The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin (15 page)

Steve and I restrain an angry saltwater crocodile.

“Pull!”
Steve commanded.

As we both struggled to drag the crocodile from the water, I couldn’t believe its strength. One sideways swipe of its tail would knock me off balance and, try as I might, I couldn’t keep it from spinning out of my grip as the croc death-rolled to try and escape. The rolling only made it more tangled in the net. Finally, we were able to drag the croc clear of the bank and fell on top of it, totally exhausted.

Tired and shaking, I hadn’t realized that this job was only half over. Now we had to untangle this beautiful animal from what seemed like miles of fine-meshed net. The croc had everything from its toes to its teeth securely entwined. After removing the bulk of the net from its body, we had the tricky job of getting the mesh out of its mouth! Steve held the croc’s head in his hands while he used the weight of his body, lying flat on the crocodile’s back to keep it from thrashing and struggling. Then he gently loosened his grip on those powerful jaws, allowing them to open.

In just a few, short minutes all the netting was successfully removed and we positioned her in a coffin-shaped crocodile box for her transport back to the river.

Just after midnight, we reached the river. Steve had captured crocodiles in this section of the river many times over the last few years and he knew it like his own backyard. If this croc did turn out to be a female, as we suspected, she would fit right back into this ecosystem. Female crocodiles coexist with few arguments. Buta big male saltwater crocodile will defend his territory from other males, even if it means a fight to the death. Steve had to be sure before we put this young crocodile back in the river.

A subdued croc with top-jaw rope and blindfold.

As we slid back the top of the box, Steve dove his hands in to secure the crocodile at the back of her neck and prevent her from death rolling or biting someone. Together, we lifted her from the box and made sure her eyes were blindfolded to keep her calm while we examined her. At this point I queried Steve why he didn’t sedate the crocodile to keep it calm and make handling safer. There in the dark, with a seven-foot crocodile between us, Steve took the time to explain that crocodiles metabolize drugs differently from mammals. He knew of people who had successfully sedated these giant reptiles, but sometimes a crocodile would never wake up. It was his own personal choice, and one I fully agreed with. I admired Steve even more for his willingness to risk his own well-being to protect the animals he loved.

After we finished taking some measurements of the crocodile, and Steve had confirmed that she was a female, we carried her right down to the water’s edge. I stepped clear as Steve knelt over this crocodile for the last time.

“Goodbye, little girl,” I heard him whisper. Then with a splash, she was gone. We drove in silence, alone with our thoughts, all the way back to camp.

The next morning we discussed that for the first time, the big croc we were after had taken a lead-in bait. Now it was only a matter of time and we’d catch her for sure.

After our big old crocodile had been taking lead-in baits regularly for about a week, Steve thought we would be safe filming around the trap site at night without scaring her off. One night we prepared the boats to go out after dark to see what we could film. We ate dinner in a hurry, as if that would make it dark quicker, and then sat around camp to wait. Steve wanted to be at the trap just before the moon came up. About 9
P.M
. we headed out all right, but not to the trap.

More visitors arrived—two men who pulled up just on dark. Sui had been barking at them for about the last five minutes, ever since she first heard the truck approaching. The men looked a little bit concerned when Sui walked stiff-legged up to them, displaying her hackles.

Our visitors were fishermen. They enjoyed casting around a boat ramp a few miles downstream and had been fishing there for years, but lately had been having problems with crocodiles.

“But none of the crocodiles have territories that far downstream,” Steve interjected.

The men nodded their heads and agreed with Steve. They knew there were no big crocs living in the vicinity, that’s why they preferred to fish and camp at that particular spot. It was the smaller crocodiles, under six feet, that were bothering them. I couldn’t figure out why little crocodiles would bother these men when they had grown up in crocodile country. Steve knew. He explained to the men that if they cleaned their fish at the boat ramp and dumped the fish frames in the water, the smaller crocodiles would figure out really quickly where to go for a free feed. Occasionally a little crocodile has been known to be so bold as to get hooked on a fishing line!

The spectacular wetland habitat of North Queensland.

The men began to look a little uncomfortable and guilty, so Steve changed the subject a bit. Steve asked the men when they last saw the boldest of the troublemakers.

“That’s why we’re here,” they replied. “It’s waiting for us to dump our scraps now.”

That was all Steve needed to hear. We were off to catch another crocodile.

I was quite surprised to discover that the little crocodiles at the boat ramp didn’t zoom off when we approached, but rather casually retreated to the tangle of submerged mangrove roots. They didn’t seem terribly worried about us at all. We scanned the water for the largest of these adolescent crocs to see if we could take him out first: Steve was quite confident that shifting the most curious crocodile would be upsetting to the others and encourage them to be more wary. Although we must have counted half a dozen little fellows, the big boy didn’t show himself.

Steve and I spotlighting for crocs.

Steve came up with another idea: maybe he could catch a couple of the smaller ones, and that would cause enough commotion to keep them all at bay and solve the problem. We all agreed to give it a go.

I knew the drill; I’d heard Steve talk about it during his crocodile demonstrations back at the Park a million times. I had just never actually done it before! I had been licensed for driving a boat, so I knew how to idle it up to a crocodile sitting in the water. When Steve spotted the first croc, I was ready. Steve positioned himself up at the front of the boat and held the bright spotlight on the little croc’s eyes as we approached. The water was so full of silt, it was impossible to view the crocodile’s body clearly. Steve determined whether or not it was small enough to jump solely by the size of its head.

As we cruised in on the croc, Steve gave me the thumbs-up and we were on. He passed the spotlight back to me and positioned himself at the bow of the boat. As he dove headfirst into the water, the boat was speared backward. I wasn’t prepared for this and struggled to keep the light on target. A spluttering Steve surfaced. He was used to working on his own or with a more experienced driver. He didn’t have to say anything—I knew why he’d missed. Next time my spotlight would be steady as a rock.

The crocodiles seemed to be playing a game of cat and mouse with us. They would surface near the boat and then silently disappear. I was eager to show Steve that I had learned from my first mistake and was getting impatient with these little rascals, which just would not hold still. Finally, I got my chance. As I idled the boat in to our next target, Steve was ready on the bow before he passed me the light. As he dove in, the boat shot backward, but this time I was ready. But it was clear that the croc saw Steve coming. Through no fault of mine, he missed again.

Jumping a crocodile is not simply a matter of flinging oneself off the bow of the boat and grabbing it. A good jump takes precision and timing. When Steve jumps a croc, he must aim right for the neck. His hands will push the crocodile’s face away from his own to avoid a nasty bite. Steve’s legs wrap around the crocodile’s tail to keep it from swimming off with him. Here is the catch: if Steve were to aim for the crocodile’s neck and the croc saw him coming, the crocodile would submerge. In order for the croc to submerge, it slips backward in the water first. Once it’s under the water, the crocodile tucks its legs to its sides and uses that huge, powerful tail to propel it through the water nearly as fast as a dolphin! Therefore Steve tries to aim for the crocodile’s mid-section—as the croc retreats, Steve lands precisely on its neck. This works really well unless the crocodile stays where it is. In which case, Steve could end up grabbing the croc mid-body, and the shocked crocodile could easily swing around and give Steve a nasty bite!

Steve missed a second crocodile, and as he spotted a third just ahead, I knew all these things would be going through his mind. And after two misses, Steve was eager to successfully nab this one. The ever-present camera wasn’t helping.

I could see Steve’s calf muscles flex as he steadied himself at the bow of the boat. I glanced down at the crocodile’s head, just showing above the water. It sat motionless, suspended at a forty-five-degree angle in the water, thinking it was invisible. We were nearly on top of it now and Steve should have been handing me the spotlight. He hesitated as I reached forward, but finally passed the spotlight over.

As Steve dived over the front of the dinghy, both man and crocodile disappeared. Steve must have met his mark. I tried to remain calm—I knew that the crocodile would be trying to lodge Steve on the rocks and snags at the bottom of the river. Any moment now, Steve would bounce off the bottom and flip the croc straight in the boat. I had to be ready to jump it as soon as it was in. As I strained to see into the murky water, two silhouettes churned below. Steve was really struggling.