Scarface
"... He's closer to a ton than half a ton, but we don't get to put him on a set of scales, so that is just an educated guess... We had one of our smaller tour boats out the other day, and Scarface was swimming alongside, and he was well over haaalf the length of the boat, which, ladies and gentlemen, makes him fiiiive metres long."
It was a surprise to me that, in the five weeks Nadya and I spent paddling down the Sepik and exploring its backwaters in Papua New Guinea, we only once saw a crocodile (that wasn't in captivity): a log of a creature, basking on a mudbank on the far side of the river. Yet we heard of crocodiles and saw images of them almost every day. A skull of a monster crocodile resided in the Middle Sepik's oldest and most venerated Haus Tamboran in Palembai. Carvings of crocodiles decorated the supporting pillars of all spirit houses. Our hired paddlers talked of going on croc hunts at night, and crocodile steak was on the menu for dinner when we arrived in one of the villages. But we were canoeing at the end of the rainy season, and the reptiles had plenty of murky water to hide in; they could retreat into the swamps. Our swims and washes were invariably tentative and brief.
Nadya and I wished to see a crocodile close-up in its natural habitat (but not too close-up), and, now that we are in Australia for a while, a cruise along the Daintree river in northern Queensland was one way to do it. We take an hour-long tour in a tin boat and soon meet Shooter, a two-metre-long male, who, in response to our approach, opens his jaws wide, displaying his full dental magnificence. "Come any closer," Shooter seems to caution, "and I will take your arm off at the elbow." Gary, our guide, assures us however that crocs, when they open their mouths like this, are not after tourist flesh. They wish to cool down. Unable to sweat through their skin, they do so like dogs. After Shooter, we see a cuddly, foot-long yearling flopped over a couple of mangrove roots. Then, log-like Scarface comes into view, heaving himself onto the riverbank on legs as thick as my calves.
"In the breeding season, he wins all the fights against the younger males, and he gets all the females. Crocs are polygamous, meaning multi-partnered. This one dominant male has six or seven females in the area that he mates with. In the Daintree, the more real estate you have, the more girls you get. Now, if I get in a little closer, you'll be able to see the scarring around his mouth..."
Ugly brute, all armour-plating and spikes. Evil, yellow eye staring at us unblinkingly. Apparently, crocodiles in Australia sometimes seize their prey from shore (a dog, a wallaby, a child), drag it into the water, spin rapidly to disorientate and drown it, then rip it to pieces. How brave the Papuans, I think, going out in the dark with a bamboo spear and a flashlight, looking for gleaming eyes. On spotting a croc, the hunters paddle over in their dug-out and clap the surface of the water with their hands. A croc, Gary tells us, is capable of detecting vibrations in the water from over a kilometre away. When the croc draws near, the man at the bow plunges the spear in the body while the other makes haste from the stern raising an axe over his head.
Other endearing creatures we behold on the Daintree are fiddler crabs with outsized orange claws, swollen bean pods the length of a Christmas stocking hanging from the trees, a blue-and-orange meteor identified as an Azure Kingfisher, a pair of Radjah Shelducks, and mudskippers.
It was a surprise to me that, in the five weeks Nadya and I spent paddling down the Sepik and exploring its backwaters in Papua New Guinea, we only once saw a crocodile (that wasn't in captivity): a log of a creature, basking on a mudbank on the far side of the river. Yet we heard of crocodiles and saw images of them almost every day. A skull of a monster crocodile resided in the Middle Sepik's oldest and most venerated Haus Tamboran in Palembai. Carvings of crocodiles decorated the supporting pillars of all spirit houses. Our hired paddlers talked of going on croc hunts at night, and crocodile steak was on the menu for dinner when we arrived in one of the villages. But we were canoeing at the end of the rainy season, and the reptiles had plenty of murky water to hide in; they could retreat into the swamps. Our swims and washes were invariably tentative and brief.
Nadya and I wished to see a crocodile close-up in its natural habitat (but not too close-up), and, now that we are in Australia for a while, a cruise along the Daintree river in northern Queensland was one way to do it. We take an hour-long tour in a tin boat and soon meet Shooter, a two-metre-long male, who, in response to our approach, opens his jaws wide, displaying his full dental magnificence. "Come any closer," Shooter seems to caution, "and I will take your arm off at the elbow." Gary, our guide, assures us however that crocs, when they open their mouths like this, are not after tourist flesh. They wish to cool down. Unable to sweat through their skin, they do so like dogs. After Shooter, we see a cuddly, foot-long yearling flopped over a couple of mangrove roots. Then, log-like Scarface comes into view, heaving himself onto the riverbank on legs as thick as my calves.
"In the breeding season, he wins all the fights against the younger males, and he gets all the females. Crocs are polygamous, meaning multi-partnered. This one dominant male has six or seven females in the area that he mates with. In the Daintree, the more real estate you have, the more girls you get. Now, if I get in a little closer, you'll be able to see the scarring around his mouth..."
Ugly brute, all armour-plating and spikes. Evil, yellow eye staring at us unblinkingly. Apparently, crocodiles in Australia sometimes seize their prey from shore (a dog, a wallaby, a child), drag it into the water, spin rapidly to disorientate and drown it, then rip it to pieces. How brave the Papuans, I think, going out in the dark with a bamboo spear and a flashlight, looking for gleaming eyes. On spotting a croc, the hunters paddle over in their dug-out and clap the surface of the water with their hands. A croc, Gary tells us, is capable of detecting vibrations in the water from over a kilometre away. When the croc draws near, the man at the bow plunges the spear in the body while the other makes haste from the stern raising an axe over his head.
Other endearing creatures we behold on the Daintree are fiddler crabs with outsized orange claws, swollen bean pods the length of a Christmas stocking hanging from the trees, a blue-and-orange meteor identified as an Azure Kingfisher, a pair of Radjah Shelducks, and mudskippers.
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