Here We Go Again - Chapter 44 - Karumba Day 4

Today we are meant to fish, and not as we had done in reference to Einstein’s theory of madness. We are booked on a charter. The wind dropped right off towards the end of the evening last night but has reinvigorated this morning. We are hoping for a carbon copy of yesterday’s abatement towards the afternoon. 

Final decisions on whether or not we go, or which manner of fishing that might be undertaken is to be made on the boat ramp at noon. The charter operator suggests that if 3 or more want to go he will venture out. If venturing out means heading up the river where reports are only nream are being caught, then we won’t be going. I can catch bream at home and from earlier forays into the world of piscatorial pursuits, I already have enough bream in the freezer for a meal for everyone.

Nature calls me early and I head off to the amenities block just as the sun is rising. Mother Nature has played well with her palette and brush this morning. There are rays of sunlight streaming through the clouds. I try to capture the view with photographs knowing full well my phone and sunlight do not play well. I am amazed at the outcome. So much so I proudly post them on Facebook for all to see.

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I have been working on and off on my computer since 6.00am with no issues with internet dropouts. In the period between 8.15am and 8.40am it annoyingly drops out at regular intervals. After that it seems to be back on full signal. Also frustrating is that I apparently have almost full signal strength but, like a fish sounder or a set of bathroom scales, often there are lies in the technology. 

Today is a fishing charter day. The wind has blown hard for the entire time we have been here and there is trepidation. Listening to reports from those “in the know” (and they are the worst kind) if at all, we will be fishing “up the creek” where the target will be bream and catfish. Neither of these options fill us with high expectations, given we are fishermen who catch these types of fish all the time, getting a charter to catch them does not fit any bill.

We are to meet with the charter operators at the boat ramp at 11.30am before the noon shove off. If we are going up the river, we have decided, the three of us are not going. 

There are large signs at the boat ramp, describing a lot of different things from the GPS coordinates of the ramp to warnings about the channel markers and the infestation of crocodiles. One such part of the sign and in very large writing suggests no fishing within 60 metres of the ramp, I suggest to ensure no crocodiles are attracted to fighting fish and thien mistaking legs for food etc.

The education system fails us miserably at times especially in the area of reading, and this is no different. It’s high tide, although this particular in is very shallow in depth and there are not only people fishing well within the 60 metre radius, there are those who are fishing from the boat ramp itself, including those using throw nets to capture bait. The water is muddy and murky here and in an attack they would never know what hit them. Their stupidity and flagrant disregard for others safety is beyond belief.

The wife of the skipper turns up and begins to discuss the charter with us. She has a list of 8 participants, a full boat. She is driving a land cruiser with a large trailer on behind. We have been warned her husband the skipper can be abrupt but for now she is very willing to talk to us.

The Kelly-D is nowhere to be seen. It’s still on the morning charter and will arrive shortly. She collects the money whilst taking roll call, not giving us the chance to discuss options of going or not. I suppose that means we are going regardless. Yesterday patrons were given the option but today as the wind has abated somewhat, the go/no go offer is not available. She has no idea where the skipper will take us, but she does note the last few days he has not ventured far out to sea from the boat ramp, preferring the safety of the river.

The Kelly-D comes into sight and she jumps into the cruiser and backs down the boat ramp. From nowhere an assistant arrives to hook the boat onto the trailer and the boat is extracted from the water to about a third of the length up the ramp. Here the morning customers are let off the boat. Only one is carrying anything that even looks like fish.

Unsure of where we might be going I have brought all the gear I might be wanting to use. This means I am carrying 4 rods plus a bag of lures. I ask the skipper which ones I should stow and in the gruff manner we were warned about, suggests we don’t need deep sea gear, as we are not going to the reef. That doesnt help me much but I discard my two, 24kg rods in favour of my light spinning rod and a trolling rod, assuming we might drag a pure between spots. He again suggests he is going nowhere near the reef today, it will be too rough.

Robyn and Rose who have accompanied us to the boat ramp take the excess gear back to the Cruiser and we disappear from the ramp a short way, for the safety briefing.

The boat is old but immaculate, even after the morning charter. Nothing is on the floor and the skipper quickly stows the excess gear we have brought. He again reiterates we are not going to the reef but we will head out to a sand cay for a fish first before deciding on the main area of attack for the day. The twin 115hp engines roar into life and he directs the Kelly-D towards the channel markers leading to the open ocean.

Just a little way out, two channel markers, either side of the channel, have Osprey nests. One has a bird perched atop the structure, keeping an eye out for predators. We are a long way from the land and the amount of sticks and other entanglement that form the nests have been brought a long way to make the nests here in the middle of the channel.

The water is not very deep anywhere, evidently. The skipper notes our intended destination will be a place where our lightest gear will be the go. I rig the spinning line with a brown bomber lure, thinking I will be bouncing sand flats.

Its quite a distance to the sand cay of our first attempts at catching fish. We  osey on in and he checks the sounder, annoys other boats that apparently are on “his” spot and we are off again. Because the water is so calm he has decided the reef is worth a look. Nice to know that now as I have left what I might like to think was my big bottom bouncing gear with Robyn at the boat ramp. He is buoyant (if this grump can be) about the chances of catching fish in this other secret spot, even though he is reticent about the weather and what could be whipped up should the wind return.

Its 12 kilometres to the “reef” and all along the way the water remains the baby poop green murk of the river. As we come to a stop the water is a little clearer but not crystal. I am amazed to learn the depth here is only 11 metres. I do not have gear for this spot, so I allow the skipper to apportion one of the charter rods to me. It will require a re-rig  but that wont take long.

There are several women on the boat and one of them suggests any fish caught would look well with a picture of them in it.  Not the glamour part, just that they did not believe they would catch decent fish and would like a memento of the trip looking like they had.

We are soon fishing and there are immediate results. One of the things in a second safety briefing was to do with one of the species of fish we might catch here. In what you might suggest was a joking manner it is suggested that to touch a devil fish would be to have a close to death like experience, you would be unconscious well before we returned to the boat ramp and you would be sore from the 4 of us at the bow end sitting on top of you to slow your convulsions and stop you bouncing out of the boat.

The convention upon a capture is to call “fish on” and the skipper will either net the fish or deal with it as required.

Success in the form of small cod and catfish are had by all. There are also all manner of bream, finger mark and other bait types. Forbsy hooks a decent fish. Unlike any of the smaller cod and others, this one wants to put on a real fight. It starts to circle and when finally when he gets it to the top of the water, we see a small blue nosed salmon.  

Small but legal. Forbsy is on the board and shaking off his undersize tag early.

He is back to fishing quickly after the obligatory snaps and he is into another one. This one giving even more fight. He has caught me having just dropped my line over the side and I try to keep it away from the fight. This is a small mackrell, but again of legal size and significantly larger than the salmon. The skipper nets it for him and he is 2 – nil – nil in front. All the fish that Silver Leader and I have boated have returned to the depths.

The bites so far have been unconvincing for me. When I finally get a half decent bite, it is still unenticing, but the ensuing fight with a 750mm blue salmon is epic. I get the fish to the boat a couple of times before the skipper arrives with the net. He calls “shark”, not because he thinks I have one, but to hasten my attention to what might be lurking and take my prize. The salmon eludes the net a number of times until I can monouvre the fish into it.

The adrenaline is pumping. This is a good fish. The skipper secures it, releases the hooks and hands it to me to have the obligatory pictures taken, then stows it in the ice box. As he is doing this several others on the charter walk to my end of the boat and ask to be pictured with it. I giggle as I comply but surely everyone will get a chance to catch something similar.

Silver Leader is no on the “board” as yet and Forbsy and I remind him of this.

The skipper’s brother arrives in another charter boat and sets up adjacent to us. The skipper tells us of the 20 plus years he and his wife have been in Karumba and how he has purchased a house in Bundaberg and is wanting to retire gracefully. His business, his house and two blocks of land are for sale but he is resigned to not being able to sell. He thinks he might go wandering in a caravan for 6 months of the year and return to Karumba with the boat for the “season’ put his prices up to that of his competition and live that way.

The conversation turns to his brother, who has purchased an older boat for $45,000 and basically paid it off in 6 months of charter work such is the demand in the area.  But there is more to charters than simply picking people up and taking them back whilst in the middle wetting a line. Our fee for the day is $150 each. Some, the skipper suggests do a less job for $400 but everyone is booked up like him well in advance. 

Maybe he will put his prices up so he can work less, play longer. He and his wife are eldferly, well into their seventies, he has been a fuel tanker driver as well as a charter boat operator. He believes he and his wife are only one of four inhabitants of Karumba who have been in business in excess of 20 years. All the others are newcomers and struggling with the tyranny of distance, the continual influx of fresh faces and the harness of the “land”.

Yesterday was an example: no pizza bases, a shortage of food stuffs for the coffee shop, all of which can take a toll. Then there is the weather. The wind is, and continues to be an issue.

Silver Leader finally has a fish which makes him think “trophy”. It is giving him curry on the very light gear he is using. To the side of the boat, its a small shark, similar to the ones we caught last time around at 80 Mile Beach. Its of a size suitable for consumption so it is quickly “dealt with” and becomes part of the “catch”.

As the day draws on, Karumba’s version of the Fremantle Doctor, the afternoon sea breeze begins in zephyr like proportions. The decent fish have gone off the bite leaving only annoyances in anything brought to the surface. Its getting late and the skipper decides we can head a little way back, try a spot there then back to just past the boat ramp for a final fling.

On the way back he stops by the channel markers with the Osprey perched in them. They take to flight with their chicks screaming at them for leaving with their afternoon repast. As we leave the parents return and all again is peaceful in the Osprey world.

We pull up beside the brother of the skipper, who has found a spot which has yielded some decent fish for his charter customers in the last few minutes. Our time there sees nothing. The water depth here is only a couple of metres making the gear we are using problematic in its use.

Onward we head to a spot up river from the boat ramp. Here sasy the skipper we can lok to get bream, grunter and the odd barramundi. Lots of small bites until I hook a large bream, the only fish to come from the spot.

Our time on the Kelly-D has come to an end and we head back to the boat ramp. There is no cleaning of fish allowed on the river for fear of attracting crocs. We are extracted from the water on the trailer as were the morning charter. Again the helper appeared from nowhere and we are discharged with a bag of fish of which most were the results of my endeavours, but unlike the last trip Forbsy has contributed this time.

Robyn and Rose have come to see the intrepid hunter and gatherers arrive back, and I am thankful she has. The thought of walking back to the van laden with the fish (somehow I seem to have all of them), my rods and gear was less than daunting. Having said that, the others walk. Forbsy looking to add some numbers to his 300 step total for the day.

If we are going to eat fish for dinner we will have to clean them. Not doing it in the van that’s for sure. The park has a dedicated cleaning area, complete with tables, water and a freezer for the frames etc for the use by the crabbers, wanting baits for crab pots. 

Silver Leader is very adept at filleting fish and has brought a butcher shop’s amount of knives etc for the job. He quickly fillets and skins the larger fish, while I scale and gut the bream. The whole process takes less than 5 minutes and we are on the way back to the van with premium fillets of fish ready for the evening meal.

As we pass another group, SIlver Leader is yelled at by a seated person. It is a friend of his from Port Macquarie – small world. Just as we stop to talk, one of the members of this little crowd yells violently at a vehicle going past suggesting they slow down. The vehicle slows immediately, obviously remembering there are children about, not to mention eyes are everywhere.

All jokes aside, in such a confined area the chances of stopping if and when a small child comes running out between some vans is greatly diminished the faster a vehicle is travelling. Its a sobering thought. One that does not require dwelling.

In the concept of a small world, one of the members of the charter we had met at a previous stop over point. His fishing expertise can only be described as “needs work, lots of work”. We invite him and his wife to dinner as we have plenty, and he has none from his efforts during the charter. It wasnt that he did not catch fish, or was not photographed with fish as if he had, it was just that anything he brought into the  boat went back again in a Forbsy-like undersize moment.

Unfortunately he declines, so we are left to eat what we caught, and given the cost of the charter and the amount of fillets available, enjoy them immensely for the cost per kilo is certainly greater that $100.

This is our last night in Karumba. Robyn is baffled  by the large number of semi permanent inhabitants of the park. They are a different breed to us. Much like the Hat Head crowd we are not inclined to join year in year out, being in one place like Karumbna for an extended period does not appeal. I feel this is because she is city born and we have been on the move, and still are on the move. Retirement although a word in our vocabulary, has no definition anything like what it might be for the “normal person”

But what is “normal”. For us with marketing of our two business festooned across the back of the van as we travel the wilderness, visit local markets, and managing to run successful business while we do, it is really only a state of mind. Look at the charter operator and his wife, well into their 70’s and if you can extrapolate from their snippets of information, do not need to work, but they choose to.

“You are either green and growing of ripe and rotting” a quote from Dale Beaumont of Business Blueprint. I don’t ever want to be rotting. I might be ripe from time to time when I don’t shower or I have eaten the wrong thing, but to vegetate waiting to fall off the perch is not mine. Robyn and I will broadside into our graves if we can arrange it, and it will be after we have seen and done all we physically can do, and for me writing about it now comes as a reminder of what I can and will do.