand Turks and Caicos Rock Iguanas to virtually zero in a 3-year period from the introduction of cats and dogs during construction of a fancy new resort. The first mate on our boat was well familiar with the story, explaining that this decline had been the reason the Turks and Caicos National Trust established an iguana sanctuary where we were headed on Little Water Cay.
As we stepped onto Little Water Cay’s white sand beach, there was no swarm of iguanas mobbing us – just a single lizard basking in the sun. I knew through my own rock iguana research that this meant iguanas here were not use to being fed by people, at least not on a regular basis. I’d spent years watching tour operators in the Bahamas equip their guests with grapes to feed the Allen Cays Rock Iguanas. The iguanas on those beaches had learned boat motor sounds meant scrumptious treats and lined up at the ready. The beach erupted with iguanas pursuing and consuming all grapes in sight, whether on-stick, in-hand, or fallen to the sand. Their zeal left tourists jumping and squealing out of surprise, fear, delight, or some combination thereof.
Increased tourist visitation over the years suggested people enjoyed this frenzied encounter, but what of the iguanas? Out of concern, I studied their food habits and behavior. Sure enough, I documented shifts in both. Most disturbingly, it was clear that iguanas on these feeding beaches were replacing their diet of native vegetation with the sugary, sweet snacks being offered by tourists. Iguana health, behavior, and population dynamics were all paying a price for this type of tourism (see my articles for details). I’d heard iguana tourism was being done differently in the Turks and Caicos. This, I came to see.
Having arrived on the less-visited back side of Little Water Cay, I knew I needed to see the main landing beach to truly assess the impacts of tourism on the Turks and Caicos Rock Iguanas. Our first mate led us down the beach to a well-hidden trail through the mangroves. Hurricane-damaged now-seldom-used boardwalks confirmed that this wasn’t a standard route. Iguanas lurked in trail-side vegetation, scurrying away as we approached. Boardwalk condition improved as we neared the opposite side of the island and informational signs began to appear. The further we went, the less wary and more concentrated the iguanas became.
We reached the national park’s main landing area just as a boatful of tourists arrived. I watched them unload. The iguanas didn’t swarm. The lizards seemed entirely ambivalent to human presence. A few lounged beneath the welcome sign; others chased through the understory; some lazed on fallen palm fronds; and a few even blatantly claimed the boardwalk. These iguanas did not behave as if they were fed, but why were their numbers so much higher here near the landing? And why were they less shy?
I pressed our guide as to whether operators might be surreptitiously supplementing the food supply here. His eyes widened as he informed me that that would be illegal. Though he later admitted that feeding might happen sometimes, in some places.
I suspected we were at one of those places a few days later when we visited a safety population that had been established on a small island within the Chalk Sound National Park. Iguanas here rushed to our boat despite the posted “no feeding” sign. Our boatman here also denied feeding them and reminded us that it was illegal. It was clear not everyone heeded those rules though. I couldn’t help but note a few pieces of apple remaining on the beach as a pair of kayakers hastily left upon our arrival. A nearby iguana quickly scooped up the evidence.
So perhaps a few tourists still engaged in small-scale feeding of iguanas, but it was clear that this was not what had propelled the Turks and Caicos Rock Iguana to tourism prominence. This was an industry built on the opportunity to observe unique wildlife in the only place it naturally occurs in the world. My walk through Little Water Cay suggested that repeated exposure to people was enough to habituate the animals without dependence on large-scale feeding. Did this lower-key approach to the iguanas evoke the same level of squeals as feeding them in the Bahamas had? No, but for true nature-lovers it’s a far more gratifying experience, not only in observing the animals behaving naturally in their native habitat, but also in appreciating the long-term sustainability of this style of tourism. Perhaps those seeking thrill-induced squeals would be better served by renting a jet ski car.
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