Snakemaster

by Austin Stevens

  I knew I had done well with the handling of the snakes and providing entertainment for the audience, but were my actions towards Letterman inappropriate, in the grand scheme of New York television etiquette? Had I offended or broken some secret rule by being myself?

  She looked me straight in the eyes and said: “It was a good show, the difference being that you were not intimidated by Letterman.” And with that simple sentence, over which I would ponder for days to come, she wished me all the best with the series and waved a cheery goodbye.

  All further TV appearances went really well, with nobody getting killed or maimed, and only one slightly uncomfortable moment when Kelly (of Regis and Kelly) got her head stuck under the weight of the four-meter python and I had to pry her free. Considering her nervous disposition around snakes, she took it light-heartedly, clearly demonstrating her professionalism to audience and cameras alike.

  On another show, to the delight of the in-house audience and television viewers around the country, Carmen Electra daringly took it upon herself to assist with the handling of the large Burmese python, setting a precedent for all future shows. For my New York media trip grand finale, I went on the Tony Danza Show, where I met Alyssa Milano. There we stretched the python out for display on stage amongst four New York firemen. Everybody loved the friendly, beautifully marked albino Burmese python, though still keeping their distance and remaining nervously cautious around the venomous species.

  In Los Angeles I posed for a photo shoot that required me to be laid out on the floor covered with about forty snakes. Another presented me face to face with a king cobra. Yet another required that I spend time in soaking-wet clothes while holding a python suspended at arm’s length above my head, like a modern-day Tarzan having just saved Jane from the coils of death. I came away from that one suspecting that I had developed pneumonia.

  Much medication and warm clothes later, however, I was well enough to be treated to some glorious open-air lunches in the sunshine on Venice Beach, and some wonderful dinners at well-known LA restaurants, including Ago, part owned at the time by Robert DeNiro, and known to be frequented by stars, socialites, and paparazzi alike. Here our table was personally visited by the head chef, who announced to all present that Austin Stevens, Snakemaster, and the Discovery team was in attendance. This invited raucous applause and a flurry of autograph signings.

  I attended the launch of the Bruce Willis film, The Whole Ten Yards, and saw Bruce, one of my most favorite actors, from a distance. I walked the star-studded “Walk of Fame,” spending some time to study many of the names and handprints displayed. I saw Dustin Hoffman walking and talking on a cell phone and met Daryl Hannah, Cindy Crawford, and Donald Trump at a publicity shoot. It was an exhilarating time of new experiences in a different world, and I could not help being caught up in the Hollywood-style fever of it all.

  But, of course, all good things must come to an end, and in what seemed to be no time at all, the promotional tour was over. There was some sadness as I said my goodbyes to people I would in all likelihood never see again, and within a very short space of time, I once again found myself spread out in a first class seat of a jumbo jet on route back to Africa, my thoughts roaming back over the weeks just passed. It was a time I will never forget . . . my fifteen minutes of fame, living the life of a TV celebrity, in the good old U.S. of A.

  CHAPTER 18

  FOREIGN TOADS AND PYTHONS

  Foreign animal species introduced into environments where they do not belong have in recent years been a topic of much conversation and debate. For centuries animal invaders have bridged oceanic gaps, sometimes by natural means, more often by aid of human activity, sometimes knowingly, often unknowingly. Many foreign species were innocently or ignorantly introduced by early settlers, while in more recent times, more often for profitable gain, aesthetic pleasure, or in an attempt to solve a preexisting problem. The South American marine toad’s introduction into Australia, where it is better known as the cane toad, is a perfect example of how a poorly researched, seemingly benign introduction of a species can lead to an environmental tragedy. Australia has a huge range of introduced species, but it was the problem of the cane toad that caught my attention while photographing reptiles in the far northern regions, where I was based in the small town of Kununurra.

  Cane toads first made their appearance on Australian soil in the mid-1930s, when a hundred specimens were imported, bred, and released in Northern Queensland in an attempt to control the infestation of cane beetles that were destroying sugar-cane crops. It soon became evident that the experiment was not successful. Being a robust, ground-dwelling species, the toads were not able to reach high enough to devour the beetles, which settled on the upper stalks of the cane.

  Left to their own devices, the toads flourished, breeding rapidly, with each female laying thousands upon thousands of eggs, which quickly hatched tadpoles. These tadpoles in turn quickly metamorphosed into fast-growing toadlets. Up until this time, Australia had no toad species of its own, so there were no natural predators to assist in the control of the invasion. The cane, or marine, toad is considered to be the most toxic toad in the world, being toxic throughout all the stages of their life cycle. The poison, which is secreted from glands along the neck and shoulders, consists of a concoction of chemicals causing rapid heartbeat, excessive salivation, convulsions, and paralyses. It soon became evident that introduction of the toad now threatened native species that might attempt to feed on them. Not only that, but the toads themselves proved to be indiscriminate feeders, eating other frogs and their eggs, as well as insects, lizards, rodents, and even juvenile snakes. The more food available, the bigger they grew, with some specimens measuring over 25cm in length.

  Cane toads have proven themselves to be one of Australia’s worst environmental disasters, having now spread across most of Queensland, into New South Wales, through much of the Northern Territory, including the world-renowned wetlands of Kakadu National Park, and heading steadily towards the borders of Western Australia. Recognized now to be responsible for the reduction of many species of Australian wildlife, urgent studies are underway in an attempt to remedy the problem. There is currently no effective control method that can be applied to cover the vast area the cane toads already occupy. Some scientists are working with gene technology in the hope of discovering a biological control method, while others are attempting to find a sex pheromone that may be used to disrupt their breeding cycle.

  Meanwhile, in some of the more remote areas of the country, community involvement in the form of physically apprehending the offending toads is being applied by those more personally concerned and energetic citizens. And it was with just such a group with which I made contact one night while traveling a deserted stretch of road in search of reptiles, not far from Kununurra. Astonished to see a number of people hopping and bopping across the road in my headlights, I pulled my vehicle over to the side. My first impression was that it might be a police roadblock, but I soon discarded this thought, as no uniforms or patrol cars were evident. As I exited my Land Cruiser, a member of the group gathered randomly across the road waved a torch in my direction. Accustomed to the dangers of encountering strangers on the roads of Southern Africa, I was at first wary, but a friendly voice from the person approaching soon set my thoughts to rest.

  “Hello, mate,” he said. “Hope we didn’t startle you. We’re the Toad Busters.” He flicked his torch around. “The buggers are everywhere.” And, as if on cue, two huge toads hopped out of the undergrowth onto the road. Momentarily ignoring my presence, my new acquaintance lunged after the toads, bending to grab one in each hand. This sent his torch clattering onto the road, where I quickly recovered it for him, as his hands were otherwise occupied with squirming toads. “Thanks mate; my name is Ned,” he said. Care to join us? We’re the last line of defense preventing the toads from crossing into Western Australia.” I looked at him in astonishment. Suddenly all became clear to me. These were the guys I had been told
about in Kununurra; the group of concerned citizens who were physically attempting to arrest the spread of the cane toads across Australia’s Northern Territory. “We ride the roads at night and flush out the surrounding areas, catch as many toads as we come across and bag them. Then we take them back to Kununurra where we euthanize them quickly and painlessly with CO2 (carbon dioxide).

  Introducing myself as we headed towards his accomplices down the road, I explained my mission to film specific reptiles in the area for my series. And the realization suddenly came to me that it would be interesting to include a segment concerning these dedicated people and their endeavors against the onslaught of the cane toads. But I was curious: Was there any practical hope that this hands-on approach might work, considering the vastness that is the continent of Australia and the already widespread distribution of the toads? I put the question to Ned. “Not a hope in hell, mate; but at least if feels like we are doing something until a better alternative is found.”

  Through the rest of that night till just before dawn, my time was spent flushing out toads with my new-found friends. And as the night progressed, I became steadily more aware of the immensity of the problem, as bag after bag was filled to capacity with toads. Hundreds of toads, flushed out from the surrounding area of just one single roadway! A roadway that seemed to stretch out endlessly in our headlights as we followed it through the night. I could not even begin to imagine how many toads remained out there, across the vastness that is the Northern Territory. If ever there was a mission impossible—this was it!

  Late the next day, after introducing my film crew to the Toad Busters, we asked to join them on their next night out; to take an on-camera look at the project and the people behind it. The Toad Busters embraced the idea with enthusiasm, pleased to advertise their efforts wherever possible in the hope that the project would catch on and spread to more communities. So it came to pass that, two nights later, with everyone refreshed and eager to go, we set out once more to flush out the invading toads. It all fitted in well with our film schedule, as we were at the time in search of a particular species of Australian black snake that was known to frequent this region. One of the best methods of locating snakes is by slowly cruising tarred roads at night with headlights on full. Retaining the heat long after the sun has set, these roads are an invitingly warm area where snakes will often linger. This appeared to be the case with the toads as well, as many were encountered sitting in the road, presumably lulled by the warmth as they crossed.

  By midnight, with the aid of battery-operated camera lighting, we had collected sufficient film footage around which to design our segment. This included personal interviews with members of the Toad Busters, providing a forum to explain the toad problem and their method of physically addressing it. Also caught on film was a series of rather comical snippets displaying adult men and women hoppity-skipping like playful children across the roads on their haunches and knees in pursuit of the agile toads. As “presenter,” I was naturally expected to demonstrate the same, almost tripping flat on my face a few times as I did so. Catching a large specimen, which I brought up close to the camera, I was able to squeeze some droplets of the white poison from the toad’s glands, clear visual demonstration of its presence. All in all, it was an interesting segment to include in my series.

  Throughout that night searching the roads, we had not encountered any evidence of snakes. Ned assured me that this was due to the presence of so many cane toads: “Cane toads have no known predator in Australia, with the possible exception of keel-back snakes, a harmless species that has been seen to attack and eat small cane toads.” He paused, shining his torch around so as not to miss any toad that might be sneaking passed. “Many Australian mammal and reptile species will take native frogs, so it is not surprising that the toads might be confused with these. Freshwater crocodiles, goannas, tiger snakes, western quolls, and even dingoes are known to eat cane toads, usually dying shortly afterwards from the effects of the poison.” Ned sighed heavily, as though it all lay on his shoulders alone. “It’s a sad state of affairs, mate. If something is not done to prevent the spread of the toads, much of our native wildlife will succumb to the onslaught—in a very short space of time.”

  I digested this information for a minute. Could this really be true? Could a whole range of species eventually be eliminated from the continent by this introduced infestation of toads? For the first time I began to fully comprehend the enormity of it all and sincerely hoped that the segment we were putting together might help promote awareness, not only locally in Australia, but worldwide—a warning against further indiscriminate experiments with our natural environment.

  As my crew and I were scheduled for an early-morning start to shoot aerials from a helicopter, we wrapped up and prepared to call it a night. Before leaving, Ned approached me. “We will be staying out till dawn,” he said. “Would you mind taking a few bags of toads back to town with you? We have so many piled up; it would relieve the pressure a bit, give us more space in our vehicle. You can just dump them in your cottage overnight. I’ll take care of them when we get back.”

  “No problem,” I said. “Just cram them in the back of the car. I’ll leave them just inside my cottage door for you to collect tomorrow. I’ll be out with the crew for the day.” Thanking me, Ned brought over four huge bags writhing with toads. Each bag a heavy armful, was probably loaded with fifty toads or more each.

  Back at the ranch where we were renting cottages during our stay in Kununurra, I dumped the bags of toads on the floor just inside of my doorway, as promised to Ned. Exhausted from the night’s activities, I unceremoniously ripped off my clothes, hurled myself naked onto the low bunk-bed, where I instantly fell asleep, flat on my back.

  What felt like just minutes—but was in fact some hours later, at the onset of the first light of dawn—I was slowly brought to wakefulness through a haze of sleep as something tickled my forehead. Unconsciously I brushed my hand at the irritation, but it persisted, with a further irritation now affecting my chin. Slowly my eyes opened, sticky with sleep, and I peered down over my nose. At first I could not properly distinguish what I was seeing through the gloom. Then two large golden eyes came into focus, staring at me from my chest. Suddenly the eyes hurled themselves forward, a gaping mouth leading the way, and a fly was smartly plucked from my chin. Holy mackerel!

  Pulling myself upright, something dropped past my face. A huge stomach with four stubby legs fell to my chest, where it collided with the “staring eyes,” and together they hopped off down the bed. Urgently, I looked around, beginning to suspect the problem. Toads! Hundreds of them! Everywhere!

  Lunging from the bed, my bare feet connected with more toads, frantically squishing their way out from under my soles. And there followed a ludicrous display of complicated ballet pirouettes and leaps that till then I was not aware I was capable of, as I took to tippy-toeing on air in a vain attempt to dodge more toads. Still drugged with sleep and performing thus in the gloom of dawn, I lost my balance and crashed to the floor, where I was immediately set upon by a horde of toads, happily leaping over my naked body. Seemingly attracted to my writhing presence on the floor, or possibly contemplating revenge for being stuffed into the bags the night before, the toads gathered round, their bulging eyes focused on me with that inscrutable stare.

  In my dazed state, I tried to recall any case of a human ever being eaten by toads. I knew that crabs ate dead bodies . . . ! Illogically alarmed, I quickly stood up. Instantly there came a chorus of guttural croaks—just a few to start with . . . then a few more, quickly followed by a crescendo of croaking voices, as all the toads stared up at me unblinkingly, their throats vibrating with the sounds of their calls. I blinked my eyes and shook my fuzzy head. It was all surreal. The scene might have resembled that of some naked mythical underworld Toad-God being uproariously paid homage to by his loyal minions. Holy mackerel!

  By now I was fully awake. A quick glance over to where I had dumped the toads earlier r
evealed two of the four bags lying flat, ripped at the sides, their original contents now spread out excitedly exploring my cabin. The rips must have occurred while squeezing the bags in or out of the Land Cruiser. I had probably spilled toads as far as I had carried the bags, until once deposited in the cabin, the toads were free to emerge in their own time throughout the night. Glancing around the steadily brightening room, my eyes detected mayhem everywhere. Having said their piece, the toads were now scattering far and wide, keen to continue exploring the mysteries of this fascinating place they now found themselves in.

  Hurriedly I searched for my clothes, only to find my shirt occupied by two toads, while another three appeared to have gotten themselves entangled in my pants! Wrestling them free, much to the apparent disgust of the toads present who clung on till the last shake, I managed to get dressed. Emptying a rucksack full of camping equipment, I began the arduous task of recovering all the escaped toads. A daunting task, as I soon came to realize, it would take some time to locate them all. There were toads in the open clothing cupboard, under the bunk-bed, on the bed, even under the covers. Some were stuck up behind the gas stove, while others explored the wonders of the bathroom shower and toilet; more were in the linen basket, buried snugly out of site. For rather cumbersome ground-dwelling amphibians, the toads were proving themselves extremely dexterous in going places no toad should ever be encouraged to go. I could imagine that, for weeks to come, cleaners might still encounter the odd toad or two, while future occupants may be awakened to some unusual in-house activity.