Steve Irwin

I have read numerous worthy tributes of late to Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter, who was killed suddenly last week by a blow from a stingray. The amount of broadcast television I have viewed in the past several years is very, very close to zero, and I have never dwelt anywhere that was so technologically advanced as to receive the Animal Planet channel. Nonetheless, I did catch a number of Crocodile Hunter episodes over the years, at motels and friends' homes, and I don't hesitate to declare that I liked Mr. Irwin and his approach. His love of animals was straightforward, exuberant, not at all shy, but full of a vigour which too few men dare to reveal in public in our times. His Aussie farm-boy aspect allowed him to get away with much that the world would frown upon in an American. (Contemplate his U.S. foil, the insipid Jeff Corwin, who, though he is undoubtedly a good snake handler, clearly feels some deep discomfort with his calling, causing him to veil his endeavours in constant sarcasm, apologetics and irony.)

Sadly, hard on the heels of Mr. Irwin's death, plenty of folk began to frown. I particularly note the respectful censures of Austin Bay, a blogger whom I enjoy and respect:

In the komodo dragon show I thought Irwin crossed the line from skilled showmanship to inexcuseable thrill-seeking – wagered mortality is tantalizing, but adds a queasy, dark twist to a family program. I told my wife “I wonder if this guy (Irwin) has a death wish?”...

A violent, unnecessary death.

Irwin was idiosyncratic, personable, enthusiastic, informed, and physically courageous. That’s a lot to admire. But what drove him to get too close one too many times?

Plenty of other folks seem also to be tut-tutting at the late Mr. Irwin for being an irresponsible daredevil. But they are thereby betraying an unfortunate ignorance of what, I maintain, drives such individuals to pursue strange and risky callings.

I have all my life participated in two sports widely considered risky, eccentric and often irresponsible: white water boating and climbing mountains. The media loves to portray these sports as high-G, non-stop screaming thrill rides, and their enthusiasts as underclass adrenaline addicts with nothing to lose. (Almost always, such portrayals look toward the ultimate goal of selling products with little if any bearing on the activities depicted.) Unfortunately, most of the public doesn't question these images. The truth, I maintain, is very often quite different. I am not seeking adrenaline in my climbing and boating, and I only seldom find it. And perhaps surprisingly, this is true even when I am performing at my best (though I make no claims to be anywhere near the top end if these sports). On the contrary, at my best moments I find a calm, a clarity, an easy focus (concentration implies too much effort). I lose the self-examination which is otherwise a mental constant; I focus on my task without focusing on my focus. This is what I seek, and I would never think to apply the word thrill to it. The adrenaline comes only when I slip and start watching myself again. I believe musicians, especially singers, will recognize what I am describing.

Furthermore, the common notion that these activities cannot be intellectual is grossly unfair. Intellect, I grant, is not an absolutely necessary prerequisite, but it does greatly enrich the affair. Mountaineers and boaters commonly make study of geography, geology, biology, meteorology, history, anthropology and even literature. Such knowledge is often practically useful, and may in some circumstances be mixed up with life and death. But it also, especially when combined with experience and increasing local familiarity, reveals a web of interconnection and meaning spread across a landscape whose beauty is eternally frustrating to express to others.

Again, a musical parallel may be helpful. A top-notch violinist playing a top-notch piece is confronted first with the physical, technical challenge of manipulating her fingers and bow through the necessary motions. Secondly, there is the challenge of willpower, of concentrating the mind as necessary without falling into harmful self-observation, which leads either to fear and indecision or pride and grandstanding. Finally, there is the intellectual challenge, much of which occurred outside the actual performance: study of the composer, his style and influences; of the piece, its history and structure; of the instrument, its mannerisms and possibilities. Again, the concert can generally go on with little or none of this intellectual study; but the intellect can greatly enhance the performance's quality and the performer's calling. I submit that the true thrills (as opposed to cheaper, ancillary thrills that may be part of the lifestyle) of mountaineering, boating, hunting and surely many other pastimes that thus blend physical and mental skill, have a closer kinship to the sublimity of classical music than to the gross visceral lurch of simply falling from a height. Mountaineers could save piles of money if roller-coaster rides were an acceptable substitute. When people assert that "adrenaline sports" are not worth the risk, they wrongly assume that an adrenaline rush is their ultimate payoff. The rewards are much higher, and many intelligent, thoughtful people, people with plenty to lose, decide that they are well worth the risk.

Steve Irwin did not wrestle crocs and pester pythons simply to get a twitch of adrenaline every time some reptile snapped its teeth at his privates. Darren Naish aptly describes how his style ran deeper than the TV producers chose to show:

There is... no doubt whatsoever that his knowledge and experience of wildlife was considerable, and he knew the herpetofauna of Australia and other countries down to the subspecies level. He published at least some technical articles and could easily turn his hand to the dissemination of academic information: he wasn't only a populariser. Sure, he was a character, but then that's pretty much the only way of making a name for yourself on TV today it seems.

The man loved reptiles and animals generally, loved getting to know them on a level that can only come with actual interaction, not with chaste contemplation from the distance. It's not easy to make a living pursuing an eccentric calling, and an affable wildlife biologist with a telegenic personality can hardly be blamed for accepting his own television show. Again, the TV producers always turn these kind of things into a sideshow, putting high-altitude mountaineering and herp collecting alongside the Jackass movie. Studying scale patterns on snake snouts or gasping for breath while humping gear above basecamp don't seem to sell advertising spots, to the detriment of all of us.