Off the coast of Tasmania, an island state in the south of Australia, are several small islands and rocky outcrops. These islands are the home of the famous mutton birds, the birds that have one of the longest migration trips every year. They travel up the edge of the Pacific past Japan to the tip of the ocean and back down every year and generally end up in the same burrow in the sand dunes of the islands. There they lay one egg and hatch out one youngster which they feed by regurgitation of seafood every evening when the parent birds return from a day of feeding.
These young birds have been a popular treat in Tasmania for generations and have spawned an annual industry in the harvest of these young tasty birds. The season is only short so as not to deplete the stocks and starts every year at Easter time and only goes for a couple of weeks. In the old days the young birds would be plucked and packed in wooden barrels in brine but now they are skinned as this is quicker and creates a less fatty bird. Camps have been set up on these islands for workers to live along with processing and packing sheds. The trend now however is for birders to be delivered each morning and their catches to be ferried back to the mainland for processing by light plane.
I made the trip by boat one off season to check on things and was taking a walk along the shoreline of the small island. I happened to glance seaward and then froze. On the other side of a small rock pool was a deadly Tasmanian tiger snake and I was between him and the safety of the scrub. He was already up about a meter in the air, head flattened and swaying slightly as he prepared to strike. I was several hours from the mainland by my small put put boat so a bite would have probably been fatal.
I eyeballed him. I fixed my gaze on his beady eyes and held his stare. I dared not break that eye contact because I knew that as soon as I did I was dead. Without breaking eye contact I ever so slowly lowered my right hand to the rocky foreshore and found a long lump of drift wood. Slowly I raised myself upright again not even blinking as I held his gaze. I knew I only had one shot as I slowly stretched the driftwood behind me and swung with all my might. Luckily, my aim was perfect and the blow severed his head completely and I dropped the driftwood and breathed a big sigh of relief.
I hurried off to catch up with my mate who must have passed the big snake without even seeing him. I count myself as being very lucky and did not even mention my encounter. I think I was still in shock.
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