Yapping Crocodiles

By Paul Beauchamp Legg
Norman River, Queensland, Australia

My wife and I did do some really good trips with our 16 ft Canadian canoe whilst in Australia. Doing a 138 nautical mile trip on the Norman River from Normanton (North West Queensland) to the sea at Karumba and back remains fresh in my mind. I overlooked the short period between sunset and dark in the tropics. We wanted to camp in a pretty place but, for as far as we could see, the river banks and surrounding area were just flat, uninteresting mud. Just around dark, I saw a log at the bank. We will tie up and camp while there is still enough light,” I told my wife. As we paddled to the “log”, it got up and disappeared into the water.

We had heard of a crocodile that bit boat propellers and feared that this might be the same one, or a hungry companion. I quickly started the little 2 horse powered Suzuki outboard, we had attached to the stern of our canoe and sped off at full throttle which gave us 10 mph in calm water. Further down the river, we saw a genuine broken tree overhanging the water and tied to that. Why my wife insisted on us pitching our tent in that warm tropical area, I did not know.

Could this be any more perfect?

Remembering a crocodile shooter friend’s advice to camp about 200 or more yards from the water, because for about three days, a crocodile would only observe our movements before attacking us, we went quite a bit further inland. As he had said, “Crocodiles are survivors. They have not survived all these centuries by taking risks. They will watch you with just their eyes out of the water to see if you set up a daily pattern.”

All was well until that eerie hour between midnight and sunrise. Little “yappings,” not unlike that of small crocodiles, sounded all around. I wished we had something more powerful that the general-purpose bread knife. I wondered, when the time came, if I would be able to stick my fingers into the crocodiles eyes and make it let me or my wife go. I crept out from the tent. The crackling and yapping was the rising water going through thousands of tiny cracks that, until then, had meant nothing to us.

As dawn gave a glimmer of light we found that we were on a little island maybe an inch above the water. This area only gets one tide a day and it is similar to that at Darwin, which I am told has about a 30 ft rise and fall. I wanted to wait it out but my wife insisted that we get going. Maybe she did not like the idea of being in crocodile territory, or maybe she was conscious of an appointment we had to photograph the children at the Kindergarten and School at Normanton two or three days later.

The top of the broken tree with our canoe floating nearby was visible well out in the now very wide river. I waded out at waste-height, then very conscious of Australia’s big hungry fish and sharks, I swam to the tree. The anchoring rope was way down below the surface. Should I cut it or dive down? Even more conscious of being eaten I took a deep breath and went underwater to release the canoe. From then on it was mostly with the outboard motor that we sped downstream to the port at Karumba.

Some very large ocean-going ships were moored at the wharves. Several sailers were lounging around as we came close. “We want to refuel?” I sang out, paused for effect, then added , “We want a gallon.” They laughed, they bought fuel by the ton. One told us that there was a store further downstream and it being Sunday, it should be open later in the morning.

We bought a gallon of two-stroke mixture and for most of the day sped along a 10 m.p.h in bursts of 55 minutes which was the time our little motor took to run out of fuel. We did stop around mid-day to rescue a bird which, during an attempt to catch a fish, had ended in the water. Had we not come along and lifted it out onto a paddle and deposited it on the bank it would have drowned or been eaten by a larger fish. I swear that bird looked back with a thankful look in its eye.

In the three days we were on the river we never saw another human. We caught fish the second night, and rolled in mud. Baked in a small fire, they were delicious.