Here We Go Again - Chapter 15 - Gladstone Day 2

The morning meets us grey and overcast but not cold like most other mornings. During the night I even had want to kick off the blankets such was the warmth in the van. The oncoming cold snap evidently has a burst of warmth in front of it. Today we are expecting a very comfortable 25 degrees.

Before retiring I did a trip to the amenities block, circling back via the boat ramp on a level where Forbsy is parked and much lower than the main level where we are situated. Having heard of sightings of red eyes in the water I was a little intrigued. Intrepidly I edged closer to the water but saw nothing peering back at me from the black abyss of the creek. There is a fish cleaning table here, but if there is one thing I remember from the previous trips is not to show any regularity in actions. The use of that table, right on the waters edgeI would have thought would qualify as regularity and encourage any crocodile smelling and swimming in the scales and offcuts of someones catch, might think there could be more than a morsel of food available

I returned to the van, happy I had not encountered what I went looking for. Perhaps I will throw that lure in the morning on the high tide – perhaps not.

Morning and I can’t help myself. The call of the water with something large to catch is overwhelming. With my telescopes rod in hand, a packet of frozen prawns (which during the day would turn out to be the best bait we use), I head towards the boat ramp on the bottom level of the caravan park. There is a new sign here suggesting there was a croc sighting in the last 7 days and although the receding tide is now a short distance from the mangroves, the hairs on the back of the neck still stand.

There are 2 cleaning tables here. One at what appears to be the high tide mark, the other much further from the water. I choose the latter to bait up and ready myself for the glorious fighters ahead – well in my mind I do.

I sneak down the boat ramp for the first time, checking on its slipperiness in case there is a need to reverse in a hurry.  For a rushing tide the water is relatively clear. I know from my reconnoitering yesterday there are some rocks off to the left of the rampo. Submerged now they will appear during the ebbing tide, but they may yield something.

Expertly, well as much as I can muster, I direct baited hooks in the general direction of the rocks. Take a few steps back up the ramp for a little safety and settle in to wait. Bites are almost instantaneous, small nibbles then a strike and I am on. It’s  not big but it’s a fish. The fish immediately heads for the mangroves and snags me. It is not 5 meters from the ramp but I am not venturing into the water. I let the line slacken a little and the fish comes away from the snag and I land it. A small bream, undersize but a win all the same.

I re-bait and launch again. In the tree beside me is a rod holder screwed into the wood. I snap a shot and post to Facebook suggesting its a rare “rod holder tree”. I suspect someone like me did not like the idea of the red eyes of night watching as they were close to the waters edge and use it for protection.

Another bite, another bream. Even smaller this time. A peanut gallery has formed and I am encouraged to use chicken as bait for “grunter”, but I am having fun with the bream for now.

From time to time the water erupts with activity. Mullet and other fish are playfully splashing in the ebbing tide. All of a sudden the nibbles stop, then start again but this time they are different. The line runs off and the reel begins to scream as line is peeled off. I tighten the drag and the fish jumps. Could it be, am onto a small barramundi?

More jumps, more loss of line until finally I began to win. Landing the fish creates pandemonium. Forbsy has joined me and he is in thongs whereas I am in runners (suitable for quick exits should it be needed). The fish, which could be described as a legess freshwater crocodile in appearance, is very cranky long tom. It has teeth, lots of them and it is thrashing around chimping at everything in sight. The fish is almost a  metre long and should it manage to latch onto flesh could do quite a bit of damage.

The fish grips allow for distance between the choppers and my hands, and a pair of pliers does the job on the hooks. Not a particularly tasty fish, it is returned to the briny depths from which it came. Adrenaline fix had, time for exploring. 

Joining Forbsy, we head off. Nowhere in particular, just off. We wander the streets close to the creeks and inlets looking for a park reported to have binoculars, a vantage point where we could count the number of waiting shops. The naked eye said 30 but looks can be deceiving. As well as the binoculars, as reports have it, is a coffee shop delivering Gladstone’s best coffee. Robyn and I not being coffee drinkers we will not be able gauge the fare of the shop but Forbsy, that is a different story.

The wandering finds the park, with the adjacent coffee shop. Through the binoculars there are more like 40 ships anchored in eye shot. We see one coming through the straits heading for the port. One of the luckier ones or simply its time.

We meander across the street to the coffee shop. It is interesting that you walk past a smoothie shop, with much more advertising, to get to the coffee shop. The coffee shop is really a Knick Knack shop with a small coffee barista machine at the front. Forbsy asks the barista which, the coffee or the knick knacks are the greater turnover. The answer “it depends on the day”. Evidently it doesn’t matter if its weekend or a special occasion, you just cannot pick which part of the shop will perform better than the other. At least while we were there the only thing heading out the door was libations.

Bruce calls. He has finished work and is heading home to become a fisherman for the afternoon. Not under any pressure we finish our libations and morsel treats of hedgehog and caramel slice then head back.

We beat Bruce to the vans, just. I ask what gear we might need and he shrugs his shoulders. We are kinda going to a beach type inlet near the refinery. A place where he likes to walk his dogs and as he would like to get back into fishing as he approaches retirement, is as good a place as any to start. He has procured some fresh prawns and frozen squid and prawns as bait. I throw in the two beach rods, the telescopic rod and some reels as well as grabbing my tackle bag.

Silver Leader is still out with Rose wandering the streets in search of grandchildren’s birthday presents and Forbsy is in need of a cat anp, so Bruce and I head off as a leading party so to speak. 

As we travel I text Silver Leader with directions. Bruce suggests rather tna put the Cruiser on the beach he will return to a point close to the entrance to pick them up. The entrance of the beach to the suggested spot is some distance along the presently wide beach as it is approaching low tide. There are times when he looks at cutting across small water inlets but discretion takes the better part of valour and we re-track, to not chance getting bogged in the mud.

When we reach the spot we have travelled some distance. The ebbing tide has left vast areas of sand exposed but the well defined creek gives up a place to fish.

I set up the large beach rods with gear set for larger fish and the telescopic rod for smaller ones. I have thrown in a chair to sit on and wedge the telescopic rod in that whilst setting the other one in the sand. Whilst I am not lookin the rod in the chair is jiggling and then is dislodged. Bruce grabs it just as it is about to become submerged. Its a reasonable fish and he begins to fight it. Shortly, we have an edible bream on the beach.

Well done. Pictures are taken, although later I notice my attempts to video the catch failed miserably.

There is disturbance in the middle of the creek. A dugong is feeding on the grasses in the middle of the creek. Being herbivorous he should not cause issue with the fish. From time to time he breaches quite close. I attempt to take a picture but his haphazard approach to surfacing makes it a challenge.

All of a sudden whilst trying to capture a breach I am struck with a large strike of the bait on the telescopic rod. I throw my phone to Bruce to video the fight – he does a much better job than I – and a minute or so later we have a quite large bream on the beach and ready to be placed in the esky with his predecessor. 

Two fish in the bag and the others are yet to arrive.

Finally we get the call and Bruce hurries off to collect them. On his return it is now, two high tech fishermen (Silver Leader and Forbsy), one being a tournament winning bream fisherman, the other being his partner in crime on many fishing expeditions versus the two of aboriginal descent with the old fashioned bait method.

The fresh bait is not working very well. I am getting much more bite activity on the rancid frozen prawns. The high tech merchants are getting nothing.

Bruce disappears around the corner with the others leaving me to fish the spot I had already succeeded. The bites have stopped so I up satkes and go to join the others. Bruce meets me, flathead in hand, heading for the esky to deposit our third fish. As we meet I hurl my bait into the water and almost immediately have another “monster” strike.

Even bigger than the last one this bream puts up a hell of a fight but eventually succumbs to my reeling and ends up in the esky. Four to nothing, and dont we rub it in.

Its getting dark and the rancid prawns are done, time to clean the fish – yes Silver Leader there are four to clean – and head home.

The failing light reveals just how far the tide has risen. What was a vast area of beach to drive is now a thin sliver of negotiable area. Getting to the “on ramp” the vehicle slown, not for the lack of accelerator pressure but because the top of the sand has been broken and the vehicle has begun sinking. 

Now the comedy of errors begins. 

Not bogged, but parked in the sand, Bruce asks everyone to get out, pick a tyre and strat deflating. He doesn’t have a tyre gauge but if we all take the same sort of time we should get them around the same pressure. No tyre pressure gauge but he does have one of those deflation devices that, when used correctly – emphasis on the word correctly – can deflate a tyre much quicker than simply pushin in the valve. Bruce has never used one of these before and as he attempts to remove the apparatus, the entire inside of the valve pops out.

Its dark, but luckily we have a torch and even luckier we find the valve insert, sitting upright in the sand, get it reattached to the now very much flatter tyre than any of the others, a dnre ady ourselves for a push in the chopped up isthmus heading abc to the access road. It should be noted the vehicle is presently “parked” well below the high tide mark and the water is lapping the tyres on the seaward side.

Really only one chance to get this right,

Its amazing how much easier a vehicle deals with sand at lower tyre pressures. The ute springs out of the sand and belts down the beach. Bruce chucks a U-turn and scream back at the on ramp, easily negotiating it. 

We all get back in and head back to the Cruiser to drop the two techno’s off and then head back to the park where everyone should now be waiting for dinner.

At the park, Bruce’s wife Sonya, brother John (nicknamed Murt after his, and my grandmother) and his partner Julie have arrived. The plan, after we retrieve all the gear and deal with the fish, which we cleansed on the beach, are dealt with. 

Why Murt you ask yourself. His grandmother was known to accompany the younger daughters on festive occasions and was introduced as their sister Myrtle to avoid embarrassment. I suspect John’s tagging with that name is far less “practical” shall we say

Forbsy has the fire built down on the lower level at his van and we all wander down to warm up. Pizza is the order of the evening. We get an idea of people’s wants and I order. Dominoes suggest they will take 30 minutes but I will have to meet their driver at the front of the park. No worries I can drive up there when they arrive.

Between the fires, the great fellowship, the pizza arriving and being consumed, we all get to catch up with each other, spreading tall tales and truths of the day and days gone by. Before retirement I am alarmed at the arrival of a nearby camper. Scared me half out of my wits the first time he just “arrived” unannounced, a little less the second time but still an intrusion on proceedings. 

Before he can come back a third time we all bugger off to bed. Its been a great day, catching up, being family and reminiscing all over again