All respectable 4WD magazines highly recommend that any river crossing is walked to establish route, unseen obstructions and hazards. We’re above a latitude running through Cairns and that is significant. Guess who lives up here? Yes, crocs.
Never mind telling me it’s a freshie. It can’t eat you whole, or they won’t bite you, they’re crocs.
Even if you’re not freaked out by that, their bigger cousins are salties, estuarine crocs. Saltwater crocs grow as big as a Holden Commodore and are at least as fast. They eat you whole.
On the trip up to the area we stop for cuppas. I get out, wander over to the picnic spot and there, right in front of me, is a ten foot sign saying, Warning – Achtung Estuarine Crocs inhabit this area. They’ll eat you or tear off your arm. It didn’t quite say that, but my croc phobia has me sprinting back to the ute.
At every stop someone tells me a taller story about a croc near miss. About how big, mean and sneaky they are. You see my dilemma? We’re on a journey which is punctuated regularly with a croc infested creek crossing.
I’m encouraged to walk to the water’s edge at one crossing by Max and Malcolm. They offer words of encouragement then, just as I’m settling down, Malcolm strips to his jocks and leaps in. I almost faint. Max howls with laughter and Malcolm continues to splash around, calling, “there’s no crocs here, come on in.”
Up here, if there’s water there’s probably a croc, I’ve been told. Every time my fear subsides, a prank is formulated to restart my heart at an increased rate. It’s a newfound pastime for Howard, who thinks up new impressions of reptiles, leaps out or sneaks around waiting to startle the unexpected… usually me.
We arrive at another crossing. It looks like the site of an air crash. Devastation on the banks, car body parts decorate the trees. They could even be the Christmas trees displayed at a wreckers’ holiday party, baubles and tinsel replaced by Nissan bumpers, Landcruiser steps, the radiator and inter cooler from a large 4WD. This is a place where the gods of the crossings have to be appeased. The onward journey toll requires the traveller to deposit a body part. We pass toll free!
I ask Max about a tale Malcolm related of a creek crossing years earlier. Heather allegedly walked waist deep across a muddy brown fast flowing creek. Max laughs. “What you have to remember is that if you smack a croc on the nose with a thong, job’s done, it’ll move away”.
I look at him incredulously. “Oh, I agree, it’s not straightforward and it could get awkward if you catch the thong between your toes at a key moment.” He strolls off under a cloud of cigarette smoke, chuckling loudly. I can’t quite convince myself he’s joking.
Even though I’m joking about crocs, if you travel this way you’re going to invade the croc’s home. He’s protected and must be respected. Common sense has to prevail. Read the Crocwise signs and give all due respect to these ancient and wonderful beasts and then you’ll enjoy a fantastic trip through the areas where they live.
Oh, by the way, our unpaid crossing… We notice hours later Howard’s number plate has gone. The crossing gods have collected their toll.
Written by Richard