Steve Irwin waves while leaving Dickson Inlet, Port Douglas, on Croc One on Friday.
Photo: Paul Hanley/Gary Hunt & Partner
WHEN you fashion a lifestyle out of dicing with death, there should be little surprise that when your number actually comes up it is as swift as it is final, and you are middle-aged and at the peak of prosperity.
Only, for Steve Irwin, the self-proclaimed, internationally feted "Crocodile Hunter", it came in a manner nobody would have expected - in azure seas and from the barb of a stingray, not in a muddy estuary in the jaws of a five-metre saltwater crocodile.
Irwin had often talked about the immediacy of a croc attack. You'd have next-to-no chance, he would warn, wide-eyed and all golly-gosh as if he was reading a scary bedtime story. "Because when they strike it can be that quick that if they're within range, you're dead, you're dead in your tracks!"
And if he was reporting his own death, Irwin's prose typically would be peppered with the vernacular that made the Melbourne-born naturalist (and natural show-off) instantly recognisable and parodied wide and far, from his home at Queensland's Noosa Heads to many parts of the globe. "Crikey! Irwin's copped a barb in the chest and the thing just ripped him apart like a tin-opener opening a can! Gee whiz, will ya look at that?! That dasyatid! That beautiful, sleek little baby with its lethal stinger. Blimey, that's sharp!"
Was there anything wild that Steve Irwin couldn't fall in love with? Wasn't gobsmacked by, wasn't wanting to cradle, to get alongside, to understand, to protect? Folklore says he was born with a python in one hand and a baby croc in the other, a modern-day jungle boy sans loincloth who could commune with nature.
"I have no fear of losing my life," Irwin once claimed. "If I have to save a koala or a crocodile or a kangaroo or a snake, mate, I will save it." And you knew he was for real. Irwin was a fair dinkum Crocodile Dundee — without the fake tan or the facelift. He epitomised the legend of the Aussie bushman: resourceful, savvy and a bit rough around the edges. But he was generous to a fault, and a showman, too, in a way that left his audiences in awe and feeling just a wee bit inferior.
"What you see on TV is pretty much what you get," said his long-time best mate, fellow zoo worker Wes Mannion, when Irwin had become a household name. "He's not quite as excitable, maybe, but he's always got that drive. If we have to dig a hole, he doesn't go over and just dig a hole, he goes over and says 'Right! We're gonna dig a hole!' Then he's flat out diggin' a hole."
Irwin was larger than life. More than 500 million people knew of him. His programs screened in more than 130 countries. In anyone's hyperbole, that's a lot. He was a self-promoter par excellence, but he had plenty to promote - a stratospheric self- confidence, a love of life, an adventurer's spirit and a cheekiness that opened the doors of movers and shakers, from cabinet ministers to film producers, from Capitol Hill to Hollywood.
On a tour of America he was interviewed more than 1000 times: on Late Night with Conan O'Brien he wrestled an inflatable crocodile in a children's wading pool, and after appearing on another late-night program he was such a hit he was chased by fans through Manhattan. Police had to be called.
In fact, he provided the perfect chat-show fodder: Irwin had eyebrow-raising tales by the truckload. "Anyone who gets their very own scrub python for their sixth birthday would have some tales to tell and Steve has plenty!" Irwin's own website trumpeted proudly. "While most other children were opening cans of pet food for their cats or dogs, Steve was out catching fish and hunting rodents to feed to his crocodiles and snakes."
They were experiences not learned in suburban Melbourne, however, where the greatest danger in the backyard is colliding with the Hills hoist while playing kick-to-kick. From his birthplace, Stephen Robert Irwin moved to Queensland with his nature-loving parents when he was very young. Bob and Lyn Irwin started the Beerwah Reptile Park, which was taken over by 29-year-old Steve in 1991 and renamed Australia Zoo.
Irwin met his Oregon-born wife, Terri Raines, the following year, married soon after and went crocodile trapping on their honeymoon, complete with film crew. The adventure formed the basis in 1992 of the first episode of The Crocodile Hunter, their successful television series, which was underpinned by their expanding and successful zoo with an array of native animals as well as elephants, tigers and a cheetah. It was no longer just the Steve Irwin Show but a double act, with Terri playing the straight role. Irwin's autobiography was later sub-titled The Incredible Life and Adventures of Steve and Terri Irwin. Theirs was a celluloid blend of National Geographic magazine and What Will they Think of Next?, but despite the double billing there was no doubting who the star really was.
The pair ended up making almost 50 hour-long documentaries, which appeared on cable TV channel Animal Planet and won a worldwide audience. There were also 50-plus episodes of his follow-up series, Croc Files. Irwin's manager, John Stainton, summed up the the style of the presenter with the blond mop: "A lot of people presenting television just look at the lens. They talk to the glass. But Steve has a unique ability to get
through the lens and talk to you. That's why he is incredibly successful, because he almost jumps into your lounge room."
Then, in 2001, Irwin bobbed up in Dr. Dolittle 2 in a cameo role alongside Eddie Murphy, and a year later the Irwins played themselves in The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course, in which the pair, naturally, hunt crocodiles - while fending off rogue CIA agents and saving the world.
Making money didn't appear to be a motivation, with the Irwins recycling the proceeds of many of their commercial successes into conservation. Of Hollywood, Irwin remained suspicious. Of his movie-making experiences, he said: "MGM bought me 22 new safari suits for a start. But really, I steered clear of the joint. Where I live, if someone gives you a hug it's from the heart. I've had these blokes in Hollywood hug me trying to make out I'm their friend and as soon as I turn … they take out a big bunch of knives and stab me in the back. I feel sorry for these people because they are so shallow." Asked, famously, about his millions, Irwin said in 2002: "There's no more money in my bank. People say to me: 'Paul Hogan built a $12 million mansion in Hollywood - I suppose you'll be doing the same?' I just say, 'No way, mate.' "
His straight talk was a little too blunt for some, however, and when he found himself accused of putting the life of his infant son in danger in January 2004, there were plenty baying for Irwin's blood. Khaki-clad, he had been feeding a chicken carcass to crocodiles at his zoo with one-month-old Bob tucked under his arm. Footage of the incident was screened on TV news bulletins worldwide.
Irwin defended his action, claiming he had been in total control throughout the incident. But his image took a knock, with Queensland's Department of Family Services reprimanding him and a reported cooling between the Irwins and some of their documentary backers. Ultimately, Irwin conceded that he would not repeat the episode but his unconventional parenting was often a talking point. In a recent interview he spoke about how he allowed his eight-year-old daughter, Bindi, to kick Bob (now two) - as long as she took her shoes off first. "That way, she gets to whack him and he doesn't get hurt," he said. "That's a compromise. Everybody's happy."
Irwin was also in hot water later in 2004 when he was accused of disturbing whales, seals and penguins while filming in Antarctica, charges that he also denied.
Despite the controversies, the preservation of wildlife was his raison d'etre. Only recently, he attached his name to a wildlife protection group that launched a legal challenge to Tasmanian plans to shoot wallabies and pademelons. And when real-life crocodile hunters clamoured for a part in the Northern Territory's annual crocodile cull, Irwin escorted the Environment Minister, Ian Campbell, around Cape York to convince him that "trophy hunting" would send the wrong message and would put international tourism at risk.
At the end of the day, nearly everybody had a good word for Steve Irwin, from local tourists to international celebrities. Recalling his visit to the Irwins' zoo, singer Justin Timberlake recalled this month: "I know he got a lot of flak [in 2004], but there's something in that dude's blood, he's like one of those animals. It's crazy, the communication he has with those animals. He's like Dr Dolittle, for real."
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