The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin (8 page)

“Use your instincts, Stevo, use your instincts,” I kept muttering to myself as I finally got all the trap gear into the mass of twisting mangrove roots.

Pulling my knife, I started clearing the site. The weight of the long blade felt good in my hand; it became an extension of my arm. Sweat poured from my body as I positioned the trap and tied it off. An hour slipped away. I was transfixed with work, contemplating the arduous task of hauling the mud bag twenty feet up into the mangrove branches, when I realized the tide had crept up to my site.

Repositioning the boat so it was between me and the ever-deepening water, I cautioned Chilli to stay in the boat. She just sat there watching my every move with ever-adoring eyes.

“Now comes the hard part,” I told her.

I climbed up an overhanging mangrove tree to a good solid fork and began struggling and straining; inch by inch I hauled up the heavy weight bag. With it secured for the moment, I climbed down to the trap. The incoming tide was now covering the floor of the trap. Better move quick or I’ll be working underwater, I thought.

While tying off the strings that support the trap, I watched the water rushing in. The boat swung out into the increasing tidal current, and as the water rose above my knees, the sun was starting to set.

I turned away from the deep water to secure the last of the strings when an overwhelming sensation of being stalked stopped me in my tracks. Quickly I turned to face the water.

“Knock it off, Stevo, you’re spooking yourself,” I said, trying to reassure myself there was no danger and fighting the fear.

I turned to finish my job when Chilli let out an almighty scream. I didn’t turn to look—I grabbed at the mangroves and pulled myself into the branches, waiting for the thump of jaw pressure hitting my body. I scrambled higher and higher. Safe in the fork of the tree with the weight bag, I relaxed and took a look.

Nothing. I could see nothing. Chilli was going ballistic, barking aggressively at the water below the boat.

Another close call.

“It’s OK, girl,” I called out. “There’s nothing there!”

Bang!
The boat jerked at a force that hit from below so hard that Chilli fell onto the floor. She regained her posture and continued to bark frantically at the water. A huge swirl churned the muddy waters.

Thump!
Again something bumped the bottom of the boat, making it jerk as if it had run aground. Helplessly stuck in the tree, I beckoned Chilli to settle down. She wouldn’t, no way.
Bark, bark, bark, bark!

“Dad! Dad! There’s a croc under the boat!” she was screaming in dog language.

“I know, sweetheart. Settle down, pull your head in,” I pleaded with her. “Please, Chilli! Sit, babe, sit.” I was sure that before my eyes the croc was going to explode from the murk and pull her out of the boat by her head.

Knowing I would take a hit if I climbed down and went for the boat, I located a long branch and swiftly sliced through it with my knife, stripping off the leaves and twigs. Chilli continued to bark so hard she was going off the Richter scale.

I struck out at my boat with the stick, but it was too short. My life depending on stealth and accuracy, I climbed down toward the water. Again I struck out with the stick, this time catching the side of the bow just enough to get purchase and draw the boat toward me.

With the boat directly under me again, I pulled out my knife and jumped straight into the boat. Jarring my ankles on impact, I raised my razor-like blade and in one slice cut the anchor rope, swung at the outboard, and fired it up with one pull. Thank goodness! I jammed it into reverse and gunned it.

Feeling secure in the boat, I slowed in the middle of the river, keeping the motor idling. I stared at the water immediately in front of the trap site. Nothing, not even a swirl. Whew! Dad’s right, this croc has got one hell of an attitude. Confident the croc was being intimidated by the magnified thump of the idling outboard motor, I cruised back in toward the trap.

All was quiet, almost peaceful. Had it been our imagination, or not? No way, I thought, cuddling Chilli in an embrace of thanks and love. I reckon she’d saved my life, but it wasn’t until the next morning when I returned to the trap site that I fully understood what had taken place. With the mud exposed on the low tide, the evidence was graphic. Two huge footprints were embedded in the mud where the croc had poised, ready to strike.

Later, as I planned the safest strategy for baiting the trap, I sliced off a piece of fresh meat and then I jumped over the bow and into the mud. Backward, I trudged toward the trap, never taking my eyes off the water.

At the trap entrance I had to crawl up inside the trap to set the bait. Once set, I wasted no time in grabbing my rifle and retreating to the safety of my boat. I cut off another nice, juicy piece of meat, attached it to a strong nylon cord, and positioned it so that it dangled over the front of the trap. This lead-in bait was an irresistible bite-sized morsel of fresh meat to lure the croc that night.

Firing up the outboard, I swung the boat around and headed back to camp. Once at the boat ramp, I pulled my boat out of the water and loaded it onto the trailer. Later that night I was going to use the boat elsewhere, having a go at the little fella down at the main boat ramp.

Arriving at the ramp just on dark, I wasted no time getting the boat in and the equipment organized. Luckily, the boat ramp was deserted, which meant there’d be little or no disturbance from boat traffic. I connected the spotties and had a quick check around.
Whammo!
Eyeshine! Not twenty feet off the end of the concrete boat ramp.

A hindquarter of pig makes an enticing lead-in bait. Once a crocodile takes the lead-in bait it’s only a matter of time before it will go for the bait in the trap.

“Gee! You’re a cocky little croc,” I said, wondering how the little blighter had avoided being shot.

Firing up the outboard and reversing into midstream, I wondered how I was going to jump this croc without somebody driving the boat or backing me up. Jumping crocs at night requires a minimum of two experienced people. Well, there was just me and my dog!

Deciding on a technique that I’d only just thought of, I raised the spotty and, sure enough, the croc was sitting in the deep water out from the ramp—with only eyes and nose exposed above the water level. Crocs will sit with only the three points out of the water with their body angled down at forty-five degrees, so they can submerge or shoot forward quickly using their webbed feet and strong paddle-like tails. The trick is to spear yourself right at them and hope you get them around the neck before they pull away. If you grab the croc too far forward or back, it’ll simply swing round and bite down. Accuracy and timing is the name of the game.

Crocs sit with only three points out of the water.

Jamming the outboard into forward gear, I idled directly toward the bright red glow of the smallish croc’s eyes, spotty in one hand and driving the boat with the other. When I got to within ten feet from the croc it slowly paddled toward the mangroves. I could now tell by its head size that it was a jumpable size.

The gap narrowed; closer and closer I crept. Before the eyeshine dipped below the level of the bow, I released the outboard and strode to the bow. The boat, still in forward gear, was headed right at the croc. I braced, dug my toes in, and speared straight at the croc, dropping the spotty mid-flight into the water.

Hit.
My hands made contact, I gripped down hard and I desperately tried to secure the croc’s tail with my legs. I couldn’t. I’d missed the neck and had it mid-body. Thrashing violently, the croc took me down to the bottom between the mangrove roots. Feeling that it couldn’t shake me, it thrashed around with its bony head, smashing into my cheekbone. Releasing a hand, I grabbed at its head, and my fingers went straight in its mouth! As the croc bit down I released my other hand and grabbed its head. It had me and I had it!

Pulling it tight into my body to stop its thrashing, I secured the croc’s rear end with my inner thighs. The croc was starting to subdue as Dad’s famous words went through my mind: “If a croc’s biting you, you’ll know you’ve got him!”

Now desperate for air, I pushed off a mangrove root for the surface, and suddenly my head slammed into the muddy bottom. I was upside-down! Again I pushed up for the surface. Yes! I broke through to the air and sucked in a lungful.

Although four of my fingers were jammed in the croc’s jaws, I didn’t dare release my grip on its head. Peering through the dark, I couldn’t see my boat, but I could hear it in the distance still motoring.

“Bugger it!”

Not able to release my grip to swim for the bank, I exhaled and sank back to the muddy bottom. The little croc thrashed again and tried for a death roll but I was easily able to keep it subdued. With my legs wrapped around it tightly, I towed my way along the muddy bottom toward the bank. As the water shallowed I easily got another breath and heaved the croc toward the bank. Once on dry land I lay on top of the croc to recuperate. Easily dragging the tired croc to my 4WD, I was able to strip off my seat cover with my teeth, then wrap it around his eyes as a blindfold. Now the pain in my fingers was starting to set in. I positioned the gorgeous little croc between my knees and released my grip on its head. It responded by releasing my fingers. Thank goodness.

Within a few minutes I’d managed to place the croc into a hessian bag, tie it up, and lock it in the front of my 4WD. My fingers and hand went numb and I was starting to feel a sharp pain under my eye.

It’s important to cover the croc’s eyes quickly to minimize stress.

Now, where’s my boat? I thought. I couldn’t hear the outboard so I shouted to my girl, “Chilli! Chilli, where are you, mate?”

Nothing, not a sound.

“Chilli, Chilli, cooee! Chilli girl—where are ya, Chill?”

Whoof,
she barked in response.

Oh, no, she was upstream in the flow of the tide. Without a thought for safety or my injuries, I dived straight back into the dark, murky water and swam in her direction. When I reached the boat Chilli started licking my face so affectionately I couldn’t swing up into the boat.