The Croc Hunter

Since its conception as a wildlife sanctuary, the intention has always been to introduce freshwater crocodiles into the Mareeba Wetlands. The area was full of crocs fifty years ago but after a long spell of heavy hunting and the drainage of the permanent waterways they disappeared completely.

It might sound a little stupid, putting crocs into a waterway, but the fish-eating freshies (unlike their bulkier cousins) are reasonably passive towards humans unless provoked. You can even go swimming with them if you're keen enough (though you could lose a few digits if the freshie mistakes you for a fish). Generally these little reptiles will clear-off as quickly as possible if they hear us oafish humans approaching.

Crocs are needed to keep the ecosystem in balance. Without a big predator in our waterways the fish are getting big, fat and lazy. The big fish are eating all the little fish and this is unhealthy competition for the birds. The theory (which is all we've got when it comes to things like this) is that putting in crocs will help maintain the balance. The eggs and hatchlings are also a popular, protein-rich delicacy for the birds and other reptiles around.

A few years back the EPA gave us permission to capture forty crocs from further downstream (where the crocs are still living in healthy numbers) and to then release these into our lagoons. The wardens at the Wetlands have been too busy to do anything with this and at the end of this year the permit will expire and they'll have missed their window of opportunity.

I heard about this unfortunate little predicament in my first week at the Wetlands as a volunteer. My cunning little mind took quiet note of this and in the dark recesses of my skull, began its machinations. A few subtle questions and some gentle probing gave me the information I needed and I then put my case to the wardens and management. I'd already proven my predilection for hard work by this stage and with the help of the Internet (God bless those proud and noble geeks) I was able to put together the outline of a strategy that looked good enough to work.

Within two weeks I was handed the job of designing and implementing the plan to capture and relocate forty freshwater crocodiles into the Wetlands. The wardens, already overloaded with work and with as much crocodile knowledge as I have, were only too happy to offload this job onto me. I've been given a huge amount of autonomy over the project, reporting directly to the manager of the Wetlands on my progress.

For almost a month now I've been researching crocs, talking with croc handlers, examining sites and contemplating logistics. The plan is beginning to take shape and by the end of November, if all goes well, I will have all forty crocs enjoying the good life at Club Mareeba. All I have to do now is start practicing my calls of "Crikey!" and "Have a go at this one!!". Hopefully Santa will know where to drop off my khaki shorts this Christmas.

Dead Meat

I'm not sure why but wherever I go, if there's a dead animal about it somehow ends up my job to deal with it. In Ecuador I had to bury Paddy, our puppy, in the back yard after an illness did him in (leaving him as stiff as a board, since the girls had left him out for a day waiting for me to get back and deal with the body). In Costa Rica too, I did my fair share of picking through the rotten remains of unhatched turtles trying to work out why they didn't hatch.

I'm at the wetlands for less than three weeks before I'm assigned my first carcass to deal with. A python has died out in the middle of the lagoon and the wardens' have noticed it on their boat tours. Things are busy enough that they forget to deal with it for a good few days and by the time they remember it's developed a somewhat pungent aroma. Knowing this, the wardens quickly decide that handling rotting corpses is one of the key responsibilities of the newly appointed Assistant Warden.

I wait for the last tourists to leave and then I set out in the small electric boat. I convince Michael, the new German volunteer, that a tour around the lagoon would be a great way to get to know the area. I 'forget' to mention the rotting snake to him until after we've cast off. We're ploughing through the lilies before he realises I've duped him.

We arrive at the spot that the wardens pointed out but there's no sign of the snake; the wind must have pushed it away. We circle the area for a while, investigating suspicious shadows on the water but finding nothing but driftwood and debris. With the sun dropping behind the mountains and the light starting to fade, we decide to call it quits. Halfway back however something nestled amongst the lilies catches my eye and I decide to check out one last bundle. It's our snake.

It's huge; at least two meters long and that's without its head (which has been eaten off by fish). Most of its body has bloated to the size of a football, but the parts that aren't bloated are still as thick as my wrist. As we pull up next to it I nearly black-out from the stench; several days stewing in the sun has not enhanced this reptiles natural aroma.

I try to send Michael up front with the rope and an oar to deal with it. He starts to dry retch and refuses to go near it (bloody Europeans!). Resigned, I put the motor in idle and head up myself. I use the oar to lift the heavy, leathery body out of the water and then hook the rope around it and tie it in place. All the while I'm praying that the bloated skin won't split, spraying a horrid gas straight onto me. A few close calls, but the leather holds and I manage to secure the body enough that I can drag it to the shore, trailing it behind the boat.

It's too dark to deal with by the time we get back, so we leave it tied up to the wharf with the rope at maximum extent. I'm first up in the morning however (I'm a morning person) and the wind has changed overnight. The rotten stench fills the visitor centre and there's no way I can manage breakfast. I jump back in the boat and drag the foul thing to the other side of the lagoon.

I climb ashore and push through the long grasses, dragging the corpse behind me and with a shovel over one shoulder. It crosses my mind a few times that this huge python would have spent its happier days in exactly this type of long grass that I'm now waist deep in. I push on regardless and eventually find a clearing, where I dig a hole and bury the thing putting rocks in over the top in an optimistic attempt to stop the feral pigs in the area from digging it up again.

Back at the visitor centre, I disinfect the boat and the rope. I scrub my hands and arms to the elbow. I take a second shower, and then a third later that day. Despite all this a faint stench of rotten snake seems to somehow linger for the rest of the day.