Here We Go Again - Chapter 97 - 80 Mile Beach Day 3

I am out for walk early again today. Not as early as yesterday but still before Robyn makes it out of bed. There is no fog this morning and I place the solar panel out to capture the morning rays.

Walking over the beach head I see some people in the distance. Interesting that there seems to be quite a crowd. They are some half way to the waters edge, which at low tide means they must be nigh on a kilometre from the “shore”. There is a partial dispersal and the congregation seems to be moving away from a vehicle in the mud. Surely no one has been silly enough to drive in the mud.

I have heard stories of the madness that is the mud here. Get bogged and you will be retrieved, but perhaps several tides into the future. One particular story told of management going out to assist a bogged patron, only to become bogged themselves – it took a week to retrieve the shells of the vehicle. Not only is the water relentless but the salt penetrates everything. Once submerged the vehicles are write offs.

But this is not a wheeled vehicle. Its a jetski that has been marooned off the shore of the park. The owner is not from the park, having wandered in from another venue, failing to read the movement of the water, or perhaps not seeing a slight undulation in the mud, or being silly enough to inopportunely stop, sinking in and being stuck. Whatever the cause, the effect has been clear. They have been stuck for some time, probably overnight.

Leaving the mirth of someone else’s predicament I walk past a fisherman I spoke to the first day we landed here. He talks of a rumour of a midnight event that had occurred last night which may or may not produced a half decent fish. I will have to keep an eye and ear out for confirmation.

This only seeks to heat up the need for captures of significance of my own. I pack the rods into the holders on the front of the Cruiser, pack the bags into the boot, along with sufficient provisions for a picnic lunch. I even wander to Silver Leader looking to add his rods to the holder, but of course he is not ready. He will pack his rods into his Cruiser and meet me at a spot I select.

Onto the beach, and except for the actual entrance to the sand, there was no need to deflate the tyres. The sand is hard and easily driven.

Driving adjacent to the park needs be very slow because the numbers of fisherman not heading away from the easily walked position is becoming a writing mass of humanity, heading towards the water, apparently oblivious to vehicles, and growing by the moment. 

Its at least an hour before the top of the tide but the water is well and truly above the mudflats. Once past the park and its congestion the drive is incident free except for wildlife sightings. I pick a spot that seems to provide a bit of a drop off from the beach making a bit of a deep depression for fish to hide in.

Parking and setting up, I have my first fish, a shark of just under a metre, before Silver Leader and Rose arrive. Whilst he is getting out of his Cruiser and setting up ready to join me, I have another shark. Then as he throws his first bait I have a blue nose salmon around 750mm. Not a bad fish.

Bais go as quickly as we hurl them into the water. I catch an undersized Grunter and turn it into live bait and return it to the ocean. Silver Leader gets a reasonable salmon as well. This is much better than yesterday amongst the tangles and conglomerated baits at the caravan park, where the smorgasbord is so well stocked the fish have difficulty deciding which ones to take..

The big gear containing the live Grunter bends significantly. I lunge into taking up the strain but there is no resistance. I retrieve my bait to find only the head of the fish remains. Another shark, and by the size of the circular arc left on the Grunter, one of some size as well.

Even supplementing the frozen pichards (all 1 kilogram) with live fish, we run out of bait. Its about the right time, the girls are getting restless and the tide has well and truly begun to drop. They have found the picnic lunch and disposed of most of it, leaving only a tin of flavoured tuna and some Coke for me.

Time to head back, and by the time we reach the park, those still fishing are fighting a losing battle with the mudflats. Silver Leader parks by his van and I take my Cruiser to the cleaning tables. We have a couple of sharks and respectable salmon to clean. Looks like we have had the better of it today, although one fisherman brings a slightly bigger salmon to the table.

Those midnight fishermen are here regaling stories of the cold and the large shark they were able to beach. But it was the only fish of the night and to go again tonight is not in their thoughts. Well, at least not in the thought of the young woman who landed the fish.

Silver Leader expertly transforms the sharks into fish cocktails and fillets the salmon ready for the evening repast. I take the shark pieces to marinate in Texan barbeque sauce. Silver Leader is going to batter the salmon. We will eat at their van tonight but I will pull out our Webber and cook the cocktails on it.

We need some reasonable internet for a short time, so we head out to the highway. The low-pressure tyres give a significantly better ride than on the way in. At the highway we are immediately inundated with flies and not the lazy type, these ones are virile and will not take a slap down as an answer to leave us alone.

Unfortunately, the emails and work that require attention will take longer than it will for the Cruiser to heat up to a point where comfort no longer abounds, meaning the windows and the doors need to remain open a little to let some fresh air in. This means a continual replenishment of these little buggers. What it does do is get the work done quickly, without any superfluous attention to extraneous materials. It’s done, the flies are here out of the Cruiser with ease once it is moving and all is good with the world.

The road back is now in shadow. Creatures lurking in the shadows away from the heat are now surfacing. Cattle particularly have begun to roam. Several “Trevors” block it from time to time. We wait for them to pass. An emu, wallabies, and a dingo know better than to cross a Cruiser at speed, lest they become roadkill. Their quick darts across the road are too quick for cameras to capture.

On our return, Robyn and I are beckoned to our immediate neighbours for a sit around and discuss the where and the when. They are experienced campers in the area. They talk of Wreath Flowers to be found about the time we would be in Geraldton and the massive machinery of the Pilbara. I talk of my want to visit Marble Bar, they suggest it is more interesting than one might think. 

I am glad to hear that. To sit in a place entrapped in air conditioning, simply to say one has been there, is not really the plan, is it. The trepidation of visiting the country’s “hottest” destination, is tempered somewhat by the discussion. As is the talk of the really big boys’ toys at the mine sites.

Appetite wet, it’s time to cook dinner. I dig out the weber and prepare to cook. The vegetables first – chips of both ordinary and sweet potatoes followed by the fish. They won’t take long but need constant attention as the marinade bubbles around the pieces.

We accumulate all the food from our end and head over to a couple of sites to our friends. The first point of discussion is the enormity of the feast. Where is Forbsey when you need an extra mouth to feed.

We gorge ourselves silly, washing down the fish with suitable libations. “Full as a goog” we look to see there is still a lot of food left. Breakfast and lunch tomorrow is well covered.

Rolling back to the van we secure the leftovers in the fridge and hit the sack.