by Bob Irwin
A few people decided to put personal effects in with him. What got me the most was Steve’s personal security guard, Security Dan, putting in Steve’s beloved boxing gloves. A professional mixed martial arts competitor, he had been working as a cleaner at the zoo when Steve had heard about his training and sought him out. Dan was immediately offered a position as one of Steve’s personal bodyguards and travelled everywhere with him, even on the crocodile research trips. Wildlife was never really Dan’s forte; he was purely there to be an extra set of strong hands. But he worked as hard as everybody else, and that’s what I liked about him too. The wildlife factor eventually came later.
After a while, Steve paid for Dan’s flights overseas four times a year so that he could compete internationally, and in return Dan trained Steve. Steve got right into it. On our trips to Cape York there’d always be a match in the middle of the bush, complete with crocodile keepers in boxing gloves. Steve had these truly special kinds of relationships with so many people. Anyone who was close to Steve had similar stories about him helping them to realise their passion. Everybody had their own unique bond with him. He had a way of making each individual feel important, like they had their one-on-one thing.
After Dan placed the boxing gloves in with Steve, he shared a story with me. ‘Steve asked me to hit him once,’ he said. ‘That’s the kind of wild man he was, and I mean that as a compliment. He said, “I want you to punch me really hard in the stomach.”’
They’d been at one of their training sessions in a makeshift gym built in an old house at the back of the zoo. ‘Are you serious, mate?’ Dan had replied. In all of his years of training, no one had ever asked him to do that before.
‘Yeah, I mean, if you get the chance, I want you to really drop me. Take the wind out of me,’ Steve had said.
So Dan did. He winded Steve, knocking him to the ground.
Once he’d got his breath back and climbed to his feet, Steve said, ‘Thanks so much for that,’ with the biggest smile on his face imaginable. The same kind of smile he got when he was out in the bush or when he threw himself one hundred per cent into something. That was his way. Steve didn’t do the what ifs. His attitude was, ‘Let’s just do it and see what happens.’
‘Steve had a very healthy relationship with failure,’ Dan continued. ‘Anyone who is successful has to. That’s the cornerstone of sports psychology. If you develop an unhealthy relationship with failure, you’ll never amount to anything. So not only did he not care if he failed, he embraced it. He wanted to get his arse kicked.’
That anecdote resonated deeply with me and I smiled about it, because it was a perfectly accurate description of him. We then both shed a few tears.
When it was my turn to farewell Steve, I put in that frayed piece of six-mil rope from our last crocodile research trip. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t even know why I still had it. There must have been a reason I held onto it, because a broken piece of rope isn’t the kind of thing that you ordinarily keep. I guess a part of me wanted to send him off with the last bit of fun we’d had together; it was my last connection to that time. Just like the six-mil rope was the final step in the crocodile’s return to freedom, this particular piece was the last thing connecting me to him before his own release into the wild. Because I knew that it was to the wilds of this world that he would be going.
Many of the team and I stayed right until the very last piece of dirt was gently placed on top of him. It was so final. It was goodbye.
That was a difficult day for me. I wasn’t coping. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, I just wanted to be by myself. I’d be talking to someone and all of a sudden I’d have to leave mid-sentence and find a corner somewhere just to hide away.
In the end, I decided that the best place to be was inside Steve’s truck. I felt closest to him in there and hoped like hell no one would come and find me. I closed all of the doors and sat in there alone. Looking around the cabin, I found his hat—a green and khaki Australia Zoo–branded cap that he wore almost religiously, his mop of wiry blond hair poking out the sides. It still had his name written on the strap across the back. He wrote his name on it because everybody had the same one at croc camp and he got sick of people pinching his. I didn’t tell anyone, but I took his hat home that day. I felt like I needed a piece of him with me and I didn’t have much else to hang onto. So I took it home and hung it in a very special place, where it still sits to this very day.
True Blue
THE CROC TEAM
DAN MEAD
There wasn’t a dry eye in the stadium as John Williamson, with his characteristic voice of the bush, narrated verses describing what Steve taught each of us about mateship and what it was to be true blue. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the complete croc team, we established a guard of honour and stood tall watching our devastated head crocodile keeper, Briano, as he symbolically packed up Steve’s truck for its last voyage out of his Crocoseum. A wreath floated by in the crocodile pond surrounding an image of a more thoughtful side of Steve and inscribed with his famous catch-cry ‘Crocs Rule’. The stadium was as jam-packed as I had ever seen it. Over the previous weeks we’d slowly come to terms with the difficult reality that Steve would never be coming home; now this was to be our final farewell, broadcast, true to form, into people’s lounge rooms right across the world. In the same way that he engaged people in his life, over 300 million people tuned in to join us in remembering our leader, our hero.
Although I had my head bowed, I kept catching glimpses of Bob in the VIP area. He concealed his grief behind dark glasses that covered his eyes. The sadness that engulfed him had completely unravelled me, having just watched him take to the stage to address the audience with his brief but profound words.
‘Don’t grieve for Steve, he is at peace now. Grieve for the animals,’ he said, ‘because the animals have lost the best friend that they ever had, and so have I.’
Those words still haunt me. No one should ever have to suffer such a loss.
I don’t think Bob had planned to speak that day, but he must have made a last-minute decision to do so. Such a quiet and private man, it would have taken such courage to stand up there and find the words to share his personal grief with the world. I felt deeply sorry for Bob to have lost his son. Their respect for one another was unparalleled. Bob was without a doubt the quiet achiever who gave Steve such an incredible platform to find his life’s passion. I’m sure that Steve got his humility from Bob. That was the common thread between them. There was an obvious tightness to their relationship that no friendship would ever have. And yet Bob talks of himself as just a normal bloke, same as everybody else. But he was proof to me that normal blokes can do great things. And that’s the kind of category that I put Bob in today of all days. He lit a certain fire in Steve at a very young age, a fire that went on to ignite something in me and in many others who I stood beside today, from the croc team to dozens of other zoo keepers. Bob is the kind of person who would spend the time to drag out the best in any person, no matter how much time it took to do it. He had all of the time in the world to pass on his wisdom. You couldn’t help but be inspired by him. He had dedicated his life to changing the world in this way. Anyone who puts something as important as conservation first is my hero. We would always stand beside him, today, tomorrow and in the years ahead.
Briano was rightfully given the task of loading up Steve’s ute with the equipment for his last croc trip into the unknown, wrapping up the end of the zoo’s unified wave goodbye to the most loved member of our team. Despite the fact that his memorial included a host of celebrity appearances, today he wasn’t Steve Irwin the megastar, he was just one of the rest of us as a sea of khaki uniforms grieved. Briano started the difficult process of packing up Steve’s truck. Ropes, esky, crocodile nets, his axe, and a canvas to protect his gear from the elements along the rugged roads to the far north that he’d spent his lifetime exploring but would never again return to. Watching on, I contemplated each piece of
the once foreign equipment I had eventually become accustomed to using. With each item thoughtfully placed on the back of Steve’s Cruiser, my mind ran through almost every single memory of crocodile captures where he had bestowed on me the knowledge that I am equipped with today. I had never in my wildest dreams imagined that I’d have the opportunity to do this kind of work. My first day as a volunteer at just eighteen years old saw me filling out a job preference form in which I wrote how nervous I’d be working with crocodiles. My training flashed before my eyes, from my days as that inexperienced volunteer with so much to learn right through my highlights in remote parts of the Australian bush, to conclude with one of my greatest moments hands-down from just two weeks before: my most cherished moment with Steve at the back of Croc One in Lakefield National Park. I recalled it as clear as day.
Earlier, while processing another big croc, Steve had hold of one of the jaw ropes, using it to bind the croc jaws closed as it rolled. I had hold of the opposing rope and watched on as the croc started to roll the other way, causing Steve’s rope to unwrap, allowing the jaws to open. With no two crocodiles ever being the same, occasionally things don’t go to plan even when you’re the Crocodile Hunter. Steve was used to thinking on his feet; I had watched intently on countless occasions as he adapted his plan in a split second as situations changed. As this was unfolding in front of me, I could see I was in a fortunate position with my rope where I could take a bit of control and safely bind the jaws up. The team on my rope behind me couldn’t see what was unfolding and they were unknowingly pulling the ropes out of my hands, making it difficult for me to move and secure the jaws as the croc rolled. Profanities were coming from behind and from me as well as I competed to pull the ropes back in our accidental game of tug-o-war. Steve was still directly opposite me on the other side of the croc’s head, watching me the whole time like a hawk. He stood close enough to jump back in at any minute but allowed me to take the lead. I guess he could see that I was able to stay calm and take control, and once the crocodile was finally secure, he just gave me a little nod, as if to say ‘Well done, mate’. Everything went well from there, and as a team we successfully processed another big croc, providing us with more scientific data. It was such a thrill to be in that position and to now have confidence in my own abilities to think on the spot and lead the team out of a challenging situation.
Afterwards I ferried Steve in the tinnie that he’d taught me to drive all those years before back up to Croc One. As I pulled up to the back of the boat, Steve stepped from the tinnie up to the back of his research vessel. When I switched the outboard motor into reverse and slowly started to back away, Steve signalled at me to cut the engine, and he gave me a pep talk that I’ll never forget.
‘Dan, you did well today, you’ve really got this croc-catching thing sorted now. You nailed it today. I’ve seen a lot from you in these past few weeks, all you fellas have really stepped up and I couldn’t be more proud of where you’re at now. I’ve seen enough to know that you’ve got it. I’m sorry though, mate, as this means that I’m done training you. I’ll have to start giving some of the newer blokes a go now. You have to know I’m happy with how far you’ve come. I thought we’d come up here and I’d be continuing your training all month, but I’ve seen enough to know that you’re ready.’
After all of those years trying to soak up as much as I possibly could from him, I’d just been given the ultimate tick of approval from Steve. I thanked him with words that I didn’t think were enough to acknowledge what his approval had just done for a young bloke like me. I considered how different this trip had been compared to the very first trip that I ever did with him, when he basically told me, ‘You need to learn everything I do while you’re here. Stick to me like glue, no matter what.’ And I did. I jumped in the boat with him, I jumped in the car with him, and I learnt as we confronted whatever we were faced with. You’d think on your feet, find different ways of doing things, and muster that little bit of extra strength within yourself to lift a crocodile trap or drag a couple of boats up steep muddy embankments. I learnt more from Steve than from anyone else in my life, simply because he was prepared to throw me in at the deep end.
I wouldn’t have believed that’d be the last trip I’d ever do with Steve. I always saw Steve as invincible—we idolised him, and you never expect someone you’re striving to be like to disappear all of a sudden. But in hindsight, I felt in a sense as though that trip was Steve signing off and saying goodbye. Handing over the reins to the team that he’d been in a hurry over the years to impart his knowledge to. It’s hard to imagine it could be possible, but I believe that he somehow knew he wasn’t going to be around for long enough.
That day, securing that croc, I learnt that I could be a leader. After years of following a lot of people, watching how they do things, listening to what they say. And to learn that I was able to lead, to do things for myself and develop and do things my way with confidence was a huge life lesson. Being a good leader allows people to follow you. And I think that’s definitely why we followed Steve and Bob, because they were both so confident in their beliefs and in how we were doing things. If you can be a good leader, you can help others to become better people.
That moment faded to black as I was brought back to earth standing in the Crocoseum with my best mates watching Briano load on the last of Steve’s gear, his surfboard. Briano paused and looked thoughtfully at a personal effect that we all knew held a really significant meaning for him. Surfing was something the two of them shared that was always their thing.
John Williamson had the entire audience singing along. I suddenly felt a lump in my throat, which I didn’t recognise, not being much of an emotional person. It was the sight of Steve’s beloved surfboard with the notorious green crocodile decal etched on the bottom. It was absolutely killing me watching Briano hesitate in letting that part of him go.
I knew Briano was suffering tremendously, struggling to come to terms with it all. Watching your best mate leave our earth would be enough to make a lesser man walk away. But Briano had returned home, mustered the team and reminded us we had a job to do for Steve. And now here he was in front of his team, the zoo and the world, leading by example just as Steve had always done. I admire and look up to this bloke as much as any mentor and mate I ever had.
Briano slowly drove Steve’s truck out of the Crocoseum and we followed our leader as a final show of respect. Briano driving Steve’s truck wasn’t only symbolic in showing a part of Steve leaving us, but also represented how Briano would now drive our team forward as one.
Briano was definitely a good boss. His style of management all just filtered down from Bob and Steve. He invested a lot of time in his team; he was constantly giving us opportunities to do things and try things, to learn and develop. And that was the greatest thing about knowing we’d be led by Briano: he put our development and training first. Even if it meant that a job would take a little longer or would require more staff, he ensured that we had ample opportunity to grow our skills. That’s a sign of a really good leader—one who is aware of his team and put the development of his team first. And that was the environment in which he was taught too. Happy staff who appreciate what you do for them will always achieve more than people being dictated to.
That team was the best group of people I’ll work with in my life. Steve had managed to weave together a really close-knit group of people. He had put together a group of people who were trustworthy and looked after each other no matter what. We would surf together in the mornings, fish together on the weekends and regularly get together for team barbecues. We had to trust each other, have each other’s backs, which we did, and I know we always will.
12
Goodbye to croc catching
In July 2007, I led the Australia Zoo croc team back up to Lakefield National Park to continue the crocodile research project in Steve’s name. It was something that I felt I had to do. It was exactly a year after we had last been up there with Steve. It w
as to be a very difficult reminder of everything I had lost. It was challenging for a lot of other people too, because every single year before that Steve had been there, on every crocodile capture, calling all the shots. To be going back to the same place without him was a really empty feeling. We would have to find our groove without him.
We went back to the same campsite. I was flooded with memories of Steve and that last campfire. If I’d known that would be the last time I’d see him I would have never left him there. The trouble is, you think you have all the time in the world with the ones you love.
It was strange to see how everything else could exist when he didn’t anymore. The campsite still looked the same, the trees were still alive, the team was still the same core crew as before. As much as we all knew what we had to do, and what we hoped to achieve, it certainly wasn’t the same.
They were good times working with those people again. It was pretty emotional at times, for all of us. When we were physically busy with a lot of crocodile catching it wasn’t so bad. But other times, I’d have to have a good cry alone in the boat. As a bloke, you’re not supposed to show your emotions, but I sure had plenty. But I was starting to realise that tears weren’t a sign of weakness at all: they were a sign of overpowering, irreplaceable love. I learnt that from Steve. Steve showed people that it was okay to wear your heart on your sleeve. He showed a lot of people that it was okay to be passionate about the things you love.
The biggest croc we caught on that trip was a whopping sixteen feet long, a big grumpy boy. He was very uncooperative. Once we’d measured and tagged him, we moved all the boats out of his path so that he had a clear run into the water. But he decided to veer off in a different direction, launching straight off the bank onto one of our boats, sinking it immediately.