Jale
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Aussie Icon Steve Irwin Died By A Stingray.
news.com.au
HE WAS irrepressible. He was a force of nature, an in-your-face whirling of "crikeys" and King Gees.
He was a foolhardy hunter. He was an eccentric prone to brain explosions. He was an entertainer. And, to a nation's shock and sadness, Steve Irwin was, in the end, mortal.
Born in Essendon, Victoria, in 1962, Steve Irwin moved to Beerwah in the Sunshine Coast hinterland in 1972, where he helped parents, Bob and Lyn, build the Queensland Reptile and Fauna Park.
On snake-catching trips into the bush, young Irwin would walk in the mud footprints of his father – his eternal hero – following his every move. The hunter developed early.
Two years later, aged 12, he'd be hurling himself on to crocodiles.
In the mid-1980s, Irwin flew the family nest and went to find himself in the north Queensland wilderness.
There he stayed for five years, conversing mostly with his dog, working in what only Steve Irwin would consider a dream job: trapping saltwater crocodiles considered deadly to tourists.
He did this free-of-charge. But Irwin was nobody's fool. The young croc hunter struck a deal with local authorities: every croc caught would be sent back to the family reptile park in Beerwah, the park that would come to be known as Australia Zoo, a multimillion-dollar theme park employing more than 400 people, some of whom tend to the crocs Steve trapped all those years ago.
It was at Australia Zoo, in 1991, that Irwin met and married American-born veterinary technician Terri Raines, headstrong business partner and mother of his two children, Bindi Sue Irwin and Robert "Bob" Clarence Irwin.
His wedding day, he told this reporter in 2002, was the toughest day of his life: "I've been busted up, had cartilage operations, had my chest ripped to bits – blood and broken bones are no big deal. But the pain of standing there in a suit with a tie around my neck, I tell ya, I'd sooner have a python around me neck."
What else would the Irwins do for their honeymoon but embark on a crocodile-trapping trip into the outback? It was footage shot on this honeymoon that would become the first episode of immensely popular wildlife documentary series The Crocodile Hunter.
The Americans would know him first. They were captivated by the blond Aussie's infectious enthusiasm, awed by his willingness to stick his face in front of snakes that can kill a man in 30 seconds flat.
"Crikey," he would say. "Take a look at this little beauty." They lapped it up. And so, before too long, did we.
Soon, the boy from Beerwah would have his own movie, The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course. He did cameos in Eddie Murphy films (Dr Doolittle 2). He was appearing on The Tonight Show With Jay Leno. Paul Vautin was parodying him on The Footy Show.
He was, in short, a phenomenon, a cultural icon trading pleasantries with Prime Minister John Howard.
"In front of us right now is the greatest leader Australia has ever had and the greatest leader in the world," Irwin told an audience gathered at Australia Zoo in 2003 for the Prime Minister's visit.
The Prime Minister was equally effusive. "It's great to be in the company of one of Australia's great conservation icons," Howard said. "People are instinctively drawn to people that are regarded as an authentic Australian – a love of bushland, a love of nature, a commitment to openness and a welcoming face."
In 2004, Irwin became the subject of controversy when he carried his infant son, Bob, into a crocodile enclosure to feed the reptile a chicken carcass. Irwin defended his actions, saying Bob was in no danger, while child welfare groups and animal rights groups were furious.
Amid the highs and lows of his 44 years, Irwin maintained that the whole Crocodile Hunter bit – the crikeys, the cams, the croc rolls – was done in a bid for one thing and one thing only: to save the environment.
"Let's face it, mate, I'm a conservationist," Irwin told The Courier-Mail in January this year.
"And conservation's a very hard sell."
In person, he was every bit the enthusiast he was on television.
He would turn a 15-minute interview to plug a movie into a deep discussion on philosophy, family and the future of the planet. He would pay you so much attention, be so responsive, that you would not know if he was having you on.
By the time the interview was over, you did not care either way, it was all so much bloody fun.
Irwin died yesterday at about 11am, stung by a stingray while working in the place he loved most in the world: outside.
news.com.au
HE WAS irrepressible. He was a force of nature, an in-your-face whirling of "crikeys" and King Gees.
He was a foolhardy hunter. He was an eccentric prone to brain explosions. He was an entertainer. And, to a nation's shock and sadness, Steve Irwin was, in the end, mortal.
Born in Essendon, Victoria, in 1962, Steve Irwin moved to Beerwah in the Sunshine Coast hinterland in 1972, where he helped parents, Bob and Lyn, build the Queensland Reptile and Fauna Park.
On snake-catching trips into the bush, young Irwin would walk in the mud footprints of his father – his eternal hero – following his every move. The hunter developed early.
Two years later, aged 12, he'd be hurling himself on to crocodiles.
In the mid-1980s, Irwin flew the family nest and went to find himself in the north Queensland wilderness.
There he stayed for five years, conversing mostly with his dog, working in what only Steve Irwin would consider a dream job: trapping saltwater crocodiles considered deadly to tourists.
He did this free-of-charge. But Irwin was nobody's fool. The young croc hunter struck a deal with local authorities: every croc caught would be sent back to the family reptile park in Beerwah, the park that would come to be known as Australia Zoo, a multimillion-dollar theme park employing more than 400 people, some of whom tend to the crocs Steve trapped all those years ago.
It was at Australia Zoo, in 1991, that Irwin met and married American-born veterinary technician Terri Raines, headstrong business partner and mother of his two children, Bindi Sue Irwin and Robert "Bob" Clarence Irwin.
His wedding day, he told this reporter in 2002, was the toughest day of his life: "I've been busted up, had cartilage operations, had my chest ripped to bits – blood and broken bones are no big deal. But the pain of standing there in a suit with a tie around my neck, I tell ya, I'd sooner have a python around me neck."
What else would the Irwins do for their honeymoon but embark on a crocodile-trapping trip into the outback? It was footage shot on this honeymoon that would become the first episode of immensely popular wildlife documentary series The Crocodile Hunter.
The Americans would know him first. They were captivated by the blond Aussie's infectious enthusiasm, awed by his willingness to stick his face in front of snakes that can kill a man in 30 seconds flat.
"Crikey," he would say. "Take a look at this little beauty." They lapped it up. And so, before too long, did we.
Soon, the boy from Beerwah would have his own movie, The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course. He did cameos in Eddie Murphy films (Dr Doolittle 2). He was appearing on The Tonight Show With Jay Leno. Paul Vautin was parodying him on The Footy Show.
He was, in short, a phenomenon, a cultural icon trading pleasantries with Prime Minister John Howard.
"In front of us right now is the greatest leader Australia has ever had and the greatest leader in the world," Irwin told an audience gathered at Australia Zoo in 2003 for the Prime Minister's visit.
The Prime Minister was equally effusive. "It's great to be in the company of one of Australia's great conservation icons," Howard said. "People are instinctively drawn to people that are regarded as an authentic Australian – a love of bushland, a love of nature, a commitment to openness and a welcoming face."
In 2004, Irwin became the subject of controversy when he carried his infant son, Bob, into a crocodile enclosure to feed the reptile a chicken carcass. Irwin defended his actions, saying Bob was in no danger, while child welfare groups and animal rights groups were furious.
Amid the highs and lows of his 44 years, Irwin maintained that the whole Crocodile Hunter bit – the crikeys, the cams, the croc rolls – was done in a bid for one thing and one thing only: to save the environment.
"Let's face it, mate, I'm a conservationist," Irwin told The Courier-Mail in January this year.
"And conservation's a very hard sell."
In person, he was every bit the enthusiast he was on television.
He would turn a 15-minute interview to plug a movie into a deep discussion on philosophy, family and the future of the planet. He would pay you so much attention, be so responsive, that you would not know if he was having you on.
By the time the interview was over, you did not care either way, it was all so much bloody fun.
Irwin died yesterday at about 11am, stung by a stingray while working in the place he loved most in the world: outside.
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