Blind faith

I've just read a news report about the fifth salt-water crocodile this year having been caught in the Katherine River, 30kms from the town: all of 3.1metres, a very decent size of saltie. (Like this one, on the Daly River, where we went fishing.)

On our kayak trip down the Katherine River last year, we naturally asked about crocs, and were assured that the habitat wasn't suitable for salties to nest in, so there would be no females and hence no big males. "You mean there might still be smaller ones though?" we persisted. "Pft! Teenagers!" was the reply, so scathingly uttered that we felt only true wusses would pursue the matter further. "Um, just don't swim in the deep water, though," Mick added, kind of grudgingly.
He was so at home on the river, and in such control of the whole expedition, that we believed him totally, and I forgot all about crocs as we drifted down the river, feet and hands dangling in the water to enjoy the coolness; and that night laid our swags out on the sandy river bank.

Lying there in the night, with the stars bright overhead, I did give a passing thought to cold yellow eyes watching from the dark, and dismissed it as foolishness. "Mick said" was all the reassurance I needed.

And besides, I'd put James between me and the water.
(By the way, look at the flood debris lodged in that tree: amazing, eh?)