Calypso's Mast

Chapter 23 - Close Encounter

There was no warning, just a faint hum which reached a roaring crescendo in a few seconds along with a massive blast of prop wash from the very low flying aircraft and in the next moment, both Rangers were in the water with the crocodile.

As Schofield hit the water, all he could think of was, "You damned idiot Mick! We are truly dead, now."

As Pringle surfaced, his heart was like a dead stone in his chest. He knew that this was serious. They were now 'the hunted'. They were in the crocodile's environment. On land, man was at the top of the food chain. In the water, the crocodile was king. Everyone else got out of its road or became lunch.

He looked around for Schofield who surfaced a few metres away. They were close to the beach.

"Swim Mick or we're dead!" And he struck out for the beach with everything he had, expecting at any second to have those crushing jaws grab his legs and shatter their bones. Pringle had the same thought and was swimming furiously for the beach. Neither of them stopped to look back.

It took a few minutes to reach the weak breakers and then the beach and by that time Schofield's breath was laboured. Pringle could hardly drag himself out of the water, he was so exhausted.

From the safety of the sand they turned to look.

"He didn't come after us. Damn we are so fortunate," said Schofield. "I was sure we were finished."

Pringle just shook his head. After a few moments he had started to catch his breath again and he spoke. "You know what, Darren? That fishing line is still tied to the boat and that croc is still swimming. He's going to drag it all the way up to Papua New Guinea. We're going to have a long walk home."

"Well, if nothing else, it's going to make him a lot easier to find...that is if they ever give us another boat," said Schofield. "The boss is not going to be happy with this."

"Oh yes. We lost his boat and his crocodile."

"What is with that plane? That's the second time today. I didn't think they were allowed to fly that low," said Schofield.

"I don't know, but I have to change my pants. It scared the daylights out of me. I didn't know what was happening." Pringle held out his hands to look at how much they were trembling.

They watched in silence as their boat steadily moved away northward, being effortlessly towed by the monster crocodile. Darkness was starting to fall.

"Should we try and follow him and get the boat back?" asked Pringle.

"Are you kidding? I don't think it's worth it. We can tell the Boss, that it is a rogue croc and we were in fear of our lives."

"Yes, I think you're right. He'll buy that. One encounter with that big fellow is enough for today. Let's walk back to camp. How far do you reckon it is?"

Schofield looked up at the stars that were starting to appear and then looked out to sea. He thought for a few moments then said, "I reckon about fifteen kilometres."

"Ok. We'd better get started. I want to be back at camp by midnight. The tide will be in by then and starting to turn. I want to throw a line in the water and catch some dinner." And so they started walking south along the beach.

It was actually about 11.30pm by the time they hit their camp. Both were sore from the extended walk. Hips and knees were hurting.

Pringle stoked up a small fire while Schofield grabbed some handlines out of the four wheel drive.

"Tide turns in half an hour. Let's see if we can catch something to eat," said Schofield. "All that walking has made me hungry."

"It's made me sore. I'm starting to get passed all of this Darren. These days it takes me all night to do what I used to be able to do all night. I think I'm getting too old."

Schofield chuckled. "No wonder your missus left and went to Woorabinda."

Pringle missed the thinly veiled quip completely. "Nah. That was because of the gambling."

They headed down to the water and threw the lines in, with the  hooks loaded with some mullet from out of the bait box in the fridge, on the back of the ute. Within minutes , they had hooked a good feed.

"I got something big on here," said Schofield. "He's really strong." He wrestled with the 30kg line fighting to gain ground.

"That might be a shark," said Pringle.

"I don't think so. It doesn't feel like a fish. I'm not sure what it is. It's heavy like a shark but it's not jerking about like a big fish."

It took him twenty minutes to get it in.

"Mick, shine the torch over here. Oh look at this. We've got a flat-tail sting-ray. I love sting-ray. I haven't had one for ages."

"He's a fat little boy, isn't he," said Pringle.

"He's perfect. We'll have this one."

They cleaned and gutted the sting-ray and cut off the flaps. Schofield kept the liver and threw the rest of the entrails back into the ocean. Then they headed up to cook it.

"Those city-people don't know what they are missing when they don't eat sting-ray."

"True. All the more for us," said Pringle.

He boiled the flap meat in their camp oven on the fire for about twenty minutes and then scraped off the meat and rinsed it in fresh seawater. After that, he ground up the liver and mixed it with the flesh, tipped the boiling water out of the camp oven, added some butter and fried the flesh and liver mixture in the butter. The aroma was mouth-watering.

"Who needs vegies when you can eat this instead, Darren?"

"I know. My mob has been cooking them like this since forever."

Schofield served it up onto a couple of plastic plates. "What do you say? Should we head back to Lockhart in the morning?"

"Sure. You know, I want to ask that Border Protection guy, what's his name – Heartfelt, if we can use his plane to follow the croc. After all, he owes us. We nearly had that croc and it was his plane that knocked us overboard."

"That's not a bad idea. Heartfelt needs to help us with this. I agree. We can see a lot of crocs from a plane."

"Alright. Let's go at first light. We'll pack up and go track him down."

The feasted on the sting-ray and were in their sleeping bags on their stretchers under the tarp by 1.00am.

In the darkness, the monster crocodile leisurely swam north, towing the dinghy, not even noticing the weight of the boat or the fishing line in the corner of its mouth and following a path dictated by an ancient programming in its dinosaur brain.