Ryan Izquierdo awoke to a biting chill, a cold that promised something unusual even for Florida. It wasn’t a day for basking in the sun, but for a peculiar hunt – an iguana hunt. A rare cold front had gripped the East Coast, sending temperatures plummeting and preparing the state for a strange phenomenon.
As flurries danced across parts of Florida, a familiar sight began to unfold. Green iguanas, an invasive species loathed by many, were succumbing to the cold. Their cold-blooded systems shut down as temperatures dipped below 40 degrees, causing them to lose their grip and fall, motionless, from the trees.
This time, however, the situation was different. State officials, recognizing a unique opportunity, authorized a coordinated removal effort. Residents were encouraged to collect the stunned reptiles and bring them to designated locations for humane disposal – a first in the state’s ongoing battle against the iguana invasion.
The response was immediate and overwhelming. People arrived with bags and bins overflowing with the paralyzed lizards. Shannon Knowles, of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, described the scene as unprecedented, a chance to address a growing ecological problem.
Izquierdo, a 27-year-old content creator, found himself amidst the chaos at a collection site near Fort Lauderdale. He was stunned by the sheer number and size of the iguanas, some stretching over six feet long. They resembled prehistoric creatures, he thought, “absolutely crazy.”
Green iguanas have become a significant problem in South Florida since their introduction in the 1960s. Their population has exploded, exceeding a million by some estimates. They damage infrastructure, burrowing into foundations and seawalls, and threaten native plant life, including species vital to endangered butterflies.
Izquierdo’s history with iguanas stretches back to his childhood. He learned to catch them as a boy, using them as bait for peacock bass fishing with his grandmother. A lifelong love of the outdoors evolved into a career documenting his adventures, but this hunt felt different, a unique convergence of passion and necessity.
He dubbed it “a Florida man Easter egg hunt for dinosaurs” and set out in his pickup truck. Normally, capturing these agile reptiles requires specialized equipment – a gun or a long pole with a lasso. But in the cold, they were vulnerable, almost helpless.
“This is the most I’ve ever found,” Izquierdo admitted, practically stumbling over the motionless creatures. Experts like Frank Mazzotti confirmed the ease of removal during these cold snaps, emphasizing the importance of capitalizing on this window of opportunity.
Despite the unusual excitement, Izquierdo acknowledged the difficult reality of the situation. He felt a pang of sympathy for the animals, especially the smaller ones, but understood the need to protect the delicate balance of the ecosystem. “You have to look at the bigger picture,” he said.
He’s determined to make the most of the situation, even beyond the removal effort. He and his friends baked an iguana pizza – which he declared delicious, calling them “chicken of the trees” – and plan to use the skin and meat for fishing lures and bait, ensuring nothing goes to waste.
As temperatures began to rise on Tuesday morning, Izquierdo knew his hunting days were numbered. He sat in his truck, a dozen stunned iguanas in his lap, aware that the reptiles would soon recover and resume their lives. The brief respite was ending, and the battle for Florida’s ecosystem would continue.
The motionless lizards, a male and a female, lay quietly in his lap, a silent reminder of the delicate balance of nature and the unexpected consequences of a cold snap. Soon, they would be back about their business, and the cycle would begin anew.
