I have had a multitude of fishing experiences.
Firstly with my Dad, as a restless child roaming up and down the bank while he quietly fished in the Murray river.
And then, 38 years with Barry & the kids, fishing in dams, channels, rivers and the sea.
In all that time, I never had any feelings for the fish -they were fair game.
A deep-sea experience out in the Bay of Islands off the coast of New Zealand changed all that.
We were fishing off the continental shelf, dragging feisty large fish up from the depths of the sea.
Their sudden rush to the surface forced their swim bladders to bulge out of their eye sockets.
I felt sorry for fish.
During the 2011 floods, at home on the Murray River, rotting 100-year old cod floated past in the deadly black water. Again, I felt sadness.
When we moved from our home on the river bank, I had a strong sense of relief that I would no longer have to go down the bank anymore. with kids and friends, hiding the fact that it was no longer enjoyable.
Yet, last week, without another thought, I jumped at the chance to go fishing NT style with Nettie and her Aboriginal friends from up the top of WA.
Three times we went out – to Crystal Springs & Galloping Jack on the Katherine and on the Ferguson near Pine Creek.
A variety of large eucalypts & mahogany trees formed a cool, shady canopy overhead, interspersed with native palm and bush tucker trees lining the tropical river banks. This was not the dry dusty river banks of the Murray!
Extensive rocky outcrops partially shaded by an occasional large tree and sandy beaches broke the landscape here and there.
The river – a quarter of the size of the Murray in width - sang a soothing song as the rippling water bubbled & poured through the twisting rocky river bed.
Its tune changed when the tide turned, although we could not see a change in the surface. Still billabongs and sandy beaches left by the receding river from recent high levels of monsoonal runoff reflected sun, sky and clouds.
It was all so calming, soothing and relaxing that the signs at the gates warning of croc danger in the depths seemed totally unfounded. Mr. Pip, Nettie’s dog, was kept on a lead on the first trip, but by the third, he was swimming in a shallow rock pool with Poppy and Jenny.
That first trip on the Katherine we settled down with the most rudimentary of fishing gear – hand held lines, prawns and steak for bait.
We enjoyed a leisurely day with little action except for Nettie’s superb 4wheel driving ability.
She took us up and down tracks that had become a series of wash-aways, gullies, near vertical dropdowns, sandy bottoms and jump ups of loose rock and shale.
I felt a little stirring of excitement when Poppy said he had caught a sword fish here and others had caught sting rays, and sharks as well. Imagine that – catching salt water fish in a fresh -water river hundreds of kms from the sea!
That would be a trophy catch for sure
Second trip, we had the same gear, Poppy’s wife Rhonda, and friend Jenny came with us as we headed north almost to Pine Creek, crossing the Ghan railway line and settling a little up-river from it on the Ferguson River.
On arrival, I found tracks leading to the water’s edge of what Poppy said was “just a little fella freshie”
In no time Rhonda had hooked a small brim and Jenny had a turtle on her light line.
I leant down to help Jenny land the turtle. It bared its needle-sharp teeth and started snapping!
Down south on the Murray River, our turtles are very docile hiding their heads in their shells.
Rhonda said ‘this one cheeky fella!”
When we tried to bring it ashore, it simply braced all four legs and chomped at the line until it was severed.
Poppy told us: “good eating that one. One-time Ronda caught one, got it on river bank, tipped it over on its back, chopped head off with big machete. Then, that turtle, he flip back over and run on four legs back into the river with no head! True, I see it!”
I headed off to explore, turned when I heard a train whistle, and watched a long freight train pass by.
Earlier I had questioned the safety of crossing the line from a narrow dirt track with no clear view for oncoming trains or vehicles. “it’s ok they always blow the whistle!” It was reassuring to hear that this was just what the driver did.
On my return I remarked that I had seen what might have been the tracks of a bigger freshie in the sand not far away.
Poppy replied: “probably tracks of this big mother on my line!”
The croc he had hooked had gone over to the other side of the river and he couldn’t move it out of there. Several times he tried to haul her in but couldn’t, so he just sat and waited and waited over an hour for her to move.
When she did start moving towards us, we all jumped back smartly.
Poppy pulled her right to the edge of the steep bank and up she came head and shoulders out of the water, snapping and threshing.
Three meters long or more, gleaming white razor-sharp teeth glistening as she snapped and finally cut the line, then twisting back churning up the muddy water as she swam away.
We all agreed that we were glad to see her go.
Then Ronda hooked a ‘little fellah baby one” – so it was all hands-on deck including a young woman from another family nearby, to help Ronda land it.
The meter plus croc was hooked in the front leg and so was easy to land.
Once out of the water, it started snapping while mewling & howling piteously and loudly.
It was an ungodly and unnerving sound that put the hair up on the back of our necks.
When Poppy heard that sound, unobtrusively he left us, and started to scan the water upstream.
On the way home he told us he saw bubbles rising just near where I had seen the big marks in the sand and could see the mother croc floating just below the surface coming closer & closer, watching us the whole time.
Each mistakenly thinking the other wanted to keep the croc to eat, the younger Aboriginal woman and Ronda began to throw large rocks at the baby croc’s head.
Each time the rocks connected with a loud thunk, the croc cried out again. It was bleeding copiously from the head and lying still so Rhonda flipped over on its back.
It immediately flipped back over on its belly, so more rocks were thrown.
Twice more Ronda tried to flip it, not only did it flip back over but the third time it got up and ran back into the water!
Once again, they hauled out the snapping, mewling creature and pulled it up higher on the bank.
The hook in its leg pulled free, but there was no more movement or noise from the croc even while more rocks were thrown.
It lay there for about an hour and wanting a photo on my iphone to message to family, I walked up close and took a pic. Soon as the photo click sounded – the croc snapped sideways just missing my leg.
I looked at Ronda who said: “ ‘im proper dead fella now, just nerfs.”
My nerves were a bit twitchy too and I resolved to never again say “smile” while standing too close to a ‘dead’ crocodile
The croc did not move again and lay there in the blazing sun, still bleeding for another half an hour.
As we were leaving, Poppy looked over his shoulder while picking up a long stick with which to push the dead croc into the river.
As soon as he touched it with the stick, it swung around and ran back into the river!
It was a quiet ride home especially after Poppy told us about the “big one mother all time watching”
Everyone seemed sad about what had happened, and the wasting of a fine animal, but perhaps, with his mother protecting him in the water he will recover and heal.
Maybe in years to come, a croc with a battle-scarred head will have grown to be a big fellah croc guarding that water hole, waiting for us to come back.
Fortunately, these crocs were freshies, if all this scenario happened with a salty, there may have been a very different ending as they are aggressive.
Our third fishing trip was the week the Katherine newspaper had an article warning about sightings of big tracks in the sand in the section of river between Crystal Springs and Galloping Jack water holes in the Katherine River.
What I am struggling to understand, is how come, after all this, on our third fishing trip at these very waterholes, Poppy, Jenny and Mr Pip were swimming in that river seemingly without a care.