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| The view along the beach from Ned's camp to the Mesa. Note the deep footprints in the soft sand. |
We had breakfast and when I attempted to get up from my chair, I couldn't. I necked down an anti-inflammatory tablet, knowing that it would only mask the pain and not fix the problem. None-the-less, it gave me enough freedom to indulge in my favourite pastime, fishing. I toddled back down to the beach with my 4 lb outfit and a soft-plastic lure and was rewarded with a nice Giant Trevally after just a few casts. The fish wasn't huge but was a lot of fun on light gear. It was handled gently and returned to the water to fight another day.
Minutes later I was on again, this time it was easy to tell that the fish was bigger. More than ten minutes elapsed before I was able to land another GT, about 50 cm in length. Again the fish was returned to the water. Trevally are fun to catch but are Neighbour Fish. That is, you catch them and give them to your neighbour, or you let them go.
I'd had enough fun for the time-being and wandered back to the camp where Sue was reading and enjoying the peaceful surroundings. The weather was quite hot, with an offshore breeze that we found out later was baking the poor buggers on the other side of the Cape, at Exmouth. I sat down and busied myself doing bugger all - and lots of it, I might add. One of my pastimes, at places like this, is to watch the endless parade of European tourists as they drive in and out of each place on the map, taking in the scenery or looking for a place to camp for the night. I try and figure out just what it is that is keeping their vehicle from expiring and what it is that they will use for an excuse to come over and talk to us, before asking for something.
Sometimes they'll bring a map over and ask about different places, before then asking if we can spare any water, or detergent, or fuel, or whatever. I know it sounds harsh, but I give them nothing. We planned properly for our trip. By giving them some of our stuff it just makes our plans go awry. I honestly don't understand what the appeal is of living like grubs while travelling around Oz at breakneck pace in beaten up jalopies?
As it happens, we were only accosted by two different groups on this particular day. One used the map excuse and the other asked about the camping fees (a subject he would have known about as he had to drive past the same National Park entrance as we did and all the information was there.) I guess they sussed out that we weren't too forthcoming with info and neither tried to bot anything from us (although the first guy did manage to beg some fish from a couple of blokes who arrived at the beach in a dinghy.)
As the day unfolded we were forced to plunge ourselves bodily into the briny to cool off. There was still no sign of the expected sea-breeze. The water was cool and refreshing (unlike the water at Cossack, where the river and nearby beach were both 34 degrees!) Remembering my experience at Ningaloo Station the year before, where I would no sooner take the plunge and sharks would appear out of nowhere, I constantly scanned the area around me until I was convinced that the waters here seemed to be free of nasties.
After the dip I busied myself with some housekeeping duties as Sue went back to her book (well back to the words on her iPad actually - not the same as real books IMHO, but a necessity if you wish to cut down on weight when travelling.) I had installed a new set of Lithium batteries in the van and I was keen to keep an eye on their performance. I recorded the readings and was pleased to see that they were back to full charge by 11:00 AM. Not bad considering that we are running two compressor fridges and a fan almost constantly, not to mention the transient load from lights and so on.
We snacked on fresh fruit and cheeses for lunch, following which I gingerly wandered around the campsite to see if I knew anyone there. I didn't, but as usual I found myself fascinated by the many and varied "rigs" that people choose for their travels. Around mid afternoon the wind did change to a pitiful excuse for a sea breeze, but it was enough to knock a couple of degrees off of the temperature. Definitely an occasion worth celebrating with a nice, cool bevvy.
Although the breeze did drop away to nothing before we retired for the night, the Fantastic Hatch in the van was able to supply a cooling draught, enabling us to sleep well. For those whom don't know, a Fantastic Hatch is simply a wind-up hatch in the van roof, in our case over the bed, in which is mounted a 12 Volt fan. The fan has three speeds and has a thermostat that will turn the fan off once the air temperature gets to whatever you set it up at. Ours was working perfectly and sometime during the night it dutifully shut itself off.
We woke up just after dawn and I was curious to see what condition the batteries were in after a full night's work without the benefit of any charge going into them. They still had 73% capacity available (53% technically, as they should not be discharged more than 80% of their total capacity. meaning that 20% is basically unusable.) Anyway, enough of the techo BS, I was happy with what I saw and I knew that a cloudy day was forecast, so this would be a good test for them.
Because the campsite is fringed by tamarisk trees and we had no choice but to park the van under them, two of our four solar panels would be permanently shaded, so I unpacked the portable, 5th, panel and set it up in the open. With the cloudy day imminent, it would be good to have everything working in our favour. I set off to the beach, hoping to catch a fish for brecky.
After just a couple of minutes I was on....and on in a big way. I could see flashes of silver 40 metres, then 50, then 60 metres off shore as the unknown fish peeled line off of my screaming fishing reel. I pretty much knew that this was another Trevally. After losing about 80 metres of line to the fish I finally managed to stop it, only to witness my line turn and travel parallel with the shoreline. Try as I might, I couldn't get any line back for about 10 minutes.
Finally the fish gave in and made a fast run straight at me. I wound line in frantically, trying to keep tension on it so that the fish couldn't throw the hook. The fish got to within 30 metres of the shore before coming to its senses and turning away again, but it was tiring and I was able to keep the next run to a minimum. By now a crowd was gathering, including the ubiquitous backpackers (no doubt sensing a feed in the offing) and I was praying that I didn't lose the fish before we all got a look at it. My fears now turned to sharks.
Many a fisho will have had the heartbreaking experience of hooking a decent sized fish, only to have a shark nip it off neatly behind the gills and leaving the poor angler with just the head. I scanned the waters and, sure enough, there was a four-foot shape hanging back about 30 metres off my fish. I tightened the drag on my reel as much as I dared and leaned into the fish some more, silently cursing my decision to use my light tackle again.
I was puzzled that this fish appeared to be quite long - too long for an inshore Trevally, but eventually realised that the hooked fish was being tailed by another Trevally of equal size, thus giving the appearance of one long fish. The second fish did not peel-off until the hooked fish was only a couple of metres from the shore. The final five minutes of the fight were just a long grind. I'd win some line back and the fish would take most of it again. My arms were aching and I was getting chaffed where the butt of the rod was digging into my stomach. Eventually the fish was spent and could offer little more resistance than to turn itself side-on to my line and force me to drag it in.
As I pulled the flagging fish up the shore, aided my the small waves at the shoreline, the crowd milled around to have a look. The fish wasn't huge, possibly 65cm, but was very thick-set. Being a Trevally, a fish known for their fighting qualities, this majestic piscean had proven to be a real test on 4 lb gear and was my personal best for this species on the 4 lb line class.
A spectator kindly filmed me holding the fish up, then continued to film as I released it. The poor fish was buggered and took an unusually long time to get its wind back, before swimming off very slowly. The dark shape further out to sea had disappeared after I landed the fish and hopefully would not be around to take advantage of the Trevally's weakened state. This was to be the last filming done with my little GoPro camera. I didn't know it then, but it was to succumb to my stupidity just a few days hence. (That's another story to come soon.)
Trevally Caught at Ned's Camp - Last Ever Clips from GoPro Hero 2 from russell heaton on Vimeo.
It was only after all the action had quelled that I realised how hot it had gotten - so early in the morning as well. The forecast overcast conditions had not yet eventuated and it felt as though we were in for an uncomfortable day.
Breakfast was consumed with gusto, having worked up an appetite fighting the Trevally. Then it was a case of "What to do? What to do?" I decided to do pretty much "bugger all" and it was working quite well until I started to get bored sand o it was decided that we would reorganise the car and van. Other travellers will know that the item that you need the most is always packed underneath everything else, so having already decided that I got it all wrong when I packed things at Cossack, we set about taking everything out and reorganise it - so that the thing we need the most would be under a different pile of everything.
We killed a few hours doing the reorganisation and before we knew it, it was lunchtime. The reliable West Coast sea Breeze had still not made an appearance and the cloud cover was finally thickening, making conditions pretty sultry. I could see that we weren't going to make enough electricity from the little bit of sunshine that we were getting, meaning that we would go into deficit at the end of the day. This was not a major issue as my early calculations indicated that we would be able to go for another two days without sunshine before we would have to shut down any of the fridges.
The afternoon was spent cleaning fishing gear, dozing and enjoying the cool water of the Indian Ocean every time we got a bit overheated. Around mid afternoon the guy who was at the beach in the dinghy the first day we were here, made a reappearance. I had talked to both of the occupants of the dinghy on that first occasion and went over to have another chat with them. I was delighted when they asked me if I wanted to go out fishing with them. I raced back to our camp and grabbed my best ever Barra rod and tackle bag, blurted out to Sue that I was going fishing and then bolted back to the beach.
The gentlemen were Trevor and his Son, Paul. They were former residents of Exmouth, now living in the Southwest. They were on a mission to catch Spangled Emperor and nothing else. They certainly didn't get any argument from me and we set off over the calm waters inside the Ningaloo Reef, heading for Paul's secret spot. On the way, Paul explained his secret technique and it was unlike anything I had ever heard of before. Frankly, I wasn't sure that it was the best way to catch Emperor, going on the methods that I had used in the past, but I said nothing and went along with the plan.
The first place that we tried produced nothing. Paul wasn't filling me with confidence, but then he did come in the previous day with three nice sized fish, so I was prepared to wait it out. The second spot produced results within minutes, with Paul landing a nice fish more than 60 cm long. Trevor and I got simultaneous hook-ups that both turned out to be Trevally. These fish were a little smaller than the one I had caught earlier that day and, on heavier tackle, were landed much quicker (although they criss-crossed out lines several times, making a big tangle that had to be sorted out.).
Soon Paul had another Emperor aboard and I was getting worried that I might go home empty handed. Those fears were exacerbated when my next fish turned out to be a monstrous Northwest Blowfish. Trevor wasn't having much luck, losing the next two fish that he hooked, both times due to the knot at his hook failing. Paul got the shits on after the second time it happened and tied the hook on for his Dad. It was while he was doing this that I hooked and landed an Emperor, again over 60 cm in length.
Paul got the next fish, leaving only poor Trevor scoreless. Trevor had also made a misguided oath to himself that he would not crack open a beer until he had caught a fish that he could eat. As you can imagine, much good-natured jibing was directed at him as he suffered (not in silence, I might add), the torture of drinking water. Finally, Trevor was on and as the fish came to the surface it was clear that it was an Emperor. Some tense moments ensued as the fish was carefully brought aboard, breaking Trevor's drought (in both meanings of the word.) We had a nice feed on board and it was time to head back to shore.
Every fish caught was over 60 cm in length, more than 20 cm larger than the legal minimum size for this species. We had caught almost half of the allowable boat limit, but with fish this big, there was no need to carry on angling. Now, you may wonder why I haven't described where we went, or what the "secret" technique is? Well, it's like this. Paul made me swear that I would not divulge this information to anyone and I am bound by that promise. When a fisherman let's you in on a secret place/technique, it is very poor form to abuse that privilege. Suffice to say that the secret spot is accessible by kayak, but as for the technique, you would not guess it in a million years.
Back at shore we attracted a crowd of onlookers, including the ubiquitous back-packers (whom seem to materialise out of nowhere). Paul has a policy of not giving fish away if people ask for some, but he will give some to people whom are hanging around, asking questions, but not begging for some fish. On this occasion he gave some Trevally to a German family (who turned up earlier in the day and set up net to us.)
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| l-r Gordon, Kerry, Linda, Me (Russ), Paul, Trevor. Sue took the picture. |
All of the fish were cleaned and filleted at the beach. Normally Paul would take his fish back to the "Table of Glory" (the fish cleaning table at the caravan park where he was staying) where he could boast to anyone who would listen, but as I had a fish to clean and he wanted to continue nattering, he decided to do it at the shore. Paul's Sister, Mother and Brother-in-Law were at the beach when we arrived and with this many people working, the filleting was done and dusted in no time.
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| The catch. The two fish on the left are Trevally, the remainder are Spangled Emeror. |
Sue and I had now a dilemma. We had already taken a previously caught Emperor out of the freezer and had thawed it for that night's meal. What to do? In the end it was decided to eat the fresh fish because the thawed one was cryo-packed and would be fine the next day. So it was that the fresh Emperor was lightly dusted in seasoned flour and fried on the BBQ, to be served with fresh salad. We made a valiant effort, but even with us both trying very hard, we couldn't eat all of that fish in one meal. The left overs were placed in the fridge for another time. It goes without saying that the fish was sensational.
It was Christmas Eve and the camps around us were filled with cheery holiday makers chatting and laughing into the evening. We were quite surprised at just how many people were away from their homes for Christmas. The Germans next door to us had parked their Campervan so close to our caravan that they couldn't fully open the bedside window adjacent to us. I went over to see them and politely pointed out that the window on our caravan, which was right next to the window of their campervan, was our bedroom window. I also made an exaggerated snoring noise before pointing at their window and saying "You sleep there." Then I pointed to the window on our van and said "I sleep there....and I snore very loudly."
They didn't move their vehicle, so we turned in and had a good night's sleep, thanks to our Fantastic Hatch and its effective fan. When I awoke the next morning I noticed that they had moved their vehicle at some stage during the night. I asked whether my snoring forced their move and I'm still not sure whether they were being diplomatic when they said that our caravan was blocking what little breeze there was, making it too hot to sleep, or whether I had kept them awake half the night. (Sue sleeps with earplugs.)
Next Post: Christmas at Ned's Camp.
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