The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin (21 page)

As horrible as she looked, after a quick visit to the vet and a relatively simple operation to remove her eye, she was on the road to recovery. After a couple of weeks she was well enough to be released and Steve built a cage for her high up in a tree out in the scrub behind the zoo. Every day for a week I would climb the ladder and give her fresh food and water. On the eighth day I was confident that she knew this was her new home and so I opened the door of the cage.

Steve holding one of Australia's special native species, an echidna.

Although I continued to put food at the cage for another week, I never saw her. I was a little sad that she was gone, but knew she would be happily living in the wonderful eucalyptus trees. Over the next few months I thought of her often, especially when I put treats out for the other possums that lived near our house. Apparently the word had spread that it was much easier to live at Steve and Terri’s house than in the bush. Then, almost two years to the day after releasing my little brushtail possum, I noticed a brushtail with an obvious joey in her pouch, happily munching on some bread in our backyard. Upon closer inspection my heart soared. The mother possum had only one eye.

As a rehabilitation zoo, Steve and I are often called on to care for sick and injured animals.

Sometimes I have had to be cruel to be kind. Such was the case with Jack the jabiru. I don’t usually name the wild animals that come and go through our zoo, but Jack was different. Jack would not be leaving. He came to us from Fleay’s Fauna Centre on the Gold Coast where he’d been cared for over several weeks while he recovered from a collision with a power line. Sadly, Jack had lost a wing in the accident and had gone through two operations to repair the area where the wing had been torn off.

The jabiru, or black-necked stork, is a magnificent bird. When I first met Jack I was impressed with the fact that he stood nearly as tall as me. I could see fear in his beautiful black eyes and he chomped a warning with his enormous bill. I could also see that he’d scratched up his lovely long, orange legs and learned that he had cuts on his feet, too. Because Jack couldn’t fly, he would be on his feet more than a normal jabiru, and it was imperative that his feet did not become infected. Such infection can lead to a condition called “bumble foot” which is extremely difficult to treat and is sometimes fatal. Jack, of course, didn’t understand all of that and had no idea that I was trying to help him.

Twice a day I’d catch him (avoiding that long beak) and place his feet in a bucket of warm salty water. We would sit together for twenty minutes and then I would put a special ointment on his cuts and scrapes and let him go. This went on for several weeks until he was well. Jack now lives in the wetlands section of our zoo with a brolga, several species of duck, two magpie geese, and some beautiful black swans. Although Jack has been King of the Wetlands for years now, he has never forgotten me or what I had to do for him. Our zoo staff can enter his area and Jack will approach them out of curiosity or for food. But not me. To this day, when Jack sees me he runs!

Amelia the wedge tailed eagle.

Steve feeding an alligator during a demonstration at the zoo.

By far the most rewarding part about living and working at our zoo is the education factor. The only way wildlife conservation is going to work is if we all learn how to live with nature instead of being afraid of it or wanting to dominate it. Whether it’s koalas or crocodiles, we must begin to understand that animals have rules just like people do. If we play by the rules we can coexist quite easily, even with the most awesome predators.

During our numerous demonstrations every day here at the zoo, we show visitors how certain animals function in the wild. Whether it’s an otter catching her own fish, or a saltwater crocodile trying to catch the keeper, every demonstration is a learning experience.

There is one demonstration that is slightly more dramatic than the others. Every year in Australia, some three hundred people are accidentally bitten by snakes. These people weren’t trying to catch or kill the snake in question, they were simply minding their own business when contact was made. Usually this happens by someone accidentally stepping on a snake or reaching underneath something where a snake is dwelling. Most of these bites are from harmless non-venomous snakes, but we teach people to treat any snakebite as venomous. We bring out large pythons (all pythons are non-venomous) for visitors to view and even pet at the end of the demo, as well as show exactly how a pressure bandage works, and what will happen at a hospital.

I had been doing snake demos for more than a year, continuing to study snakebites and learn more about first aid, when the unexpected happened.

It was about 4:30
P.M
. and the zoo had been closed for half an hour. Jan, our mammal keeper, and I were finishing up in the souvenir shop at the entrance. I heard a vehicle pull up, but I didn’t think much of it as people are always coming in after hours with injured wildlife. As I approached the front gate to see what kind of animal needed our assistance, I saw a woman helping a teenage boy out of her car, the teenager appearing to have twisted his ankle. He was leaning heavily on the woman as he limped toward the entrance.

Brown snake.

“He’s been bitten by a snake,” the woman replied. As she helped the boy to sit down on the ground, she further explained that she owned and operated a banana plantation up the road. The teenager was employed to pick bananas for her and he’d accidentally stepped on a brown-colored snake about ten minutes earlier. I looked down at the boy’s leg. Just above his ankle were two incredible fang marks. This was a textbook bite. I could already see dark bruising around each fang mark and there was a slight trickle of blood owing to the venom’s anticoagulant property.

I told the lad to remain calm, but I think it was more for my benefit than his. He was doing everything right, sitting down, not getting excited. I, on the other hand, knew that this was a serious bite and had to think clearly and quickly. I went to the first aid kit to grab a pressure bandage. We always made sure that three were rolled up, right on top. But as I looked in the box, to my horror, I saw that the pressure bandages were gone. Instead, there were only packets of white gauze in plastic wrappers. I didn’t know it, but the staff had just changed the brand of pressure bandage. Jan and I hadn’t been told and so we didn’t recognize the new kind. Instead, Jan and I grabbed some towels so we could start working on containing the venom in the boy’s leg. “Get Steve,” I said quietly to Jan through clenched teeth.

All this time I was watching the clock. The towels were bulky, but I wanted to get pressure all the way up the boy’s leg before too much more time elapsed. In less than two minutes a puffed Steve arrived with the necessary pressure bandages. He put them on, nice and tight, right over the towels. After pinning a note to the bandage, which indicated the time of the bite as well as the time the bandage was applied, Steve carried the boy to the car. As Steve got the boy comfortable in the back seat, he instructed the woman to drive straight to Nambour Hospital. Meanwhile, Steve called the hospital so they’d be ready.

It wasn’t until the next day that we got a call to let us know that the boy had been discharged and would be fine. He’d received the proper anti-venom after the doctor had swabbed the bite site and discovered that the bite was from a common brown snake—the second most venomous snake in the world.

Steve and I are very lucky to live and work with what we love best. Zoo life definitely has its ups and downs but there is nothing else we’d rather be doing. It’s our goal and our passion to open everyone’s heart to love and care for wildlife for generations to come.

Chapter IX

“Old Faithful”

C
rocodiles live in beautiful family units similar to ours. A happy, healthy crocodile family has a big adult male croc “dad” who is very dominant and commands respect, one to several adult female “mums,” and their children. Usually when their kids are babies, they are protected, guarded, and nurtured. Youngsters are tolerated and teenagers are pushed out into the world to find their own territory. Crikey, I love crocs, and the more I understand their complex family structure the easier they are to love.

From the 1940s to the 1970s the two Australian species of crocodiles, saltwater and freshwater crocs (salties and freshies), were hunted for their skins and products. This intensive hunting pressure was responsible for a significant decline in crocodile densities throughout Northern Australia. In Northern Queensland, salties were driven to a critical level and the majority of accessible crocodile habitat was frequented by professional crocodile hunters, amateur shooters, and poachers. Surviving adult crocodiles in these areas became people-shy, or succumbed to the hunter’s bullet—shot dead or maimed.

Terri and me with a freshwater croc.

In 1974 both species were declared totally protected fauna. This protection of Queensland’s crocodiles has resulted in some recovery of both species. However, salties are currently categorized as “vulnerable,” just one step from endangered. Certainly the populated East Coast of Queensland contains very low densities of crocs. In 1985 the Queensland National Parks and Wildlife (now the Department of Environment) established the East Coast Crocodile Management Program. This program was designed to alleviate “problem,” rogue, or nuisance crocodiles conflicting with people. Any crocodiles reported to the Department of Environment (DoE) by tourists, residents, or professionals are examined individually by DoE rangers. Animals deemed dangerous or a potential threat are evaluated and then monitored or captured and relocated to Australia Zoo or back to the wild where they won’t have a conflict with humans again.

Unfortunately, there are several problems I’ve recognized with the current capture/relocation of large adult male salties. Removing dominant males from their territory allows smaller, less dominant males to move into these territories, upsetting the crocodiles’ social structure, which adversely affects the entire ecosystem. Releasing large males back into the wild places pressure on and creates conflict within existing crocodile populations, particularly in remote areas with existing dominant males.

After many years of understanding the problems attached with removing large dominant crocodiles from their domains, I decided to try an innovative technique to deter a designated problem crocodile in Lakefield National Park from approaching people, with an emphasis on minimizing impact on the ecosystem or the crocodile structure. Now was the time to accept the beauty of the crocodiles’ family structure and try something new. I had to stop an inquisitive “daddy” crocodile from scaring people, without upsetting his immediate family and the entire balance of nature.

Lakefield National Park

The Queensland State Government in November 1979 gazetted Lakefield National Park with a total of 1,326,000 acres. The park is situated on the eastern side of Cape York Peninsula and comprises a major portion of the Laura Basin, extending for one hundred miles along its longest axis northward from the peninsula township of Laura.

Lakefield’s climate is tropical and monsoonal. Rainfall is thus strongly seasonal, with ninety-five percent of the average annual rainfall of 430 inches falling between November and April—the “Wet Season.” Significant rainfall events rarely occur during the rest of the year, which is the long, dry season.

The major portion of Lakefield is undulating or lowland plain country, and it is drained by an extensive river system, which empties into Princess Charlotte Bay. During the annual wet season the various rivers and tributaries flood and many interconnect and spill over, covering vast areas of floodplain. Up here in Far North Queensland, when it rains—mate, does it rain! It buckets down, causing flash floods in minutes.

With the progression of the dry season, water levels gradually regress and stream flows slow down and eventually stop. However, very significant numbers of permanent waterholes and shallow wetlands remain. These we call billabongs.

In addition to the various freshwater habitats and the associated saline estuary systems, the park contains a wide diversity of vegetation communities. These include a variety of tropical woodlands, heath, and open forest, gallery rainforests and semi-deciduous vine thickets. A large belt of grassland lies across the northern section of the Park, inland and adjacent to extensive plains. Vast wetlands, which comprise both marine plains and mangrove forests, fringe the tidal river systems and adjoin virtually the entire coastline. Lakefield is the most pristine crocodile habitat. It’s gorgeous.

Crocodiles on Lakefield

A juvenile freshwater crocodile. Look how ferocious I am!

The seasonal and permanent billabongs within Lakefield National Park, and the vegetation and animal communities they support, form a natural wonder of very significant conservation value. In particular, Lakefield affords protection for the largest population of both salties and freshies on Queenl and’s East Coast. The national park is one of only five key areas for saltwater crocodile conservation in Queensland, and furthermore, it contains the largest populations of this species within any protected area in the state.

Park rangers have monitored crocodile numbers, local distributions, and activities through formal surveys, incidental observations, and reports from park visitors.

Lakefield has long been a popular, remote area for self-reliant travelers, and up to fifteen thousand people annually camp at the 132 campsites scattered throughout the park. Visitors come to explore and appreciate the park’s natural and cultural values, with recreational fishing also being a major attraction. The majority of visitors desire to see a “crocodile in the wild.” The fact that almost all the park’s camping areas are sited beside permanent billabongs containing populations of at least one species of crocodile readily affords such sightings and other potential interactions with these majestic reptiles.

“Old Faithful”

During 1994, an increasing number of reports were received by park rangers of a large salty displaying what was regarded as nuisance behavior at “Old Faithful Waterhole,” a popular fishing and camping area on the Normanby River.

The crocodile concerned, estimated to be at least fourteen feet in length, was regularly swimming close to, and approaching, people in fishing boats and campsites located on the high riverbank. The actual truth of his so-called nuisance behavior is that the poor old croc was just inquisitive of the people in his territory—he never, ever had a go at anyone or demonstrated any aggressive behavior toward people. I guess when a huge crocodile head, looking like a dinosaur, pops up near your camp or boat, it’s quite intimidating. Actually, it was scaring the living daylights out of visitors. What a shame! I do not understand why park visitors were complaining about him, but looking at people crashing around in your territory is hardly nuisance behavior. After a series of complaints, the park rangers surveyed the waterhole and immediately spotlighted the crocodile. In an attempt to deter him from continuing his nuisance behavior, two rounds of .308 were fired over his head. This technique appeared to have the desired effect for several months, and then visitor complaints started to increase again.

Following assessment by park rangers, the area was closed to visitors to reduce potential risks to both park visitors and the crocodile. The rangers were concerned he might be injured or killed by illegal shooting. It was then I was asked to try my alternative management strategy. Given the problems associated with capture/relocation of large, dominant male crocodiles, it was decided to capture, hold, and harass the animal for a short period of time prior to release in the same waterhole, with the intentions of instilling a reasonable fear of people, i.e., “people shyness.” If successful, this method would ensure the continuation of the crocodile social structure and overall ecological health of this section of the Normanby River, and reduce the potential risk of negative interactions between this crocodile and the future visitors to the national park.

So I planned an action aimed at trapping and educating “Old Faithful,” the name given to the dominant male crocodile of this section of the Normanby River. It’s very Australian to give things you love nicknames, and I reckon “Old Faithful” was a top name for him.

Trapping “Old Faithful”

As soon as we arrived at Old Faithful Waterhole, we noticed a large crocodile watching us 160 feet away, in the middle of the billabong. As we prepared a dinghy to survey the area, the crocodile, inquisitive of our presence, was watching us while slowly moving upstream; only his head was visible. He was magnificent! Big gnarly head. What a beauty!

After launching my black croc dinghy, we idled toward the deepest section of his billabong. After rounding a bend, a large crocodile was observed watching us from 260 feet away, midstream. Only his head was visible, yet it was high out of the water. As we slowed to a stop, the crocodile acknowledged our presence by exposing his nuchal scutes (those big dinosaur-like plates on his neck), followed by his entire back, for approximately twenty seconds, then he submerged his back, leaving only his neck and head exposed. He swam casually into the shade of a large overhanging melaleuca tree where he once again displayed his entire back, neck, and head for approximately twenty seconds. This obvious display of size was considered a threat posture, directed at us. Awesome! He was threatening us and posturing to let us know we were in
his
territory, and this is how big I am. “Yep, you’re big all right,” I shouted to him. Starting the outboard, we headed in his direction. He allowed us to get within two hundred feet before he eventually submerged. This deep, shady section of his billabong was considered an ideal location for a trap site.

Terri and me checking "Old Faithful" trap two.

I examined the billabong’s only exposed mud bank, and instantly located fresh slides of an animal estimated at fourteen to fifteen feet as well as fresh slides and wallow of an animal estimated at eight to ten feet. It was concluded that these crocodile signs belonged to the so-called nuisance male crocodile and his female mate. They utilized the mud bank for basking and ambushing feral pigs and other prey. The combination of the crocodile activity and the accessibility made this area another ideal trap site.

After many, many hours of hard yakka over two days, I, Terri, and my team from Australia Zoo, headed by my best mate Wes Mannion, and a couple of DoE Rangers headed by my good mate Barry Lyons, erected two traps at the sites. Dad and I designed our trapping techniques in the early 1980s. It’s a very simple design, which ensures absolute minimum stress or injury on the crocodile, utilizing soft mesh and breakable strings. This is our design (Fig. 1):