Lessons from a Botched Roo Rescue

The light was fading when I arrived at Running for Resilience. A strong and cold breeze blew across the lake. I immediately regretted my decision not to wear my hoodie. Unbeknownst to me, my regret would only deepen later that evening… shivering and drenched from the waist down, squelching every step of my three kilometre walk home. I am getting ahead of myself, though; we will arrive at this sopping scene soon enough.

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As I took my spot on the course for tallying duty, my hair stood on end, my body’s feeble attempt at keeping me warm. When the last Running for Resilience participant had been accounted for, I glanced down at my phone to see the final tally… 367. As I began my own walk along the lake the cold began to slip into the background of my thoughts.

I must have walked only 400 metres before my internal monologue was broken by a familiar voice calling out

‘Tim, we have a bit of a situation,’.

There was an subtle undertone of alarm.

As I came closer, I saw a group of four or five people congregated in a semi-circle facing the lake. A few were standing barefoot. Strange.

It took a moment before I noticed what had drawn everyone’s attention: a kangaroo.

The poor thing was stuck in thigh deep water unable to climb the retaining wall that fenced the perimeter of the lake’s edge.

How it came to be in such a position is anyone’s guess. The word on the grape vine from a passerby was that the kangaroo had been found in the middle of the lake and towed to the edge by a small boat hours ago. Whether this is true or not is not mine to say. But the reality was that the she looked tired and hopelessly stuck.

The sight of the kangaroo in such a perilous situation reminded me of a video that had circulated on social media a few years ago. In the video, a man single handedly rescued a kangaroo from a similar situation on the other side of the lake. This gave me hope that a few of us might be able to do the same. Before I knew it, my shoes and socks were off too.

I quickly realised that the removal of my shoes was premature. After speaking to a few people, I learned that two men had entered the water and attempted to approach the kangaroo already. From all accounts, the kangaroo did not seem impressed with the idea and the attempt had been abandoned. In light of this, it was decided that we should call in the professionals.

While we waited to be connected to the wildlife rangers, a mini roo-rescue community emerged. However, despite everyone having the same goal, to help the kangaroo out of the water, each individual had an idea on how this should be best achieved. There was a tension within the group that felt to be only exacerbated by the perceived immediacy of the situation.

Some people directed the long returning precession of Running for Resilience participants around the kangaroo. Others debated whether we should wait for the rangers or attempt another roo rescue of our own. I was on team ‘do it ourselves’. Standing, still shoe-less, and in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts on a cold windy night had left me feeling impatient. I anticipated that the kangaroo was feeling much the same.

After an hour or so, the last of the Running for Resilience participants faded into the night and the group slowly dissolved until only three of us remained. It was becoming clearer that our call for professional support was hitting a bureaucratic dead-end and the kangaroo’s fate remained uncertain. With no natural predator, kangaroos are prolifically over-populated in Canberra and are actively culled by the government. As such, I can only assume that rescuing a kangaroo from the lake after hours may not have warranted the expedited support we may have wished for. So I was left with a decision. To leave knowing that the kangaroo’s fate was almost certainly sealed, or to jump into the lake and at least it give it a go.

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As I lowered myself down the retaining wall and into the lake I was surprised at how warm the water was. I slowly walked towards the kangaroo. I could feel my heartbeat starting to increase. Soon I was within an arm’s reach. It hissed (yes, apparently kangaroos hiss). I stood still.

It all happened so quick from there and I can’t recall in great detail what took place, but I do remember stumbling back and realising that the man-made platform I must have been standing on dropped away suddenly. I had about 1 - 1.5 metres from the lake’s edge to work within. The kangaroo was becoming distressed.

I climbed back onto the path and discussed what to do next with the two others. A kind man volunteered to help with one last attempt and the woman, who had been on the phone with the rangers, would act as a distraction. As we moved into position, the kangaroo’s attention was kept occupied by the movement of a high-vis vest. Before I knew it the vest was covering the kangaroo’s eyes and I didn’t have time to think. I just had to go for it! I grabbed the kangaroo and began lifting it up. It thrusted left and right.

‘Don’t let go!’

‘Just lift’.

Soon the kangaroo had cleared the lip of the retaining wall and was on the path.

We’d done it! We’d really done it!

The man and I climbed the retaining wall ourselves and walked over to the woman to give the kangaroo space.

We’d done it.

We were all smiling and fist bumping.

But the kangaroo didn’t hop away like we’d expected it to. It just stood there. 10 minutes must have passed and it didn’t move. Until it turned around…

My smile vanished and for a moment I held my breath. Before the kangaroo had time to move further, I was back in the lake and positioned in front of it, attempting to dissuade the poor thing from jumping back into the water. Then it happened…

The kangaroo bounded into the lake and began swimming until it was out of sight and enveloped by darkness.

Climbing out of the lake the first time was frustrating. The second time was jubilant. The third was exasperating.

We had tried and failed. But there was a certain peace knowing that the kangaroo, as much as a kangaroo can, had decided its own path.

Leaving a trail of puddles behind me on my way home I pondered the curious events of the evening. I thought about how both the path and the lake were unnatural settings for the kangaroo. How I had assumed that being out of the water was the right thing for the kangaroo, but the urban kangeroo-less park, surrounded by a busy road and urban development, was likely just as inhospitable and dangerous for the kangaroo as the water. I contemplated how my actions had been influenced by a series of assumptions and I grappled with whether I had done more harm than good. That is the tricky thing about action — even compassionate action — it often treads a fine line between intention and consequence.

It was a timely reminder that many, if not all, decisions in life are not black and white, but laced with nuance and ambiguity until you have the vantage point of retrospection - and even then this is no guarantee of clarity.

Was it the right thing to do? I don’t know. Would I do it again? Probably.