Kaka-Doh! (Part 2: The First Day)

This might be a good point to introduce the cast of characters. Firstly, there’s John, another American from St. Louis who I actually met in Los Angeles. I have an innate ability to read John’s mind, but only because we habitually have the same thought about wildlife: “Lets catch it!” I’ve never known how comfortable he is with me, being strict Roman Catholic, but I’ve never brought it up, and neither has he. Instead, we’ve founded a friendship on a foundation of catching wild shit. I hope to continue when we return to America.

His friend is David. He is an interesting character. Very artsy, very into the aesthetic. He would stop us regularly to drool over Darwin’s booming pearl industry. He loves jewelry, art, and fashion, and has definite feminine speech patterns and mannerisms. He’s also completely heterosexual, and the two of us jointly defy every misconception about gay people. However, he never seemed to like me, and we never really hit it off. My obligatory Facebook friend invite being left in perpetual limbo probably attests to that. But hey, we’re just highly different people I suppose.

Our dynamic of basically only having John in common thrust a somewhat unwilling John into a leadership role to compromise between the two us, but I enjoyed being the devil on the shoulder during the trip, always encouraging more exploring, later hours, and more adventure.

Accompanying us was a colorful cast of characters. There was a married couple in their 30’s; the wife was named Lindsey, and the man, whose name escapes me, will be called George. Despite their advanced age, they could hike with the best of us, and they would be the source of the most amusement to me on the last night.

Also coming along were the three European boys: Jakob (24) looked stereotypically Nordic blond, and always had a goofy smile on his face. He was also probably the most athletic among us, being the only one able of climbing up the slippery slope of the rock pool. He stuck to the most part with Jasper (26), another stereotypical Nordic blond, except with a lazy eye. They were traveling the world together, and I half wondered if Jakob kept Jasper around as his wingman in bars. I was eventually proven wrong, as only Jasper picked up in the bar on the last night. Finally, there was Martin (29), a quiet German who rarely spoke. He made for a decent tentmate and seemed rather friendly, though I still avoided disclosing my jewish heritage.

Finally, there were our tour guides, Simon and Beck. Simon was new at the game, but was rather knowledgeable, especially about Aboriginal culture. However, he was always scared because he was being judged by Beck. She was the outgoing tour guide, and was giving him his final review. They were both fairly heavily and creatively tattooed and pierced, and their attitude was snarky and quick to mock. I loved them immediately.

Our first stop was a crocodile cruise. While other companies make their crocs jump out of the water, our guide was au naturale. The old man also made a point of deriding the late great Steve Irwin. I was amused watching John grimace, and avoided announcing to the guide that 3 of us were wearing Wildlife Warriors wristbands from Steve’s charity.

The crocs themselves were pretty neat, cruising past the boat lazily, eying us with hunger and contempt. Oddly, I wondered if the experience was akin to being in a gay bathhouse. We also had the pleasure of seeing a big Salty nearly take down a Freshy. Overall, a relaxing leisurely cruise that lulled us into a false sense of security.

Upon arrival in Kakadu, we had a picnic, and I became fully acquainted with the spawn of Satan: Flies. Buzzing in my ears, walking on the surface of my eyeballs, slurping white blood cells from the gaping hole in my eyebrow… I was almost ready to call it quits right there, and might’ve if I’d known it would only get worse. But eventually we finished lunch and soldiered on to our first hike.

Our first hike was more like walking on the sandy boardwalk at Jones Beach. I was actually a little disappointed. We did see Golden Orb Spiders and the somewhat rare Rainbow Pitta (one of only 4 suboscines in Australia. Trust me, I got tested on that). We even saw Ant Lions in action. However, the hike was irrelevant to what we were hiking to.

It was described in the itinerary as a dip in a waterfall plunge pool. What I was not aware of was the fact that we’d be the ones doing the plunging. From about 30 feet up. We clamored up sharp hot rocks to what was essentially a miniature cliff. The lower jump was easy enough, and the water was actually quite warm, but I knew I wasn’t going to be satisfied unless I took the high dive.

Now, you should know I have a mild fear of heights. That’s why I do things like rock climb, roller coaster, and bungee jump. I do it to strike back at my fear. But this time, there were no support ropes, safety systems, or brakes. Just the water. At maybe 30 feet, it was the smallest of any of my height challenges, but it petrified me more than all the others combined. And you know jumps always look higher from the top.

I climbed up to the top, and planted my feet on the edge, just as Beck coached. But I sat down. My legs felt like jelly. She called up, asking me if I had any trouble standing, but I just lied and said ‘no’. Thoughts whirled in my head. What if I broke a leg? Or my spine? What if I had my eyebrow piercing ripped out of my face upon impact with the water? If I pass out on hitting the water, or even from fear during the fall, I could drown… Then I stood up and jumped.

My head cleared of all thoughts in the jump. I was a blank entity, just falling through space. Until I hit the water, of course. Accidentally flipped over underwater, and got the substance lodged in my ears, nose, and every sinus. Don’t you hate that feeling when warm water oozes out of your ears? As do I, but it took me a good 5 hours to experience it. In the meanwhile, I swam over to a mini waterfall, where hot water from above washed over me. Tiny rocket frogs scampered all over the sheer vertical wet walls, and fled my arrival like Godzilla. I settled into the warm falls, laid back my head, and waited for the gentle frogs’ return. I’d found Australia.

The return trip was pretty nondescript, except for the fact that I ate ants. Apparently, according to Beck, my fears of the Green Ants are unfounded, and they’re actually quite delicious. I picked one off a branch, and it stung my tongue. Surprisingly, it was delicious. I didn’t even mind the sting, as I was going to eat it anyway; instead of take-out, delivery. They kinda taste like lemon sorbet. I got my daily vitamin C intake from a few more ants before leaving to make camp. I didn’t know then that they’d get their revenge.

That night over dinner and tea (it’s a Commonwealth thing), I asked Beck where I could find snakes. She told me, half-jokingly, that I could find them in the bathroom, which was really just a permanent porta-potty, an oxymoron in its own right. Maybe she was making lewd commentary on the wily and dangerous Trouser Snake.

Despite our sleepiness, there was no rest for the wicked. The three musketeers were going spotlighting for animals at night. The night’s catch was a real freakshow; Huntsman Spiders missing legs, Geckos missing tails, and the creepiest Kookaburra just staring at us. David crapped out relatively early, but John and I soldiered on in the other direction. As I crept quietly in the bush trying to trace a sound, I was rudely interrupted by John racing back. “Hurry up, I’ve a snake!”

I followed and ended up at… the bathroom. Was Beck right, or was this just the skuzziest crack-on ever? But to my amazement, he was right. There on the ground right outside the permanent porta-potty was a small snake. We took turns trying to pick it up and ID it without getting fatally envenomed. In the back of my mind, I could hear my friends cashing in on their bets. The way to tell is by finding the heat pits under the jaw characteristic of pythons. Not easy when it’s snapping at you and you might die. I’m sorry to say I dropped it twice during two close calls. But finally we IDed it properly as a (ironically enough) juvenile Children’s Python.

We took pictures, which I regretted since days of not showering left my face splotchier than a Jackson Pollack painting, but we wanted to document our success. We even had the decency of bringing it back to the sleeping David to pose with. However, we didn’t wake anyone else. This was our thing, our success. We let it go, and tried to sleep.

Keyword of course is tried. 2 nights of no sleep and 2 Tylenol PM could not knock me out. It was just too fucking humid. Instead, I stayed up to watch the distant lightning, and glower angrily at my blissfully sleeping German tentmate. At least he didn’t snore.

With about 2 hours of sleep under my belt (recurring number, apparently), I was woken with a rousing start by Simon. “Hey, where are those boys that love snakes? I found something!” Didn’t take much guessing what it was. Apparently when he got up to make breakfast, a snake crept into his tent and took up his former warm spot. But I was still drowsy as fuck, and could barely care. I busted out John’s ID book and found it: Orange-Naped Moonsnake. This front-fanged elapid is a close relative of the Cobra, and its bite is about as deadly as a bee sting. Minus the potential anaphylactic shock. As tempting as it was, we did not add it to our breakfast roster, and we let it go on its merry way. Why exactly did we do all that painstaking hunting late last night when snakes would just come to us?