The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin (4 page)

Dad and me checking a net for freshwater crocodiles in the Gulf of Carpentaria.

“Wait…wait for it…wait.”

I couldn’t wait, I could feel myself readying to jump.

“Wait, son, wait.”

I could see the long narrow jaws and the white of the croc’s teeth in the powerful beam of the torch.

“Now!” he shouted.

I’m pretty sure I was airborne even before the command.

My fingers clamped around the croc’s thick neck and my chin slammed into its bony head as my chest landed on its back and my legs wrapped around the base of the tail. With eyes wide open I was being thrashed around in the muddy water. I saw pulses of light as I was rolled over and over. There was no way I was letting go and I hung on for grim death.

“I’ve gotcha, I’ve gotcha,” I bubbled. Just as the reality of being an air-breathing human started to be felt, I sensed the strength and warmth of my Dad’s arm feeling for my body.
Whoosh!
Dad’s forearm locked around my side and next thing both croc and I were slammed into the floor of the boat. He pinned both croc and me to the floor with his big calloused hands.

“Are ya all right?”

“Yeah, I got him, Dad.”

As Dad placed his spotty on the seat and started securing a blindfold and bag, he kept the weight of one hand on my back, keeping both croc and me pinned to the floor. He looked down at us and then stopped what he was doing. As I looked up to see what was wrong, I saw his face in the beam. He was shaking his head in disbelief with a grin from ear to ear. I could feel his pride in me although the capture had certainly made him a little nervous. While I was under the water wrestling the croc he could neither see nor feel me. But he never intimated any concern at all. He’s one tough old bastard, my dad.

That was the start of my croc-jumping career. By the age of twelve I’d become quite skilled at spearing myself out of the front of a boat, and took this responsibility very seriously.

Following in my father’s footsteps wasn’t all glory. One weekend while playing schoolboy cricket, I was called up to bat at second drop. I padded up, keen to score a century. Second ball and I was out for a duck. Disappointed and bored with the game, I started searching the nearby creek hoping to find some lizards to chase. Turning over an old sheet of corrugated iron, I spotted a beautiful little gecko. It spotted me and made a run for it. As I pounced and missed the gecko, I felt something soft under my elbow, and then heard a hiss. The hackles on the back of my neck shot up as a huge red-bellied black snake flattened out into the strike position. I had unknowingly landed with all my weight right on top of a now very angry snake. Realizing that my face was well within strike range, I gently lifted my elbow, stopped breathing and braced for a bite to the head. The snake hissed vehemently but allowed me to pull back out of range. Wow! Am I lucky, I thought.

I was now at a safe distance from the snake. I’ll catch it, I thought, I bet Dad would love a big red-bellied black. Without thinking twice, I went straight at the snake. It struck and recoiled, ready to strike again. Briefly I pondered how I was going to catch this snake without getting bitten. I went at it again. It struck and glanced off my boot then recoiled back into the strike position. As I backed off, intimidated by the near-miss, the snake decided to make a dash for the long grass. As it slithered off toward the knee-high kikuyu grass, I thrust my hand through the blades of the grass and grabbed its tail.
Whoosh!
It launched a strike past my nose.

The red-bellied black snake is, in fact, very venomous and a bite could be fatal.

I regained my balance and began moving around the snake in circles, hanging onto its tail. I was careful to keep its body on the ground and allow its front half to get into the grass, just as I’d seen Dad do a million times. Now what, I thought, I’ve got no bag.

“Stumpy! Hey, Stumpy!” I screamed. My mate Stumpy, who was also waiting for our game, came charging up in response to my screams.

“Oh, my God!” he called in disbelief at the sight of me with this huge black snake.

“Get something to put it in!” I screamed.

Within a minute he returned with the bus driver’s eskimo cooler.

“Good one, Stumpy. Take off the lid and empty out the food.”

Without effort he flipped off the lid and upended the full esky. Drinks and sandwiches piled out on the ground.

“Now what?”

“Put the esky near my legs.”

As he threw the esky at my feet, the snake pulled out of the grass and pivoted from its tail, which was in my hand, straight at the esky. It bit the esky then struck at me. I swung out of its way with another narrow miss.

“Give me the lid,” I told Stumpy.

He threw the lid at me, shouting, “Let it go or it’ll kill you!”

As the snake struck at me again, I stepped backward and it landed over the esky. I grabbed the lid and dropped the snake before it climbed off the esky. Then I slammed the lid down.

“Gotcha!”

During the next couple of hours I managed to locate and capture another six good-sized red-bellied blacks. The biggest problem was getting each one into the esky without the others flying out. A couple of times a snake would come out as I was putting one in. Toward the end of the day I was getting really good at it and had most of both cricket teams around me “ooohing” and “aaahing,” scared but enthralled.

“Watch out, Steve.”

“Look out, Steve.”

“There’s one getting out, Steve.”

This was heaps more fun than playing cricket but pretty soon it was time to go home. Some of the boys dobbed me in to the bus driver.

“He’s got snakes in your esky,” they told him.

“Young Irwin, what have you got in my esky?”

“Well, sir, I’ve um, um, er…”

“Have you got snakes in my esky?”

“Yes, sir, but you can see how secure the lid is. They won’t get out, I promise!”

“You’re not taking bloody snakes on this bus! It’s dangerous, get them out!” he shouted, fear in his voice.

But my mates pleaded with the bus driver, “Let him take the snakes, they’re harmless.” (The red-bellied black snake is, in fact, very venomous and a bite could be fatal.) I said defensively, “Yes, sir, it’s OK, they can’t get out. I’ll hold them till we get to my place.”

“Bloody snakes,” the bus driver muttered.

I’d never seen anyone drive a bus so quickly. He really planted his foot down, and we arrived back in no time. Excited, my cricket team and the bus driver escorted me into the Park where we met my dad.

“Your son’s got these snakes in my esky, on my bus. I don’t have to put up with this, he’s endangered everyone’s lives. I hate snakes. He’s banned from my bus.” The bus driver continued to carry on.

“Hang on, just hang on,” Dad commanded. “
Have
you got snakes in there?” he questioned me.

“Yeah, Dad, I’ve got seven real nice red-bellies.”

“Red-bellies!” he exploded. And before I could say any more, he’d sunk his boot right up my bum so hard I dropped the esky.

“But, Dad!”

“No buts! Get in the house, now!” he roared. “How dare you risk people’s lives with your stupidity!”

Looking back I suppose it was pretty risky; I’d got caught up in the excitement and adrenaline of the capture and forgotten about the possible consequences of dealing with such a potentially dangerous animal. Funny thing, I wasn’t too scared of dying from black snake envenomation, but I was shaking in my boots at the thought of losing Dad’s pride in me, the bloke I respect and admire the most, the bloke responsible for the person I am today. It was another lesson well learned.

All my life I’ve followed in my dad’s footsteps. I virtually worshipped the ground he walked on. He is my hero, my legend, my mentor, my best friend, and my father. All I’ve ever wanted to be is my dad, and every day in some way I mimic him, and grew up knowing that one day I was going to be just like him.

It’s funny how my hardest yet most valuable lessons came from Dad when I was just a boy. At the time I couldn’t quite understand that he was teaching me and saving my life—it felt more like I was just constantly in trouble. Throughout my boyhood, teenage and young adult life, my dad was very careful to nurture my instincts. He spotted natural instincts in me when I was very young and helped me to harness these innate powers.

As I’ve grown up, I guess I have indeed become my dad.

Growing up at the Park there was never a dull moment. I was surrounded by the best of friends, mates for life. My favorite and longtime companions were Curley, Egg Head, and Brolly, and playing armies with them was always great fun (and instrumental in my development of camouflage techniques as a boy). I always won the battles despite gunshot wounds and injuries sustained during hand-to-hand combat with dozens of enemy forces. My mates and I stuck together and we conquered all.

Two of my boyhood mates, Curley (above), the curlew who thought she was an emu, and (below) Brolly, a brolga.

Curley was a bush-stoned curlew who thought she was an emu, Egg Head was an emu who thought he was a human, and Brolly was a brolga who thought he was the “ants pants,” a real aristocrat who quickly tired of our imaginary games.

So Curley, Egg Head, and I would be the good guys and quite often, because Brolly wouldn’t come over to our side, he would be the enemy. Together we’d stalk, shoot, throw grenades, and fight hand-to-hand.

At least once a day things would get out of hand when Egg Head would try to kick the living daylights out of Brolly. Brolly would respond by stabbing us with his scissor-like beak.

Looking back at our antics, I’d hate to think how many times Curley and I got stomped into the ground by Egg Head, who often seemed to lose the plot, kicking and trampling all of us. Then throwing his little head into the air, he’d run, run, run for no apparent reason, stop, roll on his back, and kick his legs in the air. I guess it’s an emu thing.

Playing marbles around an emu was always a challenge—Egg Head would sneak up and within seconds would have eaten up all my marbles. At first this was really annoying, but I quickly worked out that within a week he’d poo them all out. So I simply hosed the poo with water and regained my much-treasured marbles.