Road Kill: why do people drive like that?

Some years ago I took leave and escaped the frenetic chaos of life in the big city. I spent an idyllic week camping with koalas among Victoria’s last great stand of manna gums at Mount Eccles in the Western District. A koala strolled through my campsite as I ate dinner one evening, pausing to raise its nose and sniff the scent of cooking. Another spent three days in an overhanging eucalypt, uttering its unearthly calls, raining down discarded gumnuts and urinating on my tent. After six days observing their behaviour, I felt quite close to these endearing creatures. On the seventh, I struck camp and headed west for the remainder of my holiday, but within ten minutes my carefree mood had evaporated.

Eastern grey kangaroos Macropus giganteus
and emus Dromaius novaehollandiae
grazing serenely in the reserve

On the road ahead, a tragic sight resolved out of the long shadows of dawn light. I knew almost immediately that it was a dead koala. As I slowed, a solitary black raven rose lazily from the carcass. A maelstrom of emotions burst within me and the world seemed to implode as I coasted past and pulled over in the gravel. I looked in the rear-view mirror as the raven returned and settled into its meal. Calming my stomach before going back to deal with the gore, I blurred the image in the mirror and focussed instead on the scene ahead. I could not believe my eyes. There was another forlorn heap not 200 metres away. I sat there and gripped the steering wheel till my knuckles turned white. I was in shock.

A black wallaby Wallabia bicoloryet
is yet another gruesome casualty
on the road around the reserve

With rising consternation, I drove up and went over to the second silent victim. The body was intact, peaceful and still, outstretched limbs reaching for the other side of the road, face down in blood pooled on the white line. I grasped the still supple hands and lifted it to the verge, laid it in the grass, and examined it closely through welling tears of frustration and loss. The irony of the situation nearly overwhelmed me. After days observing their behaviour from a respectful distance, death had brought us close enough to touch. But the beautiful creature was ruined and my curiosity damned. A car came swooshing by, not slowing or deviating from its course, the driver glancing curiously as she sped past on some urgent business.

Despite this section of road being used primarily
by locals, many drivers refuse to slow down
at this well known wildlife hotspot

The koala was a juvenile female, small and light with perfect fur. Not a mark on her apart from signs of head trauma; dislocated jaw, a couple of smashed teeth and a bloodied tongue hanging out the corner of her mouth, black button eyes wide open but lifeless, big black nose with a pink patch under the tip. Her body was still warm. I checked the pouch and was relieved to find it empty. I looked around for a manna gum, found one close by and laid her gently at its base for the carrion-eaters to do their work away from the dangers of the road, the heartless road. I collected my thoughts and set off for the first victim.

As I walked back, a truck came barrelling down the road. The raven abandoned its breakfast and flew hard for cover at the last minute as I braced for the impact, but the truck passed the koala’s body between its wheels. The driver’s eyes met my steely stare as he roared by with such force I was nearly blown over. This koala was much heavier and older, clearly a male, with head injuries like the female but less blood, just a trickle from one white tufted ear. The raven had already taken one eye, the other was half closed behind furry lids. I noted the big pads on his feet, cracked with age and experience, long strong claws and big muscular limbs. His almost white fur was patchy and well worn around his rump. As I put him down against another manna, he expelled a last breath and I was alarmed that the poor creature might still be suffering. But no. He was cold and rigor mortis had set in. As I left, the first shift of flies arrived with a hum.

recently installed 80kph signs are ignored
wildlife signs are removed or vandalised
and native animals are considered
just another bloody nuisance

This was too much for me. I had no heart for further travel and soon turned for home. I could not understand why animals were hit and left for dead to be ground into bloody pulp, along with the creatures that came to clean up the mess. I cursed our reliance on the car and a supply system that put so many huge trucks on the road. I wondered what kind of example we were setting for our children. You know? Animals are great, treat them with respect and treasure them . . . until they get in our way. My mind raced every time I came across another pathetic pancake of blood, bone, flesh and feathers. It was a very unpleasant journey. I have not been car camping since and I am regularly reminded of that sad scene on the lonely road to Bessiebelle every time I encounter road kill. Once you are sensitised, it is everywhere. As my friend Hope laments; “Drivers have a lot to answer for. I know a person who lives in the area who killed five kangaroos in a year, mangling their own car five times in the process. And you hear her complain; ‘Oh they wiped out my car.’ Why do people drive like that?”