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.
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.
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