by Derek Hansen
‘The rooms are clean and dry and the beds look comfortable,’ said Mick cheerily.‘They’ll do me.’
‘I’ve put all our names in the hat,’ said Big Barry. ‘Neville, since you’re the new bloke, why don’t you draw a name out first to see who you’re sharing with.’
‘Be my luck to get someone who snores,’ said Neville.
When they gathered beneath the awnings in the dining area, they found their table side by side with two others, which were already occupied. There was another party of six and one of eight. The boys returned greetings and sat down, figuring there’d be plenty of time to socialise with the others later.
‘We’re in luck,’ said Carlton.‘There are two women on the far table.’
‘I took a look at them,’ said Big Barry. ‘We’re in luck; they’re with someone else.’
‘Uncalled for and ungracious,’ said Graham. ‘I bet they look great after half a dozen beers.’
‘There is no beer,’ said Big Barry.
‘Then we’re in trouble,’ said Graham.
Everyone laughed except Neville.
‘It’s easy to be cruel,’ he said. ‘Not always so easy to apologise afterwards.’
The boys stared at Neville in disbelief. There was nothing intentionally sexist or personal in their comments; it was just the sort of meaningless banter men carry on with when they’re off on their own and determined not to act their age. For once they were lost for a comeback.
That night they had steaks for dinner, which had come in on the plane that had brought them to Maningrida. As the meal progressed, the boys’ good humour returned.
‘This is one of the most tender steaks I’ve had in ages,’ said Big Barry.
‘Got me,’ said Yanni.‘I think the cook must bake the whole sirloin in the oven for an hour or so at low temperature before he cuts it up and sears it on the barbie. It’s the only way to get steak an even pink all the way through.’
‘I reckon the cook’s a genius,’ said Carlton. ‘Getting steak to taste this good way out here.’
‘I don’t know what you’re all going on about,’ said Neville. ‘It’s just steak. You can get that any day anywhere. I think the least a place like this can do is serve fresh fish.’
The boys didn’t say as much that night but they began to get a very bad feeling about Neville.
Neville had been paired with Mick and at breakfast the boys decided the arrangement would extend to the boats for the first day’s fishing.
‘What size fish can we expect?’ said Neville to Jack, the guide they’d been allocated.
‘Average size is three to six kilos,’ said Jack. He was an easygoing Territorian, small and wiry, with a love of fishing matched by an equal desire to please. ‘A good fish is ten kilos.’
‘You call that good?’ said Neville. ‘In the Arafura Swamp we called that ordinary.’
‘Ten kilos will do me,’ said Mick.
‘We sometimes get them up to fifteen,’ said the guide. ‘Occasionally bigger from the billabong. Now let’s check your gear.’
‘I’m already rigged,’ said Neville. ‘Six kilo with ten-kilo trace.’
‘You might find that a bit light for here,’ said Jack, trying to be helpful. ‘Too many mangroves and paperbarks. Too many snags. You could find yourself losing a lot of lures.’
‘What do you recommend?’ said Neville.
‘Ten-kilo Gelspun with a twenty-kilo trace usually does the business.’
‘Why don’t we just use dynamite?’ said Neville.
Neville wasn’t happy. He sucked furiously on his peppermints.
‘Gelspun cuts through knots,’ he said.
‘Then you have to tie a new bimini twist,’ he complained.
‘And an Albright knot.
‘And a perfection loop.
‘All takes valuable fishing time.’
By the time Mick had lent Neville some ten-kilo Gelspun and he’d re-rigged, the others had already gone off in their boats.
‘Typical,’ said Neville.‘They take the best spots and we get what’s left.’
Some guides react to fishermen who whinge by taking them where they know the fish aren’t so they’ve really got something to whinge about. Jack did exactly the opposite. He thought that once he’d put Neville on the end of a good barra, everything would change. He’d seen it happen before. Barra worked wonders on people; worked better than grog, drugs or a good woman. Jack decided to take them straight upriver to a rock bar he knew where big barra lurked. He figured it would only take one good fish to put a smile on Neville’s face that would last all day. There was another consideration too. Jack liked Mick, liked his type. He picked him for the kind who only ever sees the upside of things and delights in everything good that comes their way.
When they reached the rock bar, Jack could see by the way the water swirled and by its clarity that big barra would be hovering on the downriver side, waiting to gobble up anything smaller than themselves that had the misfortune to drift past.
‘Let your lure settle before you start to retrieve,’ said Jack. ‘Then hang on.’
Mick hooked a nice five-kilo fish with his first cast. He shouted for joy as his fish broke the surface and went absolutely ballistic. His enthusiasm brought a smile to Jack’s face.
Neville offered neither encouragement nor congratulations. All he said was, ‘Use my Bogagrips. Barramundi gill cases are sharper than broken bottles. I don’t want my day ending early because you’ve ripped your hands open.’
Mick used the device to hold his fish by the bottom lip while he unhooked his lure.
Neville cast and retrieved, cast and retrieved, but couldn’t buy a strike. ‘Bloody typical,’ he said. ‘I’m on the wrong side of the boat.’
‘Try another lure,’ said Jack.‘Mick’s using a B 52.’
Neville crushed the barbs on the B 52’s triple hooks — as all the boys did — to make it easier to release the fish after it had been netted and weighed. He hooked up first cast. Jack thought that would make him happier but it didn’t.
‘It’s only a tiddler,’ said Neville. ‘Hardly know it’s on. I get almost as much fight from the lure.’ His fish ran to six kilos, a kilo heavier than Mick’s.
‘What a beauty!’ said Mick. He took a photo of it before Neville returned it to the water.‘Your luck’s in.’
‘I don’t count fish under ten kilos,’ said Neville. ‘Certainly don’t waste film on them.’
Jack listened to the exchange, gritted his teeth and resolved to try harder. He took them up gutters onto the flood plains where the run-off streamed down through clumps of mangroves.
‘What’s that beautiful palm?’ said Mick.
‘That,’ said Jack, ‘is a geebung, one of our rarest. Beautiful things. You only find them in a few places here and in New Guinea. They take thirty years to grow, then flower and die.’
‘It’s magic,’ said Mick, lining up his camera for a photo.
‘It’s in the way of my cast,’ said Neville.
They caught another six barra around the geebung palm before the crocodiles came to investigate.
‘Bloody typical,’ said Neville. ‘We find the fish then the crocs find us.’
‘Stop and have a drink while I sort this out,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve got to keep up the liquids out here.’ He pushed an esky towards them.‘Plenty of water in there.’
‘You need more than water,’ said Neville. He pulled a bottle of Powerade out of his tackle box and swallowed half a dozen mouthfuls.‘You need electrolytes.’
‘Good idea,’ said Mick.‘Give me a shot of that.’
‘I don’t share bottles,’ said Neville. ‘Herpes, hepatitis C, meningitis.’ He put the bottle back in his tackle box, slipped a peppermint into his mouth and began sucking on it noisily.
‘You missed out blackwater fever,’ said Mick amiably.‘And AIDS.’ His smile vanished when he saw Jack pick up a rifle.
‘Hey! I thought crocodiles were protected.’
>
‘They are,’ said Jack. ‘The rifle’s for emergencies. I’m just moving it out of the way. Ah! Here’s what I’m looking for.’ Jack pulled a bag of marbles and a catapult from a storage box. ‘Strictly speaking, this isn’t allowed either.’ He lined up a crocodile and let fly. The marble zinged off the croc’s head with a resounding crack. The croc raced away. Jack fired marbles at one croc after another until he’d scared them all off. Mick laughed so hard water spilled from the bottle he was holding.
‘They’ll be back,’ said Jack. ‘But it should give us time to catch another couple of fish.’
‘Be my luck to catch something big just as they return,’ said Neville.
Neville hooked into a monster. It hurled its whole body clear of the water so they could see how big it was. It was magnificent, the sort of fish that addicted people to barra fishing for life; the sort of fish that could bring a smile to the face of a marble statue; the sort of barra every fisherman dreamed of catching. A crocodile took it as it landed.
‘What did I tell you?’ said Neville. He took another swig of Powerade and sucked angrily on a peppermint.
Big Barry and Carlton were first back to the camp. They wore smiles almost too wide to photograph. They’d caught thirty-two barras between them including one that ran to twelve kilos. They couldn’t speak highly enough of their guide.
Graham and Yanni came in next and it was the same story. They’d caught thirty-five barras, one a touch over eleven kilos and, as a bonus, four two-kilo fingermark bream for dinner. They made no secret of the fact they thought their guide was a champion.
‘That guy can put you onto any fish you want,’ said Graham. ‘If I’d asked, I reckon he could have put us onto a mermaid.’
‘So why didn’t you ask?’ said Carlton.
‘What would I do with a mermaid?’ said Graham. ‘How do you scale them? How do you fillet them?’
The boys were still playing silly buggers when Mick and Neville came in. Incredibly, there wasn’t a smile to be seen.
‘How’d you go?’ asked Big Barry tentatively.
‘Had better days,’ said Neville.
‘What did you get?’ asked Carlton.
‘Forty-two if you count them all,’ said Neville.
‘Forty-two?’ said Big Barry.‘You caught forty-two?’
‘Only four over ten kilos,’ said Neville. ‘Only four that mattered.’
‘You got four over ten kilos?’ said Graham.
‘Biggest landed was only fourteen kilos,’ said Neville.
‘Fourteen kilos?’ said Yanni. ‘You caught a fourteen-kilo barra?’
‘That was a tiddler,’ said Neville.‘The biggest got taken by a croc. Bloody typical. I said that would happen.’
No one noticed Jack clean out the boat and walk away to join the other guides without saying a word. No one noticed Mick unload his gear and walk away to have a shower without saying a word, either.
‘I need a drink,’ said Mick.‘No, better make that a dozen. Call the bloody plane and put me on it. I’ve never needed a drink more in my life.’
‘He can’t be that bad,’ said Carlton.
‘We’re going to have to do something about him,’ said Mick. ‘He never lets up. Never. Not for a moment. I should have been having the time of my life; instead all I could think of was getting back.’
‘He wasn’t like that at the dinner party,’ said Yanni.
‘Well, he is now,’ said Mick mournfully. ‘Better hide my razor in case I decide to slash my wrists.’
‘What fantastic fish,’ said Big Barry over dinner. ‘You know, I think it’s worth coming up here just to eat fingermark bream.’
‘Got me,’ said Yanni. ‘I think the cook must just sear both sides then put the fillets in a hot oven for a few minutes. See how evenly cooked they are all the way through? You can only get that using an oven.’
‘Exquisite,’ said Carlton.‘I don’t care how the cook does it, I’m just glad that he does.’
‘I’ll pass your comments on to the cook,’ said Jack. ‘He appreciates feedback.’
‘Salt and fried fat,’ said Neville.‘That’s all you’re tasting.’
‘What?’ said Jack. The boys all stopped eating to look at Neville, clearly embarrassed and not believing what they’d heard.
‘Could be any fish,’ said Neville. ‘It’s overcooked and oversalted. Could be eating fish fingers.’
‘Fish fingers,’ said Jack faintly.
‘You pass that on to the cook as well,’ said Neville.
‘What are we going to do?’ said Big Barry after Neville had packed it in for the night.‘The man’s a nightmare.’
‘He wasn’t like this at the dinner party,’ said Yanni.
‘So you keep saying,’ said Mick.
‘Boys!’ said Graham quickly.‘Our problem is with Neville, not with each other. Right?’
‘What the hell can we do?’ said Yanni. ‘I was afraid this would happen. Maybe he’s a different bloke when he’s got a few drinks in him. Maybe we should try and smuggle a bottle in.’
‘Not an option,’ said Jack. ‘Unless you want to risk a compulsory gaol sentence and fine.’
‘Pity. I know I’d feel better if I’d had a few,’ said Mick morosely.‘What the hell are we going to do?’
‘I’ll take him tomorrow and give you a break,’ said Big Barry.‘Maybe I can bring him around.’
‘Take your own Powerade,’ said Mick.‘He doesn’t share.’
‘Powerade?’ said Big Barry.
‘You’ll see,’ said Mick. He looked up as the cook arrived with a pot of coffee and a tray of cups.
‘Any chance of Irish?’ asked Mick.
‘None at all,’ said the cook. He placed the tray on the table and let his tall, angular frame sink down onto a chair. ‘Had a problem with the grog once, that’s why I work here.’
‘Then we’ll be grateful for what we’ve got,’ said Graham.
‘No worries,’ said the cook. ‘By the way, thanks for the comments about the fish. Jack passed them on. I do use the oven and it’s nice to have my efforts appreciated.’
‘Did Jack also . . . ?’ asked Big Barry tentatively.
‘Fish fingers,’ said the cook.
‘Sorry about him,’ said Carlton.
‘I bet they slapped his mother when he was born,’ said the cook.
The next day Big Barry changed places with Mick and Jack handed over to his fellow guide Murray. Muzza had been raised on Melville Island and had fished for barra all his life. He could find fish when no one else could and he could pretty well guarantee to put an angler onto something special. Muzza was a legend. His fellow guides reckoned that he was just the man to put a smile on Neville’s face. If he couldn’t, no one could.
‘Where to?’ said Neville.
‘I know a couple of deep holes on the flood plains where the barra have grown big and fat on frogs,’ said Muzza.‘I was keeping them for myself.’
‘That’d be right,’ said Neville. ‘Keep them for yourself and screw the paying customer.’
Carlton and Mick were first back. They’d gone up past Three Ways to the billabong where the water was fresh. They’d topped the magic fifty with three barra over ten kilos, one a tad under thirteen. Mick had also caught his first saratoga in the fresh and half a dozen mangrove jack on the way home, which he’d kept for dinner. Mick was ecstatic. It didn’t matter that Carlton had caught more barra than him or that he’d caught the biggest. Mick had had the best day’s fishing ever.
Yanni and Graham were next home. They’d had trouble all day with crocodiles but still managed more than forty fish, one of which was over ten kilos.
‘Graham hooked up on a croc as big as he is,’ said Yanni. ‘Bugger wanted to bring it into the boat.’
‘Had my best Elton Chrome in its mouth,’ said Graham, as if that explained everything. His mates started laughing.
‘He wanted me to hold the croc with the Bogagrips,’ said Yanni. ‘A one-poi
nt-eight-metre crocodile with Bogagrips. The bugger was serious.’
‘I had my rifle ready,’ said Jack.
‘What? To shoot the croc?’ said Carlton.
‘No. To shoot Graham. Stupid bugger.’
The boys were in a great mood as the boat carrying Big Barry and Neville swung into sight.
‘Hope for our sake they had a good day,’ said Mick.
‘Hope for our sake Neville had a good day,’ said Carlton.
‘Hope for our sake he had a fabulous day,’ said Yanni.
The laughter and wisecracking died like a guttering candle.
When Big Barry stepped off the boat with his rods and gear and walked off without a word, the boys feared the worst. When they turned to Muzza he ignored them, put his head down and started cleaning the boat.
‘How’d you go?’ asked Mick tentatively.
‘Done better,’ said Neville.
‘We boated fifty fish before lunch,’ said Big Barry to his mates while Neville was taking a shower.‘Know what? That bugger still wasn’t happy. Claimed he caught a hundred before lunch in the Arafura Swamp. He caught a beauty. Went fourteen kilos. He complained that a fish that long would have run over seventeen in the swamp.’
‘He complained about a fourteen-kilo fish?’ said Carlton incredulously.
‘Then it was too hot,’ said Big Barry.
‘Then there were too many crocs.
‘Then too many mosquitoes.
‘Then he ran out of his bloody Powerade.
‘Keep an eye on me tonight, boys,’ said Big Barry,‘in case I borrow Jack’s rifle and turn it on myself.’
‘He can’t be that bad,’ said Yanni defensively. ‘Nobody could be that bad.’
‘You’ll find out tomorrow,’ said Big Barry.‘Tomorrow he’s all yours.’
‘Barry, you’re going to have to sort out that mate of yours,’ said Jack as soon as Big Barry arrived for dinner. He nodded towards Neville who was on the opposite side of the tent, depressing people from one of the other fishing groups. ‘None of the guides want to go fishing with him. I’m facing a mutiny here.’
‘None of us wants to go fishing with him, either,’ said Big Barry.‘I’m facing a revolt of my own.’