Clark, a native Floridian, was not an occasional deer-here, alligator-there opportunist. He led an organized group that called itself the Salt Lake Gang and allegedly hired himself out as a guide for wealthy hunters who wanted to hunt alligators illegally. Clark would later sell the alligator meat.
For years, Clark and his crew poached with impunity. Local sheriff's deputies, if they knew what was going on, never took action. The gang, which averaged about 17 members, often met at Clark's bar to plan hunts, deciding who would arrive in airboats, who in trucks, who would bring the hunting dogs and how they would flee law enforcement if necessary.
"Jimmy was a good planner," says Lt. David Lee, a Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission agent. Acting on a tip, Lee posed as a businessman from Jacksonville and befriended Clark and the others at the North Branch Bar. During numerous outings with the gang over 10 months, Lee recorded 456 violations for poaching white-tailed deer and alligator and other illegal hunting activities.
Clark, he says, simply had no respect for laws regulating when and where it was legal to hunt. "Jimmy's problem was he was born about 100 years too late," says Lee. "If he lived in the days before everything was fenced and had "no trespassing" signs, he'd have been in his heyday."
Outside its urban areas, away from the condos and asphalt, Florida is still full of Jimmy Lee Clarks, poachers who either don't think the laws apply to them or are willing to swap the risk of getting caught for the chance to make money.
Poaching goes far beyond illegal hunting. Markets exist for deer and alligator meat and hides. Off the Gulf Coast, fishermen pull in thousands of pounds of illegally caught grouper, mullet and other fish they sell to seafood processors. In Cedar Key, thieves make off with $60,000 worth of clam seeds.
Much poaching involves protected species like migratory birds and black bears. In south Florida, poachers sell sea turtle eggs for $20 to $30 a dozen. A sushi restaurant, looking to make a bigger profit, buys sailfish, a protected game fish, for $2 a pound and sells it as tuna, which can cost $8 to $14 a pound. In Bartow, three brothers were caught with 23 gopher tortoises in the trunk of their car. A species of special concern in Florida, gopher tortoises are illegal to possess.
In addition to depleting the endangered species, "it's stealing," says FWC spokesman Gary Morse. "They're abusing a resource that belongs to all the residents."
Maximizing their attack
The FWC, which arrests about 40,000 people a year for all sorts of violations, doesn't keep statewide records of poaching arrests and violations. (The agency plans to begin putting together such a database later this year.) But John Moran, a captain with the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission now working at Florida Marine Research Institute in St. Petersburg, estimates that there are 100,000 or so poachers in Florida. Studies suggest that authorities only catch about 10% of all poachers.
Combating the poachers is a relatively small cadre of FWC officers with limited resources; 722 officers cover 54,136 square miles of land and another 52,000 square miles of rivers, lakes and saltwater bays and offshore waters. It's also a risky job. It's not uncommon for FWC officers to work alone, deep in the woods. Poachers, of course, are always armed, and unexpected encounters with moonshiners and drug dealers are also possible. Since 1971, eight officers have been killed, six shot to death and two killed in an auto accident.
Though few in number, the FWC officers have attempted to maximize their effectiveness by using undercover operations and high-tech forensics, everything from night-vision goggles for nighttime surveillance to DNA testing of poached animals.
They also are targeting the demand side of poaching. "If we want to slow down the illegal fishing, we need to go after the people buying as well as the people fishing," says Lt. Steve Mevers, in the Fort Myers FWC office. "We have to hold the fish houses accountable."
In the Tampa Bay area last year, three restaurants -- Mastry's Bait & Tackle, Matoi Sushi Restaurant and Medeira Beach Seafood -- paid fines for buying grouper, snapper and amberjack from a charter boat worker who didn't have a commercial license.
CSI: Gainesville
The suspected poacher claims the dead deer in his truck came from out of state. Ginger Clark tells Florida wildlife officers whether he's lying.
In 1997, the phone rang as Ginger Clark was toiling away amid the test tubes and refrigerated cases of the tiny animal genetics lab she manages at the University of Florida's Interdisciplinary Center for Biotechnology Research.
Capt. Barry Cook, a Florida wildlife officer, was on the line. Cook, now retired, told Clark that state officials were about to allow Florida grocers and meat markets to sell meat from exotic deer like Eland and were concerned that poachers might try to pass off native Florida white-tailed deer meat as the exotic variety.
Cook wanted to know if Clark and her lab could use DNA testing to determine if meat came from white-tailed deer or another species.
Clark agreed to give it a try. She set about collecting blood and tissue samples from as many hoofed animals as she could to build an in-house genetic database. Within months, she was able to demonstrate that, indeed, her lab could correctly identify the source of meat samples.
Since the success of that initial assignment, Clark, 49, has become the last word in animal forensics in Florida. Now known to wildlife officers all over the state, the self-taught expert has become an integral player in Florida's efforts to nab and prosecute poachers.
So far, Clark and her staff of two have processed more than 100 cases for FWC involving deer, alligators, sea turtle eggs, black bear, eagles and hogs. "I get teeth, bone, antlers, feather, all kinds of body parts," chuckles Clark. "Sometimes it's been ground into sausage; sometimes it's still intact."
Several years ago, Clark was able to determine that sea turtle eggs confiscated in Miami had been smuggled into the country from Nicaragua. Analysis showed that the DNA matched that of the Olive Ridley sea turtle, which doesn't lay its eggs in the U.S., but mostly in Central America.
Clark has had to expand the lab's forensic DNA capabilities to keep up with requests from the agency. And as FWC's law officers have become more comfortable with using DNA forensics as an investigatory tool, Clark's workload continues to build -- even as state budget cuts have forced her to raise the prices she charges the agency and other clients, including the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Georgia Department of Natural Resources.
The forensics process Clark uses involves a molecular biology technique called PCR, or polymerase chain reaction -- the same technique highlighted in television dramas that feature the work of forensic scientists investigating homicides.
Clark extracts DNA from hair, blood or other tissue and matches it against other DNA to determine its origin. Does the deer blood from a poacher's clothes match the meat in his freezer? Clark can tell. Using her vast collection of DNA collected from Florida deer, Clark can sometimes pinpoint for prosecutors in what part of the state the deer lived.
Not all of her cases lead to arrests, Clark says. In one instance, a wildlife law officer thought he had stumbled on evidence of a bear killing deep in the woods. He didn't have one of the DNA collection kits Clark distributes to FWC officers. Instead, he dabbed the blood on the ground onto a gum wrapper. The aluminum foil made it difficult for Clark to extract the DNA, but she was eventually able to run tests that showed the blood was from -- a raccoon.
In cases that do end up in court, Clark's work is so definitive that she seldom even has to testify. "Generally, once the genetic data hits the table, defendants are ready to plead," she says.
A way of life
A frequent frustration for the FWC is the attitude of some prosecutors, judges and juries who don't seem to take the illegal activity as seriously as the game officers. The prosecutors, say some game officials, think they have bigger fish to fry than wildlife violations. Judges and juries in some parts of the state, most notably northwest Florida, where commercial fishing has been a way of life for generations, tend to go easy on activity that wasn't always illegal.
In one case, authorities long suspected Eddie Trotter, a commercial fisherman in Crystal River, of illegally using a gill net in state waters. FWC officers finally got a shot at him on a stormy November night two years ago. Two FWC boats shadowed Trotter in the Gulf of Mexico less than a mile off the beach.
Using night-vision binoculars, FWC officers saw two men pulling in a net on Trotter's boat and moved in to apprehend them. The officers found a 48,000-sq.-ft. gill net and 56 pompano. Trotter and his mate each faced four misdemeanor counts, which carried $2,500 in fines and 90-day suspensions of their commercial fishing licenses.
Lt. Dennis Delapaz, one of the arresting officers, thought he had a slam-dunk case. But in court the two men claimed that they had found the net floating in the water and were retrieving it for the Fish and Wildlife Commission. Never mind that the pair was nabbed on the water at 1 a.m. with no running lights. A jury acquitted Trotter and his fellow defendant. Trotter also got $159 for fish that the state sold. "In the 24 years I've been doing this, that was one of the best cases I've made," says Delapaz.
Lee fared only slightly better in the case against the Salt Lake Gang. After a year of working undercover, Lee gained Jimmy Lee Clark's confidence and was on the verge of joining in an illegal alligator guide business. Lee had heard that some prominent businessmen from Orlando were among Clark's customers.
But before it went any further, Clark was shot and killed in a county park in April 2002. Clark became enraged when someone flashed a light on him while he was in his airboat, authorities said. A fight broke out, and an Orlando man fatally shot Clark in what authorities ruled was self-defense.
Clark's death brought an end to the undercover operation. Lee was able to charge 16 members of the Salt Lake Gang, including Clark's father, J.P. Clark, and his 30-year-old son, Jake P. Clark, with 86 felony counts of armed trespassing. Most of the poaching was done on property owned by the St. Johns River Water Management District between Volusia and Brevard counties. Felony trespassing convictions carry charges of up to $5,000 and five years in jail.
After a jury found one of the defendants not guilty, State Attorney Norman R. Wolfinger's office decided to cut a deal with the remaining defendants, allowing each to plead guilty to one misdemeanor count and pay a small fine, says Wayne Holmes, Wolfinger's chief of operations.
The decision still irks Lee, who says the defendant found not guilty wasn't even a member of the gang, but a bit player. "It's disgusting," says Lee. "We had put together good cases. We had DNA analysis. I pinpointed each of the violations using GPS."
Holmes says he stands by his decision to accept the lesser misdemeanor plea agreements with eight of the poachers. He faulted Lee and FWC for not notifying the state attorney's office before undertaking the undercover investigation. If FWC had done that, Holmes says, the prosecutors and law officers could have coordinated how best to get incriminating evidence. Holmes says he understands that the death of the primary target -- ringleader Jimmy Lee Clark -- jeopardized the investigation.
After a jury found one of the defendants not guilty for illegally killing an alligator, Holmes says he told his lawyers to get the best results they could through plea agreements. "We got positive results in eight cases that included fines and one-year probation," Holmes says. "I don't have a problem with that."
Sending a message
One prosecutor's office got creative to more successfully prosecute a Boca Grande marina owner and fishing tournament organizer who had illegally obtained dozens of alligator hunting permits. In a novel move, the statewide prosecutor opted not to charge Jack R. Harper with wildlife violations, but rather with 67 felony counts of theft against the state -- on the theory that the alligators are the property of the state. FWC officials intend to use the strategy in other cases around the state as well.
Harper, a former pro football player with the Miami Dolphins, eventually pleaded guilty to charges that he illegally hunted and sold about 60 alligators. He'll serve five years' probation and pay more than $20,000 in costs and fines. He also had to surrender his airboat and is banned from participating in any hunting or fishing activity for five years.
Lee and others also think that while the Salt Lake Gang got off lightly, their arrests nonetheless sent a powerful message. "In their minds, they never fathomed that an undercover agent could get them," Moran says. "Now they're not sure. They'll always be looking over their shoulders."
The Prey
Capt. John Moran of the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission estimates there are 100,000 poachers in Florida. Only about 10% are caught.
Clams
Over the past decade, Cedar Key, a small fishing community on the Gulf of Mexico in Florida's big bend region, has become one of the biggest clam farming communities in the country, with 200 clam farmers generating some $33 million in annual sales.
All that success has attracted some unwelcome attention, however. Four years ago, when prices for little neck clams reached highs of 17 cents each, thieves began raiding clam beds at an alarming rate. Clam farmer Bill Leeming, a lifelong clammer who moved to Cedar Key two years ago, was hit several times, once losing several bags of clam seedlings valued at about $60,000.
To combat the poachers, many of whom are believed to be clam farmers themselves, the Department of Agriculture hired a full-time law enforcement investigator in 2002. Known locally as the "clam cop," Officer Dianna L. Ullery now patrols the docks, clam processing facilities and clam beds, which are located in the Gulf of Mexico. "People have been really receptive to my presence," Ullery says.
Poaching has dropped off, but it's unclear whether that's because of Ullery's presence or because of falling clam prices, which have dropped to about 7 to 10 cents each. As prices creep back up, poachers may return, Ullery says. If that happens, "l'll be ready," she says.
Fish
In a good year, a mullet fisherman can pull in $80,000 to $100,000, mostly by selling the fish's roe, which can fetch up to $4 a pound.
Since the early 1990s, it's been illegal to use a gill net to catch mullet or other fish in Florida waters. Commercial fishermen can catch mullet in Florida waters with a throw net. They can still use a gill net in federal waters, which begin three nautical miles offshore on the east coast or nine nautical miles offshore on the west coast. But because both are less efficient than using gill nets in waters just offshore, where mullet congregate in great numbers in the fall, poaching remains a problem.
In one recent case, FWC officers allege that a repeat offender, Allen McClenithan, of Matlacha, between Fort Myers and Pine Island, illegally landed $140,000 worth of mullet, pompano and other fish over a nine-month period in 2002.
Catching mullet and pompano poachers is difficult because most poachers hold commercial fishing licenses. When they show up at a fish wholesaler with a big catch, some simply say they caught the fish in federal waters.
In recent years, poachers have expanded their catch to include lady fish, which are sent to processors in California who turn the fish into fish balls for the Asian market.
Alligators
The rise of farm-raised alligators has greatly reduced alligator poaching in Florida but hasn't eliminated illegal hunting.
Today's alligator poachers are still selling the reptile's meat and skin but find it tough to compete against alligator farms. Instead, most alligator poaching these days is done by individuals looking for the thrill of shooting a trophy-sized gator.
Each year for a one-month period, the state grants a limited number of permits to hunt alligators. The demand for those permits is greater than the supply. According to Fish and Wildlife investigators, an underground network of alligator hunting guides will take well-heeled hunters on illegal gator hunts for prices ranging from $1,000 to $2,200.
White-tail Deer
Illegal hunting of white-tail deer is one of the biggest poaching problems facing wildlife officers. In many parts of rural Florida, many young men see deer hunting, even if done illegally out of season, in restricted areas or at night using lights, as a rite of passage, says John Moran, a 30-year veteran of wildlife law enforcement.
There's also a market for deer meat. Poachers can get $50 to $100 for a whole deer. Five years ago, FWC officers caught an immigrant from Guyana in LaBelle who had been buying deer, hogs, alligators and ducks from area hunters and cowboys. The man stored the meat in freezers and trucked it to New York to fill orders.
Sea Turtle Eggs
Among certain ethnic groups, sea turtle eggs have long been coveted as an aphrodisiac. Aggressive poachers in south Florida don't care much that the turtles and their eggs are protected as an endangered species.
In Palm Beach County, some boil the eggs, sprinkle them with red pepper and salt and then bite into the eggshell and suck out the yolk. In Miami, some eat the sea turtle eggs raw and chase them with a beer.
Poachers roam the beaches of south Florida looking for nests, which can hold 75 to 125 eggs. Those who dig up the eggs usually get $10 to $15 for a dozen. Those who cook them typically sell them for $20 to $30 a dozen. The eggs are sold in parking lots and out of bars and small food stores.
"There's an active market for turtle eggs," says Capt. Jeff Ardelean, the FWC's leading expert on turtle egg poaching.
The penalty for poaching turtle eggs was recently increased to a felony offense for possession of a dozen or more or the selling of one or more eggs.