Here We Go Again - Chapter 62 - Darwin Day 2

The alarm goes off at 5.00am but I am already awake. My body clock sensed it was time. Showered and dressed for the occasion, this time in my “traditional” outfit rather than  the gaudy fishing shirts I have purchased along the way so far. Rather than the non breathing synthetics of the marketing apparel, my linen fishing shirts designed with lots of pockets, which breathe with the day are my selection today.

We are met at the entrance to the park. We are the only ones on the trip today, almost a thank you for “playing” the game of cat and mouse with the fish again. Whilst we were waiting I needed to return to the van for my hat. I replaced the baseball type cap for a more appropriate and well loved cricket hat which may have seen better days but does a far better job of keeping the sun off.

The boat is launched and we head out into the darkness. We head past the Kimberley explorer. A huge ship which Robyn and I intend to board at some stage for a first class trip to Broome and back sometime in the not too distant future. Whilst the boat is big the crew out numbers the passengers and the tours from it into areas of the coast inaccessible any other way are said to be a highlight. A story for another day, but not this trip.

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Apparently we are out of any port restricted area and we are now screaming along at top speed in the dark and fog towards our destination. It is at these times you are thankful for GPA and other navigational aids and weigh points etc, as we would have no idea as to our positioning. A competitor rides alongside us for a while then peels off to pick up his crew for the day.

As the light takes over the sky, the fog becomes more evident. In time the fog will lift and show we have been travelling along the coast of an island. Our skipper told us we would be 50 minutes travelling. I am glad he knows where he is going.

The sun begins to rise as does the fog and almost immediately the motor back off and we are in the creek we are going to fish. There are decisions to be made. Fish first or deploy the crab traps. Has the tide turned yet or do we have time.

We go with deploying the traps. With my two we have eight. They are armed with a chicken leg each and deployed in estuaries, tied to trees or simply left with their floats to signify their position for when we return hopefully to plunder them for tasty monsters.

That done we head back to the mouth of the creek. First we flick lures into the mangroves in an attempt to lure our prey. No joy as we work our way along. We change sides of the creek and the skipper points out the “crevices” in the mud and that we should direct our lures into them. Barramundi being an ambush predator will hide in such places.

One such foray and I notice a swirl of mud and a Barramundi scream past the boat. What I don’t raise is that my line is following the fish at a rate of knots. I strike but to no avail, the lure is quickly spat by the fish. Bugger that looked like a decent fish too.

I get a couple more hits and again striking only  sees the fish spit the lure, although at one point there actually was a few moments of fight. The others are yet to have an encounter and I have had three, all failures.

Suddenly our skipper Rowan strikes at a fish. Engaged in a battle with a mid-sized fish, we all reel in and look to assist in whichever way we can, from simply not having a line in the water to manning the landing net. Silver Leader manages to find and deploy the landing net and the fish is landed. A perfect eating size, we will not go hungry tonight, but thats not the point of the exercise is it?

The skipper one upping us, but not for long. Silver Leader is into a fish, a bigger one and is maneuvering it around the boat. Thankfully we are not anchored to the only potential issue will be the motors. There is a full lap of the boat before, even in the shallow water, the fish is anywhere near ready to be netted.

No dramas, the fish is netted and we have two for the table.

The tide is turning and the mud swirling making the visualising of the hiding places more and more difficult but not before I destroy the reel on my light rod. Catching a snag the reel falls apart under pressure. It leaves a tangled mess of braid.

With no strikes for some time the skipper decides we need a new approach. We will do an interim check of the crab traps enroute to another spot further up the creek. No joy in the either. This might be an expensive day.

Rowan notes its time to feed Fred. Fred is a Whistling Kite that calls the creek home. He has been feeding the bird every time he comes here to fish. He has half a bread roll to feed him with and hurls it into the air. The predator swoops but misses it on the first strike. It doesn’t stay wet in the water long as the great brod turns and recovers its “prey” heading to the trees for his meal.

Trolling now under the speed of the motor I get a strike but get only about 2 head shakes before it is gone. Silver Leader has more luck and to his surprise he has landed a Mangrove Jack, a delicacy in these parts and very prized fish. There are lots of crocodiles sunning themselves on the banks nearby as we glide along in search of prey. 

The sounder shows lots of fish sitting off a snag nearby and countless casts propel Gold Bombers and bright coloured Vibes in the direction but nothing is eating just now.

Its getting late and we have a long trip home. First though we need to pick up the crab nets. This time there is return on our investment. Five crabs in all are harvested from the traps, three from my traps alone. Toes are kept on the gunnels as the crabs are tied down to ensure those claws do no damage to us on the return trip. 

The bait from the crab traps, becomes another Fred feeding exercise. Again he misses but this time he does not have the advantage of floating bread. He will have to do better and better he does. As instead of the limp armed effort of the Silver leader I hurl the chicken leg high into the air. Fred intercepts it with ease and is off into the bush to enjoy it.

Five decent crabs, 2 Barramundi and a Mangrove Jack – not a bad effort. Still not really economically viable when you consider the cost of the outing, but that’s not the point is it?

The trip home is much warmer than the fog filled darkness experience of the night’s commencement. There apparently is only two speeds here, flat out or stopped. Boats zip past or across our path at speed. Rowan needs to clean the fish. This he does whilst we lunch. He forgot to feed us in the river.

With only three fish to clean we continue to consumer our Caesar salads between bounces of the boat. The boat ramp is a mangled mess of boats and kids fishing. The car is parked quite a distance from the ramp. The two ramps are in constant use at this time. We hold the boat while Rown retrieves the car. 

Whilst he waits in line we see the obligatory comedy of boat retrieval unfold in front of us. Self centring trailers being missed altogether, skippers, slipping on the slippery surface to the amusement of the crowd, all while ramp urchins look to catch fish. We laugh only because we have been there, done that.

Eventually Rowen gets the trailer in the water and takes the boat back around the jetty and onto it. It has a self attaching mechanism so he does not need to get out of the boat until he wants to get into the cabin of the car and drive off. This he does to the amazement of the rookies on the ramp and quickly has the car in the safety of a driveway to fully secure the boat before our trip back to the van park.

Home and our hunter and gathering exploits are inspected. Now what to do with them. Silver Leader deals with the fish, skinning and filleting as we want. The crabs need to be cooked up. We certainly do not have a pot to do them all at once. 

Five crabs means five singularly cooked in the only pot we have. I start with a small one after getting the water to boiling point. That was easy enough. Reheat and throw the next one in. All well and good until the last one. Much larger than the others, it is quite an effort to get it into the pot and cooking.

I leave the last one a little longer in the pot to ensure full cooking. It will be crab claws and legs as entree for dinner tonight. The Barra can be vacuum packed for another day.

Not being used to eating crabs we are not really prepared for dinner. Out come hammers and skewers as crude implements for the delicate task of cracking shells and extracting crab meat. For someone who suggested she was not overly keen on crab, Robyn devours leg after leg before I crack a claw for her and it disappears just as quickly. The white wine didn’t help at all, and we all need a good wash after dinner.

Checking out the stores of crab we find we have made only a small dent in the supply. I suspect Barramundi may be on the menu much later than anticipated.