A caretaker at Thaketa Crocodile Farm tempts fate.

THE sound of the jaws of a 10-foot crocodile slamming shut is distinctive and extremely unnerving, like two massive bones smashing together. And when that sound is accompanied by a crocodile stretching two feet out of the water to fight for a scrap of fish skin, well, it’s just plain scary.

But that’s all part of the fun at Yangon’s Thaketa Crocodile Farm, which is open to both locals and tourists all year round.

The park has more than 600 reptiles of varying sizes, although the number is in constant flux as they are hatched, sold or eaten by larger crocs. It’s a legitimate farm that breeds the crocodiles for their leather.

The park’s manager said that the crocs slated for the leather industry are grown to 7 feet in length before being caught and over to the manufacturer.

After seeing the crocs in the park’s main pond in action, the prospect of having to physically catch a crocodile isn’t appealing.

As far as tourism goes, the park is, for now, more of an attraction to locals than foreigners. This might have something to do with the location – it is, to put it mildly, a little difficult to find, tucked away inside Thaketa township’s industrial zone.

However, this didn’t deter the more-than 6000 locals last year who came to check out these prehistoric killers. However, less than 300 foreigners made the trek.

Entry to the park is only K200 for locals and FEC2, or US$2, for foreigners. It’s pretty cheap and once you’ve checked out the wildlife you won’t regret paying the admission fee.

The crocodiles are spread over four areas – the large main pond that houses the biggest and oldest of the crocs; a smaller holding pen for the juveniles not yet large enough to join the main group; a separate set of holdings pens for the smaller crocs and those with physical infirmities; and a hatchery for the farm’s newest inhabitants.

Most of the entertaining happens in the main pond, where the biggest crocs are confined, which has a boardwalk to allow up-close-and-personal viewing. For those safety-conscious types out there the boardwalk looks and feels solid enough and there are high rails.

After walking up the steps to the boardwalk, you cross over a concrete enclosure filled with specimens, some 8 feet in length, all of which are waiting their turn to join their relatives in the main pond. This is a relatively natural environment – muddy banks, plenty of trees and some marshland – and seems perfect for its toothy residents.

However, not all seem to be enjoying their surroundings – we spy what appears to be a dead crocodile. Its shoulders are hunched, with shoulder blades visibly etched underneath the skin – almost threatening to pop out – and front arms lying limply by its side. I tell my companions that it must be dead and feel confident in my judgement.

Further along and above the pond proper is a lady selling foul-smelling rolls of fish skin. They smell like they’ve been drying in the sun for days, and probably have.

But as much as the smell is off-putting to humans the crocodiles seem to care not a whiff. Oh no, they love it and the competition for the scraps of fish skin is fierce.

Snap! That sound, again and again.

Pondering the crushing impact of those jaws and teeth on human limbs sends a shiver down the spine. But there’s a sick fascination – akin to watching the clean-up of a nasty car accident – that makes it hard to take your eyes off the feeding. For the crocodiles, the skins are less than a snack but probably a welcome distraction from doing what they normally do, which is, of course, lurk menacingly. And for K1000, it’s irresistibly good fun for humans too.

Later we meet one of the park’s more experienced workers, U Thein Lwin, who tells us that the crocs get fed twice a week. To be honest, none of them look even slightly undernourished. Well, except for the dead croc near the beginning of the boardwalk.

I fairly drag U Thein Lwin along the bridge and begin to point at the carcass, only to realise, to my horror and embarrassment, that he’s moved. He’s still alive. And seems to be maliciously grinning up at us with his green, slimy chompers.

Luckily, U Thein Lwin averts any further embarrassment for me by suggesting we tour the pens of the smaller crocodiles, which he says are not normally open to tourists.

In contrast to the justified isolation of the main pond, the juvenile’s pens allow you to really let you get close to the crocodiles. Close enough – if you’re stupid or brave enough – to touch their smooth underbelly.

In one pen is a crocodile from Singapore that U Thein Lwin warns is particularly aggressive – ostensibly because he has an extremely short tail. Most of the jumpy crocs seem to have some sort of deformity, which raises an interesting question: Are crocodiles worried about body image? They certainly seemed to have some insecurity issues the day we visited.

While I’d have been happy to accept our guide’s word that a crocodile’s grumpiness is genetic, U Thein Lwin climbs into the pen to prove it. One of the assistants hands him a stick, which he uses to prod the crocodile. It seems like an unfair way to prove that someone or something is bad tempered but, in any case, it does precipitate a bout of loud hissing and deep growling.

While it seems that there’s no real point to this harassment, the indefatigable U Thein Lwin proves otherwise, manipulating the now-furious croc’s head skyward and then poking it just beneath the jaw. This releases two black protrusions – one on each side of the jaw – that look more or less like eyes. They are, he explains, a kind of crocodile sonar system that helps them to locate their prey underwater. Creepy – yet highly interesting.

U Thein Lwin proceeds with the entertaining demonstration, to the anger of his irate subject. He points out that because the crocodile has eyes on the side of its head – its forward vision is, well, nonexistent.

Again using the stick, U Thein Lwin harangues the crocodile into opening its impossibly wide mouth and pokes the stick in and out – without the snapping of the jaws that you would normally expect. Proof enough for me? Yup. Proof enough for U Thein Lwin? Er, no.

This time U Thein Lwin extends his right arm and very carefully puts it in the mouth of the crocodile. All the while I’m thinking, “YouTube moment coming right up!” and taking as many photos as I can, fully expecting to see some real carnage.

But it doesn’t happen. As visibly angry as the crocodile is, it obviously cannot see the hand lingering between its jaws. So close, yet so far. And yet I can’t help but feel like it doesn’t always work out so nicely. When I put the photos onto my computer later and examine U Thein Lwin’s arm my hunch is confirmed – there are scars running all the way up his arm.

Further along we find a pen where there’s one larger crocodile loitering in the water and four smaller ones sitting in the corner. One of the other guides tells us that the bigger croc is extremely territorial and won’t allow the others to get into the water, which is funny – for us.

When we finish looking at all of the different pens and decide to go home we realise we have to walk back to the main road to find a taxi. Walking along the road beside alongside the park we pass a small lake that several men are wading through with fishing nets. I wonder if they know what’s just over the fence.