The Last Crocodile Hunter by Bob Irwin

Author:Bob Irwin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2016-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Travel Log: Bob and Amanda on the road

THE ALICE RIVER, CAPE YORK, QUEENSLAND, SEPTEMBER 2015

AMANDA

Enjoyment comes in the form of some of the most basic things when you’re out in the bush. Things that I ordinarily take for granted at home. Being covered from head to toe in powdery red bull dust or sweating in forty-degree heat for days on end truly makes me appreciate the very basic necessities of daily life. Like washing my hat-hair for the first time in a week, or shaving my legs, just basic maintenance that feels long overdue since being on the road. Things like this are just a part of my everyday life back in Brisbane, but to be able to take some time out of the hottest part of the day to sit in the shade of a paperbark tree on the banks of a remote waterhole in the middle of Cape York makes the experience a novelty.

On this particular day, an ibis soared gracefully overhead, travelling slowly in my direction. I was enjoying watching him effortlessly glide along, his reflection perfectly mirrored in glassy water below. The moment he realised I was there, he got a fright and awkwardly changed course, almost back-flipping in his panic to get away from me. I could only imagine his thoughts: What the bloody hell is that thing? His surprise to see me was the perfect sign of the remoteness of this place. I laughed to imagine city ibis being afraid of people as they raided rubbish bins on our streets. How nice it would be for all wildlife to be unaware of humans in this way, not habituated like the ones having to contend for habitat in suburbia. I felt tiny under the limitless, vivid blue sky of Cape York, reflecting on what an insignificant little dot I was on the vast landscape.

I had an iPad set up beside me playing Jack Johnson songs that resonated with my feelings about this trip, songs about perfect days in a mellow world. Every now and then a little freshwater crocodile would surface in the waterhole beside me and take a good look. I enjoyed playing a little game with him; I’d look away, and then quickly turn back to catch his eye. Every time our eyes met, he’d disappear below the water, leaving ripples in his wake. I found it endearing that he thought he could take a stealthy glimpse at me without me knowing. We were so remote, it was likely he’d never seen a human before. How good is life? I thought.

But a familiar voice soon sounded behind me. ‘Amanda, what is this disgusting music?’

I turned around to see Bob, beach towel over his shoulder and thongs on his feet, prepared for an afternoon dip. Our swims had become a daily ritual to relieve the heat of the unforgiving late-afternoon sun. When we couldn’t stomach another cup of scalding hot tea, and got tired of moving our chairs every five minutes to stay in

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