That evening, Simon cooked us up a shockingly good dinner. Who says camping food has to be crap? We had steaks, for God’s sake! Sitting around the campfire, we really learned more about each other, even the mysterious Martin. Beck revealed to us that endless tours really start to wear her thin, which didn’t shock us since the constant humidity and flies nearly drove me suicidal. However, the three of us and our genuine enthusiasm for nature breathed new life into her. She decided she was going to break all kinds of rules and take the three of us midnight croc spotting in the billabong. Though, make that two. Even though we were all collapsing of sleep deprivation, John and I managed to fight it off. After all, how often are you going to be in Kakadu? But David crapped out, so the Three Musketeers was now me, John, and Beck.
When I chose Lamington over Fraser Island, I lost two things: Dingo spotting and bumpy 4WD driving. I got a second chance at both that night. The road was wonderfully rough, and we were getting thrown all over the place as we went. Which was fun, but awfully hard to focus a spotlight in the woods under those conditions. However, I still spotted eyeshine and a flash of tawny fur. Beck slammed on the breaks, and we jumped out of the car. A quick search revealed it to be a false alarm; what I’d actually found was a ridiculously huge dingo-colored feral cat. Cool in its own right, I suppose, but no dingo. The previous night, we had heard what was either a dingo or wallaby trample around the campsite, but to this day I have yet to see a wild dingo.
We also spotted what John thought was a funnelweb spider. After my experiences in Lamington, I considered myself an “expert”, something in retrospect I was stupid to think. I confirmed it was not a Sydney Funnelweb (true), but that it was in the same family (false), and was no dangerous (also false). However, just to see if it was the same “type”, I wanted to coax it into an aggressive defensive position, with its front legs reared up and its fangs primed to strike. I grabbed a small dry leaf, and using my flashlight to block its escape, attempted to provoke it by poking it with the leaf. Instead of getting angry, it just crawled over the leaf and scurried away. Multiple attempts failed to get any different reaction, so I eventually gave up and let it go on its merry way. Later, Beck IDed it as a Mouse Spider, which I theorized was because it ate mice (wrong again). And only now, thanks to Wikipedia, have I learned that this spider I was trying to piss off and strike at me is almost as dangerous as the Sydney Funnelweb. Oops. If I never get a fun snake story to take home with me, atleast I have plenty of fun spider stories. Arachnids and I just have a colorful history (See: Israel).
I wish we’d found a Toad Spider or something, because the toads were out of control. We’d seen littered toad carcasses during the day, but it paled in comparison to the insanity at night. Toads were literally strewn everywhere on the road. We crushed them by the dozens under our wheels, and they were still hopping everywhere. It was even worse at the billabong, with over half a dozen toads per square meter. We’d heard rumors of Death Adders, Taipans, and King Browns around, but now all we see is poisonous Cane Toads.
Croc spotting was no better. Plenty of fish and bats to marvel over, but only one or two confirmed Freshwater Crocodiles, pairs of shining red orbs staring back at our spotlights. Beck had seen dozens in months past. Could the Cane Toad be causing that must decimation so fast? While I’d killed two toads that I found earlier in the day (the one I trapped, and one in a boulder crevice that I dropped a comically large stone on), I didn’t bother going after a single one that night. It would’ve just been wasted effort. When you cant take 3 steps without a toad jumping out of your way, what’s the point?
Despite the poisonous buffet all around us, we held out hope of finding a snake, peering down on the ground and up in the trees. Beck stopped us, and pointed towards a hollow in a tree. “See that?” she said. “That’s an excellent place to find pythons.”
She took two steps, and stopped. At the base of the tree right next to her demonstration trunk, a good-sized Carpet Python was squirming its way out of a root hollow. Stunned by the coincidence, she was too late in reaching for it before it slid back into its hiding space. All she could do is shrug, and say, “Told you so.”
Worried about the future of the Park, but still satisfied at our finds, we turned off all our lights and just looked up. In the clear moonless night, innumerable stars rained their light down on us. It was a foreign sky, all my familiar constellations resting happily in the northern hemisphere, but it still put me at ease. A shooting star passed before our eyes. “Make a wish!” Beck exclaimed in a hushed but youthfully excited tone. I’ll never know what the two of them wished for, but I wished we’d see more cool animals. I didn’t expect my wish to come true in the unexpected manner it did.
We got back at 2am, knowing full well we’d get 4 hours of sleep at best. But, we’d heard Death Adders were near the campgrounds, and how often are we going to be in Kakadu? As Beck prepared to sleep, the two of us went up the hill to scour nature. However, it didn’t take long to realize the futility of the situation: With endless tracts of land to cover, chancing upon a snake would just be dumb luck. We resigned to give up for the night, returning at sunrise to restrict our search to rocks they’d be doing their morning bask on. A solid plan which meant 2 hours of sleep, my magic number.
On the upside, there were actually showers at this second campground. Having not expected any, I didn’t bring any soap, but John was glad to share. There must be something Freudian at play; despite being more or less homosexual, I felt highly uncomfortable sharing soap with another man. Go figure.
John had set his phone alarm for 5am, but when I woke up an hour late, he was still passed out with a smile on his face. I began to silently curse him, when I realized the sun hadn’t really risen yet. In the dark, I couldn’t see that we were camping in a valley, and at 6:15, the sun still hadn’t crested its high walls.
Clearly, I was not the first one up; the flies beat me to it. From the minute I picked my head off my pillow to the second we escaped Kakadu that day, there were no less than 5 flies on my face. Every morning and every meal, I say the flies cant get worse, but this time it was true. The third day was without question the worst fly experience I ever had. I left the Northern Territory feeling a deep-seated hatred for all dipterans (that includes flies, gnats, midges, and those motherfucking mosquitoes).
After a quick breakfast of cereal, toast, and a number of flies that had gotten in my cereal and toast (hey, not the first insects I’ve eaten on this trip), I donned my hood and burning cross and made for the hills. Every time we’d gone exploring for animals, we’d had members drop off. This time, even John stayed behind. It was my solo, and I intended to make it count.
That morning was simply nightmarish. Even at this early hour, it was hot and humid, and the flies wouldn’t give me a moment of peace. I looked in every log and rock crevice I could find, turning up plenty of Three-Lined, Rainbow, and Firetail Skinks, but not a single snake. Nearly every second that ticked by brought me to the brink of giving up, but I simply repeated the mantra of “How many times am I going to be in Kakadu?”, until 45 minutes in, I honestly had to throw in the towel. Everyone else was already packed and sitting in the truck, waiting for me. I had failed.
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