Here We Go Again - Chapter 18 - Yeppoon Day 2

So much to do, so little time to do it.

Supposedly retired from full time business, it seems I am just as  busy as before at times. Robyn is also running a business “on the run” and at times it seems the distractions of exploring a whole new area take a second place to the annoyances of life. 

Today starts as one of those days. A client needs some advice. We have been emailing back and forward, allowing me to deal with the issues at my own want, but she needs a face to face meeting to discuss some of the points she just can’t get her head around. No worries I can do this before we get into anything serious for the day.

One problem with that idea, the conversation creates all sorts of extra work to be done before the end of the financial year now only 20 days away. I think the midnight oil might be bringing in this caravan for a few nights hence. Thankfully all clients are on retainer and contracts, with plenty of fat in them to ensure any work like this is well compensated.

Robyn too has work to do and we both need to attend to some washing because the washing basket is full meaning the supplies of things like “unmentionables” is getting dangerously low. She throws a couple of loads on, it seems everyone in the park has designated today as a washing day as well and all the machines are working. Robyn loses her coins in the first attempt, laughs at herself and tries again with success.

We will hang up the washing together, mainly because here there are no winders on the Hills Hoists and they have been set at a height that sheets will not drag on the ground and therefore out of reach of my vertically challenged wife.

Washing means I have to shower, which I cannot do while I have earphones on and speaking to my client. In time though the conversation is completed, the towel is used and the second load of washing is in the machine. Yes we had that much that needed to be done.

After the quick run around exploration of last night, we are at it again today but not until all the washing is on the line drying in the North Queensland sunshine. There are reports and pictures of snow from other cousins based in New South Wales and Victoria and we are glad we are not there for now, although we did have the heater on this morning to take the nip out of the air before getting out of bed. The cold snap affecting the higher parts and the more southern ones manifests itself only in crisper nights here. Yes woolly jumpers and at times padded coats are the go, during the day we are more often than not reduced to shorts and tee shirts.

It certainly does not hurt to get into a warm and toasty car that has been left in the sunshine either.

Again Forbsy has the steering wheel and before the exploring of Yeppoon gets on in earnest we want to check out a noted fishing spot called the Causeway. Halfway between where we are and Emu Bay, this bridge crosses a man made barrier between a lake and the tributary to the sea. On the ebbing tide the barrier acts as a weir and the lowering water can be fished as the water level recedes below the mangroves exposing mud and sand flats. On the rising tide the water pushes back over the weir, where reputedly large sport fish await the bait fish returning from the creek below.

The tide is ebbing now and we see some fishermen plying their sport on the mud. We walk down, across the rocks which at high tide would quite easily snag lines and onto the mud. Its not the sticky gluggy mud you might think. Yes it does stick to the thongs, but not for long, and when you get onto the sand, it is easily removed simply by walking.

Here at the waters edge we spring up a conversation with them. There is one guy attempting to catch live bait with a throw net (illegal in NSW). The other, monitoring the lines. Striking up a conversation, the sledging of our expeditions is seen to have reached these guys. The monitor is lamenting the bait catcher is not stepping up to the mark and in fact is “not doing it right” but will not be “instructed” on getting his technique up to scratch. He talks of how he got enough bait for the day in the first two casts of the net on their arrival.

Further discussions suggests his close proximity to the rods stems from losing one through the early morning because the drag was too tight and he could not retrieve it before it headed off in the briony depth being aerated away by something pelargic. We google and muse “that could have been us”. I note the tide is falling and Bobby invites me to join them later this afternoon when the tide has turned as they will be returning for a high tide session.

We leave them to their “work”. There are places to go and people to see, not to mention Forbsy has the Miguel hat tonight promising some Middle Eastern delicacy. Wandering the Forbsy way is to turn the GPS navigator in the Cruiser to a close to the vehicle as possible in range and simply drive anywhere “interesting”. Heading back into Yeppoon we go looking for sights, check out the architecture and marvel at views.

On the lowering tide, commercial boats are high and dry in creeks, nestled on platforms designed to keep the keels out of the mud but incongruous with the idea of a floating mechanism. Silver Leader and Rose have headed to Emu Bay to look at the memorial we found the previous day. With lunch time approaching we force ourselves to discover suitable digs for the event.

The Yeppoon Sailing Club, with a deck and spectacular views of the ocean seems a spot worth a look. Parking is no worries if you are to patronise the venue. A large adjacent car park beckons the Frobsy Cruiser after disagreeing with the times of parking the streets allow. On the way in we enquire of a couple just leaving of the fare to which we get the strangest of replies. They do not know, they are not locals, they are just here renewing their membership. Just does not seem right and this conversation will bound around the lunch time talk I suspect

This is a terrible spot. The deck simply reeks of majestic views, sitting in the noon sun, or just out of it under umbrellas, sampling a cool lime juice or other such libation as you may desire and eating something from a menu designed to add kilograms to your weight.

From our vantage point we can see Silver Leader and Rose arrive. They do not take our advice and head for the car park, preferring to take the timed car park across the road. As luck would have it the parking that was non existent at the time of our arrival, opens up enough to take in his Cruiser. We royally wave at them from the deck where we have positioned ourselves.

I order a Caesar Salad in a vain attempt to look like I am trying to better than “manage” my weight, but it comes with 6 prawns and splashed down with some “kool aid”. The others are not so weight conscious evidently, preferring to attack things like burgers and loaded pulled pork fries. The salad was memorable, not something simply of lots of lettuce and not much else, the attention to details fitted the vista.

We break from lunch and before heading back to the van Fiorbsy needs some provisions to assist in his culinary experience for the night. Not that we need much more given the repast we have just endured. Bunnings for a drill and then a grocery shop for some lettuce. The lettuce I understand  but the drill I am not so sure about but when “Mark Gyver” Forbes has a plan, it is ours not to reason why. Forbsy has also been having issues with ants ever since he free camped at Gladstone. Perhaps the drill is to make a hol in the floor for the dead bodies to drain through.

I take the opportunity to invest in a throw net. As I said, illegal in New South Wales, but here in Queensland and across the top and down the western side, used correctly (and that might be a challenge), is one way to capture live bait for some of the prizes we seek.

Back at the van, it’s time to pull in the washing. Shirts and larger things over the shoulder, unmentionables, socks and hankies under the arms. Pegs for now are stuffed in a sock. Smart idea at the time  but as I was to find later, not the best idea I had ever come up with. Just as I finish Robyn arrives with the basket and the peg box. The timing could not have been better as I am overloaded and would never had made it back to the van without dripping something and of course that would have been in the puddle formed around the taps and water inlets to the van – Murphys Law.

Washing secured, folded and repacked, its time from some instruction in the use of the throw net. Silver Leader helps me to unpack the weapon and shows me the right way to go about it. I see now how the young bloke earlier this morning was having such an issue. 

Instructed, there is only one way to get proficient, actual use. I drag out a couple of rods (of course I am going to be immediately successful), making sure that as a back up I have a couple of lures handy, and head off to the causeway which will now be at low tide, giving me a good creek to play in.

Arriving at the creek I am very happy to see there are no potential spectators. I take the short walk over the rocks etc to my selected spot, unpack again the throw net and set myself up for the first attempt.

I manage a half reasonable first throw,  but see I have not made the net open as far as possible. I try again and what is that thrashing around at the bottom of the net as it comes out of the water? 

Success, I have live bait.

I contained myself long enough, fill the bucket in which the net came with water and deposit the two unfortunate and unlucky fish into it. Not thinking I would be this successful so early I now have to prepare the rods for the next phase. I design a rig and bait it with my capture and launch the bait into the creek. Remembering the story of the scooting rod from this morning, I ensure the drag is on very lightly, lest I lose therig to one as well.

Both baits in the water I go back to securing more, with much less success. So much so that for a while I take to throwing lures to pass the time. There are fish jumping on the other side of the creek and I can get to the swirls with my lure and at one stage I have a hit but not strong enough to engage a hook. I peer back at the live batited rods often, checking for any movement. Suddenly one twitches, I quickly pick it up waiting for the run, but alas, the live bait has been removed in that one foul swoop.

Bugger.

I go back to attempting to acquire more live bait. Shortly the acquaintances from this morning arrive back for the evening session. Unlike his young Padawan, I am eager for more instruction and Bobby and I go about the plan. Him showing, me getting a better shape to the net hitting the water. I manage a small mullet which I give to him to stick on one of his lines now they are here. He is taken aback a little given I have a beached rod for the moment.

Leaving them to set up I move down the creek. I cast the net and it feels immediately that I have had a bite! This is a net not a rod and a hook, but yes there is movement, muck unlike what I have felt previously as I dragged the net in. I have thrown the net atop a large mullet, now thrashing madly in it.

Bobby comes over and laughs at me. You can put that one on, whole, but all you are going to get is a bull shark or something similar. I give the mullet to him, we will fillet it and use it for static bait in time. He exclaims that the mullet is the largest the has seen caught in a throw net and yell at his mates to come and see.

I need to break off from these guys and go and sample the Forbsy Feast. Suggesting I will be back in a couple of hours, we part, and I load the Cruiser up and drive back to the park. A drive of some 2 minutes.

Forbsy is busily working away in his van. The delightful aromas of the impending feast emanate, teasing the palate. Lunch was more than filling so I suspect we may not give this meal the attention it deserves. I need a shower as I am covered in mud.

On my return Forbsy is ready to serve, his version of doner kebabs. He circulates the pitta bread and we all adorn it with various amounts of the ingredients. He has a large range of sauces, hummus and garlic yoghurt (a must for these types of meals). I give it my best attempts, loading everything in and sink my teeth into the creation.

Forbsy has done very well indeed. So much so that when he invites me to have another, there is no question that I will not, diet or  not and even after the lunch time effort. I am so strong willed and committed to losing weight, aren’t I?

Enough of that there is fishing to be done with my new mates back at the Causeway.

The scene is very different now. Whereas I had left them on the mud flats, as I pull into the car park they emerging from the dark below the bridge, about to reposition for the second phase of the changing tides. I fully expected to be fishing, simply back from where I left them a couple of hours earlier. But now there is a full change of plan, we are heading onto the bridge.

The water now, instead of cascading over the weir from the lake, is now in full reverse. The tide is thrusting tons of sea water back into the lake. The plan is to offer up baits in the torrent to the pelagics waiting just over the weir wall.

Bobby points me to a spot to set up. He suggests it’s probably the best spot for the night. Not having any live bait, I wonder why he would do this. Then my host offers me anything from their bait repository. They have lots of levis from their efforts below the bridge in the time I was dining, plus plenty of frozen bait as well. They have come prepared.

At his suggestion I rig one line up with just a hook and attach a live bait to it and drop it beside one of the pylons of the bridge over which I am situated. The other to rods, bait with frozen pilchards and launch them into the night over the end of the weir. My host and new mentors instructions are followed, and I wait, just like the others for something to happen.

For the longest time there is nothing. I even take to snapping shots of the stars waiting for the tell tale sound of line being stripped off a reel. My live bait has wandered out away from the pylon and seems to be agitated. I wonder if that is the signal we have been waiting for. The line retreats to the safety of the pylon. 

I decide to check the two frozen baits, nothing, no bait to repriot and I saw no movement in the lines to suggest they were being attacked. This is promising. I re-bait and reposition.

There is movement back up the bridge. The boys are moving and one of them is into the work of retrieving his line and whatever is attached. Success and failure in the same breath. He has caught a small bream about double the size of his bait but still undersized, but what has also occurred is a huge tangle of lines. The set about dismantling the tangle and resetting.

Shortly the owner of the lines closest to me comes to check his bait. Unlike the previous action here all we get to do is untangle and my live bait and his have decided to meet. Thankfully we have gotten to it early and the mess is not terminal. In the street lights of the bridge we are able to untangle the mess.

I check the two static bats again – they are both gone. One comes back simply, the gang hooks the other with the floating rig, the same. Enough of this I am going to keep a finger on a line and see what the hell is going on. I reissue the gang hooked rog and set it, the other instead of replacing it in the holder, prefer to hold it.

Its not long before the culprits are known. Shortly after the line hits the water there is the telltale tap, tap, tap of what I think might be small bream not unlike the one caught earlier. I lose another bait, and then another. Frustrated, I check the live bait. It’s gone too. Rather than bother Bobby for another one, I bait it with half a pilchard and with  no sinker I launch it into the dark.

Without the sinker to drag it down and hold the line in a loop within the current, now I have direct contact with the bait. The fight starts again but this time the bites are a little more substantial and then the line tightens and runs. I am on. I will need to get the fish in quickly or there may be another large tangle of the myriad of lines in the water.

Yes its another cheeky bream but this one is quite legal in length. It will do for a meal at some stage. The rush of the water flooding into the lake is waning as is the interest of my new friends. Some have packed up and left well before but me and a couple have stayed on, but the futility of the changing tide forces our hand. I have caught the only keeper for the  night. I quickly lean it, pack the Cruiser and head hime, all of 2 minutes away.

Back at the van I am shown the shower before being able to put my head on my pillow and fall asleep.

Another big day, and another one to come tomorrow. Hopefully Forbsy has found something to help us take the weight off from todays culinary adventures in the National Park walk he wants to investigate.