And these weren’t your average-sized crocodiles: they all ranged from 3.6 to 5.2m long. In fact, five of them came in around the 5m mark, making them some of the largest in Australia. About 30 of them were males and the rest were large females. They were big and had even bigger personalities to go with them.

The Wyndham Crocodile Farm and tourism site in WA was set up in the late eighties and was a popular tourist attraction for more than two decades. It fell on hard times in 2012 and had to close its doors two years later, leading to the most remarkable bulk sell-off of crocodiles in Australian history. The farm’s animals were also some of the oldest crocodiles ever held in captivity, so the owner wanted to avoid destroying them at all costs and was keen to see them moved on to another Australian reptile park or farm.

That’s where, Mick Burns, the owner of NT Crocodile Park and local tourist attraction Crocosaurus Cove came into the picture. Mick bought the crocs off the owners, and contracted me to help move the 50 crocs over 900km from Wyndham in Western Australia to Darwin in the Northern Territory. I was aware of the farm’s notorious reputation for having troublesome crocs who had been exiled from their communities for causing problems and unrest.

Two of the culprits went by the names of Oombi and Devil. Oombi was named after Oombulgurri, an Aboriginal community where he left his mark after eating more than 25 dogs before he was captured and sent to the farm. Devil built his reputation once he was in the farm by breaking out of his pen to mate with a nearby female and eating one of his penmates in the process.

Willow, as always, was the logistics man for this job, organising the excavators, trailers, trucks, slings and other machinery and equipment.

Mick arranged the special permits, which allowed us to transport the crocs across borders from WA to the NT, and as soon as that was sorted, we were ready to boot. Willow and Craig hit the road and I flew over to Wyndham with Jono and Mick.

From Darwin, we tracked over the spectacular salt flats of Port Keats down through the start of Kimberley country, where the mouths of the Fitzmaurice and Victoria rivers meet, then over the scattered boab trees and rocky outcrops of Kununurra, finally landing at the croc farm in Wyndham. We met up with the last additions to the team: my mates, father and son combo Nick and Seb Robinson. But before we got started, I had one thing to discuss with everyone.

‘Okay, fellas, we had slim pickings for accommodation so we’re being put up at the old Wyndham hospital,’ I said. ‘It’s not the most inviting spot but we’ll make do.’

Mick had organised the hospital accommodation with Paul, the owner of the croc farm, who had left the hospital lights on for us, as well as some instructions for us to navigate the joint.

We arrived on dark at this historical-looking hospital. Some of the lights were already turned on, and cobwebs creeped all over the ceilings. I followed the instructions to get to our rooms.

‘Ya kidding. We’re actually sleeping on the old hospital beds?’ Seb asked.

‘It looks that way,’ I said.

The door opened and Willow and Craig came walking in.

‘I think I’d rather camp out in the swamps than here. This place is spooky as,’ Willow said. Everyone looked like they were thinking the same thing.

I lay back on the bed to test it out and it collapsed inwards. ‘It’s going to be an interesting night’s sleep, that’s for sure. Let’s hit the sack, fellas.’

I slept a total of two hours that night, and that’s being generous. It was hands-down the worst sleep I’ve ever had. There was a constant creaking from a door swinging on its hinges, the tin roof clanged in the wind, the windows rattled, and it sounded like there was nonstop activity down the corridors. I could hear every one of the lads tossing and turning; no one was resting easy.

I rolled over and checked my watch. It was 2 a.m.

Jono, who was next to me, must have heard me. ‘This place is deadset haunted, mate,’ he whispered.

Then Craig chimed in: ‘I can hear footsteps every 10 or so minutes.’

‘No shit!’ Willow called out.

‘God knows what the other noises are, but this place is the absolute pits,’ Seb said.

‘Why are you scared, Sebby? You’re sleeping with your dad!’ I yelled across the room.

The room burst out laughing. Everyone was wide awake and equally disturbed by the place.

But I was a little concerned that no one was getting any sleep the night before the biggest relocation of our lives.

‘We’ve got four hours left of shut-eye, so let’s make the most of it,’ I told them. ‘Shove ya pillow over your eyes, count sheep or do whatever works to get some rest. I’ll find us somewhere else for tomorrow night.’

IT was game on at 6am, and time to catch those monster crocs. We’d brought along a road train with three trailers on the back, which we typically used to cart wild bulls. These were going to be our means of transport for the crocs. We rolled massive hay bales out onto the bases of the trailers to make it more comfortable for the crocodiles, and then we were ready for the real work.

The owner of the farm, Paul, guided the way.

‘We’ll start with this pen here, lads. The biggest croc we have at the farm is in this pen, but he’s in there by himself and he’s also the most placid so it’s probably a good one to warm up with.’

‘Roger. How big?’ I asked.

‘Just over 17 feet (5m) and weighing in at almost a tonne.’

‘Is the croc you’re talking about called Axel?’ Nick asked.

‘Yeah, mate, have you heard the stories about him?’

‘Yeah, they’re pretty outrageous, tell the rest of the lads,’ Nick said.

‘Well, before my time, one of the old workers at the croc farm used to stick his seven-year-old daughter on the back of Axel and he would just sit there without a worry in the world.’

‘Ya kidding? That’s just plain stupid,’ I commented.

‘Yeah, pretty nuts,’ Paul agreed.

‘But I guess it illustrates just how docile this big fella is.’

I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. I don’t care how docile a croc is, it’s still an apex predator and anything can happen. ‘Fellas, don’t go into this pen with your guard down, okay?’

Everyone heard me. ‘Righto.’

I went in alone to start with, stick in hand. Axel was out of the water and sitting on a concrete slab. I poked him . . . nothing. I poked him again . . . still nothing. He just sat there like a statue. I half-questioned whether the thing was even alive. I went over and crouched alongside him. He opened his jaws a bit, confirming he was still in the land of the living, but there were no big movements. It was crazy, I’d never seen anything like it.

‘Jesus, lads, I don’t know if I want to give this animal the drugs. It’s like he’s already had them!’ I walked towards his tail and administered a sedative, which relaxes the croc’s muscles. I gave him a small dose, just to be safe, before we attempted to move him. After 20 minutes, we picked him up and put him straight on the forklift and into the truck parked in the shade. I hadn’t even needed a head rope, harpoon or stick for defence. He was as placid as anything.

But they weren’t all going to be like that.

CONTINUED NEXT WEEK IN FRONTIER