Australian Penthouse

There is only one trevally left when a 2.5-metre tawny shark appears. The tawny grabs the bait, and Dean is whooping as he hangs on. At around 700 pounds per square inch, the tawny’s bite is not far behind that of a great white and tiger shark at 800psi. However, all three are a long way behind the champion biter of them all: the crocodile. It can chomp down at an amazing 4000psi.

I have a feeling that this small river nurtures the crocs that later travel as adults to nearby Crab Island when the turtles are nesting and hatching. We spot several on the mud banks, and when we get close I witness a primeval scene. A four-metre croc has a wild pig in its jaws. It raises its massive head and slams the heavy animal on the surface of the water. This manoeuvre breaks every bone in the pig’s body, so it’s easier to pull apart and swallow.

About two kilometres south of the river is an interesting shipwreck. She was once the Carpentaria Lightship, anchored north-west of Crab, marking the shipping entry from the Timor Sea into Torres Strait. She broke free of her moorings in a cyclone and drifted ashore, fortunately for the lighthouse keeper and his family, who were able to jump onto the beach.

The moon is still waning, so to kill more time we go to a little sand cay north of Crab. Here we find a nesting colony of Crested Terns with hundreds of chicks. It all seems so idyllic, but we soon see a disaster looming. A dozen whaler sharks circle the cay, and when the chicks choose to go for a swim, the predators move in. I know I’m filming something never recorded before, but it saddens me to witness such an easy slaughter.

I turn back in the direction of Crab Island, as the moon has now waned. This area is so bountiful and so full of action that we stumble upon yet another dramatic fight for survival.

I see heavy splashing off the port bow and swing the boat’s wheel towards it.

A four-metre tiger shark has hold of a large turtle by the head, and it’s swinging it from side to side like a rag doll.

Another tiger moves in and they take turns savaging the reptile. We watch and film for about half-an-hour. The killing is brutal; the noise of the teeth grating against the hard shell is simply spine-chilling. Two days later, we find a turtle carcass washed up on the beach. It’s probably the same one.

Sunset. It’s so dark now that Dean and I have to use our torches to set up the camera. The infrared light will be our only vision on this dangerous stretch of sand and, quite frankly, I’m feeling quite blind and nervous.

When a huge crocodile about eight metres away turns and looks directly at us, I feel that things may not end well. When it twists and goes back into the water, it’s a great relief. I decide that this is our last night after that croc stares at me. I feel we are pushing our luck, and we have enough footage anyway.

I watch the hatchlings scampering down the beach on their nightly mission of survival one final time, but then I see what real survival is all about. One hatchling runs straight towards a croc’s jaws, but the beast misses, twice, and the baby reaches the safety of the water.

It may return as an adult to give birth to its own young, which will have to run the same gauntlet. It’s the cycle of life on Crab Island.

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