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‘Are you flamin’ feeding the fish or catching ‘em, Roman?’ The houseboat’s deck thudded with each step of Chook’s wooden leg.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’ With her camera taken away from her and being made to sit on the simple wooden stool, it was like she’d been sent to the naughty corner. ‘Where did Stone go?’

‘He’s getting some gear from the shed, to take care of them baby crocs you lot saved earlier. Bad business that.’

‘I’m to assume that you’re part of the industry, then?’

‘I was. But we’d be here for a decade if you want to hear my tales. I think Stone’s chasing daylight to get them juveniles tucked up in quarantine.’

Romy checked her watch. Surprisingly it was almost four, on a very busy day that had covered lots of miles, collecting and delivering juvenile crocodiles from various farms. And not one second of footage was she allowed to keep!

She needed to salvage something in hopes of finding a story. ‘I always knew there were crocodiles in the Northern Territory. I’d just assumed they were only a thing for the tourists, like they have in Queensland.’

‘It’s much more than that, Roman.’ Chook sidled up next to her, to lean against the houseboat’s wall, facing the wide river. ‘Did you know we manage almost sixty per cent of the global trade in saltwater crocodile leather here in the north, with about two-thirds grown and exported from right here.’

‘That’s a lot of poor—’

‘Now you listen up here, Roman. They’re treated more humanely than people in a hospital, with stricter laws than what they’ve got for cattle, sheep, and chicken farms. And the Aboriginals have been using crocodiles as part of their culture for a long time.’

‘Do they still use them today?’

‘Absolutely. Aboriginal rangers get paid to collect the crocodile eggs on their native lands, which in turn supports Indigenous communities, but it also helps to conserve their numbers. Even if I hate to admit it…’ Chook paused, to stroke his grey plaited beard.

‘But I was one of them. I was a hunter who did my best at culling them creatures, almost to extinction.’ He inhaled heavily, his posture straightening.

‘But now the NT is the world leader for crocodile leather, plus some of them farms do a lot of important research on them.’

‘Really? Or are you just making that up? You are a friend of Stone’s.’

‘Nah. Best in the world. That’s why them fashion houses come all the way out here.’ He then cheekily winked at her, testing her line. ‘I reckon you should reel that line in. You’re just messing up the river now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’ve stolen your bait already.’

She clumsily reeled in the line, with Chook guiding her to bring the hook on board. ‘Now what?’

‘You can get your hands dirty, not me.’ Chook clasped his hands behind his back, like a professor about to start some lecture.

‘You need to re-bait your line. Now, see that pilchard? She’s a flirt.

The barra will like that one.’ Chook pointed a stubby finger at the live bait doing laps in the bucket.

‘You want me to put my hand in there?’ She screwed her face up.

‘They don’t have teeth, and you’ve eaten sardines, right?’

She inhaled deeply and tried to catch a pilchard that swam fast. Spinning around the bucket, it slipped through her fingers a few times, until finally… ‘Got it.’

‘Good. Now poke the hook through there, Roman.’ Chook explained where to put the hook, while Romy struggled, until the fish was in place.

‘Will it work?’

With a sniff, and squinty eyes he inspected the hook. ‘Even if it looks like a dog’s dinner, they’ll love it. Now toss it in…’

‘Stone did it last time.’ She gave an awkward shrug.

‘Why? When you’ve got two hands and a heartbeat to do it y’self.

Now, hold the reel like this…’ Chook manipulated her fingers on the chunky reel and its odd gadgets.

‘Then you flick it. Just use the wrist. That rod’s light, and short enough to not hit the roof, but perfect for casting out to the river.

Aim for that gap in the middle there, the fish like to hide in this here croc grass, and that’s where you can catch their attention. ’

Romy gave an awkward flick of her wrist, the line whirled out until the mashed pilchard on the hook crash-landed with a heavy plonk in the water. Her eyes widened as did her need to high-five someone. ‘I did it.’

‘You did good, Roman.’ Chook patted her head like a child. ‘Now, take a load off and watch the water flow past.’

She pushed the stool across to let Chook take it, while she leaned her back against the wall.

It was almost meditative watching the river flow.

It wasn’t the prettiest of places with the river a murky colour that reflected the sky, nor was it thick with vegetation like she’d seen from Stone’s helicopter, but it was unique.

This part of the river touched a large flood plain, covered with creamy yellow grasses that stretched out to meet a large paperbark forest, their white trunks highlighted by the sun.

Behind it stood the red rocky escarpment, giving it that ancient appeal of being a pristine wilderness. And this was Chook’s backyard.

‘So, tell me more about the crocodile business. It sounds like fun.’

‘Hmph. They reckon it’s the most dangerous job in the world.’

‘But you did it?’

‘In my younger day, sure. Not now, I wouldn’t. Crocodiles are a thousand times more cunning. They’re not shy like they were, back in the day when I hunted them.’ Chook nodded at the bask of crocodiles occupying the opposite bank.

‘What is the best way to hunt for eggs? Stone walked us in through his swamp to find a nest, but I keep hearing about a sling.’

‘First, you start by finding a chopper and a crazy pilot. But you’d want a pilot smart enough to take calculated risks. One who is skilled enough to get into some of these places, and use them chopper blades in a croc fight if they have to.’

‘Like Stone?’ Her chest squeezed at the thought of Stone in a crocodile fight.

Chook nodded. ‘Then you get a crazier daredevil to play passenger princess. They’re the ones who live off the adrenaline, wearing a harness like one of them rock climbers do.

They then get clipped to the sling line that runs under the helicopter, where they’ll swing free in the air, holding a rod, stick or a spear in one hand, and a plastic crate, bucket or an esky in the other. And then the fun and games begin…’

He paused, gazing over the river that flowed past them.

‘First, they get lowered, right over the nest, in places that are the furthest thing from paradise. Filled with mud, leeches, and mozzies, most of those places have no shade. So, you’ve got the outback sun beating down on you—and this is in the summer, mind you, where the humidity is nothing less than a hundred per cent, so thick it’s like swampy soup.

Not forgetting you’ve got the ever-present danger of the croc comin’ at you. It’s no picnic.’

‘They do it with the crocodiles there?’ That squeeze got tighter around her ribs, making her breathing shallower.

‘They’ll use that stick like a blunt sword and the crate they’re carrying as a shield to fend off the monsters.’

‘Like knights and dragons?’ If only she could write all this down. ‘What is the helicopter doing?’

‘Watching all from above to drag them out of there as quickly as they can. But sometimes you get the odd cowboy who’ll unclip themselves, saying they need to listen for the mother.

While some reckon the helicopter attracts the attention of the mother and will tell the chopper to leave so they can dig out the nest for them eggs.

But you get a good pilot, he won’t leave them, he’ll be ready with a trigger finger to drag his partner out of there. ’

‘Sounds terrifying.’ Romy exhaled deeply to ease the tightness in her chest.

‘It’s one of the most frightening things a man could ever do.’ Chook patted over his heart as he said, ‘your adrenaline pumps so hard, you lose a coupla kilos from one outing, compared to months in a gym.’

‘Why do they do it? Besides the adrenaline rush.’

‘It helps keep the croc numbers down.’

‘Stone says most of those babies struggle to survive in the wild.’

‘They’ve got their challenges. There’s the gas plant, the mines, the fishing nets… wild buffalo, pigs, goannas—and humans, building houses where nests used to be. And I’ve lived here long enough to see the saltwater creeping further up the river, pushing into places it never used to.’

‘What does that mean for the crocodiles?’

‘It’s bloody well dangerous, is what it is.

’ His sun-hardened wrinkles deepened as he scowled at the river.

‘Coz now the salties are adapting. Them river rats are turning up in places they’ve got no business being…

’ Again, he nodded at the bask across the river, sunbaking in the sun.

‘It only takes the blink of an eye before a wild croc will strike. They’re a creature of opportunity and will take it fast. Now, just imagine that ten times worse when they’ve got that motherly instinct kicking in.

It’s what makes them one of Australia’s deadliest creatures, who aren’t afraid of anything. ’

‘So why risk it by taking those eggs?’

‘Ever heard the story about the goose that laid golden eggs?

‘Sure.’

‘Well, in the Territory, it’s croc eggs. One day’s decent haul of egg collecting and you can walk away with thousands lining your pockets.’

Well, that explained how Stone could afford the luxurious home and toys.

‘You’ve just gotta be full of courage, and smart enough to do it, or you’ll end up being croc bait.’

‘I’ve been told that the government is banning the slings. Why is that?’

‘One of ‘em croc-hunters got chewed.’ Chook ran a hand over his plaited silver beard, like he was wiping away his smile. ‘Over a year back. Good fella, too.’

‘Do you know what happened?’