Read Online The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin by Steve Irwin, Terri Irwin - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Irwin, Terri Irwin
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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
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
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