Shadow of the Thylacine: One Man's Epic Search for the Tasmanian Tiger

story.

Foreword

Dr Stephen Sleightholme

I first met Col on a visit to Tasmania in November of 2002, in the lounge of the historic Hadley’s Hotel in the centre of Hobart, as part of my work on the International Thylacine Specimen Database. It would be no understatement to say that I was somewhat sceptical at that point in time as to the possibility of the thylacine’s continued survival. In the two hours or so that we spent together, Col argued his case for the continuance of the species so well that he had a convert on his hands by the time our meeting ended. We have remained good friends ever since.

Col describes himself as an ‘amateur researcher’, which always makes me smile. I know of no other individual, and I include myself in that number, who has the depth of field experience that he has gained over 40 years and who has been privileged to interview at first hand so many of the central characters in the thylacine’s more recent history. He is an amateur in name only.

Col’s first book Tiger Tales is a nostalgic glimpse into the lives of the old bushmen who trapped and snared thylacines in the early part of the twentieth century. These men, as Col rightly states, were the real experts on the ‘tiger’. His new book Shadow of the Thylacine follows on from many of those tales and brings the story of the thylacine right up to date. In doing so, a number of startling revelations are made that fly in the face of current scientific opinion.

Anyone who knows Col Bailey well will attest to the fact that he is an honourable man whose integrity is beyond question, so these revelations cannot be disregarded as comments from an individual who does not know the thylacine. In many ways they are a clarion call to act before it is too late.

I once said to Col that he was the last of the great thylacine hunters and in many ways this is a befitting title.

Dr Stephen Sleightholme

Project Director, International Thylacine Specimen Database

Winner of a Whitley Award from the Royal Zoological Society in 2005

Foreword

Cameron R Campbell

Having followed the thylacine’s story for nearly half a century, Col Bailey has become one of the world’s most respected authorities on the species. My first contact with Col came around the turn of the new millennium, shortly after my website, the Thylacine Museum, was launched. Over the following years, his help has been invaluable to me in providing information and research material for my own work. For the Museum’s fourth edition in 2012, Col contributed a comprehensive historical presentation about the lives of the old Tasmanian bushmen, focusing on their experiences with the thylacine.

Now, with his second book, Col presents an autobiography of his decades-long search for the thylacine. On this journey, he has gathered a wealth of recollections from those who saw the animal in the early twentieth century — experiences of an era which has now nearly passed from living memory. There are many stories within these pages that would surely have been lost forever if Col had not recorded them as opportunities arose. Along with such historical material, Col also reveals, for the first time, surprising findings made in the course of his field work in isolated areas of the Tasmanian wilderness. The book is a truly fascinating and attention-holding account, and its publication will ensure that the unique chronicle it contains is preserved.

Cameron R Campbell

Curator, The Thylacine Museum

http://www.naturalworlds.org/thylacine

Introduction

When the comparatively small island of Tasmania becomes more densely populated, and its primitive forests are intersected with roads from the eastern to the western coast, the numbers of this singular animal will speedily diminish, extermination will have its full sway, and it will then, like the wolf in England and Scotland, be recorded as an animal of the past. Although this will be a source of much regret, neither the shepherd nor the farmer can be blamed for wishing to rid the island of so troublesome a creature. A price is already put on the head of the native tiger, as it is called; but the fastness of the Tasmanian rocky gullies, clothed with impenetrable forests, will for the present, preserve it from destruction.

John Gould, The Mammals of Australia, 1863

Gould predicted trouble for the thylacine as far back as 1863 when he published his landmark book, The Mammals of Australia. Of all Australian mammalian extinctions, none has been more poignant than that of the thylacine. Many now believe the animal long gone; some would go as far as citing 1936 as the year of extinction, others live in ever-diminishing hope that this truly remarkable animal has somehow managed to survive to the present day. I am one of the few who, like Gould in his day, remain steadfast in my belief that the Tasmanian bush has somehow protected the thylacine from extinction.

For us to properly understand the thylacine story, we must travel back to the mid-nineteenth to early twentieth centuries, those far-off days when there were no motor vehicles, aircraft, or means of rapid travel or communication, and transport was by foot, ship, horse and horse-drawn vehicle, or the emerging rail system. Roads as we know them today were non-existent, little more than dusty, heavily-rutted tracks of earth and gravel that swiftly turned to quagmires during heavy rain.

More importantly, there were no means of mass communication. It was an age when mail took many months to reach the fledgling colony. Many of the trades and occupations then indispensable to the economy no longer exist today, and have been superseded by modern industrialisation and technology.

By 1835, there were hundreds of thousands of sheep grazing in Tasmania, and already the first of the thylacine bounties was being offered by the Van Diemen’s Land Company for thylacines taken on its vast north-west holdings. There is little doubt that large packs of wild dogs and gross agricultural incompetence were central to many pastoral failures. Regardless, the thylacine was made the scapegoat for rapidly escalating sheep losses.

Life was particularly challenging for those living in rural and semi-rural areas where every penny counted. People viewed life from a different perspective to our own, consumed by a lifestyle that revolved around hard work and little leisure. If there were a few extra shillings to be made, there was never any shortage of takers.

As a small island state, Tasmania’s fortunes literally rode on the sheep’s back, with practically the whole economy in some way dependent on this line of commerce, and graziers wielded great power in the community. In many rural areas the local population was reliant on the viability of the wool, meat and dairy industries. If this source of wealth was challenged, the revenge of the local populace was often swift and decisive. Thus the thylacine, very early on, became the unfortunate victim of crimes committed by others. Regardless of guilt, mud sticks, and it most certainly stuck to the hapless marsupial wolf. This unfortunate animal had soon been elevated to a despised and hated adversary, the embodiment of all that was considered iniquitous. Soon most every hand was turned against the thylacine as calculated and sustained efforts were introduced to exterminate every such animal from the landscape. It was a mood that was to continue almost unabated for the next 75 years, with near tragic consequences.

The main means of capture were snaring and trapping along the fence lines surrounding farming properties, as well as by snare lines spread randomly throughout the bush. At the time, little importance was placed on thylacine pelts, with most being discarded after the hunters received their bounty payment, but fortunately a few skins have survived to the present day. These now command significant prices whenever they come up for auction on the open market. Importantly, their sale is wholly dependent on their remaining in Australia.

The latter years of the nineteenth century saw an escalation of hatred towards the thylacine, resulting in a full-blown government bounty scheme that ran from 1888 until 1909. During this period, in excess of two thousand thylacines were presented for a bounty payment of one pound sterling per head. Further, it is estimated that in excess of one thousand pelts were presented under numerous private bounty schemes, some of which were reputed to be paying as much as five pounds sterling per head — quite a financial incentive when a shepherd’s wage at the time was little more than five shillings a week plus rations.

By the time the Tasmanian government’s thylacine bounty scheme officially wound down in 1909, the animal was well and truly on the back foot. It is believed an insidious mange-like disease that ravaged marsupial carnivores throughout the island in the early twentieth century further depleted thylacine stocks. The largest of the marsupial carnivores was by then facing its biggest challenge. With its back firmly to the wall, the species’ future survival depended on those few remaining animals.

The thylacine reacted as many an army has done after being severely mauled on the field of battle; it fell back and regrouped to fight another day, proving yet again that nature has the amazing ability to overcome significant adversity — in this case almost total eradication.

As the thylacine’s previous haunts were being progressively destroyed by rapid agricultural expansion, areas of the island not previously considered thylacine habitat were, of necessity, becoming refuges. The Tasmanian tiger’s enforced migration into the unyielding wilderness of the island’s interior had commenced.

The thylacine’s range was believed to extend to as much as 80 square kilometres in certain areas of Tasmania, depending on the type of terrain and the prevalence of game throughout those regions. This range of territory gave the animal tremendous scope as it moved from the vast open plains of the east coast and central corridor up into the higher, rougher country of the central plateau and highland areas. Similarly, it migrated from old haunts in many other areas of the island to safer, more isolated topography where it could reasonably expect security into the future.

Over time, further pull-back took place from the vast Florentine, Styx and Weld Valleys as these areas, like so many others, experienced significant intrusion by the forestry industry. Natural instinct is a truly remarkable weapon freely available to all living species, and nowhere has this been better demonstrated than in the continuing evolutionary saga of the thylacine. Today this animal is making its last stand and its immediate future hangs by a thread. It is impossible to speculate about remaining numbers; there may be as few as twenty — there may be more, there may be less — but however many still exist, one thing is now certain: the thylacine’s days on mainland Tasmania are numbered and its immediate future looks perilous indeed.

With logging and tourism relentlessly pushing back the wilderness frontiers, it is only a matter of time before there is virtually no secure refuge. The modern-day march of progress waits for no one, much less for what is undeniably one of the rarest, most valued and historically irreplaceable wildlife species left on the face of the earth today.

***

Over the past 44 years I have interviewed a wide range of people, all connected in some way with the thylacine, and have been able to gain valuable in-depth knowledge of its present-day situation, and the prognosis is not good. There remains considerable apprehension amongst certain factions that if the thylacine were to be rediscovered, conservationists would swiftly lobby for the whole state to be locked up and protected from further rural or forestry activities deemed prejudicial to the animal’s safety and future survival. The important factor here, of course, is where that rediscovery takes place, be it on crown or private land. The implications of this aspect alone are paramount to any contingency plans that may be set in motion

From time to time I have received unsubstantiated reports of Tasmanian tigers being eradicated as they traverse active logging coupes in fringe wilderness areas, and of graziers disposing of thylacines seen in the vicinity of their stock paddocks. As hypothetical as these reports appear, if there is just one single grain of truth in these assertions, the future for this animal looks bleak indeed.

I fear the possibility of forces at work in Tasmania who want to rid the state of the hapless thylacine. It thus may become all the more imperative that any surviving thylacines be contained in some way and fully protected for their future survival.

I have occasionally come across people who obstinately refuse to disclose the location of their thylacine sighting, fearing human intervention may well spell the end of the species. I support this view up to a point, for I am aware that there are many thylacine sightings that are never made public for this very reason. In other words, the person sighting the animal prefers to simply walk away in the hope it will continue to live on in peace in its covert domain, wherever that may be. But is that a false hope? If it is, then I am just as guilty as they are.

Over the years I have had the opportunity to interview a number of log truck drivers, and in strict confidence they have discussed their thylacine sightings in fringe wilderness areas of the state. These men know full well the ramifications should news of what they have seen reach the newspapers. They are placing their trust in me not to divulge details of their sightings and are closet conservationists when it comes to the Tasmanian tiger’s survival. I am indebted to them, and it is a trust I will not betray, despite demands from certain quarters to do so.

In this book I am for the first time disclosing various quality sightings, as well as confidential information that I have kept strictly off the record for a number of years. I reiterate, time for me is now moving on, and these are accounts that I wish to make public while I am still in a position do so.

I have often received condemnation from certain thylacine devotees for not revealing a confidence; something for which I make no apology, for my word is my bond. Unfortunately this has happened to me several times concerning highly restricted thylacine information and it has driven a serious wedge into close friendships. Because of previous betrayals, there are few I can now trust, for loose tongues have been known to bring down governments, much less a thylacine. For this very reason I have almost always chosen to work alone when it comes to in-depth thylacine research. This is of the utmost importance, for we are dealing with the very existence of one of nature’s rarest gems and as such, it deserves our unconditional consideration.

Tasmania’s National Parks and Wildlife Service is bound to strict confidentiality regarding any area considered to be a potential thylacine habitat, and for this reason, entry into such a territory must be highly restricted. The Wollemi pine in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales is a classic example: the exact location of these pines is a closely guarded secret because of the pristine and fragile nature of the wild habitat. On rare occasions, specially selected researchers are permitted to visit the area. Such a scenario could surely be implemented should the thylacine be proven beyond doubt to survive in any one area of Tasmania.

I have long been convinced that the Tasmanian tiger can inbreed without any lasting impediment for it to have survived to the present day, for if this were not so, it would clearly have bred itself out of existence many generations ago. Therefore, I am asserting unconditionally that any remaining thylacine in Tasmania today must be the result of sustained inbreeding, seemingly without any enduring congenital defects. Regardless, the true consequences of this practice will remain unknown until these animals can be successfully captured and thoroughly researched.

Tasmanian devils also have a low genetic diversity, which is why the facial tumour disease is so lethal to them. Few, if any, devils are genetically diverse enough to have any resistance. This is also true for certain other animals, such as the African cheetah. Therefore, in accepting this possibility, it is logical to presume there could be several closely related breeding populations of the tiger scattered throughout the island.

I usually receive several credible sighting reports each year that warrant further investigation, in addition to a number of others that do not. The fact that these sightings continue to come from various points of the compass strongly suggests that if they are all to be believed, it could not possibly be the same animal.

If and when the thylacine is proven to have been rediscovered, the question will arise of whom to entrust with this potentially explosive information. Alarmingly, both federal and state governments have bungled far lesser issues than this in the past, but in this case I have little doubt that they will invariably gain control of the situation one way or the other. Thus the onus will be squarely on the authorities to perform to their highest standards, for clearly the eyes of the world will be upon them. If they are competent enough to successfully conceal such an agenda from the general public, well and good, but the truth must eventually be disclosed once it is practical to do so, and especially where government expenditure is concerned.

Hypothetically, let us imagine that someone has irrefutable evidence of a thylacine presence. A great deal depends on who rediscovers the animal and where; be it on crown or private land. How that person handles a most complex situation is of significant importance. If they choose to run screaming to the media, then all hell will break loose, for the press have a malevolent habit of over-sensationalising things, and believe me, they would go all out with this particular discovery. The print and electronic media are in business to make money, and rights to a scoop such as this would undoubtedly be viewed as a potential goldmine.

If word were to get out, it would not be long before redneck hunters would be in there spoiling for a trophy, not to speak of the ‘dime a dozen tiger hunters’ who would come crawling out of the woodwork, hell bent on basking in their five minutes of fame and potential fortune should they manage to hunt the poor animal down. I wouldn’t like to be the one feeding the story to the press, because peace and quiet would most certainly be at a premium for some considerable time after such a story broke. The guilty party would soon be hounded senseless as film, news and magazine crews would promptly descend on Tasmania from all over the world, each craving a share of the action. And don’t imagine for one minute that this couldn’t happen, because I can absolutely assure you it would, big time.

Over the years I have helped out a lot of local and overseas film and documentary crews, and each and every one of them have asked for an assurance that I notify them the moment I find proof of the existence of the Tasmanian tiger. Well, I have news for them!

My good friend, the late Professor Eric Guiler, OAM, was Lecturer in Zoology, University of Tasmania, and recognised as the world’s leading authority on the thylacine up until his death in July 2008. Eric was adamant that how to best handle such a discovery would take a whole lot of serious thought. On one occasion, we sat for some time on a log out in the bush discussing this scenario, and concluded that if we were fortunate enough to discover a freshly dead specimen, it would be home in the deep freeze in the blink of an eye, and would stay there until we worked out the best strategy.

We were in complete agreement that the thylacine’s future welfare was the prime objective, and the implementation of any protection plan would have to be carried out in the animal’s best interests and under the strictest security. The fewer people who knew about it, the healthier the situation. Calculating exactly who we could entrust with our secret was a far more daunting task. Eric had his ideas and I had mine, but on most points we could agree, especially on whom we could reasonably confide in, and I can assure you that there weren’t many in contention for that honour.

As the present law now stands, if a dead thylacine is discovered in the bush, the cadaver is not to be moved or interfered with under any circumstances. Apart from being photographed, it is simply to be left there for the next passing devil to finish off, or for an eagle or native quoll to nibble at.

The thylacine is a wholly transient creature, typically never remaining more than a few days in the same locality. Where in times past it has been reported to have resided for some considerable time in a particular area, no such luxury exists today. For its own safety and wellbeing, this animal must be continually on the move.

Once a thylacine is located and safely secured, its future management is critical in order to safely implement a captive breeding program, and this of course is dependent on a healthy breeding pair being located. If this situation does one day eventuate, and hopefully it may, it will be no easy feat, because if what the old bushmen have told us is true, the thylacine will be extremely hard to capture alive. There is most definitely no expertise in this area anywhere in the world today, so all we will have at our disposal is age-old and somewhat subjective information. It will largely be a game of trial and error, and, assuming all goes to plan and the thylacines are securely contained and transported to a safe environment, then the real work of initiating a regulated breeding program will begin.

The logical way to accomplish this would be by rigidly controlled semi-captive breeding in a secure locality — preferably separated from the mainland of Tasmania. In the 1960s, Maria Island, off the east coast of Tasmania, had been set aside for such a purpose, and there is no reason why it could not once again be nominated as the site for such a momentous breeding program. Maria Island is as ideal a locality as could be provided, considering the abundance of natural and introduced prey and its reasonably secure confines.

With the thylacine radio-collared and constantly monitored by satellite navigation, this would be as infallible a scheme as is possible today. The animal could be kept under strict around-the-clock surveillance in a reasonably safe and secure environment.

Such a program would undoubtedly attract worldwide interest, and with a potential viewing audience of millions, the ramifications in terms of tourist dollars and international standing for Tasmania would soar. As futuristic as my logic may appear, I can assure you that on the basis of what I have discovered, it is entirely possible and the prospect of such a future enterprise cannot in any way be ruled out. But having said that, the prime objective of the thylacine’s resurgence must never be allowed to become a purely tourism-orientated agenda, for it is this animal’s future that must be the principal consideration.

Following is the story of my quest covering over 40 years of research dealing with the thylacine from the earliest days in 1967 through to the present.

Tasmania has a number of animals called ‘cats’ or ‘tigers’ — the native cat, also known as the eastern quoll (Dasyurus viverrinus), is the most common of them, a reasonably strong animal measuring approximately 65 centimetres from nose to tip of tail, usually jet black in colour with numerous white spots on its back and tail; the tiger cat or tiger quoll (Dasyurus maculates) measures approximately 110 centremetres overall, is an exceptionally strong and fierce animal, dark golden brown in colour with white spots on its lower back and tail and now rarely seen, only inhabiting the western wilderness areas; and of course feral cats, domestic cats gone wild that can sometimes grow as big as a tiger quoll.

None of these are related to the thylacine, Thylacinus cynocephalus, more generally known throughout the world as the ‘Tasmanian tiger’. During the course of this book I have used both terms — ‘thylacine’ and ‘Tasmanian tiger’ — and on occasion I have simply used the word ‘tiger’, so please do not in any way confuse this with any other native tigers, or the placental tiger from Asia.

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

I have a dream. Perhaps it is better termed an obsession, a fervent desire to locate an animal that science has long deemed to be extinct. Disregarding the fact that my ongoing search has, on a few occasions, brought me into close contact with the thylacine, I have yet to produce the absolute and indisputable evidence necessary to prove to the world that this mysterious animal does in fact still exist. That evidence I trust is