Australia Visit - Day 13 - BarraPaulLooza 9

It’s just gone 10am and guess what, it’s blue skies and hot here in Burketown. It’s our last day here and we’ve got to be out of the donga by ten tomorrow morning. There is a refreshing breeze blowing and it’s not as hot as it has been previously.

A nice morning at Burketown caravan park

Just before lunch the old man, Paul and myself headed back out to Escott. Paul got a good haul of cherabin and after flicking around for a while longer we lost at least one more lure each. On the way back Paul suggested having a try at the dump. The water actually looked pretty good but it was like fishing in a blast furnace. The ground was stinking hot and the sun relentlessly beat down. We didn’t get anything at the first set of snags but after a couple of casts I had a silver flash dart out from under a set of snags. It had three or four swipes before finally hooking up. It was only a queenie but it came out of the water a couple of times and ran a bit. I tightened the drag up to haul him in and up the bank but before I could there was a big grey swirl and another one of my fish was swiped by a shark. This time the shark was bigger but only got the fish just above the tail, neatly cutting the fish’s peduncle. The shark didn’t come back to finish the job though.

Me, holding the queenfish that had been attacked by another shark

It didn’t take too long before the heat chased us back to the donga where I had another meat pie and relaxed a little. After a brief rest we headed over to the caravan office to buy some trinkets of the trip and have a chat with the lady running the show. The trip is winding down and everyone is beginning to pack up and get ready to leave. Paul reckons we’ll be leaving about 8:00am on the way back to Richmond. We’ll probably only get one more fishing session in, but we do still have to get out to Escott to pick up the yabby pots. I personally hope we spend the incoming tide at the bridge coming into town but I fear Paul will have us at Escott again. I’m sure it won’t make any difference on the number of barra we get anyway. All in all though I think it’s been a good trip for the family. Not many fish but we haven’t had any big barnies, no vehicle or equipment problems, no croc or snake bites. The food was all first quality and we did get to see a morning glory.

Down on Escott Crossing

"No officer, we didn't see the sign"


Come late afternoon Paul and I decided to head out to the bridge over the Albert River. We headed back down to the “china wall” and in a few casts we had plenty of live mullet, then off to the bridge we went. Almost as soon as we got there was a splash out by the bridge so I ran over there and had a few flicks. A large long tom (about five feet long) charged out and had a go at the lure. In the next few minutes he came out again but never hooked up. Paul on the other hand had a good run, followed by another run just a few minutes later. He soon had a good sized fingermark red (50cm) in the bag. It wasn’t much later the rod went off again but again it didn’t hook up.
Looking upstream from the bridge on the Albert River

The Albert River Bridge

A sentiment shared by many

Paul and a nice Fingermark Red


Before the sun went down I also managed my first king (cooktown) salmon and although it wasn’t big it was my first Aussie salmon. Apart from another catfish we didn’t get anything else but it was a pleasant few hours to end our trip.

My first Cooktown Salmon

Dinner was the fresh fingermark and salmon and cherabin before a quick trip out to Escott to pick up the pots. I had a couple more casts but lacked conviction. It was very dark and quite spooky. They say that crocs get more confident the more consequtive nights you frequent a spot. In fact, the old black fella we spoke to said never fish the same spot three nights in a row. So with no light and the tide being so low that it was almost impossible to get a good cast away without getting into a bad position close to the water, I ensured just a few token casts. We got another good haul of cherabin, cleared out the pots amidst an explosion of tiny midges or gnats that got up your nose, in your mouth and throat and even your eyes and ears, and headed back to the donga for a quick clean up and off to bed. Tomorrow is the long drive back to Richmond.

Australia Visit - Day 12 - BarraPaulLozza 8

Up around 11:30am to pounding rain. Hopefully a good sign for fishing but we don’t want too much so we’re stranded here. Spent the morning just catching up on this journal and speaking shit. Mum was doing her crossword while dad worked on sketches. Paul slept in as long as possible but as soon as he got up he was running on all cylinders doing odds and ends.

Mum, doing her crosswords while Paul slept in

Mum, Paul and I headed down to the servo to fill up the gas bottles and I bought a few odds and ends for the kids. After lunch I went back to sleep while Paul and dad headed out to Escott to check the pots. Paul had no intentions of fishing but dad went to flick a lure while Paul checked for yabbies. Paul even bet ten bucks that he’d get more yabbies than dad caught barra. In the first couple of casts dad had a swipe with a gold bomber on so even after Paul had done with the pots the two of them kept casting at the snags out from the saltwater side of the crossing. Eventually the old man hooked up and it was a good fish. It took a while to land and was worth the wait coming in at 85cm and 11 pounds. A pretty good fish and the largest we’ve seen to date and contrasted sharply with an absence of cherabin in the pots. I suspect somebody may have helped themselves to those pots. Of coarse I was awoken when they returned and the old man certainly has some spring in his step now. It gave us hope that the rain had pushed a few fish up and maybe they’d be chewing on the upcoming tide.

Dad's Barra - A good fish

Same fish but the flash subtracts the background

We finally headed out to Escott around 11:30pm to a very low tide, but it was at least pushing up. In the moons absence the sky was dark and stars were shining bright. I weird textured pattern of clouds known as a mackeral sky stretched out from the south-west. By the time the moon did rise there’d been one small run on a bait and nothing to show for our efforts with lures. Dad and I even rolled a fly over for a while but the country just isn’t very accommodating for the technique. The waning moon looked down cloaked in a moisture ring to witness a familiar sight, the three of us fishing while the fish weren’t eating. The flying foxes were making their regular sorties but there was an absence of wallabies around. The crocs were fairly active but there was no sign of any larger ones. All in all it was a quite night and not wanting to repeat the previous nights efforts we gave it away just after 2am. Still, the day was a success by this trips standards with a nice sized barra. I wonder if that’s the last one? It’s probably pretty safe to suggest it is.

Australia Visit - Day 11 - BarraPaulLooza 7

After the big night out we were all slow out of bed (got back at 5:30am). Noon well and truly rolled by and we slept through it. Later, we found out the lady at the caravan park had tried to wake us to let us know that some really good morning glory cloud formations were rolling in, ut we didn't stir. We finally all crawled up at about 1:30pm. Paul and I zoomed out to Escott to check and re-bait the pots. He’d filleted his small king salmon (Cooktown Salmon) and the leftovers filled the pots. The final pot had an absolute monster in it. When we got back we got in and sorted our gear out a bit before Paul whipped up the fresh salmon. Absolutely nothing wrong with that stuff I’ll tell you. It definitely tasted better than barra and had a really white, flakey flesh. Apparently it doesn’t freeze well but I would be hard to beat fresh. Paul and mum skipped over to the shop and bought a few things and then it was time to head back over to the “mud-hole” that we’d now renamed the “shithole” on account of two of us now having fringed it’s banks with a case of the squirts. We got there about 5:30pm.

Now that's a big cherabin which is a whole lot of YUM

Despite what appeared to be a favorable tide and dusk occurring conveniently during the first big push of the tide, we didn’t have a run. I may be a little mistaken, as there might be a small catfish in there, but certainly there was nothing memorable. The night was significantly different from the night before. The previous night had been breezy during the afternoon and the wind dropped off as the sun went down. The air was clear and low in humidity and the milky way and a full collection of stars was visible across the sky from horizon to horizon until the moon began to rise. Because of the wind and subsequent dust, the sunset had been very red and spectacular as it dipped below the mangroves that obscured our view of the horizon. This evening however, started quite still and an eerie breeze began after the sun set, which kept the sand-flies at bay. The air was somewhat heavier and distant lightning was flashing away to the west and north. Whereas the night before had quite a flurry of splishes and sploshes intermingled with the odd booff of a barra across the creek surface, this night was noticeably quieter. It just felt very different. When 9:10 rolled by we headed back to the donga for some fantastic pork chops and noodles. I know I've said this a lot but the food on this trip was fantastic. After the meal we rested up a little for a few hours before jumping in the rig to head back out to Escott.

Paul getting a grocery list together before cooking up yet another brilliant meal

The first sighting of Escott wasn’t inspiring. We planned to hit it because the larger tide had the potential to move water up to the causeway (something noticeably absent on our trip so far). Unfortunately, the water was barely higher than we’d seen it all week. We decided to sit and watch for a while, and flung out a couple of cherabin on hooks to nurse while we waited. The tide evidently was coming in and was soon gushing in. Bait was nervously sploshing around everywhere and things looked very good. It wasn’t long before Paul’s reel went off but it was only a small catfish. In my usual way I was shining the torch around scouting for croc eyes (they reflect red in the torch beam) and the usual suspects were lying about in the usual places, but I noticed one zooming in at a fast rate of knots. He kept coming in towards the northern end of the causeway with the torch on him, then turned went a small distance then submerged. He turned facing towards us and I noticed the distance between his two eyes was quite large, not a good sign. Anyway, once submerged he was lost to us. Dad was flicking away with lures when my reel screamed off. I grabbed it and set the hook. The fish kept going and I saw a boil as the fish passed a submerged snag then my line went limp. Bait, hook, trace and sinker were gone.

My heart was still pumping with adrenaline when I heard a scraping noise down from us on the causeway. I grabbed the torch and instantly summoned the others. A big croc (probably close to 12 feet) was clambering from the saltwater to the freshwater side. We ran to get closer and got a few photos before it slipped down the rocks and out of sight. That certainly got us a bit excited and jumpy but was quite a sight to behold. The hours ran on and we scored on a couple more catfish (and even they weren’t biting aggressively) but nothing exciting. The storms in the distance were slowly closing the gap as the moon slowly headed west across the path of stars, falling stars and satellites giving proof that time wasn’t standing still as we laid gazing towards the heavens.

A big croc that had just dragged itself across the causeway - right past us

In the night stillness we suddenly heard something way upstream. A lot of water was being thrashed around accompanied by croc calls. There would be splashing for a few seconds and then be quite for a bit, then more of the same. This went on for a few minutes and then subsided. We figured it was either two crocs fighting or a croc getting into a cow. It stopped as suddenly as it began and the quiet stillness of the wee hours enveloped us. Eventually, Paul decided to throw a bait over on the freshwater side of the causeway and was quickly rewarded with a run. It was a catfish. A few minutes later another run, and although it never hooked up it was almost certainly a catfish also. The bait was repositioned in close to a big paperbark tree. We didn’t have to wait long and the bait was smacked. Paul ran over and the fish was on. Although initially skeptical it might be another catfish a silver form thrashing above the water soon let us know a barra was the culprit. He was a spirited fish but probably around 45-50cm. It certainly lifted Paul and my spirits but the old man had since retired to the rig for some shut-eye. That buoyed our spirits enough to check a few more pots and have three lines out there but apart from another catfish nothing else came to hand. As the sun popped up we were headed back to town into a developing thunderhead. Perhaps this storm buildup is the final peg to switching the fish on but we’re feeling the clock is running down and if it doesn’t happen soon it won’t happen. We were in bed by 6:30am. The croc encounter definitely made the night worthwhile. That was a very cool experience!

Australia Visit - Day 8-10 - BarraPaulLooza 4-6

October 26. The day started waiting for Paul to rise from slumber. He finally got up around lunchtime and we soon headed over to some spots over behind the dump. We (Dad, Paul and I) flicked lures but the sun was boring down full throttle. There was virtually no movement in the tide, the water was clean (for Burketown anyway) and there was virtually no bait around, let or lone barra. Between the three of us we did scout the place out fairly well and with some bigger tides some good back-eddies would probably develop in around the nice deep snags.

A wallaby and some brolgas along the bank of the Albert River (behind the dump)

We also headed over to check out a spot given to us from the lady at the caravan park. It was down on the Albert and was called “the meatworks”. It was a junction where the river had flowed and the current river flows. There was plenty of bait around and it looked pretty fishy but our few flicks came up empty. Again, better tides would probably make a difference.

After a brief trip out to Escott to bring home another good haul of cherabin dad prepared dinner. It was a huge feast of steak and bacon with a few cherabin as a side. I can’t say enough about the quality of the meat Paul brought. After dinner, and a few bouts of the squirts, Paul and I headed out to “the mud-hole” to catch the top of the tide at eleven. We couldn’t get any bait at “china wall” so preceded to head down to the spot. One cast of the cast-net scored all the mullet we’d need and in no time there were four live baits drifted out.

Paul readying to throw the cast-net

Another Perfect Circle with the Cast-net as the sun goes down over the "mudhole"

We sat out with no sign of activity for quite some time. For some reason, I stood up and wandered over to the rods. I think I was checking for crocs but while I was standing there a reel half-heartedly went off. I looked down to see the rod tip bent over and simultaneously a silver barra leaped from the water. The rod was scooped up and although the fish didn’t have too much room to move in the skinny water, it was fairly aerobatic. It was soon brought to Paul’s able hand and our first decent barra of the trip was landed. It was a huge relief! We'd also just heard from a local fella we’d been talking to before dinner, the tide and moon meant there’d be no fish. We had one more half-hearted run but it didn’t stay connected before we headed home. The fish went 6 pounds (2.9kg) and 69cm. Not good but good enough for starters.

My First Barra of the Trip

October 27. – Another slow start getting out of bed but we loaded into the rig to check the pots at Escott. Another nice haul but every time I step out into that mid day heat I am amazed at the dizzying strength of the sun and the sheer heat that seeps everything out of you. It sure would have been a miserable place to die of “the fever” like so many people have in the last century or so. Burke and Wills sure must have been at wits end with the heat, starvation, dehydration and having absolutely no idea where they were. What a harsh and desolate climate, and the humidity of the wet season hasn’t even begun!

With my stomach settling the three of us decided to head back over to the “mud-hole” for the upcoming tide, which should be the first decent tide since the neap ones of the full moon, then skip back to the donga for a quick meal of steak, then slide back out to try our luck behind the dump. As dusk fell the breeze dropped away and bait was flicking all about the place. It was a pretty sunset and there was definitely less sandflies and mosquitoes about.

Dad and I watch the sun go down at the "mud-hole"

We had several runs and a catfish or two came to hand. Barra were hitting the baits but very tentatively and would come to the surface immediately. It was virtually impossible to hook them. They just weren’t aggressive at all. Finally one hooked up as I set the hook and in a few minutes I was getting my picture taken with a 55cm barra. Again, not big but still a barra.

Another nice Barra

Barra were booffing and moving about but we’d already decided to leave so back to the donga we went. When we got to the spot behind the dump the tide was roaring and there was no bait about. The water was dirty and just didn’t look good. Paul couldn’t get any bait with the cast-net but it wouldn’t have been possible to fish with bait in the current anyway. After a blundered attempt to push through the rubber vine to a natural point and a sighting of a good sized brown snake we decided to head back to the “mud-hole”. When we got there the tide was high and no bait could be found. We headed back to the donga and called it a night. Still, one barra is better than none.

October 28. – Well I think we’ve got this figured out. Sleep and lay about during the heat of the day and fish during the night. Considering the amount of activity when we left the night previously we all decided the spot to go to was the “mud-hole”. The moon wasn’t out at dusk so we had a couple hours of darkness before the moon rose. The old man got a bit crook in the stomach but not too bad. There was the usual assortment of fickle barra and catfish but nothing exciting. Paul did get a fairly large shovel-nosed shark that we thought might be a barra for a while. The tide was quite big and as the night rolled on it kept coming. After a while it began to bust the bank and although I was getting a bit nervous Paul and dad decided there was no need to leave, we simply pulled the rods and gear up the ban as the tide rose. It was a bit iffy with water up one the shallow stuff and only a few feet from where we sat. It got a bit more iffy when Paul caught a catfish, slipped a knife along its guts and through it back into the mangroves by a small creek jutting off near where we were. A few minutes later there was something crashing abashing away in there that must have had some size. I wonder what it was? I sat and watched the tide come in as dad fell asleep. At about the top of the tide one of the rods screamed off and Paul sunk the hook into a good fish. It was always going to be tough because the line ran from where we sat, between the mangrove bushes that lined the creek bank and into the main channel. Paul’s fish came up and was a good-sized barra, certainly the biggest of the trip but he ran downstream but Paul hauled him out of those snags. It looked as though the fish was well hooked and almost beaten. Then the fish headed upstream and got behind another tree jumped and threw the hook. Paul was pissed off, as was I. After that the runs stopped coming, and feeling somewhat safer as the tide began to recede, I somehow fell asleep. Paul kept fishing and chasing bait, repositioning rods and I awoke briefly to a couple of runs and a smallish king salmon he landed in the wee hours. Finally, we decided we’d had enough of the mosquitoes and mud and figured we’d head out to see if Escott was any good. As we drove out Paul noticed the fuel was low so it was an easy decision to sneak back to the donga. It had been a hard, relatively fruitless night.

Sunset over the "Mud-hole"

Australia Visit - Day 7 - BarraPaulLooza 3

Well, this was supposed to be the day. Upstream of Escott crossing was the best looking barramundi water you could imagine. There was no boat ramp, it couldn't get too much fishing pressure (although afew people with nets could wipe it out) and fish must be heading down towards the salt to get ready to spawn. We just had to do well. After a slow start and a big feed of bacon and eggs we set off with the boat. There was no boat ramp but a steep, rocky slope we could use on one side of the crossing. There was a small (about five footer) croc sunning himself on the other side of the crossing while we readied the boat.

A small croc sunning himself downstream of the crossing

After a brief stint of man handling the boat we started up the electric trolling motor and began flicking lures into the likely looking snags. After a few minutes the fact we didn't have a fish in the boat was surprising, after an hour or so it was perplexing, but as we reached the top of the pool where it became too narrow to navigate in the boat the mood was dire. It was very hot, still and the water had been so perfect but we’d caught nothing. It was picturesque and fantastic. The water looked so inviting and was a fantastic temperature. We'd have all loved to have jumped in, but the threat of crocs was too overwhelming. There were kangaroos and wallabies lying up in the shade at every bend and the heat seemed to even be taking its toll on them.

In a shallow stretch I’d had a small barra charge out and take two swipes at my lure and shortly after, dad landed another small one, but that was it. We sat and ate our sandwiches, wandered a short way along the bank looking for a wallaby to shoot, but nobody had much conviction. It was a new low point for the trip. The thing is though, that our own expectations ruined what should have been an awesome trip. The three of us were together, in some magic country, miles from anyone and with a real possibility of landing the biggest barra of our lives at any moment. Being Wilkes' though, we just focused on the negatives and let ourselves become frustrated and disappointed. Did I mention it was hot yet?

A small barra that jumped on the old man's lure

On the motor back to the crossing dad did get a good run while trolling, and quickly thereafter scored a catfish, but that bite was squashed when he handed the “hot” lure over to me and we increased the speed measurably. I’m not sure why we did that but dad thought the lures ran better. Although I beg to differ I held my tongue. Oh, did I mention it was hot! We slipped the boat up onto the trailer without incident while the sun beat down on us. You here of people saying the pavement was hot enough to fry an egg, well the concrete on the crossing was hot enough to cook a turkey (IN ABOUT FIVE MINUTES). It was a quite trip back to the donga and I feel tensions almost boiled over, but somehow it blew over.

Paul headed over to the store at the caravan park and while he was buying a pack of cards for mum to use, he got a tip from the lady that runs the place. Apparently the Albert river runs down behind the town dump and the locals get fish there with lures. So, Paul and I decided to head down there and at least give it a look. Our latest theory on the lack of fish was that we all had cameras and video stuff so we decided to forego that stuff this time, just in case. At one of the spots two blokes, one white and one black sat with their hand lines out. They looked local and that was a good sign. Back at the other spot the almost full moon was up and a redness was beginning to show above the horizon. The spot wasn’t much to look at, being just a deeper bend along a shallow featureless stretch of the Albert River. There were a few snags and a gentle back eddy was formed but nothing eye catching.

I wandered down with a lure and three casts in a nice little barra (about 55-60cm) jumped on. He came out of the water, went on a brief run and then there was a big swirl. I saw that horrible grey and a tail that could only be one thing. Seconds later I pulled to the bank the head of a barra. The gills were still going and the shark was still circling to get the rest of its plunder, so I through the hapless head to its miserable plight. There was a fair amount of movement around and a few more casts revealed another roll but that was it. We couldn’t stay long as Paul need to use some of the remaining light to chase bait in the cast net but the short session relieved a little of the tension. Perhaps we were on the upswing.

Paul and I went down to China wall to rustle up bait. My job was to shine the torch and carry the bucket as Paul did all the work. This trend was definitely something that was eating at me, and I'm not sure if Paul and dad took over doing things because it's in their personalities or because they don't trust me to do any of it. I didn't want to impose my way of doing things on Paul's trip (although Paul didn't seem to mind dad's input) but it would have been nice if they'd delegated some of the responsibilities. If they were doing everything to show me a good time I certainly appreciate it, but I'd have liked to have been able to help out as well. Still, at this point it was best just to go with the flow and say nothing because everyone was at wits end and it wasn't worth ruining the trip over.

We swung by the donga and ate our snags and baked beans, then headed out to the main bridge that crosses the Albert River on the way in to Burketown. Nobody was there, a big full moon was high in the sky and our moods were quietly optimistic. Shortly after being there I had something white hit my lure, then a screaming run went racing off under the bridge. From the fight it was almost certainly a dirty big ray but we’ll never no as I busted it off after a long struggle. After that things went quite for a while. Dad’s rod had a brief run and then I had a huge barra hit my lure, shake his head violently a few times and swim back into the dark. Paul managed a couple catfish, a decent queenie and some regular bites sitting right on the bridge pile-ons.

At one point we had a car come and pull up right next to ours and a youngish guy stepped out and strolled down towards up. He obviously had no idea of how things are done out here and wandered right up to Paul expecting a sociable welcome. He proceeded to tell us in his American accent how he’d caught what he thought was a mackerel at the bridge the other day but when Paul showed some sceptism he pulled out his digital camera to reveal a queenfish. Upon being informed we had baits strung out all along the bank he headed to the other side of the bridge, he had a few casts and pissed off wishing us a “goodnight gentlemen” sentiment as he left. I think he was a bit miffed at the reception he’d received but he’d have gotten much worse had he pulled up so close to real locals!

Another indication that we were in a remote setting came when a car came racing down the highway at very high speed, turned around behind us and sped back across the bridge towards town. Moments later another came did the same but the two cars met up then proceeded to park rear end to rear end in the middle of the bridge and turn the engines off. I should remind you this one lane bridge is the only road into Burketown (except west towards the aboriginal mission of Doomagee). Between the two cars there was probably about ten fellas, all young blokes. We'd heard stories about trouble for white fellas like us with groups of the local black fellas so we got a bit nervous. Dad and I sat on the far bank while Paul was stranded out on a bridge gurder, just out of view of the fellas. Although he had no conviction about it, dad slipped back into the shadows near the truck (where the .22 was) just to keep an eye on things and stay out of view. As it turns out, the guys had just come down to look at the river to decided if it was worth fishing and when one of them peered over the side and saw Paul he nearly died of fright. They turned out to be good fellas and chatted away with Paul for a while. They elected not to fish and from the sounds of things there might have been some chroming (sniffing paint cans) going on. They blocked that bridge for over an hour, well aware that the chances of other traffic was very limited, and they were right. It was fantastic to be fishing in such a remote place.

We sat well into the wee hours of the morning. The moon was up and almost full, there were no bugs and it was relatively cool. A relaxing evening but the trip is still overshadowed by the ever-present lack of barra. It is the 800 pound gorilla standing in the room that nobody is talking about. Perhaps our luck is about to change but it doesn’t look good. Tomorrow night is the full moon.

Australia Visit - Day 6 - BarraPaulLooza 2

October 24th. On the short drive to the from Burketown to the Albert River boat ramp there is a small feeder creek that winds up into the saltpans and fills up with bait on a high tide. The water pushes up to a concrete culvert that halts the migration of predatory fish and is a great ambush point for fishermen on an incoming tide, known locally as China Wall. Paul had worked out the high tide would be a little after 8am so we got out there a little after six and headed to a nice little spot just downstream from China Wall. As you might expect in the muddy, mangroves there was no shortage of sand-flies or mosquitoes, especially before the sun came up and Paul was soon covered in mud as he quickly caught some beautiful mullet in the cast-net.

One thing I noticed about Paul was he'd become as proficient and expert at working out the patterns and peculiarities of bait-fish as the predatory fish he pursued. I have also never met someone as skillful with a cast-net, and I've fished with some pretty decent fishermen. Apart from one single time (Dad was watching and anyone is excused for cracking under the scrutinizing pressure of his gaze) I never saw Paul throw a cast that wasn't a perfect circle, and even that one bad cast resulted in a couple of mullet. Perhaps the finest example of this was one particular hole above China wall that was about five feet in diameter and Paul managed to get his eight foot spread net into a perfect circle encapsulating the bait and not getting caught on the rocks around it, and all this was done from a bank about five feet above the water! If I don't mention it again, I couldn't have been more impressed with the bait gathering ability Paul showed. We were never without fresh live bait, not once.

Fishing wasn't particularly fast and furious but a healthy diet of annoying catfish kept us busy. We did get to see our first morning glory roll by. It wasn’t an especially impressive one but as the breeze blew by it at least blew away some of the sand flies. The morning glory is a famous cloud formation that forms in the gulf around September and October each year. It is a vast wall cloud that forms out in the gulf and they can be up to 100 km long and clearly visible from space. The clouds roll south and "suck up" all the low level clouds in their path. In fact, glider pilots from around the world congregate in Burketown for the chance to surf these giant, fast moving waves. Generally they only form early in the morning and sometimes you can get three, four or even more in a row of them. They can be very impressive sights.

Our First Morning Glory Cloud Formation

After a few runs, (dad's rod seemed to be the hot stick) Paul finally landed a chub-nosed salmon. That kind of explained the regular runs but few hook-ups because salmon are notorious for running with a bait and dropping it at the slightest hint of resistance. My first real excitement came when a rod screamed off and Paul ordered me to grab it. All we saw was a silver streak leap clear of the water behind a small mangrove tree, so coupled with the electric reel scream, hopes were high that we'd have our first barra. The fish carried on like it was possessed before finally coming to view in the green stained water. It was a queenfish that fought well beyond it's size. I was well pleased.

A Decent Queenfish that fought well Beyond itself

On that particular tide we score a couple of chub-nosed salmon, a couple of queenfish, catfish and had a small barra whack at one of the baits a number of times but failed to hook up. Close, but no cigar! We also caught a sawfish. This unusual looking fish is quite common and can grow to about fourteen feet in length. Although the one dad got wasn't a big one it had taken the bait well down and was bleeding heavily when we landed it, so we filleted it up and kept the saw, which would make a nice momento when it was dried.

Dad with a small sawfish

The place was fairly typical of a mangrove creek, sand-flies, mosquitoes, that thick, heavy air and all of the pops and clicks and splishes and splashes. The place was alive with bait fish and herons and egrets and all the usual water birds. There are also so many brolgas around on the saltpans and wallabies and kangaroos were absolutely everywhere. The place felt like the far end of the earth and once the sun came up it felt as though it was the end of the earth that was closest to the sun. It was HOT so after the tide turned we headed back to the air-conditioning and regrouped.

Mum faithfully guarding Basecamp (A.K.A. "The Donga")

It mightn't look like much but the airconditioner was AWESOME!!!


The afternoon saw Paul and I head out to Escott crossing again. We checked the pots for cherapin, of which we got a few, and Paul rustled up some mullet with the cast net. We wandered down to a high, shady sandbar and floated out the baits. There was a small croc in the paper barks but we couldn’t see it, with only the characteristic call giving it away. Although it was a pleasant and relaxing way to spend an afternoon, the lack of fish and intense heat fueled a growing sense of frustration. When we got back to the donga I collapsed and slept pretty much through the night. Paul did head back to Escott for a night session but saw no more luck than we’d seen in the afternoon. It was starting to look grim. To add to the woes I developed a case of the squirts.

Australia Visit - Day 5-BarraPaulLooza 1

October 23rd. - After getting up pretty early Paul and I checked the yabby pots at Escott crossing and scored 7 cherabin.None of the pots looked as though they'd been raided or tampered with by crocs, so that was a good thing. An air of excitement was upon us. We flicked lures around for a short while and the old man managed a small barra but was too embarrassed to have his reputation tarnished by having his picture taken with it. It was a pretty little fish.

Paul checking one of the yabby pots.

One of the cherabin (trust me, they're delicious!)

After a breakfast of bacon and eggs we headed down to the boat ramp out on the salt flats and launched. Before heading out we stopped at the servo, filled up, grabbed some ice and a plain pie. Driving out from the caravan park we quickly left the sparse scrubby country and found ourselves amidst the heat haze of a treeless, vast saltpan. The sun was beating down with all the vigor it could muster and the wind howled in from towards the river mouth. After checking to ensure the outboard would start, mum and dad took the rig back to the van park.

The rig all ready to go at the Albert River boat-ramp.

We headed upstream and got a heap of big, fat, juicy mullet in no time on a shallow sand-flat. After that we ran quite a ways downstream to almost where the creek arm runs into the main Albert River to a set of snags that Paul had caught barra at before. We set up in the blazing sun and a very blustery wind. After we set up the umbrella things were much improved. The river is a huge, meandering river serpentining it’s shallow-bowled way across the sprawling flats and saltpans of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The banks are lined with only mangroves amidst the browny-yellow mud.

The run down to Paul's barra snag.

Only the best - Abu Ambassadeur 6500s and 7000s all around

We sat without interest for probably two hours before the largest of the mullet screamed off. Despite our enthusiasm and a long fight all that came to hand was a large (around 20 pounds) catfish. That was quite a letdown. A bit later another reel screamed off with the same result. Despite one strong run back towards a snag that didn’t hook up, we scored nothing but catfish and we were well ready to return to boat-ramp when the afternoon was done.

After a dinner of possibly the best steak I’ve ever eaten, Paul and I headed out to Escott crossing to check the pots and flick lures for a while. I could only see three sets of croc eyes as I shone the torch and we didn’t stay too long but again caught nothing. Our only conciliation was finding a brand new reidy’s lure stuck along the causeway.

Australia Visit - Day 4 - Up to Burketown

NB: The first part of this is directly from the journal I was keeping during my trip. I wrote it as the sun came up and I was awake due to jetlag. I was sitting on the front steps of Paul's house. The second part was written after the long drive up to Burketown.

Paul and Family's House

Day 4 (Monday 22nd October)- Well, it’s just gone past 5:30am and I’ve been awake now since about 4:00am. I’m out sitting on the front steps listening and watching a flock of galahs numbering well into the hundreds that roost across the road from Paul in what looks to be one of those big trees with the long, brown seed pods. All of the upper branches are stripped bare of leaves but are now alive with manic flapping and squabbling. The shrieks and screeches are constant and blend together into a much amplified version of the calls one might hear from frogs down by a swamp at night, crecendoing into a raucous seizure as any kind of stimulous passes by, such as a road train or hawk. In front of me stands a tall water tower that bares the namesake of the caravan park from which the base sits as it reaches toward the endless skies that stretch toward oblivion in all directions around us. From that loosely stretches a wire towards an electricity pole the main road out of town. At the point of intersection four tightly drawn wires that run east/west along the main road in town converge with the loose one, and collectively they head off towards the substation just east of town along the road as it begins its long, straight passage back towards the coast.

A few more minutes have passed and the sun is bursting over the horizon, as though full of enthusiasm for the upcoming day. If yesterday is anything to go by, the sun in this place certainly enjoys its work more than in many places across the globe as it scorches down across the landscape with vigour and conviction, leaving little doubt as one moves across the land as to when the sun is beating a direct path upon your shoulders and exposed neck, or if some shade is partially cloaking some of the suns zealousness. The skyscape is rich and a fresher, cleaner more environmentally refreshing palette I don’t remember witnessing beckons the new day. I can’t help but wonder if the upcoming day can live up to the almost perfect scene that it has begun with. Mixed in with the screeching galahs, which are subsiding slightly as the birds begin to disperse into the endless habitat between their roost and the horizon circumnavigating us at an unimaginably far off distance.

Some details are revealing themselves to my eyes as the gently enveloping light seaps into the scene. I liken the mood of the sun to that of a young child, probing the mood as they enter their parents’ bedroom early in the morning. Can they come in? Is it too early? Will they get in trouble or be welcomed under the covers? Maybe even get to switch on the television and watch cartoons, but that is almost too wonderful to hope for! I feel as though I could return the sun under the horizon by simply bellowing my disapproval to the heavens. However, I know that this level of confidence will be short lived and in no time at all the sun will be beaming down with all of it’s strength, arrogantly sure of itself and completely unconcerned with my willingness or ability to withstand what it has in store.

In the distance a few crows have begun calling for me. I hear their challenge to get up and explore this place. Other calls I can’t identify ring out from a myriad of birds I guiltily can’t identify. It is now just past 6 o’clock, the galahs and their shrieks have all but left the immediate vicinity and now a rich blend of calls are available to me that were previously drowned out. Joining noises is an inviting blend of smells. Although the unmistakable odour of Tara wafts across to me in small, ripply waves, other earthy tints tantilize me. Flowers are in bloom in the median strip of the road and wattles are in bloom out there in the sprawling bushland. More that flowers though is just a smell of the land. The human population just isn’t large enough to drown out the land here. Sure, there are cars and trucks and roads and electricity poles and wires and shops and all the things that people need but it is amidst a sprawling sea of bush. A kind of balance and equilibrium I can’t help but feel is much more environmentally healthy than any other system I know. The impacts of an individual here can be quickly negated by the vastness of everything, providing a true sense of freedom. Where I live I feel the loss of every fish I fillet and ever deer or creature I harvest, here the system appears so strong and vast that anything I could take would be inconsequential. Perhaps that is as it should be.

It has just slipped past 6:30am and the sun’s attitude has changed. Already the suns rays are unapologetically beaming across me. The flame has changed from orange to white and the delicate comfort of coolness will soon be burnt off to await the end of the suns shift and subsequent trip out of sight, presumably to the nearest pub, before it can again slide unobtrusively over this place.

I feel very disconnected to this place. I don not know the birds, the trees, the soils. The people, even those with whom I share this house are varying degrees of strangers. I do not belong here, or perhaps, here doesn’t belong to me. I am not sure what the upcoming trip will hold. I feel each of us is expecting, or hoping for different things from it, and I fear it may end in disappointment but we'll see I guess.

Paul's situation here is great. I like the town, the house and the people here and even his job seems pretty good. Mate, I even love his dog! There's so much space to get away and explore and a perfect place to raise kids.

Paul standing at the steps for his morning cigarette with Tara

The Family dog, Tara

Well, it was an interesting drive, not at all as I imagined it would be. The land got sparser and sparser before somewhat reversing the trend but in a completely different way. The land is vast and appears somewhat unfit for life of any sort but animals are everywhere, especially birds. We’ve seen plenty of emus closer to Paul’s place and camels and more wallabies and kangaroos than you can point a stick at. Birds of all shapes and sizes. Out here there are brolgas everywhere you look and a few jabirus are flying about. Hawks and eagles and all the small parrots and others are calling about from all corners of this place. It is hot, dry and dusty though and those things I can’t emphasize enough. There is a real sense that if you screamed at the top of your lungs nobody or nothing would hear you. It’s hard for me to imagine I’m on the same planet as Plainview, Minnesota.

Getting ready for the Trip to Burketown

We stopped for sandwiches at a place called Burke and Wills. It is little more than a truck stop. We’d just finished passing a whole heap of idiots on mail-man motorbikes that were on a rally from “Brisbane to Cairns, via the Gulf” so as they started to file into the place we knew it was time to leave. The last stretch was dirt but we did stop at a stretch of the Leichardt River, way up in the fresh for a coffee break. Pretty, wide open country.

The Crew just north of Julia Creek for a pitstop

A nice spot on the Leichardt River


Our first view of the waters we’d be fishing was the bridge over the Albert on the way into town. It looked pretty good to me. As we entered town there was a very greeting sign - Burketown, the barramundi capital of Australia. What could be better than that?
Our first look at the Albert River


Not a bad to sign to encounter when you're hoping to catch a few barramundi



We got all set up at the caravan park in a very flash, and airconditioned, donga and set off for Escott crossing on the Nicholson River. It was a great looking spot and bait was splishing about. We threw lures for an hour or so to no avail, set up yabby pots and headed home. I had such high expectations I was a little disappointed with no fish but there’s still plenty of time.