Originally written for WildX

“What if this is how I die, what if I actually get eaten by a crocodile?” Even though I’d known about this trip for several months, only now as we were on our final approach did it cross my mind that we’d be diving with one of nature’s oldest and most efficient killers. It’s also right now, on the boat past the point of no return, that my mind begins to rattle off horrifying facts. Did you know the Nile Crocodile has the strongest bite force of any animal? Its bite is more powerful than a lion’s, or a shark’s, or a grizzly bear’s. It’s also a non-selective predator i.e. it eats whatever it wants, and that includes prey as big as hippos. All-in-all, it’s a rather terrifying prehistoric beast, and I was about to swim with one. 

Let’s rewind a little bit. I’m in Botswana’s Okavango Delta with renowned adventurer, photographer and tour leader Amos Nachoum. He’s swum with anacondas in the Amazon and leopard seals in Antarctica, gotten up close with polar bears in the Arctic and Cheetahs in the Serengeti. He’s rough and rugged with a healthy sense of humour and a heart of gold, and he loves wildlife more than anything else in this world. Since my arrival, a day before our first dive, he’s been regaling me and the other guests with fantastical stories of close encounters and intimate experiences – it’s only a matter of time before someone writes a story about his amazing life. We’ve also been thoroughly briefed on procedures: only one guest in the water at a time (you’re accompanied by Amos and a safety diver), follow his every command, don’t do anything stupid. Check, check, I’ll try my best. Back to the boat. 

We’d been cruising for about 15 minutes when we spotted our first croc on the shore. As quickly as we saw it, it slithered into the water. The boat came to stop, we waited for a moment to settle and prepped to dive. Sitting on the edge of the boat I was sweating inside my suit, and only a few drops were due to the baking African sun. With a nod from Amos I dropped backwards and was swallowed by the cool waters.

When you’re croc diving it’s crucial to get away from the surface of the water as quickly as possible – that’s their kill zone, and from the riverbed you just look like another tasty morsel waiting to be snapped up. I kicked hard and descended, it wasn’t very deep and soon I was planting my steel rod in the muddy soil to keep the current from pulling me away. I looked for Amos, he was just ahead of me, making sure I had made it down safely. He motioned for me to join him and began our search. 

The visibility was good, not great, and despite my best efforts to calm my heart rate, I could feel my body prepping for fight or flight (it would’ve been the latter). Navigating the golden green waters, we passed over tree stumps, rocks and other natural debris, and on more than one occasion I excitedly spotted “crocs” which were in fact just submerged logs or dappled shadows playing tricks on my eyes. The truth is, the only real way to spot them underwater is to look out for a row of white teeth gleaming in the dark, which is exactly as unsettling as it sounds. Amos made the first real sighting and used the comically simple yet apparently internationally recognised hand-signal to alert us – a one-handed chomping/biting action. 

The murk had settled and we approached slowly and predictably – you don’t want to upset a half-ton killer in its home. I got as close as I dared, just out of arm’s reach, and shakily aimed my camera. The croc lay utterly motionless which did little to reassure me, still I did my best to compose myself and frame the shot. In that instant something changed. Looking at this beast as a subject I began to notice the details, its scales, a mosaic of beautiful patterns that run across its body, the battle scars that covered its thick hide, its grace even in stillness. I hadn’t forgotten what it was capable of, but for the first time I was looking past its murderous reputation. My fear had become fascination, and my apprehension melted away. Almost as if it knew I was getting a little too comfortable, it whipped its tail inches from my face, sending me reeling in panic, and disappeared in a cloud of brown-green muck. 

Back on the boat we peeled off our gear and sucked in the warm afternoon air. That was only the first of several encounters throughout the day, and with each one my fascination grew. The way I thought about crocodiles had been changed forever. Although nothing will replace the highlight reels of riverside kills and death rolls that we’re all familiar with, I had added tranquil shots of beautiful, peaceful giants. Even so, it didn’t diminish my reverence for these swamp-loving giants, which regularly and effortlessly take down prey many times my size.