Date:
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11/05/2017
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Location:
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Lake Argyle (Wester Australia)
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Distance Travelled:
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5 km
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Temperature:
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Min:
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13.8
|
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Max:
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32.4
|
fish caught
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13
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How awesome was today?!? I’ll tell you how awesome: Super
Awesome – that how good it was. Having crossed the border late yesterday
afternoon, we had also crossed into a new time zone, with the clocks going back
by an hour. So, what did that mean...? Sleep in!
Oh yeah!
...well, not quite.
The kids’ body clocks obviously hadn’t received the memo
that there was anything different with the local chronological-time-field than
there had been the night before. So, they were up at the normal time and,
consequently, so too were Nat and I. But, on the bright side, we had what
seemed like many, many extra hours that
could now be fitted into our time at Lake Argyle.
The lake was hemmed in on the side nearest to us by
cavernous walls of familiar orange red rock. But, away in the distance, there
were hills and mountains of striking green, thrusting up from the clear waters.
This view stretched all the way to the horizon… This was one BIG lake!
Views of the splendiferous Lake Argyle
Looking directly down from our vantage point, we could
see the massive dam wall that had been constructed to keep in this behemoth of
water at bay. According to a sign, which was stuck elegantly at the top of the lookout,
the wall of the dam (or ‘Damn Wall!”, as the kids had an enormous amount of fun
saying over and over and over again) was 98 meters from its foundation (I guess
they ran out of stone to reach a flat 100?!?). It contained 1.5 million cubic
meters of rock, which collectively held back 10.7 million mega litres of water (I wonder what that is in tea spoons... Oh to hell with it, I couldn't help myself... According to Google ["All hail Google"], that would be 2170860959398813 teaspoons - give or take a few).
Damn Wall! statistics for my geeky bretheren out there!
There were even a convocation of eagles flying overhead (yup, that’s the collective noun for these winged beasts), which we all took turns with the camera trying to get a good snap of (I told you they were a bugger to capture on film – or at least the digital equivalent of film).
What a magnificent bird!
As spectacular as this area was, sight-seeing wasn’t the
main ticket on our agenda today. No, after breakfast I had spent precious
little time digging out my tackle box from the boot of the trailer and opening
the PVC tube that contained our rods, which had pretty much stayed locked
since we left Melbourne. Down the road we rolled, cautiously, across the narrow
culvert that has been constructed over the damn wall (“Damn Wall”, chirped the
kids as we drove). Onwards we crept – down to the river below.
The night before I had
been told tales of ‘meter-long Barramundi’ being pulled from this very spot only hours
earlier. But, to our disappointment, arriving at the base of the dam wall
(“Damn Wall” chorused the boys), we were met with a "No Fishing” sign (with capital letters and all). Not
being big fish eaters (well at least,
I’m not a big fish eater, and Nat can’t stand the idea of gutting and cleaning
a fish – and, well, why would I want to do it if I don’t really like the taste
of fish anyway [see where I'm going here...]), we gave a simple shrug, took a few photos and headed back to our
number two destination (according to another of the very chipper staff members
who seemed to ride pushbikes around the campsite all morning – before tending
the bar in the evening). So, we head back up the hill and turned down a rough
red dirt path towards a boat ramp. We all jumped out, checked with a local
boatie if it was OK to fish here, and scoured the banks for a good place to set
up. Unfortunately, at first glance, it seemed that other than throwing a line
in off the boat ramp there was no place else to go. But, heading back up the
road a little, Nat found a steep track that led down to water’s edge. There was
even a conveniently placed rope to help with the descent (and consequent
ascent, later in the morning).
Rope climb down to
the Ord river, for a spot of fishing
So, scrambling down the bank, we found a lovely little
spot to set up. Nat got out her book, maned the camera and took up crocodile
spotting duty. The boys did their best to stand on every piece of fishing
tackle I had, got caught up in line, and generally made as big a nuisance of
themselves as they possibly could. But, finally,
all three rods were eventually cast out into the water. Two, with lures, and
after some delay (attending to tangled lines and snagged hooks), mine was
loaded with float and bait.
On the way out of the caravan park, I’d picked up a pack
of frozen river prawns. They quickly defrosted in the hot morning sun and almost
before our eyes seemed to turn rancid, fermenting and exceptionally smelly
before our very eyes… PERFECT, I thought – let’s give them a go!
No sooner than I’d thrown in my line than I had a bite.
Not a burley barramundi, but rather a half decent catfish [scientific name and
link].
First fish – a moderately sized cat fish.
Throughout our fishing escapade, we had a couple of scaly
visitors keeping us company, in the form of freshwater crocs. According to the knowledgeable
staff back at the caravan park, at the last survey (at the end of last season)
there were an estimated 33,000 freshwater crocodiles in Lake Argyle. So it
wasn’t overly surprising that a small handful would pop up and choose our
stretch of the bank to sun themselves. Despite knowing that these medium to
large sized critters were pretty harmless, we still gave them a wide berth –
just in case one decided to go rouge and take a nip at us.
Sneaky croc waiting
for our cast offs…
Another couple of catfish and a few perch-like fish
later, it was time head off. The boys were having a great time and neither were
eager to leave. But, with the midday sun looming and bellies getting empty, we
all eventually gave in to the voice of reason reading her book on the bank and
packed up.
Perch-like fish –
not sure what type, but the lake was teeming with them!
After lunch, we headed to the pool for a very refreshing
dip to cool off. The view from the infinity pool at the top of the cliff
overlooking that massive lake was, to say the least, exceptional! I don’t think
I’ve ever been to a caravan park with such an exquisite pool for weary
traveller to soak their bones while gazing out across the lake towards the
horizon (although, I have to admit, it was freezing cold water!!)
View over Lake
Argyle from the infinity pool… it’s not a bad life, eh?
Soon, however, the kids started getting itchy feet and were
keen to head back down to the lake for ‘a proper swim’ (in water that was at
least above freezing) and – for my itchy fingers - another spot of fishing. Earlier
in the day, the boys had heard from some of their campsite friends that there
was a steep track leading down from the caravan park, ending on a pontoon from
which you could jump into the lake. There was a sense of a dare in the air, as
the kids informed us that their friends had been brave enough to jump off the
pontoon 11 times into the croc filled waters. So, down the track
we trudged. For a bit of fun, I talked up tales of crocs in the lake to see if
the boys would take the bait. At the bottom, we headed – tentatively – onto the
pontoon. There were lots of nervous glances into the water. There was no one
else around and the waters were still and eerily
quiet.
Unperturbed by my tales of nonsense, Ben was the first to
pluck up the courage to jump into the lake. Although, my stories must had left
some sort of impression, as no sooner as he was in, than he was up the ladder
and onto the pontoon once again. “That’s one”, he panted – noting that he only
had ten more brisk dips in the lake to equal his friend’s record.
Daniel was a little more cautious and, only once his
older brother had made it to a count of five plunges into the croc infested waters (and scrambled out again,
alive) that he decided it was probably safe enough to test it out for himself.
In truth, it is very safe to swim here; but the boys didn’t need to know that.
In the end, they made it to 40 dips, before they called it quits – quite proud
of themselves and thoroughly satisfied.
Ben jumping into Croc infested waters – will he jump?? (I
love how Daniel moves back quickly when I announce how many crocs inhabit this
lake!)
While Nat oversaw much of these ins and outs of Lake
Argyle, I set up a rod and proceeded to use up as much of the remaining bait as
I could (there was no way that stinking slurry of prawns and fetid juices were
coming along in the car with us tomorrow). Being near dusk, the fish were
really starting to bite. So, over the hour or so that we stayed b the lake’s
edge, I pulled in a string of catfish and perch. Once the boys got tired of
plunging into the lake, they came and joined me too – taking turns hauling fish
out, and flinging them back (with gentle grace and a tickle on the belly, of
course). After the fish or two, I used my knife to knock the barb of the hook
to make it easier to get the hook out. I don’t know why every hook I’ve been
able to find in Australia always has a barb on it. Sure, they keep the fish on,
but what’s a few lost fish in the name of a less traumatic experience when
catching and releasing.
In the end, the dying light got the better of us. So, we
threw the remaining prawns into the lake (which quickly became a boiling mass
of fish – much to our chagrin), packed up our gear, and made the long hike up
the hill. As we rounded the top of the cliff, we could hear live music coming
from the bar – so, quickly tidying ourselves up (and scrubbing the baked prawn
juice off our hands) we headed towards the source of the rhythmic noise for a
quiet drink, some pre-dinner wedges and a well-earned relax.
Tomorrow, we’re off to Kununurra – so a change of scene
again. It’s a bit of a short trip (only 70km, but there will be much packing,
cleaning and re-packing on the cards; before we head off to El Questro station
on two days time.
Bye ‘d Bye,
Gregg
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