Here We Go Again - Chapter 21 - Yeppoon to Barracrab

Sleeping was difficult. The midges have attacked me and now, smothered in Calamine lotion and having the Coasters song ringing in my ears I wake with the itchies. I reapply the lotion and try to sleep. It comes but not with any ease.

Its our final day here and we have spread out a little. There is fishing gear to be sorted and repacked. Hooks need to disappear and re-emerge in the tackle box for next time along with swivels and sinkers. I take the choice to break the spinning rod and leave it in the back of the Cruiser along with the telescopic rod for easy access should it be required at the next stop. There does not seem to be much more to do there bit fish much to the chagrin of Robyn.

Forbsy and I need fuel for the next leg and we head out to the closest fuel station to fill up. Whereas we had been able to access an NRMA card voucher at the previous fill, the local service stations know nothing of it. The price is low enough not to worry, but it is unsettling that this brace of fuel can have some stations accept the promotion and others not.

On the way back I finally get a good light version of the shot of the beach at low tide’ Just as well Robyn is not in the Cruiser she would have a fit at me taking pictures on the move.

Finally we are on our way, well before the 10.00am  bug out.

The road away from Yeppoon runs past cattle stations. Beef cattle with the grass up to their bellies, almost lost in the vegetation. 

It is not too far and although the grass alongside the road is still high and lush, you get the feeling it is masking the landscape behind. The hills seem jts a little barer that the ones close to Yeppoon. Sure enough as we get further along even the roadside vegetation gives way to a more barren landscape. It makes one wonder that this close to the end of the wet season why the land is so devoid of grass.

Vast herds of cattle lay beside water reservoirs, where no grass grows. They must be being fed to continue their growth prior to heading to market. Roadworks slows our steady flow north. A number of places we actually stop at traffic lights (its Sunday so there is no work being carried out). We get caught at a set and the others move on. Soon they are out of sight as we wait for the oncoming traffic to pass and the lights to turn green.

What it does, is allows us to bound along at speed with no one in front, lest I let some faster vehicles pass.

The landscape changes in an instant. What was dry land becomes sugar cane paddocks, green and filled to overflowing with the green crop. I wonder if we had been further into the hinterland and the rainshadow of the mountains which gave the countryside that bare look. Now everything is back to green again as we come close to the end of today journey.

For the moment though we stop for a pit stop. A service station in the middle of nowhere (actually just shy of a small settlement) has caught the attention of Silver Leader and he is on the radio, asking are we in range of his message and that they have stopped for morning tea and we should be on the look out.

The fuel stop is not required by the vehicles but it certainly is by us. We all spend pennies and hit the kiosk for pies, cakes and libations. A mobile RBT unit sets up across the road and is pulling in everyone who comes by. A high speed unit waits in the service station should anyone fail to stop. While we are there, everyone complies.

He hit Barracrab just after the high tide. We are on drive through sites so getting in, getting set up and getting the fishing gear out and off to the beach are done in record time. I ask the park manager about the “go”. The falling tide will mean that very quickly there will be no water in front of the park, in fact it will be a 2 kilometre walk to the water.

I join quite a number of people already fishing. No one appears to be catching any fish. Silver Leader joins me for a quick discussion and suggests the go on the falling tide might be to fish the “boat ramp”. The water might be a little deeper there longer.

Almost immediately I am getting bites. A bream of legal size attaches itself to my line and I manage to land it poste haste. The water is receding very quickly. Where I started sitting on a rock with my feet just in the water is now high and dry. I have 2 lines in the water. The one on which I caught the bream, a single hook with half a pilchard. The other a gang hook with a full fish as bait.

I am about to check the gang hook, when it heads off. I strike and there is quite a commotion in the water. It looks like I have gotten myself into something of substance. There is line taken, there is splashing and because of the shallowness of the water, dragging whatever it is may be symptomatic. Eventually it is close enough to ascertain it is a turtle.

What to do.

A passerby sees my predicament and comes to my assistance. I am of a mind to get the animal back in the water and on its way as soon as possible. Thankfully the gang hook is only loosely hooked in the shell and comes out easily. My new friend holds the turtle up for a quick inspection and obligatory photographs and then we place it down in the retreating ocean tide and it swims away, apparently unharmed.

The tide having taken the water away, we wonder what we are to do the remainder of the day. Normally we would investigate the area, but this is a small area. I call my cousin Darryl who lives close by (Mackay) for some tips of when we might arrive at his place and he suggests there are some creeks we should check out and fish.

One such spot is Clairview Creek not far back along our track in. Fishing gear in his Cruiser we are off. The instructions are to take a track just past the bridge, travel down towards a causeway, do not travel across it, turn right and travel back under the bridge to the spot. There are barramundi and mangrove jack in abundance.

The instructions, followed to the letter, get us to the appropriate spot. Straight away we have issues. A “Private Property” sign greets us. Robyn does not like the idea of going against the directions of the sign.

We go for a look from on top of the bridge to see if there is another access point. It quickly becomes apparent we are not appropriately dressed. The track is overgrown (a matter for the driver to comment about scratches) and any access to the very fishy looking water would be a plethora of snakes, ticks and other nasties let alone the bush itself. Us in things and shorts – yes – really ready for the bush bash that would be required. 

While we are checking this out on the no pedestrian access bridge, Robyn, unable to watch, reads her book as the traffic speeds past us over the bridge.

Discretion being the better part of valour we head back. Perhaps there are things to see in Barracrab. The only street is along the beach with a row of houses between it and the beach. All have large sheds, many of which contain boats and tractors. At the end of the road is an access road to a “boat ramp”. 

Nestled on the end of a creek, “miles” from the water. There is a large crevasse of sand leading “over the beach head”. It looks like the perfect spot for the large fish to hunt the bait fish into the creek behind. Now at low tide all we can do is marvel at what might be later.

Time to get back, Its time for pre dinner bikkies. Rose has already packed away the provisions and reluctantly replenishes the table as do we and Forbsy and we sit and talk.

Dinner was ordered earlier. Now we sit and consume in the bar and before long we are back in the van and heads on the pillow and z’s being pushed out.