Kaka-Doh! (Part 3: Hands-On Experience)

I’d thought the flies were brutal at lunch the day before, but I was wrong. In fact, throughout the trip I continued thinking the flies could not get worse, and was continually proven wrong. However, George mastered the art of putting a t-shirt on his head and securing it with a hat. Looked like a cross between Lawrence of Arabia and the KKK, but it was a look I’d be rocking many times before the end of the trip. And don’t tell Jess, but it was the Voice campaign shirt was I was using. Considering how badly they were trounced in the elections, that shirt might as well go to some good use.

It’s a little-known fact that when it’s hot out, you sweat. Ok, maybe that’s a small fib, but I had no idea one could sweat to the insane pool-filling amounts I could. I started our big hike carrying 2 liters of water (that recurring number), and sculled before we were half done. Mind you, our big hike was only 2 hours round trip, but clamoring over boulders in the full mid-day sun, half an hour will sweat you 2 liters. The trip was grueling, but as we’ve seen, it’s always about the destination.

The vista was gorgeous. We stood in the path of a waterfall, now down to a trickle in the wet season. Below us lay the green-tinged billabong, and beyond that, the sprawling forests of Kakadu. Of course, the real reward was the still-wet source pool just a hundred meters further, but one final obstacle lay in our path:

The Cane Toad (Bufo marinus) was introduced to Australia in 1935 by the most moronic bogan fuckhead this side of the equator. This poisonous delicacy has spread all over northern Australia and multiplied in ways that would make rabbits blush, slaughtering native wildlife in the process. The toads are a relatively recent arrival to Kakadu, and we used to think we could actually slow their progress. Each toad killed is thousands of eggs not laid, and now the charge to save the national park lay in David’s capable hands.

Somewhere along the line, John had challenged David to kill a Cane Toad. However, the usual methods of poisoning and freezing were not available to us in the middle of the wilderness. David would need more primitive methods. Grimacing in anticipation, he picked up a decent sized rock, and dropped it on the unflinching toad. It bounced right off. Shocked at the toad’s resilience, David tried again, to the same result. We realized if we wanted this toad dead, we would need true commitment. David once more wielded his rock, and brought it down with immense force on the toad’s head. Then again. Over and over, with surprising rage, David bludgeoned the toad’s face into the bedrock until its blood and brains began to flow. The toad was dead, and David had fulfilled whatever bizarre ritual of manhood he had set out for himself.

By the time we arrived at our third watering hole of the trip, I had ceased wearing my watch. Time was irrelevant; divisions of time were based on trips to waterfall plunge pools. Still sweating bullets, I looked forward with heated anticipation at jumping in (albeit at no deeper than 6 feet, there were no dramatic cliffdives), but before I could even take my shoes off, John exclaimed, “A snake just swam across the pool!” I was off in the direction he was pointing, crashing through the undergrowth, before he could even finish his sentence.

Panting from the dash, I looked around frantically to find his snake. Finding nothing, I resigned that it must’ve hid under the rocks, and prepared to enter the water… at which point I nearly stumbled over the Water Monitor. A diminutive relative of the Komodo Dragon at only 3 feet long, it still had nasty claws, a whip tail, and a bacteria-laden bite. It locked eyes with me and simply stared.

“Can you keep it occupied until I swim over?!” John called across the pool, already donning his goggles and slipping in. We continued our Mexican standoff, peering into reptilian eyes, as John and David approached. They crept up stealthily, almost making contact, and John reached out. The monitor bolted before it even touched, and I sprinted after it, crashing through undergrowth, among other things, determined not to lose it.

Escaping the tripping stumps and tangling vines, I found nothing. The monitor had escaped. I sighed, and felt a stab behind my ear. Confused, I looked behind me, and found nobody. Then another behind my other ear. A strangle prickly sensation was breaking out all over my body, and it was starting to hurt. I lifted my shirt, to reveal a dozen ants attempting to rip my flesh. I must’ve run right through a Green Ant nest, and now the soldiers were swarming my entire body, taking their aggression out on me.

Stripping down almost naked, I began madly brushing myself off, garnering quizzical looks from John and David. Luckily, none of them went for the scrotum. Finally clean of ants, I turned my shirt inside out, and began picking off the stragglers, angrily biting them in half and spitting out their heads. Who’s on top of the food chain now, bitches?! However, my victory feast was short lived; David found the monitor again and the chase resumed.

The monitor was a slick opponent; every time John and David approached it resting, it would slip off again and hide, not to be found until it came up for air again. I stayed on the shore to track its escapes. I desperately wanted to be part of the chase, but I knew my role was vital. Eventually, the two of them coaxed the lizard into a mini cove, where I was waiting on top to catch it. Cornered and unable to swim away, it made a break for the land, and I was ready. However, before I got my big debut, John grabbed it by the tail, swung around, and grabbed it behind the head, making the big catch. David cheered our success, but I felt an immediate burning jealousy, greener than my nemesis ants.

In fact, I’ll admit it: When John took it out of the water to show off his catch to the rest of the group, and it took a big wet fragrant shit on his bathing suit, I laughed.

While John and David took turns holding it and posing for the camera, I stripped and prepared for my consolation prize. I took my spot in the water near our mini cove, and waited for the group to finish fawning over our catch. Satisfied, they released it at the water’s edge, and it dove in.

To the average observer, it won’t seem like a big deal. However, as I swam beside it, watching its graceful moves, its deft acrobatics, its blistering speed, and its ultimate return to freedom, all with gentle flicks of its tail, I wondered what got me here. How was I on the other side of the world, in the land of reptiles, underwater and out of my element, sharing this moment with a miniature crocodile? Still watching and awestruck, I could only attribute it to magic.

Even after a recharging swim, the return trip was no less grueling. And really, Simon stopping us in the middle of the sun-baked savannah to talk about fire was both ironic and cruel.