Read Online The Crocodile Hunter: The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin by Steve Irwin, Terri Irwin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steve Irwin, Terri Irwin
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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.
“Yes, I love you, my girl, but let me in!” I ordered.
Lick, lick, lick, she continued. I pushed her aside, flung myself in, fired up the outboard, and headed back to the boat ramp, eager to secure my catch and tend my wounds.
Once the croc was snug and secure in a wooden crate, I turned on the interior light to check out my bites and hits.
“Yep, your fingers are gonna need stitching, Stevo,” I muttered to myself.
When I looked into the rearview mirror I was a little startled to see a huge open gash stemming from the corner of my eye along my cheekbone. “There goes my chances at television!”
I guess I must’ve been still pumped with adrenaline because instead of going straight to Townsville hospital I wrapped a rag around my fingers, dropped the small croc off at N.P.W.S. headquarters, and went back to my camp. Skilled at administering my own first aid, I soaked my wounds in antiseptic, took a couple of aspirins, and fell asleep in my swag all curled up with my girl, Chilli.
Blue-winged kookaburras sounded the familiar wake-up call. Kook! Kook! Kook! Ka! Ka! Ka!
Waking with a start, I muttered, “The traps! Gotta check the traps!” As I tried to get up, a sharp stab of pain near my eye made me wince. The pillow was stuck to my wound, which had been oozing all night. In a fit of aggression I ripped the pillow away from my face, pulling the wound open.
“Damn it!” I swore.
Trapping Crocs on Cattle Creek.
“Damn! My hand is sore,” I swore again.
This was no
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.
“Yes, I love you, my girl, but let me in!” I ordered.
Lick, lick, lick, she continued. I pushed her aside, flung myself in, fired up the outboard, and headed back to the boat ramp, eager to secure my catch and tend my wounds.
Once the croc was snug and secure in a wooden crate, I turned on the interior light to check out my bites and hits.
“Yep, your fingers are gonna need stitching, Stevo,” I muttered to myself.
When I looked into the rearview mirror I was a little startled to see a huge open gash stemming from the corner of my eye along my cheekbone. “There goes my chances at television!”
I guess I must’ve been still pumped with adrenaline because instead of going straight to Townsville hospital I wrapped a rag around my fingers, dropped the small croc off at N.P.W.S. headquarters, and went back to my camp. Skilled at administering my own first aid, I soaked my wounds in antiseptic, took a couple of aspirins, and fell asleep in my swag all curled up with my girl, Chilli.
Blue-winged kookaburras sounded the familiar wake-up call. Kook! Kook! Kook! Ka! Ka! Ka!
Waking with a start, I muttered, “The traps! Gotta check the traps!” As I tried to get up, a sharp stab of pain near my eye made me wince. The pillow was stuck to my wound, which had been oozing all night. In a fit of aggression I ripped the pillow away from my face, pulling the wound open.
“Damn it!” I swore.
Trapping Crocs on Cattle Creek.
“Damn! My hand is sore,” I swore again.
This was no
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