The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin (14 page)

Just before midday, Steve spotted a huge sand goanna foraging for food. We zoomed in to film him and he quickly abandoned his hunt for lunch and retreated underground. Steve scooped out this giant from his sandy hollow for the filming opportunity.

I really enjoyed meeting this giant lizard up close. He would have been nearly seven feet long and seemed to be as curious of me as I was of him. He had enormous forearms, reminding me of Popeye, and a long, forked tongue which he flicked out at me. Most lizards have a fat, fleshy tongue but goannas, or varanids, have a forked tongue like a snake’s. And, just like a snake, they use their tongue to help pick up scent particles. As this enormous “sandy” lightly flicked his tongue over my face, he was actually smelling me. What an experience!

When we explored the area where the goanna had been searching for food, Steve uncovered a nest site just under the sand next to some rotting timber. The nest held ten or twelve little white eggs. I was stumped, but Steve knew immediately that they were lizard eggs. Upon closer inspection, we saw that some of the eggs were starting to hatch. I didn’t fully appreciate at the time what an incredible find this was; I just figured Steve always came across lizard eggs from time to time. However, not since we filmed these precious little sand goannas have I witnessed goanna eggs hatching in the wild. Fortunately, the big male sand goanna, who might have made a meal of these hatchlings, was not sighted again.

In between all the goanna excitement, we would faithfully check the lead-in bait in front of our croc trap. Every morning we were disappointed; the piece of meat had not been touched. Steve was starting to lose patience. We were all too aware that this was a race against time. There was a crocodile poacher out there somewhere who was trying to catch this crocodile, too…but with a bullet. Steve began checking the lead-in bait earlier and earlier in the morning, even before it was light.

One morning, when we had all returned from checking the trap site, there were visitors waiting for us. I worried that something might be wrong. As we approached the campsite I could see an old battered Nissan tray-back with a cattle dog in the back. Two men had made themselves at home, each enjoying a cup of tea. The billy was still boiling as we greeted the two graziers.

The men turned out to be local farmers who’d heard through the bush telegraph that we were up catching crocodiles. As luck would have it, they had a crocodile problem of their own. Steve was all ears as we made ourselves comfortable around the fire to hear their story.

Crossing through floodwaters gives the crew the opportunity for some unusual filming.

It appeared that several months earlier, this area had suffered an unusually rainy wet season. The “wet” in tropical North Queensland is always quite dramatic, but this season was phenomenal. The rain was so heavy and lasted so long that most of the area was under three feet of water. Cattle had to be moved to high ground near the homesteads and some folks were completely cut off from any form of transportation. Those in the area with mustering helicopters helped as best they could by dropping food and supplies to the stranded graziers.

Steve and Wes Mannion prepare to blindfold a croc to minimize stress.

The older of the two men continued to explain that it was when the water had receded that they discovered their predicament. Near the farmer’s house was a small dam. As the floodwater disappeared, a young crocodile had taken refuge in this dam. It had been there several weeks, living miles from the river, before the farmer’s wife saw it out sunning itself on the bank. Nobody believed the poor woman until it was spotted again. The younger of the two men piped up and claimed that he had seen the crocodile, too, and it must have been nearly ten feet long. The dam still held water, but would be completely dry by the end of the dry season.

We all agreed that something would have to be done. The crocodile would run out of water and die if it wasn’t moved. I think our new friends would sleep better once it was gone, too! The crew was excited at the prospect of finally filming a crocodile capture, so we set out right away for the homestead.

When we arrived at the small dam, I was amazed that a crocodile of its size could be living there. It must have eaten any fish in the dam some time ago; surely, it was getting good and hungry by now. Steve asked to see exactly where the croc came out to sun itself and was directed to the general vicinity. Even though he assured the family that a crocodile this size was not big enough to hunt a person, no one else would go anywhere near the little pond!

Steve knelt down and surveyed the entire perimeter of the water. Although the area around the dam was mostly grassy, where the level of the water had dropped there was some exposed mud. Working like a detective, Steve finally found the faintest markings in the dried mud where a crocodile had dragged itself out of the water. Steve carefully analyzed the distance between the claw marks and decided that this crocodile was probably closer to seven feet long, not ten feet as earlier suggested. Steve smiled broadly and there was a mischievous glint in his eye. I knew he was up to something. By now the scorching afternoon sun was beating down, so we were only too happy to return to the homestead for a cool drink before discussing Steve’s plan.

Steve was nearly bursting with excitement when he announced that we would simply net the crocodile out of the water, jump it, restrain and blindfold it, then return it to the river. A stunned silence filled the room. What seemed like a thrilling challenge to Steve struck the rest of us as a terrific risk. I asked Steve what our other options were and, although he looked terribly hurt that we didn’t share his enthusiasm, he patiently explained why nothing else would work. My idea with the live trap would just take too long. And he couldn’t jump on this crocodile from a boat because there was no room to maneuver the dinghy in the tiny dam.

Steve explained that if we approached the dam at night, I could back him up with the net while our Park manager, Wes Mannion, held the crocodile mesmerized in the beam of the spotlight. We were not convinced that using a net and approaching the situation at night was such a great idea, but we all trusted Steve’s experience and skill.

We all had our jobs to do. The camera crew prepared tapes, lights, and extra batteries while Steve and I organized nets, ropes, and the all-important blindfold. We would wait until it was good and dark before going in. During daylight hours, a crocodile can remain submerged for over an hour at a time, surfacing underneath the camouflage of vegetation to take a breath, but in the dark the crocodile feels more secure. Our croc would surface then to have a look at us, and that would be the time to hit him with the spotlight. That was what we were waiting for. None of us could eat dinner that night. We were all nervous, waiting on edge for Steve to give the go-ahead to move in.

It was nearly 10
P.M
. when Steve went out on his own, with his spotlight on dim, to scan the water. Steve nearly fell through the door after being away for only a few minutes.

Steve and I set up a trap.

“It’s in the perfect spot!” he gushed. “What a little ripper!”

I felt the adrenaline surge through me as we all charged out to surround the dam. I sat breathless next to Steve as the dim spotlight swept over the water. The light came to rest on what appeared to be a small, red reflector in the water near the far bank. I felt Steve tense, then cautiously he turned the spotlight all the way up to dazzle the crocodile. In the same instant I was aware of Wes next to me, taking the light from Steve. It was time.

Steve went to the far end of the dam with what appeared to be a bait net. His plan was to encircle the crocodile with the fine mesh, allowing it to bite at the net. Once it was entangled in the mesh we would both pull the croc out of the water and jump on it…piece of cake!

Steve entered the water, dragging the net in with him. Cautiously he probed the murky water ahead of him with a stick. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally stand on this already wary crocodile. As Steve went around the spotlight’s beam, not only had the crocodile submerged back into the darkness of the water, but Steve began having some trouble with the net. It seemed to be tangled. I began to worry that this was taking too long. What if the crocodile panicked and attacked?

All I could do was hold my breath and watch. The spotlight never wavered as my eyes burned into the beam, desperately trying to locate any movement. Several minutes passed…it seemed like an eternity. Then, without any warning, the water began to churn and boil right next to the net. Steve began frantically shoving the net forward with his stick, trying to make the croc bite the net and get those sixty-four sharp teeth tangled in its mesh.

As abruptly as the struggle began, everything stopped, perfectly still. I could see the expression of frustration on Steve’s face. This was taking longer than he expected, and every minute that went by made the crocodile more nervous and the situation more treacherous. Steve couldn’t afford to wait for the crocodile’s next move. He began easing forward, pushing the net ahead of him through the water. Ever aware of the presence of the camera, Steve also tried to explain what was going on out of sight under the water.

As Steve would take a step forward, the crocodile would try to escape past him, only to be stopped by the net. The crocodile’s body whipped at Steve as it tried to dart past his legs. When the croc was close enough, Steve would try to jam some of the net in its mouth with his stick, only to feel the crocodile’s head slam into his legs as it tried to escape. Every time the crocodile collided with him, Steve would yell out, “Thank God its mouth is closed!” I couldn’t figure out why Steve was still in the water with nothing to protect him from the crocodile’s bone-crunching jaws. Even though Steve had assured me that this relatively small crocodile would only try to bite in self-defense, I still desperately wanted him to get out of the water.

No sooner had I decided that this was just too difficult a task and Steve should get out, the spotlight began to glow orange. Without warning, the beam suddenly dimmed, and then blinked out. The inky blackness engulfed us all. My heart began to pound. I wasn’t sure where I was, or if the water was even still in front of me. Someone didn’t check the battery, I thought to myself.

Then I heard Steve’s voice just in front of me as he angrily yelled, “Get a torch on me now!”

I heard a scuffle and then a small, pale beam was shining on Steve, standing perfectly motionless in the middle of the water. Without the benefit of a one-million-candle-power spotlight, the crocodile now had the advantage. Its vision would not have been impaired like ours when the lights went out, and it might have already slipped past Steve in the confusion. Steve had to know immediately what was going on and rushed forward.

The croc was there. It began flailing around in the shallow water. This time Steve got the net in its mouth and it bit down hard, snapping the stick. I could see the jagged outline of the crocodile’s tail stir the surface of the water. Steve yelled for me to grab it. I froze for an instant—how exactly should I do that? Then I heard Steve’s booming voice again,
“Now!”
I scrambled down the muddy embankment and grabbed the tail with both hands. It was smooth and soft, yet firm like muscle, and it was difficult to get a proper grip.