Out there in the bay, in that blue blue ocean, just beyond the beach and the wharf, yes out there where I’m pointing, they have traps filled with pig meat. The park rangers cruise out there in their tinnies and check for crocs. I’m happy if the rangers do their rounds and check for predators – I’m very happy if they keep those massive jaws away from me and any other tourists.
I walked along the beach near East Point the other day, one Sunday morning. As usual it was like being in paradise, sun shining, palms waving in the breeze, clean air – gees it’s hard living up here, but I kept wondering – was that a rock or a croc? Silly. But we are on the edge of a dangerous world out here, truly.
Yes, you southerners laugh. A little girl was taken not long ago by a croc. She was swimming in a river not far out of Darwin. You’d think that would only happen in the days before TV and air con and the internet. But the rains swell the creeks and the salties venture upstream. They, the crocs, wander about a bit – it’s their country after all.
We creatures of little brain underestimate nature. We live in a fool’s paradise – I’m spraying Aeroguard on my legs and arms before I go out at night, thinking it will keep away the mosquitos and I won’t be a victim of dengue fever, but, well, don’t get too comfortable. If snakes can eat pet dogs in suburban backyards, and termites can eat your house, who knows what else is lurking out there beyond the screen door, not counting those cute little lizards that crawl up the windows and snap up moths and insects with frightening speed. Hungry little beasts.
And watch out for those dragonflies – they bring the tourists – they do. They came in the same week. They’re all over the place now, tourists and dragonflies. And the tourists, they’re off-loading themselves from dust-covered 4WD troop carriers in Mitchell Street, eating in the restaurants, lolling around the esplanade, asking me where Knuckey Street is. Meanwhile the dragonflies swarm and flutter, pretending they are leaves on the end of dead grass stalks. If you sit motionless and wait, they will come to inspect your sandal – we watch each other in silence.
