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Blowhole
- By Randall Bryett
- Published 11/27/2003
- Trip Reports
- Unrated
Randall Bryett
Randall Bryett is a keen fisherman whom has tackled everything from bass to marlin on all types of tackle. His passion is saltwater flyfishing and he focuses on living the fishermans dream. When not traveling Randall who is Australian, resides in Northern California with his wife Kate and their two adopted cats.
While sipping my morning coffee I watched a particularly large crocodile cruising from his nighttime post, purposefully patrolling the bay in front of our camp. This was his stomping ground - he owned it and we both knew it. When he was in view it actually gave me a safer feeling when walking the beach. “Safe” is just a metaphor for being aware or wary, mandatory when fishing in remote Northern Australia! Those who aren’t generally can have a very short fishing trip. There are an estimated 80,000 saltwater crocodiles swimming the shores and estuaries of Australia. The number has grown recently with the ban on hunting and shooting of the reptiles. I have deep respect for these creatures just as do I the other nasties that one may encounter when fly fishing this region. This includes; Box Jellyfish, stonefish, sharks and even terrestrial animals such as Buffalo, Banteng and snakes which may be chanced upon while bumming around the back blocks.
Now just because there are dangers in the tropical north does not preclude you from doing some serious fishing. A small dose of common sense coupled with care and a little knowledge should keep you out of trouble. Inevitably when having this conversation with American anglers the talk turns to bears, cougars and guns! I'll take my chances with the crocs thanks! They are somewhat predictable in their methods. Being known as opportunistic feeders crocodiles can be a bit frightening to the angler wandering the waters edge in search of his own prey.
The Cobourg Peninsula in early November is a beautiful but lonely place. The campers are gone and the park rangers in the slow mode - most gone to meetings with local aboriginal groups to discuss leases, contracts and other matters... My stubble has grown into a beard and a month of wandering around Arnhem Land fishing and sightseeing has me being a little more adventurous but no less wary of the dangers of being in this land. In between working on the camp improvements such as a new verandah for dinning room and a new cabin, fishing was the main attraction with bird and animal watching a very close second. If you like raptors and lizards as much as I do Arnhem Land is paradise.
My good friend and camp proprietor, Brenton Hurt, and I had just finished bolting in the floor structure and I had concreted in the footings of a support bar that went underneath the verandah. In building this bush timber structure we used Stringey Barks. We hand picked certain trees for their size and straightness, felled and denuded them of their outer casing. They are not called stringey barks for nothing! Used by the Aboriginals for thousands of years, the string bark peels just like a banana and the bark could be used for making string or yarn. It’s all very demanding work in 100 degree heat and high humidity and when Brenton said ""why don’t you take the truck and go on a water run so we can finish filling the spa" I was thrilled. When he added "you should go fishing on the way, don’t hurry back" I was stoked! Packed and on my way in minutes, I drove down the dark red dirt road, a plume of dust marking my way.
One thing you quickly realize when you start out into the bush is that you are alone – the kind of ALONE most people never experience.
Truthfully, it can be unnerving and not everybody will enjoy the feeling. At times you can really feel like the last person on earth. Even though I drove in "worn tracks" the feeling of being lost can be disconcerting. On a couple of occasions I left the vehicle and walked into the bush. I wanted to get a feel for how easy it could be for the average punter to lose his way. My GPS with fresh batteries gave me great confidence in a place that would swallow you whole and never spit you back out. Times like these I find it
hard to believe that the Aboriginals have survived so well here. Making my way up to the solar water bore (well) near the airstrip from the camp took about two hours with my many reconnaissance stops. It was low tide on a huge spring set. This allowed me to see, walk and map out flats before the tide flowed back in. Big tides here really rip and you can watch water move in an amazing and overpowering manner. The low tide makes large expanses of shallow water better for fishing and crocodiles spotting – ie – you can see all the above before they sneak up on you! It is on the high tide when the water is deep, sometimes muddy, and if you are silly enough to be at the waters edge that you can be most vulnerable.
Per my mission I filled the 3 x 200 liter drums and had a bonus shower under the hose letting the cool water flow over my head and soothe my burnt shoulders and arms before heading back to a spot where I had found the stripped, ravaged and partially consumed carcass of a huge queenfish. The tide had worked it’s way back in and the red rocks, perfect casting platforms, where not as yet separated from the beach. I pieced together my ten weight rod and screwed the reel to the seat all the while surveying the scene around the rocks. Thousands of small baitfish where herded up into the shallows showering as predator fish streaked in from the deep. This made tying my fly on a little more hurried. I wanted to try one of my Peter Coulson Shaggy Dog flies that I had bought. In my opinion this little baitfish look-a-like was perfect for the job. I eased a quick cast up to the front of the rocks only to have a pack of what look like mangrove jacks surprise me. I yanked the fly from their attack, casting to another face. The tide was really pushing up quickly and I kept on looking over my shoulder to make sure my escape route was dry. I was also scanning for any possible stingers (box jellyfish) or crocks, highly unlikely on these rocks but I never let my guard down particularly when alone (Although all my caution can be thrown out the window when I hook a fish and get focused on landing, photographing and releasing it!). The small pressure waves were making gurgling sounds under the rock I was standing on. Those gurgles mixed with the mumblings and grumblings of an approaching thunderstorm made for a surreal setting. Casting to the outside dropoff I let the fly sink for a couple of seconds before giving a couple of quick strips, a pause, strip, then a solid slam vibrated up the rod. My hands automatically pushed the rod straight forward , line hard back and I set the hook. A beautiful queenfish took flight leaping and twisting as they do. I gave no quarter and soon had him to the rock for a quick photo. Squatting, I carefully layed him in a shallow pool, scrabbled for my camera, finding the “on” button with my fingers. I glanced at the water that now surrounded the back of the rock and thought I should get out of here soon. All of a sudden there was an incredible WWWWHHOOOOSSHH from the vicinity of my butt.
Like a frog with Polaris missile inserted in his rear I left the rock vertically completely sure that I was about to be ingested by that monster crocodilian that had been lurking in my subconscious. Very nearly making it back to the car in one gigantic leap I am sure, if they were available, I would have been throwing small children behind me as I flew. Turing back to see what had accosted me I saw nothing but my queenie flip flopping on the stone. Then another wave hit and the wooosh and spray of water from an unnoticed Blowhole in my fishing platform gave up the joke. Turning around in the opposite direction to see if anyone saw me – I realized how silly that was and started giggling . Now back on the rock and laughing uncontrollably I snapped a couple of shaky pictures of my queenfish. After removing the hook I looked carefully into the waters in front of me before releasing him. The fish went on to its side and without thinking I went into the elbows to try and revive him. "Dang – what if there is a box jelly floating around in here,” I thought to myself "or what if there was a croc waiting there…"
WWWOOOOOOSSHHH ..."Damn It... Got me again!!!!!!
Needless to say I had to get out of there. We ate Queenfish Numus that night and a few cold beers finally settled my heart rate back to normal.
 |
Now just because there are dangers in the tropical north does not preclude you from doing some serious fishing. A small dose of common sense coupled with care and a little knowledge should keep you out of trouble. Inevitably when having this conversation with American anglers the talk turns to bears, cougars and guns! I'll take my chances with the crocs thanks! They are somewhat predictable in their methods. Being known as opportunistic feeders crocodiles can be a bit frightening to the angler wandering the waters edge in search of his own prey.
The Cobourg Peninsula in early November is a beautiful but lonely place. The campers are gone and the park rangers in the slow mode - most gone to meetings with local aboriginal groups to discuss leases, contracts and other matters... My stubble has grown into a beard and a month of wandering around Arnhem Land fishing and sightseeing has me being a little more adventurous but no less wary of the dangers of being in this land. In between working on the camp improvements such as a new verandah for dinning room and a new cabin, fishing was the main attraction with bird and animal watching a very close second. If you like raptors and lizards as much as I do Arnhem Land is paradise.
My good friend and camp proprietor, Brenton Hurt, and I had just finished bolting in the floor structure and I had concreted in the footings of a support bar that went underneath the verandah. In building this bush timber structure we used Stringey Barks. We hand picked certain trees for their size and straightness, felled and denuded them of their outer casing. They are not called stringey barks for nothing! Used by the Aboriginals for thousands of years, the string bark peels just like a banana and the bark could be used for making string or yarn. It’s all very demanding work in 100 degree heat and high humidity and when Brenton said ""why don’t you take the truck and go on a water run so we can finish filling the spa" I was thrilled. When he added "you should go fishing on the way, don’t hurry back" I was stoked! Packed and on my way in minutes, I drove down the dark red dirt road, a plume of dust marking my way.
One thing you quickly realize when you start out into the bush is that you are alone – the kind of ALONE most people never experience.
Truthfully, it can be unnerving and not everybody will enjoy the feeling. At times you can really feel like the last person on earth. Even though I drove in "worn tracks" the feeling of being lost can be disconcerting. On a couple of occasions I left the vehicle and walked into the bush. I wanted to get a feel for how easy it could be for the average punter to lose his way. My GPS with fresh batteries gave me great confidence in a place that would swallow you whole and never spit you back out. Times like these I find it
Per my mission I filled the 3 x 200 liter drums and had a bonus shower under the hose letting the cool water flow over my head and soothe my burnt shoulders and arms before heading back to a spot where I had found the stripped, ravaged and partially consumed carcass of a huge queenfish. The tide had worked it’s way back in and the red rocks, perfect casting platforms, where not as yet separated from the beach. I pieced together my ten weight rod and screwed the reel to the seat all the while surveying the scene around the rocks. Thousands of small baitfish where herded up into the shallows showering as predator fish streaked in from the deep. This made tying my fly on a little more hurried. I wanted to try one of my Peter Coulson Shaggy Dog flies that I had bought. In my opinion this little baitfish look-a-like was perfect for the job. I eased a quick cast up to the front of the rocks only to have a pack of what look like mangrove jacks surprise me. I yanked the fly from their attack, casting to another face. The tide was really pushing up quickly and I kept on looking over my shoulder to make sure my escape route was dry. I was also scanning for any possible stingers (box jellyfish) or crocks, highly unlikely on these rocks but I never let my guard down particularly when alone (Although all my caution can be thrown out the window when I hook a fish and get focused on landing, photographing and releasing it!). The small pressure waves were making gurgling sounds under the rock I was standing on. Those gurgles mixed with the mumblings and grumblings of an approaching thunderstorm made for a surreal setting. Casting to the outside dropoff I let the fly sink for a couple of seconds before giving a couple of quick strips, a pause, strip, then a solid slam vibrated up the rod. My hands automatically pushed the rod straight forward , line hard back and I set the hook. A beautiful queenfish took flight leaping and twisting as they do. I gave no quarter and soon had him to the rock for a quick photo. Squatting, I carefully layed him in a shallow pool, scrabbled for my camera, finding the “on” button with my fingers. I glanced at the water that now surrounded the back of the rock and thought I should get out of here soon. All of a sudden there was an incredible WWWWHHOOOOSSHH from the vicinity of my butt.
Like a frog with Polaris missile inserted in his rear I left the rock vertically completely sure that I was about to be ingested by that monster crocodilian that had been lurking in my subconscious. Very nearly making it back to the car in one gigantic leap I am sure, if they were available, I would have been throwing small children behind me as I flew. Turing back to see what had accosted me I saw nothing but my queenie flip flopping on the stone. Then another wave hit and the wooosh and spray of water from an unnoticed Blowhole in my fishing platform gave up the joke. Turning around in the opposite direction to see if anyone saw me – I realized how silly that was and started giggling . Now back on the rock and laughing uncontrollably I snapped a couple of shaky pictures of my queenfish. After removing the hook I looked carefully into the waters in front of me before releasing him. The fish went on to its side and without thinking I went into the elbows to try and revive him. "Dang – what if there is a box jelly floating around in here,” I thought to myself "or what if there was a croc waiting there…"
WWWOOOOOOSSHHH ..."Damn It... Got me again!!!!!!
Needless to say I had to get out of there. We ate Queenfish Numus that night and a few cold beers finally settled my heart rate back to normal.
