At first there was no pain, just a powerful sensation of tugging, with my arm being forced behind my back. Then came the seething mass of coils spewing forth from the water. A seemingly endless stream of body as thick as my thigh effortlessly flowing out of the water towards me, enveloping me whole. And I was suddenly rudely awakened to the fact that, unwittingly, I now found myself on the wrong end of the biggest and most powerful snake I had ever tackled. I had overlooked the signs, misjudged the scale of what I saw, and once more rendered myself into the arms of disaster.
I have heard it suggested that I am “accident prone.” I strongly disagree with this rather fatalistic statement and offer instead the fact that I just simply do a lot of different things that are dangerous. However, I do not offer any excuse for myself when delivering myself into trouble by my own stupidity. I am well aware of the fact that large pythons are known to submerge themselves in shallow water in wait of potential prey approaching to drink. And though these snakes generally do not consider humans as prey, it is known that children and small adults have been taken, more by mistake than by plan. Any movement approaching the submerged snake would be considered prey. In this case, I was it. And having now hooked its rows of inch-long, needle-like teeth into my body and with its killer instinct fully aroused, the snake was bringing its powerful coils into play to constrict its prey to death.
My team was, of course, as shocked as I was by the sudden eruption of unpredicted action. From one second to the next the whole scene had metamorphosed from serene exploration to explosive action of potentially life-threatening proportions. Still somewhat stunned by this turn of events, I only fully began to realize my predicament when the first coils began to apply pressure; I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was powerless in the snake’s hold. I had never in my life before felt such raw power.
This was not the four-meter snake I had imagined when first spotting it in the water. This was a much larger snake, possibly close to the seven-meter mark, a snake easily capable of constricting an adult human. It was too late now to explain to the snake that this was all a big mistake, that I was not in fact its preferred prey. Instinct ruled the action, and with its mouth firmly gripping my arm for leverage, the giant snake pursued the process of constriction.
Forced to the ground at the edge of the water on the bank of the stream now, with all my strength I attempted to remove myself from the grip of the coils, but to no avail, as more coils slowly worked their way around my body. Bright red blood flowed freely from the lacerations inflicted by the teeth embedded in my arm, steadily soaking into my shirt sleeve. Frantically struggling to grip the head of the snake with my free hand in the vain hope that I might dislodge it, the upper most coil around my shoulder suddenly slipped up and onto my neck. Sensing the gap, the giant snake quickly applied pressure to take up the slack. It was at that moment that I knew I was in serious trouble, and out of my depth. The giant coil, thick as my upper leg, was now applying pressure to my neck. Added to the pressure already being steadily increased around my chest, within seconds I could not breathe and, with my last exhaling breath, I screamed for help.
True to the professionalism on the part of my crew, and our original agreement, I had been left alone to handle what I was there to do: wrangle snakes and display them to the viewing public in all their forms, shapes, sizes . . . and temperaments. And though obviously aware that matters had taken a somewhat unexpected turn, the cameramen had continued to film regardless, even when aware of the seriousness of the initial attack and the blood flowing from my bitten arm. However, all this changed instantly on my call for help, and within seconds there were three people around me, desperately, nervously, grabbing at coils of snake.
“Grab the body!” I called out, the sound of my voice stifled by the pressure on my throat. “Grab the body and unwind it!”
By now I had a grip on the neck of the snake, just behind the head, ensuring that it would not suddenly strike out at anybody else. As it turned out, this was not an issue, as the snake doggedly continued to maintain its grip on my arm, as is its nature. Releasing its grip before the prey has stopped struggling might render the prey able to retaliate, often with sharp teeth or claws that might injure the snake. Instinctively, it held on and continued to apply pressure, while all around me my crew grabbed and pulled and strained to remove the powerful reptile from my body. This was no easy task, as the snake relentlessly fought back.
It is not easy to describe the muscle power that is present in the body of a seven-meter reticulated python, but eventually with three men pulling on the lower coils and another two assisting me with the upper section, I was freed enough to breathe again and eventually escape those deadly coils. I had worked with many giant snakes in the past, and so had some inclination of their strength, but never before had I experienced the true power of such a snake in feeding mode. This is when a constricting snake exerts all its power, knowing that its life depends on holding its prey securely. It is not unusual to find large pythons in the wild displaying old healed wounds received from badly caught prey animals that were able to retaliate.
Finding itself under “attack” from multiple enemies, thankfully the python finally released its grip on my arm to try and defend itself by attempting to bite those closest to it. A fortunate occurrence indeed, as it is not a simple matter to remove so many recurved teeth from your flesh if the snake in question does not cooperate.
Gripping the snake behind the head with both hands now, I was at least able to ensure that nobody else gets bitten. Blood flowed freely from my lacerated arm, but as is the case with sharp razor cuts, and thanks to the fact that the teeth had been voluntarily dislodged and not forcibly removed, the flow soon slowed and congealed. The wounds stung but were not unbearably painful, nor did I consider them terribly serious, as only a dozen or so teeth had actually penetrated. I had been lucky . . . very lucky! And I do not want to even think about what would have happened if that enormous mouth full of teeth had struck me in the face!
“Thanks guys,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief as the giant coils were finally being disengaged from my body. “I’ll take it from here. Get ready . . . once I let go of the head we’re going to have one angry monster to contend with.”
With great relief everybody scrambled for their equipment and positions, grateful to make distance between themselves and the seething mass of powerful coils and that giant head filled with teeth.
Out of the water now and spread out on the open ground alongside the little stream, this particular reticulated python now proved itself to be just as bad tempered in real life as was reputed in text—not surprising, as it had been subjected to such abuse and the loss of its “prey.” While the film crew scrambled to recover their hastily dropped equipment—and I for my camera—the giant snake raised its head up high, over a meter into the air, and slithered after me with vengeance in its eyes, lunging at me repeatedly as I attempted to photograph it. I had never before seen anything like this. Without question, this snake held a grudge and was determined to settle the score. Again and again it raised its head up high, chased after me wherever I positioned myself, and struck out viciously, its mouth extended at full stretch, showing rows of recurved teeth, a few still stained red from my blood.
I have seen countless snakes show aggression when called upon to defend themselves, but they quickly regain their composure and head for cover when the danger is passed. Never before had I seen a snake actually lose its temper and actively seek revenge! This is the only way I can think to describe its behavior. By this time the snake was well aware that I was not its usual prey, and was certainly not interested in eating me, but it was still dedicated to biting me some more, as though this might in some satisfactory way compensate for the ‘abuse’ it had endured in my presence.
This was also the first time I was not able to physically release a snake I had been working with back into the wild. Defiant to the end, the giant snake refused to depart, watching our every move, dari
ng us to come closer. Keeping a wary eye on the ever-present serpent and with enough fascinating footage recorded, we finally packed up and headed back into the jungle, the crew nervously looking back over their shoulders as though fearful the irate snake might follow.
That evening back at our camp, discussions were solely dedicated to the day’s unusual encounter, the director even suggesting that the giant snake might search us out in the dark of the night, seeking revenge. Everyone laughed out loud, as it was a somewhat humorous and unlikely scenario. But when the campfire was extinguished and we settled into our flimsy tents, with a myriad of mysterious and unidentifiable jungle sounds frequenting our ears . . . not a single man or woman amongst us that night slept with less than at least one eye open.
CHAPTER 14
THE KOMODO DRAGON ACCIDENT
Venomous snake-bites were naturally high on the list of potential accidents that might occur during our excursions, considering the nature of the series we were making, but there were other dangers as well. There were spiders, mosquitoes, leeches, stinging plants, ticks, and waterborne diseases to consider, not to mention extreme weather conditions, food poisoning, precarious plane flights and landings, crime and terrorism, viruses . . . with the list going on and on. Many of these we experienced in one form or another and at one time or another, but never anything serious enough to halt production of the film series. But it is often those things that one least expects that may sometimes bring about the worst scenarios. And so it was to be on the Komodo Islands, where we found ourselves in search of the largest and most ferocious lizard in the world: the Komodo dragon.
These giant lizards were first discovered in the early twentieth century on the Southern Indonesian Islands of Komodo, from where their name derives. Direct descendants of a fifteen-meter-long reptile that lived some fifty million years ago, there are today only a few thousand surviving, scattered amongst a handful of islands: Flores, Padar, Gili Motang, Rinca, and Komodo. As is usual where wildlife is concerned, these magnificent remnants from the age of dinosaurs have been forced out of other islands because of human pressures. These flesh-eating giants of the lizard world can weigh up to 160 kilograms and reach lengths of over three meters. Their mouths are rimmed with rows of bacteria-laden, serrated teeth, which are flat, serrated, and shark-like. Reliant on their powerful jaws and their formidable dentition to secure their prey, Komodo dragons, like most reptiles, replace broken or dislodged teeth continuously, so as to never be without. The serrated teeth, which are situated towards the front of their jaw, allow for tearing chunks of flesh from their prey, which they swallow down whole. These usually consist of wild pigs, deer, or even water buffalo. There have also been some recorded cases of humans being taken.
Armed with powerful claws, shark-like teeth, and a muscular tail, Komodo dragons are formidable creatures capable of actively hunting down and killing large prey. Though their preferred prey is the Sunda deer and wild pigs, Komodos will also feed on carrion (dead animals). By constantly flicking their forked tongues in and out of their mouths, they collect scent particles from the air (as do snakes), which are analyzed in the Jacobson’s organ situated on the roof of their mouth. This powerful sense of smell enables the dragons to detect their prey—and carrion—from kilometers away.
The high-toxicity saliva bacteria present in the mouth of a Komodo dragon is acquired while eating carrion, the lizard’s mouths affording the bacteria a prime habitat in which to thrive. If prey is not immediately killed and escapes, the highly dangerous bacteria from the dragon’s saliva quickly bring about infection. The Komodo then tracks the scent of the prey as the wounded animal slowly weakens from the infected bite, a process that can take several days.
Komodo dragons are extremely territorial reptiles, and males will fight other males to gain mating right to females. This species is considered to be one of the most intelligent reptiles on the planet, and the people of the Komodo Islands revere them as a mystical ancestors, treating them with respect.
Our first stop was to visit a cave on the island of Flores, midway between Australia and Indonesia, where scientists had recently discovered evidence of a hobbit-like species of humans that grew no taller than a meter. The species inhabited Flores as recently as thirteen thousand years ago, which means it would have lived at the same time as modern humans. Skeletons of these tiny humans were found in the same sediment deposits on Flores that have also been found to contain stone tools and bones of dwarf elephants, giant rodents, and Komodo dragons. This suggests that these little people lived side by side with Komodo dragons, possibly hunting them . . . or being hunted by them. It was unanimously decided that a visit to the caves on Flores was a must for opening our story, to introduce our adventure with Komodo dragons.
Once again it was to be an elaborate expedition to ensure a top-quality production incorporating a team of porters, guides, boats of various sizes, and even a helicopter. With the caves situated some distance into the jungle over rough terrain, boxes of equipment had to be laboriously transported by hand through the wet, steaming undergrowth. With the high humidity, sweat poured off our bodies. Once inside the complex of caverns, we were forced to climb up rickety pole ladders held together with strips of woven bark and through jagged limestone tunnels that scraped our knees and ripped our clothes. Here the air was cooler but even more humid. More sweat poured off our bodies.
The Flores caves are unusual in that many areas open up into the light of day, enabling vegetation to take root at various locations. This encourages wildlife species to seek refuge and shelter within the caves. Along the way I found a monitor lizard, which gave me a merry chase as I attempted to catch it for display on camera and for some personal pictures of my own. Shortly thereafter, on an overhead ledge hidden by cascading branches from an unknown tree taken root there, I came across a juvenile reticulated python of about three meters long.
Small in size—compared with the one I tackled in Borneo—but true to its well documented disposition, the snake immediately struck at me as I climbed up towards where it lay. Once in hand after a few near-miss strikes, the irate snake proceeded to show its further displeasure by defecating all over me and attempting, any which way, to strangle me as I struggled to display it for the camera. It was like trying to hold an octopus, and I made short work of the scene, releasing the snake back where I had found it as quickly as possible. Experience was teaching me that reticulated pythons, large or small, were not snakes to fool with.
Finally we came to the mouth of two huge intersecting caverns, where the director decided we would stage the opening introductory scene. It was to be a simple scene, with me walking casually along through the various caverns describing where we were and why—nothing dramatic from me, just an introduction to the episode with the spectacular dimly lit caverns as the backdrop.
Within minutes the area was littered with equipment as the team set up for the shoot. A cameraman controlling a body-cam was to follow at my side as I walked, while a fifty-meter cable system was being rigged to swing another cameraman overhead as I passed a particular area of the cave. Battery-operated studio lights were strategically employed to create diffused ambiance, and special sound arrangements were set up at various points along my route, as well as on my person, to clearly record my every word through the echo of the caverns. A forward camera incorporating a long lens would film my walk-and-talk head-on, from a distance. A full day’s work for an estimated thirty seconds of film . . . but what a spectacular setting for an introduction. It would all be worth it.
There is a certain tense anticipation when the introduction to each new episode is about to be filmed. Much care is taken, every detail considered, as we know that this scene must procure the interest of any watching audience and immediately draw them in. In the case of a scripted scene, as this was to be, I would as best possible distance myself from everybody beforehand, to memorize what must be said and consider how I should deliver the piece. Most times it was certain that numerous takes w
ould be necessary to finally get everything synchronized to the satisfaction of the director, the sound engineer, and, in this case, the three cameramen. No pressure here. . . ?
The short distance I was to cover while delivering my opening introduction would take me along a steep-sided ledge and through an archway that led to an outside opening. My simple introduction would be naturally dramatized by the wondrous surroundings of the actual cave itself as much as by the content of my words. Three times I practiced the walk, repeating my lines as I did so, pacing myself so as to make it all fit exactly to scale. With three cameras running—one of them passing overhead at a fair speed—timing was critical. All around me the bustle of organization and preparation of equipment echoed along the cave walls. Finally the director came over to where I was rehearsing.
“Ready when you are,” he said, looking at me enquiringly. I was once again reminded that everything hinged around me. All the people here on location—my six-man crew, the porters, the guides, the helicopter and pilot on standby, the boats and crew waiting in the bay, not to mention all those working around the clock back in the edit studios in the UK—were all in one way or another relying on me to deliver.
I swallowed nervously. I am always nervous when preparing for a scripted piece, especially introductions and endings. Throw a cobra in my way and watch me go, with plenty to say and do without having to give it a second thought. But tell me I have to deliver a specific selection of words and phrases in a particular order and in a specific time, and I get butterflies in my stomach. This has been the case with me for as long as I can remember.
“All set,” I replied, sounding more confident than I felt. But I knew I would get into the swing of things once we were running. No problem.
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