when we stumbled over each other in the Australian outback in 99, I was young and eager to explore the wild on my own, something you had already achieved long before. I did not know your name, nor your face, and you, ever so humble, appreciated that more than I knew. With me, you were able to be an ordinary man.
Camp Cooee turned upside down with you around, as it sometimes did, despite its location way out in the bush, nestled between the trees. We became friends and brothers in arms for a brief time, and despite my inability to explain the theory of relativity to someone as hyper as you, you still perked up and listened with a bright shine in your eyes when I told you that all the world and its inhabitants are made from stardust. It was the same shine you always had when we talked about wildlife.
I'm thankful to have learned a great deal from you about the outback, survival methods, how to deal with snakes and other dangerous wildlife. It has been my honor and privilege calling you my friend and jumping a Porosus with you and the others of the team. It might well be thanks to you and your advice that I made it through the outback as unharmed as I did.
Never again have I met a human as passionate and full of life as you. And just like I told you at the camp fire one evening, I still believe that one of the main problems of this world is that people like you and I don't own it and decide what is sustainable and what isn't.
Today is the 5th anniversary of your death. As long as I am able to breathe and think, I shall never forget you or the day you died, doing what you did best: being an ordinary man without any need for acting, filming wildlife and creating passion and wonder in other people.
Your infectious enthusiasm is felt to this day and is unlikely to leave the world of nature television for a long, long time.
I miss ya, Steve.