“So the dog that was taken by a crocodile last week wasn’t at Kewarra Beach at all. It was further up Deep Creek”, I said. “What, the creek that borders the resort we’re staying at?” queried my sister. Well, yes.
We had been getting a lecture on the sorely misunderstood crocodile at Hartley’s Crocodile Adventures. Apparently they’re indiscriminate opportunistic (or idealistic anachronistic as the Moose would have it) feeders, so it’s not their fault they eat fisherfolk’s dogs. The crocodile park is a reptile lovers’ wonderland, with a boat ride around a huge man made lagoon offering plenty of croc sightings which make you realise how easily they disguise themselves and how quickly and silently they can appear.
There is a croc in there somewhere. There’s also a python show for those who prefer their reptiles without legs. Plenty of water dragons, skinks and geckos wander free through the park. There’s also some token macropods for those who want something fluffy to pat. The highlight is the Croc Attack show, where in our case a slightly hungover Hawthorn supporter gave us an impassioned lecture on his favourite animal while standing in muddy water with an eight foot sample in with him as two of his colleagues looked nervously on holding big sticks and dead chickens for distraction purposes. He really did seem to be in some danger as the croc tried to follow him into the cage from which he would later dangle a crab while the monster leapt into the air to snap it out of his shaking fingers. It was quite the spectacle.
Something for the older kids is the go karting just out of Cairns. It seemed to be popular with groups of morning after lads. The kids were sufficiently recovered from their Vomitron experience last week to be highly amused that a lad in the race before us managed to vomit into his helmet. The helmets are motorbike style units, and he was still washing and disinfecting it and his kart out well after we’d finished our race. The Muffet and the Horror were too small to ride their own karts, so us parents took one each. The Moose had his own, but immediately had a thirty second penalty for driving on the grass in his first lap. The helmets are quite large and tight, so all I could hear from the Horror for our eight laps was a constant “meep meep meep” sound. After we got out I asked him what it was he wanted. He said “I was saying MUMMY SLOW DOWN!!!”. I had worked out after the first lap that it was possibly to safely do the circuit with the pedal to the metal. Which meant that our average lap time was the fastest of the three family karts, as the husband got rammed and also kept taking corners too sharply and hitting the tyres around the track. Do I rule? I think I rule.
I haven’t managed to get that pedicure yet. I have high hopes for the morrow.