After lunch, we boarded a barge and set off to check out the base of Twin Falls, of which we’d just been at the top. However, our leisurely cruise was short; halfway there, we got off and had to walk on a narrow rocky ledge to get to the base of the water. Upon arrival, we discovered the Twin Falls was actually a single trickle down the rock face. Oh, and we couldn’t go swimming in the croc-infested water. I felt a little used. Instead of bumming around on the beach, as lunch left me a bit queasy, I decided to go exploring, where upon I found my own Cane Toad.
Did I have it in me to be a ruthless killing machine? Of course. However, this toad was a little harder to reach, being down in a narrow and spider-filled crack. I picked up a large rock and tried to drop it on the toad, which it had the same effect as last time. But I set the toad off-balance, and it fell into an even narrower crevice. I jammed a narrow rock in after it, trying to squish it, but it just didn’t have the mass. I was hoping to give the toad a quick and merciful death, as it was not purposefully killing the wildlife. However, tough choices need to be made. I slid the narrow rock into place, and placed a larger boulder over the top of the crevice, capping it. The toad, forever trapped, will slowly die of hunger. Even now, I’m still sorry.
My murder did not make my queasiness feel better. In fact, it grew into a deep nausea, and my sweating grew even worse. My head felt foggy. Fearing heat stroke, I was gripped by a sudden desperate need to leave. Immediately. Without telling anyone, I raced back along the narrow ledge, made it back to our drop-off, and collapsed under a tree. In a fetal position, I lay completely still for a few minutes before I regained enough energy to drink, downing my entire liter of water in a minute. I resigned myself to sit in the shade, with my head between my knees, waiting for my friends to get done playing on the beach. This wasn’t fun anymore.
3 nights of no sleep, I was ready to throw in the towel. Unfortunately, the itinerary was not. One more swim. Simon summed it up pretty accurately: “Its only about 500 meters, but it’ll be the longest 500 meters you’ve ever walked.” Though, walk wouldn’t be right; really it was just more bouldering; I could’ve taken it speedy like Masada, but being half asleep, I’d rather not risk a broken ankle when the closest town is fucking Jabiru. But I wont regale you with more boring stories about walking.
By the time we arrived, I’d returned to my earlier feeling of desperation. I needed to drop my body temp, immediately, if I didn’t want to pass out. I ripped my shoes off, tossed my hat into the water, and jumped in. Mustering my limited strength, I swam to a shaded cove in the pool, and found two rocks at the perfect height and distance apart. Put my legs up on one rock, rest my neck on the other, dip my head in the water and let it fill all the way to my cochlea. Floating on my back with my eyes closed and my ears full was true sensory deprivation. With only my nose and mouth above the water, my core temp finally started to drop, and I drifted in the gentle waves into a light sleep.
20 minutes later, Lindsey tapped me on the shoulder. I opened one eye, and sleepily asked her whats up. She didn’t answer; instead she turned back to the shore and yelled, “He’s still breathing!” with audible relief in her voice. Apparently, this fact had been called into question by Simon, who sent our resident nurse to investigate. Not caring that I just scared the shit out of our tour guide, I went back for another 20 minutes.
Finally, feeling refreshed, and God help me, chilly, I felt right to join the group. Good timing. John just came back elated, sharing the news of his new discovery. David was swimming one-handedly shortly behind, towing a thin dead snake. We later IDed it as a Slaty-Black Treesnake. Why ‘slaty’ is a question beyond me. However, John wanted to show off the still-living snake on a ledge on the other side of the pool he almost got bitten by.
I took off for the other side with renewed steam and vigor, and promptly petered out within 20 meters. As relaxing as it was, I was still dead tired. Still, I soldiered on, doing the breaststroke at a snail’s pass as John easily lapped me from behind. Greeting me at the finish line was a 10 foot high wet rock wall, with John already at the top. When I tried and failed to ascend, John tried to teach me how he got up. However, even knowing exactly where to put my hands and feet, I still didn’t have the upper body strength to pull myself up; I had to rely on John reaching down and pulling me up. Instead of being appreciative for the help, I just added resentment on top of my jealously.
As much as John is a friend, I still see him as a rival. Its just my nature to make things competitive. It just makes me mad that he’s always the one who finds things and catches things. And apparently, he can swim faster and climb better. He knows this, but I don’t think he knows it’s giving me a complex. If you think about it, this state of things shouldn’t be surprising; He’s a country boy and experienced zookeeper at the St Louis Zoo, and I’m a city boy who never sees anything more wild than mating squirrels. The fact that I can even begin to keep up in ID and capture should make me proud, but it’s just not enough.
Anyway, the snake. It was long, thin, and bright yellow. Like, Crayola yellow. It was backed into a rock crevice, reared up like a cobra, and staring right at us. We figured bright colors means poisonous, so we left it alone. We later IDed it as a particularly colorful morph of the Common Treesnake, but better safe than sorry I suppose.
Swimming back was an embarrassment. I eventually switched to the backstroke and claimed scenery-watching to explain my slowness. I was burning with shame on top of my jealousy and resentment. Yet, I still managed to make peace with myself before leaving the pool as the three of us enjoyed sliding down the natural wet rock slides. I taught them how to do that.
On the way back, we chatted about famous herpetologist deaths by venom. Charming.
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