Here We Go Again - Chapter 31 - Rolling Stone Day 2

We are parked with the van adjacent to a pond supposedly full of barramundi. But no matter how I try I cannot seem to get one to bite.

Morning comes and I head to the beach. Its high tide and this might give me a chance to hook something. I wander along the front of the park flicking lures into the placid water. There are turtles everywhere and there are bait balls breaking the surface but there are not takes of the lure. 

Off along the far edge of the park are mangroves and I note there are others doing the same thing and getting the same result. One guy in particular, I start a conversation with has just been to Barracrab, where we were a few days before. His time there saw him catch a 65cm flathead and a couple of threadfin salmon. A much better result than us, and we were there at about the same time. Go figure.

I get back for breakfast and we consider what we might do today. Personally we have some banking business and prescriptions that need filling. The others are keen to join us even though we will need at least half an hour in town to deal with the administrative things.

We are ready to go, but as usual we are waiting for Rose, but even this time its not actually her. Silver Leader has decided to take a shower. Making us shake our heads. We finally get away and start the 60 kilometre trip back into Townsville.

Robyun has input the address of one of the options for a Bank of Queensland branch and the GPS takes us directly to the Willows Shopping Centre. After consulting the Centre Directory we head off on what appeared to be the quickest direction. Before we get halfway along the route I get a call from Forbsy. He has found the Bank without consulting the directory, and worse we are heading in the wrong direction.

Finally get the banking and the prescriptions done, what in Townsville are we going to tour.

The shore line sounds like a good start. There is a strip called the Strand that seems worth a look and we head in that general direction. For a bustling town the traffic is light for a Tuesday and there does not seem to be an awful lot of people.

That is until we get to the Strand. Here the foreshore is filled with school students. Evidently is a Catholic Schools Year 9 orientation day. Groups of students and a teacher are raging up and down the Strand collecting “points”. At one spot the points are getting photographed doing the Macarena. Several groups make us laugh and we applaud.

We walk a major part of the Strand looking at different things. At one place a sea turtle statue is ridden by Forbsy, whilst another has a pair of chairs as part of an art exhibit. It gets the same treatment but this time by all of us.

Along the Strand the waft of barbequing coming from one particular establishment. We cannot hold back. We have to eat there. The Longboard Bar and Grill in the middle of the Strand is a popular place. We are early, thankfully. We get into a spot out of the wind. They have a special deal on tacos. They do a group of all the ones they sell, making the decision easier – have them all.

All but Rose orders the tacos. Silver Leader deals with the drinks. The meals come and the aroma of outside becomes the marvel that now appears in front of us. The lines ordering are now large and the bar is now full. We have arrived and ordered early enough to miss the rush. We are not watching the lines, we are devouring our meals.

After lunch we decide to head to the scenic lookout. From the Strand the face of the lookout has a picture of the logo from the old Roger Moore TV show, the Saint, and from the time I originally had it pointed out to me, and encouraged to take pictures, I have the theme song on my mind.

The GPS recognises the lookout and we are off. The road up the hill is quite challenging and many pedestrians like to walk it. But at the top the view is well worth the drive. Across several vantage points there are 360 degree views of the city and surrounds. There are a couple shooting with camera and drone shooting a scene for some sort of video. She is heavily pregnant, carrying a very heavy camera and Forbsy and I are in their shot. She asks us to act naturally. We resist the chance to “photo bomb” and simply walk past them back towards the car.

Investigation of Townsville done, its now time to head back to the vans. All the walking has made one of my ankles swell and I would like to get it up and iced ASAP. 

Back and most of us having a nanna nap of some description except for Robyn who has work to finalise, its time to look to fish the top of the tide which occurs right on dark. Three intrepid fisherman head to a creek on the other side of the van park from this mornings exploits. 

We take lures and bait and a couple of rods each. The creek is filling very quickly and as we negotiate the bush as far as we can Forbsy points out nthe tell tale drag marks of a crocodile rushing from the sand to the safety of the water. The tracks do not suggest a very big one, but enough to cause concern.

We fish for a while, tossing lures into the rushing water. Silver Leader gets into a fight with a very long piece of tree. The pressure of the water pushes it upstream. He eventually lands it and I jokingly take a picture. 

The light is fading fast and we don’t feel like being crocodile bait. I had changed from the lure fishing we started with, to bait fishing. The second rod I dragged along had been set up with two hooks and baited with prawns on one and squid on the other. I had finally begun to feel bites as we up stumps and move out of the creek and back to the beach proper.

Getting out is a little more difficult than getting to the present spot. The water is rising very quickly and whipped up by an onshore wind there are now waves where once placid water lapped. Out on the beach the wind is right in our faces. We walk back to the park where rather than on the sand between the park and the sea we now walk in the park above the rock wall, because as to walk on the sand would mean getting very wet.

The others are not interested in continuing fishing but I want to give the top of the tide a go. I stop at the stairs closest to the vans and set up both with sinkers and bait. The line I was getting bites in the creek is simply launched, whereas the lighter spinning gear needs to be set up. This is done with a much smaller sinker to allow it to “drift” amongst the rubble in front of me.

By the time I get the lighter gear into the water, there are enquiries on the heavier gear. They are not particularly strong but there are enquiries. I have set the rods up about 10 metres apart and as I move to the “bigger” gear the enquiry becomes a “take” and the rod bends. I strike and disappointingly and feel like I have simply snagged. I pull hard to dislodge the snag but suddenly I realise the “snag” has moved, and then all of a sudden it is moving, albeit slowly, away from the beach. 

So the fight is on. I reach for my phone and call Silver Leader for some assistance. I attempt to put pressure on the fish but all I get is scream from the reel. The words of my friend Missing Link ring in my ears, “let it run, turning up the drag is terminal”. There is no run to the fish, just movement. I think I might have a ray, a turtle or a shark. 

All of a sudden the line snaps, just as Silver Leader turns up. I retrieve what is left for an inspection. It appears the predator has rubbed against the coral bottom and the line is cleanly broken. This means I may have been in the fight rather than having an adrenaline rush and having a tension break.

Bugger. This, whatever it was, was huge.

I fish for a little while longer to no avail. The wind is right in my face and casting the lighter line has its own issues. The baits I am using are not touched in this time. I pack up and head back to the van, determined to use what is left on the barramundi in the ponds.

The “big gear” has way too much weight. I remove the sinker and cast it without any weight at all. Now and again I get very timid taps on the line. I set up my outdoor chair, rod in each had and set in for a while. 

Hunger gets the best of me and I head inside, leaving the rods lodged in the back of the van with drag set very light, just in case something wants to grab it and run.

There is an interesting show on the TV with Ahn Do painting a portrait of Gai Waterhouse. I listen and watch for a while, before returning to the rods. The “big rig” is no longer in the direction of the cast. It has been taken and the fish has screamed off in the direction of the aerator. It is snagged there and the fish has probably gone. The aerator moves along with the tugs from the bank. The snap swivel finally opens and I get the gear back.

Red rag to a bull. To do this is like issuing a challenge. I reload and return to the chair, big gear in hand and the lighter one still on the van. In time the timid bites start. I will let them go for a while and see what happens.

All of a sudden the line starts to head again for the aerator. I hit it and hit it hard. Whatever it is, is now hooked. Not a huge fish, it does manage to give a reasonable account of itself. Then disappointment. The fish is an eel. One of those that love tying themselves in knots around your line.

The eel out of the water, I wander next door to Forbsy for confirmation, a photo and assistance with release. This is done quickly and the fish is returned to the briny depths. It annoys me that I have managed only an eel from the pond. Catching them normally means, especially fishing from the rocks, you are using too much weight. Here though it was all that was biting.

We have a smell in the van (and not a pleasant one), I am going to have to deal with my little friend in the morning and look at a flush of the other plumbing lines before we go.

Another day, another day of fishing and another day of non targeted success. I ponder the score so far and note I am yet to catch something I have actually targeted and certainly none of the “trophy” fish a trip to this part of the world might encounter. Discussions with our next door neighbour suggest that one of our stops where we are seeking to make an impression on the trophy stakes has also gone “off the boil”.

I will be contacting fishing guide Shaun, whom we met last trip at El Questro for some reassurance in the morning. Bed now.