Honest Dave and the Crocodile Tears

Everything wants to bite, kill or eat me. Sometimes all three. I'm in Darwin and the weather vacillates between hot and hot and humid.

I've come here a few days before our planned drive to Broome because Honest Dave is commentating a Roller Derby and has invited me along.

On the plane I am sat between him and a man who bears a striking resemblance to Inigo Montoya (You killed my father. Prepare to die.) Inigo is drunk or stoned or both and wants nothing more than to chat. I have two choices; Either talk to him or listen to him talk to himself between burps and heavy sighs. He talks about the Northern Territories and mentions that we'll be driving through Wolf Creek. I turn to Honest Dave with a deceptively blank face.

'That place doesn't really exist does it?'

Honest Dave laughs for about six or seven minutes and then happily puts on his noise cancelling earphones and watches Lincoln whilst I try to read my book and periodically respond to Inigo with stock phrases:

'Really, that far?'

'Gosh that sounds like fun.'

'Just the one tooth huh?'

I quietly plan my revenge on Honest Dave.

We are met at the airport by Maiden Shiner a Roller Derby Chick who will be our host for the next couple of days.

By 2 AM we are sat in her back yard smoking and the conversation turns to crocodiles.

'Aw yeah you'll deffo see some,' she intones casually. 'Two weeks ago the next door neighbours came back from work to find one in their car port.'

I find myself clutching my cigarette like a sword whilst scanning the darkness for red glowing eyes.

'And another friend got woken in the night by the sound of his dog going mental and when he went downstairs to see what the fuss was about he found a fresh water croc in his living room.'

She then lets out a piercing scream and Honest Dave looks over my shoulder and mutters 'Oh Fuck.'

I turn very slowly to look in to the eyes of imminent death and find myself confronted by a spider on the wall. A Huntsman to be precise. Big, yes. Scary, no. Compared to the mosquito's eating me alive out there its positively cuddly.

'It's just a spider,' I say.

'I hate spiders,' she whispers.

'Me too,' Honest Dave mutters.

Their priorities seem a bit fucked to me.

I fall in to a fitful sleep with the sensation of a thousand tiny creatures tap dancing unseen across my body.

I had a dream the night before we flew out here and wrote to Christian, still half asleep, to share it:

“I just had a weird dream that you have a creature in this country that is a black bug when born, and is tiny but with a human face and then it grows to the size of a three year old boy and remains that size but with these black wings and shit. They get really attached to humans, both emotionally and in a physically clingy way if they find someone they love like a mum.”

He wrote back:

“That's not from a dream. It's a Ferky Toodler, native to Kunanurra, which, conveniently is on the way between Darwin and Broome! You can hear young unattached ones baying at the full moon over the nearby Lake Argyle (nine times the volume of Sydney Harbour).”

Every time I thought about this for the rest of the day I'd start laughing. I've been in Darwin two days. I'm not laughing anymore.

In the morning I hose myself down with insect repellent and we head off to the Parap Markets for breakfast. Its a cosy bustling little market with lots of sheeting tethered overhead to provide shade. We buy excellent coffee and wander about deciding what to eat. Most of the food stalls are Indonesian and there's one crepe stall. I can't face anything that sweet and eventually find a stall that does a kind of omelette that's basically the remnants of a good take away held together by egg. It's delicious. Honest Dave has some noodle stuffed chicken wings and a satay stick. For breakfast.

We go to the hat stall because I'm told I'll need one for the drive. There are two kinds: The one Crocodile Dundee wears or the one Indiana Jones wears. It actually has a label on it that says 'Indiana Jones Hat'. The seller assures me he re-watched the film just last week to check and it definitely is the one Indiana Jones wore. I let Honest Dave choose something floppy for me. I'm stunned that he has an opinion on the matter.

As we leave the market I see a woman holding an Aboriginal man's hand and saying:

'I know darling, but if I let you in I'll get in so much trouble.'

Everywhere we walk in town there is a reminder of the constant presence of crocodiles. Pictures of them, belts made out of them, bars named after them.

We drive to Berry Springs. It's beautiful and full of trees. We get to the lake and see a few people swimming or throwing their kids in. I float about in the hot springs for an hour and a little girl paddles past me and says 'Isn't it fun!' I agree that it is, and off she paddles never to be seen again.

We watch the sunset at the Ski Club and I drink lots of beer.

When we get back to Maiden Shiner's she asks if we went to Berry Springs.

'Yes! It was lovely, I had a long swim.'

'Aw, did ya see any fresh water crocs?'

'Er, no. Ha ha ha. We were in a safe -'

'Fresh water river,' she points out. 'Didn't you tell her Dave?'

I look to Honest Dave in horror.

'Ah well, they're fresh water Thea, they hardly count.'

I will henceforth be referring to Honest Dave as just Dave.

I casually Google the river and discover that yes, crocodiles live there. A good life lesson: Just because Australian parents are throwing their children face first in to the water does not automatically mean that the water is safe. And yes, I know that a fresh water croc will not eat you. But if cornered it will take your hand off and I defy anyone to spot a crocodile next to them whilst having a paddle and not scream in blood curdling terror.

In the following two hours of internet research on 'How to survive a crocodile attack' I learn two things:

1. People almost never survive crocodile attacks.
2. If you stick your arm down its throat and press down it will fill with water and back off. This is of course largely theoretical because no one has ever had the presence of mind to shove their arm in the gaping maw of the thing that is eating them.

There is also some nonsense about going limp. So. A crocodile has launched itself at you, all sharp teeth and intent, and your head is one vigorous tug away from being separated from your spinal cord. Go on, go limp. I dare you. The theory is that the first bite is just to catch you. Then, once you've stopped making a fuss, it'll open its hellish jaws to get a better grip. That's your opportunity! Opportunity to what? Post something about it on Facebook? Try to reason with it? Sorry? Oh, really? Poke its eyes out. Sure. Initially it was just hungry. Now its hungry and really pissed off.

The stories people have told me. I won't subject you to them but here are some notable highlights:

“And he was just hanging from a tree showing off to his mates when Eric the croc launches up out of the water and just rips his.....”

“So they're stuck up a tree in dark and their mate is dead and every hour or so the croc comes back with the body and just shows it to them....”

“...he's pissed and up to his waist in the water fishing and people are shouting 'Get out you idiot!' and next thing this croc has appeared next to him and he throws a fuckin' tinny at its head. Its the last fuckin' thing he ever did. That croc clear bit his head off and swam past the poor bloke's family with it....”

The following day Dave and I go to the Mindil Markets which are on the beach. Its fantastic and we sit staring at the sea we are forbidden from entering and eat lunch bought from a stall. Dave by this point is basically eating an entire lamb shank like anyone else would eat a chicken drumstick. He is getting more feral by the day.

The Roller Derby is good fun. I sit drinking cold beer watching a bunch of fantastic looking women ram the shit out of each other. There are two kinds of girls. The ones who have bought in to the image and sport lots of tattoos and red lips and the ones who haven't bothered. The latter group are far more terrifying on the court. Dave gives me the option to sit behind a yellow line on the court called The Suicide Line. Girls often come haring off there and in to your lap. I choose the stalls.

Afterwards whilst chatting to one of the girls she asks if I've seen a croc yet.

Why oh why in gods name would I want to?

Kate and Keir arrive the following day and we meet them at the ski club to watch the sun set and drink lots of cold beer by the jug. Its lovely to see them again and we're giddy by the time we head off to dinner.

As an aside, I have never seen a sunset like the ones up here. It's not just the incredible range of colours but the way it changes moment to moment. And the glow is something close to rapturous.

Kate and Keir have just arrived to collect us and start the two week drive to Broome. We're easing ourselves in and will be staying in Kakadu National Park for the first three nights. There is a palpable air of excitement. We've been told we can't bring alcohol in to the Aboriginal settlements. Keir is figuring out how we might sneak a bottle of whiskey in for personal use. Kate keeps laughing because it is sort of hilarious how I've ended up on a holiday that I would never have planned for myself. Dave has bought a hunting knife and some flip flops and I have armed myself with Bushman's insect repellent. The can states that its also good on leeches. I'm not thinking about that.

As we leave Maiden Shiner tells Kate to keep me on a knife edge of terror because “she's funniest that way.”