Back in 2014, I joined a Meetup hike in Berowra—a rugged stretch of bushland just north of Sydney that looks peaceful until it isn’t.
In a moment of questionable judgment, I wore open shoes.
About halfway up a steep climb, I suddenly felt a hot, searing stab in the side of my foot—as if someone had driven a red-hot needle straight into it. I looked down and found the culprit: an enormous bull ant, radiating menace and what I can only assume was quiet satisfaction.
The pain was so intense that I briefly began planning my medical future.
Thinking practically (or so I believed), I killed the ant, wrapped it in a hanky, and put it in my pocket—just in case I needed to show a doctor what had nearly ended me.
Fifteen minutes later, now descending the hill and feeling rather pleased with my resilience, I experienced a second, even more alarming sensation.
A hot. Sharp. Stabbing pain.
This time… uncomfortably close to my groin.
There is a very particular kind of panic reserved for moments like this.
It turns out the bull ant had not, in fact, been as deceased as I had confidently assumed.
I learned two very important lessons about Australian bush survival that day.
Firstly, in a land of giant bull ants, open shoes are not so much footwear as an invitation.
Secondly—and this is critical—if you put a bull ant in your pocket near your crown jewels, you must be absolutely certain it is dead.
