Cruisin’ For Crocs
Monday, April 28th, 2008
By: Phoenix Arrien
I find myself on the East Alligator River bordering the great World Heritage wilderness of Kakadu on one side and the aboriginal-owned expanse of Arnhem Land on the other.
“Crocodiles jump three quarters of their body length out of the water,” drawls the aboriginal guide. We jump back from the sides of the boat and into our seats.
“Do they know we are here,” I ask, dubiously peering at the closed eyes of a nearby four-metre reptile unchanged since the dinosaur era.
“They can smell a dog five kilometres away.”
“Er… humans are pretty big…,” I squeak.
“A Croc’s jaws has a force of 5 tons just on the upward thrust. I once saw a water buffalo stuck in mud. A tractor couldn’t pull him out but a croc came along and ‘adios amigo’…”
These titbits from our guides, armed only with spears, kept coming as we silently swept up the murky waters in that little boat.
As the current took our low-sided boat down the river, the reptiles kept appearing throughout the two-hour ‘cruise’. Short legs protrude out of great-scaled torsos tapering into large powerful tails. Long, and I mean LONG teeth stick out of diamond shaped flattish heads like rows of stalactites and mites. The overall impression is one of bumps and knobs everywhere… and stillness. The animals lie about like a rugby team on a Caribbean Holiday, looking deceptively harmless, sunning themselves to keep their cold-blooded bodies warm.
The cruise stop by cliffs containing aboriginal rock art, the ‘books’ of ancient aboriginals in the area teaching them how and when to hunt creatures. Good to know these chaps get the low-down from the ancestors. We see proud eagles and wallabies, yellow dingoes and nervous wild horses called brumbies. The guides showed us the use of natural foods found along the riverbank. Hunting tools are brought out to demonstrate spearing techniques. However, it is the crocodiles and our morbid fascination with these dangerous reptiles that dominate the cruise. For we feel constantly watched, like barely tolerated strangers in alien territory… and as the guides quickly pointed out with relish when the question arose - they are very territorial animals.
Almost exterminated earlier this century as vermin they are now protected and numbers are growing. Skins and meat, taken from captive crocodiles kept in ‘farms’ provide a domestic and export market worth millions of dollars a year. Even ‘domesticated’ crocodiles bite though, and most farm staff have a variety of scars up and down their arms.
We reach an innocent looking stream flowing in from the north. This is the home of Eric, the biggest piece of scale on the river. At six metres he is almost 100 years old and wise. He don’t show himself and we don’t go looking too hard. Any animal that swallows whole stones to help digest buffaloes and horses has my undying respect.
As we pass Eric’s territory, I try to ignore a specific part of the side of the aluminium boat. For there, indented forever, are teeth marks from past crocodiles…. curious apparently!
