Carnivorous Nights_ On the Trail of the Tasmanian Tiger - Margaret Mittelbach [46]
“That's not usual,” Geoff said. “But then who knows? Maybe there's a tiger out there after all.” Tigers were more than twice as big as devils— and the only animals in Tasmania that could kill an adult devil. Even if tigers had truly breathed their last as a species, devils would still be hardwired to keep an ear out for the tiger's approach. “It's like they're listening for a ghost,” Geoff added.
After a minute or two, the General returned to the edges of the spotlight and very tentatively licked the wallaby. Then he perched alongside the carcass, gripped the mangled body tightly with his front paws, and hauled up gob after gob of wallaby flesh. Suddenly, he reared back as if summoning all his strength, and like a weightlifter using a clean-and-jerk motion, he lifted the carcass …up…up…up… Geoff looked stunned. “He's pulled it free!” he shouted. The General's black eyes gleamed as he scuttled off backward, dragging the carcass and metal stake into the darkness.
Geoff grabbed a pair of work gloves and flashlight and raced out of the shack. Where the hell was he going? A gibbering panic broke out among our ranks as we watched Geoff disappear over the hill and out of the range of the spotlight. We imagined him returning with ten devils attached to his arms and legs, screaming for help.
Instead, Geoff reappeared, holding the mangled wallaby triumphantly over his head. He had won the tug-of-war with the devil—and this was his bloody prize.
“Wild work” was all we could think.
9. HOPPING
After Geoff 's horror movie turn, we decided to pack it up for the night. As we washed out the wineglasses and put the animal skulls back on their shelves, Geoff shared some disturbing news about the devils.
Over the last fifty years, Tasmanian devils had enjoyed a population boom—and a measure of protection and positive publicity. That wasn't always the case. For years and years, from settlement times onward, these creatures of the night were hunted, poisoned, drowned, and shot. As late as the 1960s, there were concerns that the devil might be headed for extinction. Now, Geoff said, devils were facing another threat.
A mysterious devil disease was racing through parts of Tasmania. The disease was lethal, causing disfiguring facial tumors, and appeared to be spreading from devil to devil. Before the disease was detected in the mid1990s, the devils' overall population was estimated at 150,000. Since then, the population had dropped by one third. In areas where the disease was most virulent, devil numbers were down 85 percent.
Although the disease had not yet reached the Northwest, Geoff was concerned. “It's worrying,” he said. On an island, species are more vulnerable and things can change very quickly. He couldn't imagine Tasmania without those bloodcurdling screams.
With the ocean at our backs, we left the shack and rode through the darkness across Geoff's property. The headlights and moon cast misshapen shadows over the landscape.
We hadn't traveled more than a hundred yards when we turned a corner and a small, squat, furry animal came into view. The animal stood motionless, bottom-heavy and stooped over. It was a little hunchback kangaroo. For a moment, it was frozen in the headlights, a cowering marsupial Quasimodo. Then it sprang into life, and with a series of short quick hops, zigzagged away into a small tangle of trees.
“That's a Tasmanian pademelon.” It was a live version of the creature we had dragged behind the Pajero the day before.
“Wow, that's my first one,” said Alexis.
“Mark the date,” said Geoff. “You're no longer a virgin.”
Geoff stopped the vehicle on top of a small rise looking out over an expanse of grass. “This is a nice little spot. It's quite juicy,” he said. The grass was clipped short, but not by cows or lawn mowers. “It's basically a marsupial lawn. It's kept short by the amount of animals that are here. Look at that mob.” He pointed at five kangaroo-like animals that were