The Last Crocodile Hunter

by Bob Irwin

  If you don’t gather as much information as possible, you can’t put across a good case for conserving anything. You can’t say, ‘There are only ten left in this river and if we kill any more they’re gone.’ You can’t say that unless you’ve got the scientific research to back it up. When we started out there was no research done at all. We worked from whatever information we could find. We certainly didn’t have any firsthand information about what was happening with the species and where their populations were at. What we did know from our years of observation was that the east coast of Queensland contained very low densities of crocs.

  We always feared we would run out of time with conservation. Our native animals, including our beautiful crocodiles, were dying out at such a rapid rate, and our theory was that if we couldn’t get them into people’s hearts, we didn’t have a hope in hell of saving them. People simply weren’t interested in caring for something they didn’t understand. Crocodiles were seen as bloodthirsty predators that would eat you alive. So we wanted to know more about them. We wanted to start piecing together how the elusive croc had survived for so long on our planet. But to do that, Steve first and foremost needed a team of skilled crocodile catchers. A team like that didn’t exist, of course, so he had to teach them first. The methods I’d taught Steve in those early years he’d not only mastered but had become a world authority in. That education had finally come full circle.

  I guess Steve and I were lucky in some respects, because prior to Steve forming this group of guys and girls, we used to catch crocodiles ourselves. Just the two of us. And in some cases, just one of us. We’d already made just about all of the mistakes it was possible to make. The best lesson to learn from a mistake is to make sure you don’t make it again. While we’d had to learn from scratch, we could bring this young team up to speed with all we had learnt. Then we hoped they’d take that, build on it, and get more done. In this line of work, one mistake is all it takes to cost you your life.

  After years of mastering his croc-catching skills predominantly alone, Steve wanted to take a team of people into the region of Australia where his understanding of Australian wildlife had formed. To understand crocodiles, you’ve got to see where they live and how they interact in the wild. There is no university degree to prepare you for that kind of field-based work with apex predators.

  Those trips certainly sorted the men from the boys. It was a good measure of everyone’s capabilities. It was a great concept, imparting knowledge about crocodiles to a team of young people. But it was also a challenge, because you can’t begin to imagine the danger involved in taking a group of people you are responsible for into some of the harshest environments in Australia to capture what can only be described as a modern-day dinosaur. Before he was able to even consider it, Steve had to make sure he could trust with his life the people he took on board. And over time, through small tests to measure not only people’s abilities but their loyalty, Steve hand-selected a team of people who embodied that quality and many more.

  The team he formed wasn’t your average group of crocodile handlers. They were a hand-selected, eclectic mix of unskilled crocodile catchers: landscapers, bird keepers, security guards and UFC fighters. To Steve, it didn’t matter who you were or what your background was, if you believed in something strongly enough then you could achieve it. And people with that attitude were the ones he wanted to surround himself with. There was no school you could attend to learn it, it simply came from the heart.

  The team was to experience the mangrove environment from the time they got up to the time they went to bed. They were covered in mud, hordes of sandflies, mosquitos and everything else that comes with mangroves. But this group was prepared for that, and that’s what made them really special people. Steve, without question, had succeeded in assembling the best back-up team in the world, led by his right-hand man, Brian Coulter.

  The croc team

  BRIAN COULTER, AKA BRIANO

  It was 1995 and I was just twenty-one years old when the crocodile keeper at Australia Zoo fell off a ladder, broke his arm and could no longer work with crocodiles.

  ‘We’ve got to train you to be the new crocodile keeper,’ Steve said to me, closely followed by the warning: ‘But if you get bitten, you’re out!’

  Needless to say, as a young volunteer I was pretty excited to be given that kind of opportunity. I thought crocodiles were impressive, but if you had told me that seven years later I would cry over the death of my favourite crocodile, I would have responded with, ‘Yeah right!’

  Steve trained me up over the next four years. I followed his every move, shadowed him and strived to be just like him, because his enthusiasm was endlessly contagious. He took me on all kinds of adventures to remote places, places I wouldn’t have otherwise seen. Places where you would lie down at night and see a thousand stars twinkling off in the distance. In the early days, at the drop of a hat it was just, ‘Go home and get your swag, Briano, we’re going on a trip.’ During those adventures, Steve taught me everything I needed to know about crocodiles and wildlife. Our friendship grew as my knowledge did too. As soon as we had finished work, we’d go up to one particular area of the zoo where he had a campfire lit and we used to sit and have a can of Coke, sharing a yarn around the campfire for hours. A couple of years later, when he finally got his busted knee fixed, that evolved to surfing every morning before we started work with the rest of the team. He called them the daily ‘board’ meetings, and I rarely missed one. A few years later I’d come to work and it was just, ‘Go home and get your passport, Briano, we’re going to the airport.’ There was rarely any warning about those trips. You didn’t have time to get excited, because the next minute we’d be flying off somewhere in a plane for a wildlife expedition of a lifetime all in the name of International Crocodile Rescue.

  As the years went by, Steve’s ability to catch crocodiles had surpassed Bob’s, but he always loved having Bob and his calming influence around him, especially in the frequently high-stress environments we worked in. Those trips were certainly tough going and the conditions on our crocodile camps were not for the faint-hearted. His respect for his dad was always apparent and he always sought Bob’s approval no matter how old he grew to be.

  While Steve was away filming one year, he asked me to capture and relocate a couple of American alligators in an enclosure. Steve instructed me to call up Bob for his assistance, because although I was confident, I was still raw and I hadn’t taken the lead on that kind of capture before. I was nervous because there was a gathering of media around the enclosure filming our every move.

  ‘Are you confident you can do the job?’ Bob asked me before we got started.

  I nodded my head. His next piece of advice has been etched deeply in my mind ever since. ‘When you’re working with dangerous animals, the most important thing is that there is only one team leader. Before you even start, it’s your job to make everybody aware that you’re in charge and they have to listen to you, because in this job you can’t have two bosses. Because when someone hesitates, that’s when accidents happen.’

  Bob had a way of instilling a huge amount of confidence in me to flawlessly carry out that capture. It was a big moment for me to be given the responsibility of being the one person in charge. I looked up to Bob as a father figure. Steve was more of a big brother to me, because he wasn’t that far ahead in years. They both taught me hands-on, physically showing me the way. Their leadership was something you couldn’t beat. They would never ask you to do anything they wouldn’t have done a hundred times themselves. If you’d worked a thirteen-hour day, then it was a guarantee that they would have worked fourteen. They really gained my respect and the respect of all the people who worked alongside them. There wasn’t a person on the team who didn’t idolise them.

  Everything you did for Steve was a test for something far bigger later on. That something, of course, was catching some of the largest predators in Australia in their natural environment, a task you can neve
r truly be prepared for. As time went on, our team expanded and Steve recruited more crocodile keepers, appointing me as the head of his team.

  When you look at that core team Steve assembled, there was most certainly a common thread. They were guys who wouldn’t think twice about going the extra mile. He didn’t pick people who would only work a nine-to-five day. When you’re sitting on a fourteen-foot crocodile, these are exactly the kind of people you want as your back-up team. They were the kind of people who don’t expect anything unless they’ve worked hard for it. Because we were working with crocodiles, we had to be able to trust each other with our lives. If a guy is half asleep and not backing you up, you’re going to get chomped. The bond we all formed as the years went on was an important one, and Steve was our hard-bonding glue.

  Everything we know about crocodiles today grew from the moment those research trips commenced. It was Steve’s foresight and desire to explore the hidden world of the crocodile that really brought knowledge about them to the fore. By sitting on the bank of a river and watching, you can’t see a croc. But satellite and radio tracking and all of the underwater surveys have shown us that they are there all the time. You can’t see them under there, but they are most certainly around. Only by delving deeper can you really begin to understand how they operate.

  It’s not like walking into a classroom. The lessons are all in observation and you need to take in everything that’s said to you. In those days, it was: ‘Let’s go feed the crocodiles, this is how I do it. Watch me and learn.’ And we were learning every single day.

  In assembling the team, everything was a test from the word go. Steve was one of those guys who could work people out pretty quickly. He didn’t have time for idiots or anyone with a really big ego. He wanted genuine, hard-working, conscientious people. Steve was watching individuals for a very long time, sizing them up for their work ethic and passion for the work they were doing. They were certainly on his radar long before they knew it.

  In 2003, Steve decided to take around sixteen staff with him into the wilds of Australia. It was to be a training course and a classroom like no other, led by a father and son team in the far-flung location of Queensland’s Lakefield National Park. The very blokes who pioneered the whole crocodile-catching thing were right there, hands-on, teaching us how to follow in their footsteps. They had both sustained injuries over the years and had crocodile teeth lodged in different parts of their bodies and we were to be the lucky recipients of those hard lessons, gaining from the mistakes they had already made. Given that they still had all of their limbs, fingers and toes, I made up my mind from a very early age that I was going to listen to everything they told me and take it on board.

  ‘Welcome to croc school,’ Steve said.

  Lakefield National Park was the beginning of the real test, the training ground, and the making of the core team. Those early trips were a big learning curve for everyone.

  And while a number of people came and went from the team in the years that followed, the core group remained the same, enduring many years catching crocodiles together and backing each other up.

  Crocodile lullabies, Lakefield National Park

  BRETTY MOSTYN, AKA BIRDY BRETT

  As a young bloke, I was privileged to be able to look after Steve’s incredible bird collection at Australia Zoo. I couldn’t have been more excited when the opportunity came knocking one day to join the big fella himself, Steve Irwin, on a training trip that played a part in pioneering crocodile research in the wilds of Far North Queensland. It was one of the team’s first trips together. For me it was like a training mission to prepare us for a proper round of research later on. It was to be an adventure of a lifetime and I was jumping out of my skin.

  Not knowing what was coming up was the exciting part. I was hungry to find out what I didn’t know about. Our team had freshly captured a fourteen-foot saltwater crocodile named Seven. He was such a large animal that it took the whole team to hold him down when we captured him. It was a true measure of that animal’s incredible strength to see ten or more grown men and women being moved around by the sheer strength of one animal. He was growling and I was apprehensive. Via radio, Steve had asked me to stand watch over this big male croc while Steve drove his vehicle through the bush to park up beside him and keep watch over him throughout the night. Only Steve would do this; he wouldn’t have slept for worrying about the wellbeing of an animal he took responsibility for after taking it out of its environment. He was waiting for a satellite tracker to arrive before the croc was to be released into the wild and become a vessel for ground-breaking scientific research. So there I was, babysitting this crocodile, when I heard Steve’s next instructions over the radio.

  ‘All right, mate, I’m just pullin’ off the road now and I’m gonna start comin’ in. When he starts twitchin’ or lookin’ agitated, you need to start singing in a very . . . well, whatever you can do. Just sing! Your voice has got to drown out my engine. I’m coming in.’

  ‘Copy that, mate,’ I replied over the radio.

  Thankfully Steve couldn’t see my face, because I was as white as a ghost upon hearing his instructions.

  This moment became my biggest test, hands down, on that trip working with predatory animals. My boss wanted me to sing to a crocodile. I’d jump on a crocodile any day, but sing to one? It was an instruction that certainly took a lot of talking myself around.

  The idea was to distract the crocodile when he heard the noise of Steve’s loud engine. Possibly one of the most terrifying moments in my career to date was the idea of singing in front of my boss, the team, all of my mates. But I knew I didn’t have a choice. None of us were ever game enough to tell Stevo there was something we couldn’t do for him. Whatever time of the day or night, we were up for the challenge. We’d have done almost anything to prove to him we were capable and worthy of being on his team. He had that kind of effect on a lot of people; he had the ability to instil in you the confidence that you could do anything at all. So if he wanted me to sing to a crocodile, then by crikey I was going to sing to a crocodile.

  It must have been only five minutes but it felt as though I’d stood there for a lifetime running through the scenario in my mind. What the hell do I sing to a crocodile? My song repertoire was far from comprehensive. The only place I was at ease singing was in the shower. I couldn’t for the life of me decide on what to sing, when suddenly common sense prevailed and I realised that it wasn’t likely the crocodile would be partial to any song in particular.

  The next minute, out of nowhere, the cameraman came running out of the bush, making a beeline for me. I wanted to hide, but he was right up in my face with a camera, and behind me was a river full of crocodiles. Meanwhile Steve was on the radio again.

  ‘Okay, mate, I’m at the fifty-metre mark, you’d better start singing.’ He delivered that order with as much gravity as if he’d asked me to jump on the head of a big croc. I knew he wasn’t joking.

  So there I was, sounding like a strangled cat, as I made my singing debut in the middle of Cape York. Singing to a large lizard capable of doing me a fair bit of damage. I awkwardly sang the only lyrics that came to mind, a fusion of a couple of Aussie bush ballads.

  To my surprise, it worked. Seven kept still. This fourteen-foot apex predator didn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t help but think that perhaps the croc thought if he just kept still then maybe I’d stop singing.

  Stevo pulled up beside me in his truck, calling out his window with the biggest grin on his face. ‘Don’t give up your day job, Bretto.’

  We all burst out laughing.

  I felt truly blessed to have found myself in a chapter on my life’s journey in the presence of greatness, learning from two of the most inspirational, passionate, fearless and fair-dinkum Aussie legends. Bob and Steve instilled in me a belief that anything is possible, to believe in my dreams and destiny. They are two of the most humble blokes I’ve ever met. They considered themselves ordinary, but in our eyes there was no do
ubt that they were extraordinary.

  That trip to Lakefield National Park was the beginning of times none of us will ever forget. With Steve at the helm, a superman, we certainly enjoyed a wild and memorable ride together, surrounded by an amazingly skilful, passionate and extremely hard-working team of outstanding men and women, all in the name of crocodile research.

  Steve was a wonderful teacher who inspired every member of our team and in him we had a boss we treasured dearly. He was an incredible leader, gifted in so many ways. And he got a lot of that from his dad. Bob and Steve were the best of friends. Steve idolised Bob. The respect, gratitude and love he openly expressed and showed to his old mate was amazing to witness in the years that followed.

  Knee-beards on the Nesbit River

  TREVOR NEUCOM, AKA TREV

  ‘I want you to design me a boot for an elephant, Trev.’

  Steve knew that whatever he wanted, I could make it for him. My official role at Australia Zoo was maintenance manager of the welding team. If Steve wanted something done, he wanted it done yesterday. You didn’t dare admit your lack of expertise in building something you’d never turned your hand to before. You’d just get down to business and find a way to do it. It was a boy thing, something we all had in common, to prove to a manager we had the utmost respect for that we were capable. We’d watched on as he built most of that zoo with his bare hands. He didn’t need to: by that stage Steve had enough employees and capable heavy machinery to never really have to lift a finger himself. But he liked to lead by example. Whatever it was he asked, you’d find a way, because if Steve could do something, you could too.

  Never having made a boot for anything before, I surprised myself by successfully devising a model of a rubber boot fit for one of the largest land animals on the planet. Something to add to the resume, thanks to Steve! It surprisingly worked a treat, giving our much-loved zoo elephant with a sore leg a new lease on life.