The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin (16 page)

Catching and restraining crocodiles is dirty work.

Something was terribly wrong. Steve’s head broke the surface of the water. He gasped for air and tried to yell something to me as he was pulled back into the river. Steve clearly needed help. I had no idea what else to do but abandon the boat and jump in. I immediately reached out to grab hold of something. I felt the familiar smoothness of the crocodile’s tail. Steve had not managed to grip the croc’s tail between his legs and now we were both being towed into deeper water. But Steve was at least able to get air and, exhausted, he practically pleaded with me to swim for the bank. I kicked through the water with all my strength, but what was difficult to control on dry land was impossible to control in the water. This crocodile was in its own territory. I was overwhelmed by its sheer power and force as I struggled to find my footing. Under the water, the riverbank floor was steep and silty. The mangrove mud was just too slippery to climb with this aquatic predator thrashing in my arms. Steve could feel the bottom, too, now. He swung the crocodile’s head toward shore and coached me like a drill sergeant.

“Get up there, babe, get up there!” he urged over and over. I concentrated on his voice as I planted each foot in the mud and strained to gain ground. Letting go was not an option. The crocodile would not retreat without giving one of us a good, solid bite. This crocodile was far too large to risk that! Once we cleared the water, the crocodile would be out of his element. We struggled on a few steps and then fell on him in a heap. Steve, still gasping for air, repeated the obvious.

“Too big, too big,” he kept saying. I couldn’t agree more! Without hesitation, Steve asked me for a blindfold. His first concern was for the well-being of this poor, frightened crocodile.

Steve and me restraining an alligator prior to relocation within the Park.

Since I had left the blindfolds on the boat, Steve instructed me to tear off his shirt as he held the croc down. After a bit of effort and a few torn-off buttons, we could feel the croc relax a little as his whole world went dark. Next, Steve decided to secure the croc’s jaws. Ordinarily, we would never tie a crocodile’s mouth shut. If under stress the croc brought up his last meal, he would drown in his own regurgitation. Not a pleasant thought. But Steve and I were just too fatigued to risk holding him in the boat, so we agreed to rope his jaws for the short trip. Rope was something I did have. Whether it was crocs or pigs, it seemed I was constantly needing a bit of rope!

Once we were safely back in the boat, Steve was elated. What a capture! Not only had we rescued this curious crocodile, we’d also strengthened the bond between us. We both knew that, in years to come, we’d face many more dangerous situations and we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we could count on each other.

We all agreed that we were definitely on a roll, so the following night we would try our luck at the trap site.

The sounds on the river change when the sun goes down. The familiar daytime wildlife is replaced with unfamiliar bumps in the night. The most disconcerting of all these nighttime creatures are, surprisingly, the fish. One particular species seems to enjoy flinging itself into the air. This night, with incredible lack of control, these little beasties occasionally sailed straight into the boat! As we approached the trap, Steve slipped the engine into neutral and took a few minutes to thoroughly survey the area. As I cautiously peered down the beam of the dim light, it was precisely at that moment that one of these little fish decided to do its impersonation of a sea-to-air missile.
Thump!
Direct hit—right into the side of my head! I’m proud to say that I didn’t scream. In spite of the fact that I was deep in thought about crocodiles, and had no idea what had attacked me, I didn’t cry out. I did, however, nearly tip the boat over as I practically jumped out of my skin! Stupid fish.

Needless to say, Steve was not overly impressed with this latest example of my stealth in the bush. I resolved to myself that, no matter what happened, I would not overreact. That’s why as we approached the trap, I remained cool, calm, and collected in the face of our next nocturnal visitor. Steve was thrilled. There, hanging down in front of us, was a very happy carpet python. Inevitably, the bait at the croc trap attracts more than just crocodiles. This python was probably hoping to cash in on some of the rats hanging around the dangling pork. But tonight, the pork was gone. Since we’d arrived too late to catch a glimpse of our big saltie, we decided to film this pretty little carpet snake instead and call it a night.

Steve idled in close, then caught the branch that the python was hanging on to help stop the boat. As I tried to appear casual about the whole encounter, the snake decided to swing out for a better look at me. Even though I understood that the snake was harmless, instinctively I leaned backward, out of strike range. Dangerous or not, I wasn’t too keen on the thought of being bitten on the face! As I leaned back, the boat shifted. We were both standing up now, and as Steve got a better grip on the limb to steady the boat, I heard a loud crack!

Steve handles another visitor, the venomous taipan.

As the limb broke, everything was suddenly off balance. I felt myself falling with nothing in front of me to grab hold of. I went over the side and plummeted like a stone into the water. Eyes open wide, I can vividly remember the darkness of the silty water all around me. Directly above me was a light, like a beacon in a dark alley. I swam up toward it, easing myself through the water. Then I realized I was in the water directly in front of the trap site where a large saltwater crocodile had been bold enough to snatch a lead-in bait less than an hour ago! She could have been right next to me and I would have had no hope of seeing her. I tried desperately to push these thoughts out of my mind.

Don’t panic! I practically screamed to myself. Don’t panic and don’t thrash around like an injured animal. I popped up to see Steve, the cameraman, and the boat drifting down the river. I was losing the boat. This couldn’t be happening! I didn’t dare swim, I was terrified just to tread water. I could see Steve ripping at the outboard motor. It wouldn’t start! I called to him, but he was swearing loudly at the engine.

I tried to stop thinking, but my horrible imagination wouldn’t shut off. I waited for the sensation of teeth piercing my flesh. I knew the crocodile would first grab my leg and that with the kind of pressure its jaws exerted, my leg would be crushed. I would have no hope of escape. I began choking on my words as I cried out to Steve. If he could just get the outboard to turn over—crocodiles are very shy of the sound.

I saw Steve, in ultimate frustration, punch the outboard as hard as he could. It started with the next pull. As Steve helped me into the boat I thought I was going to throw up. I couldn’t appreciate the panic that had gone on in the boat. Even the cameraman violated his basic rule: he stopped filming! He actually put the camera down and stopped rolling, but there was nothing he could do to help. And as he started filming again, he was faced with his own fears. Extremely phobic of snakes, he well knew that there was a carpet python sitting in the bottom of the boat where it had fallen with the limb. I began to settle down and even had a bit of a laugh as I sat across from the cameraman perched high on a box to avoid the still-loose snake.

After all the commotion at the trap site, Steve figured the crocodile would be too disturbed to return for a while. Much to Steve’s surprise, she took a lead-in bait the very next night. Since we were faced with leaving camp anyway to restock our supplies, Steve thought he’d take a chance and bait the trap. He put a huge chunk of rotting meat in the back of the trap, fastened to the trigger mechanism. The lead-in bait was removed and I got to help mask our scent by rubbing pig entrails all around the trap. According to the swarms of meat ants, I must have done a good job! Now that the trap was set, we stayed right off the river for the rest of the day. Steve wanted to make sure that nothing would disturb this old girl.

That night we hardly slept, waiting and wondering what was going on at the trap. In the morning, Steve forced himself to wait until the sun was just about to come up over the horizon. When we left camp on high tide, no one knew what to expect. As we rounded the final bend in the river, Steve wasn’t looking for the trap, he was looking in the trees. Sure enough, the weight bag was no longer visible. It had been triggered. Something was in the trap!

Steve examines a croc slide on the river bank.

I was out of the boat first and could see a shape in the trap. While I tied up the boat, Steve edged his way to the back of the trap. It was her! She uttered a low growl, almost like a roar, as we approached her. She must have been caught several hours earlier. All the vegetation around her had been flattened and she was very muddy. In the light of day, and on dry ground, I didn’t feel as frightened of her. Actually, I felt sorry for her. This had been her home for probably thirty to fifty years, and now she had to move or risk the poacher’s gun.

Steve’s first concern was regulating her body temperature. Now that the sun was up, she would normally be back in the water. She’d then have the option to stay cool, or bask in the sun for short periods. Steve instructed me to start hauling buckets of water to pour over her in an attempt to keep her body temperature at a comfortable 30ºC (86ºF). Next, we began cutting the ropes from the weight bag so we could more easily manipulate both crocodile and trap. Steve worked quickly around the crocodile, familiar with exactly what to do. As he instructed me, and assisted the film crew, I was struck by the thought that Steve routinely used to do all of this on his own.

When everything was ready and the crocodile looked stable, it was time to manipulate her out of the trap and into the boat. Steve reminded me how important it was to react instantly to his instructions. Any hesitation could prove to be a fatal mistake.

The first step was to secure a top-jaw rope on the crocodile. Steve gently eased a stick with a rope tied to it through the croc’s mouth. He nimbly tied the rope over the crocodile’s top jaw, being careful to make sure the rope was securely wedged between those enormous teeth. When the top-jaw rope was tied off to a tree, the crocodile’s movement was minimized and Steve could begin removing the trap, tail end first. This worked well for a while, but Steve really needed to have her movement restricted even more.

“You will have to jump on her head,” Steve stated matter-of-factly.

It was one thing to help restrain smaller crocs, but as I looked down at this giant dinosaur, I wasn’t sure if I could actually bring myself to lie down on her head! She began to struggle and, lightning fast, Steve was on her.

It was now or never, so I eased in next to Steve and tried to get my fingers around the crocodile’s massive jaws to keep her mouth shut. I could feel her large, bony scutes scattered down her back as they dug into my ribs. As Steve worked to remove the net, my fingers ached from hanging on so tightly. In spite of the discomfort, I was awestruck. In the beginning I had admired Steve for the courage it took to work so closely with these ancient saurians—now I was doing it, too. It was certainly a proud moment to be part of the team, rescuing this amazing creature.