thursdays night on the river
It had been a fairly redundant day in the office, I was working closely with the two Bobs rewriting the new TPS reports (didn't you get the memo). Milton was rather upset, his stapler had gone AWOL yet again. I however was dreaming of escape.
Outside the clouds were scarce and the sun welcome. My mate Jack and I had talked on Saturday about a possible weeknight trip fishing for eels on the river, and thanks to Huey the weather had turned in our favour.
After escaping from the glass house office I hurriedly packed the jeep and picked up Jack for our long journey. The road can be rather dull at times, just like a junior version of a popular cooking show. Flat, endless plains, some grazed and some for grain.
The afternoon sun was low by the time we arrived, giving us just enough time to set the rods and roll out the swags. We joked about making sure we zipped up well that night, as it's prime snake country.
Jack clearly blown away by the place, made clear his appreciation; "I don't care if I don't catch a thing, not even a nibble, this place is just amazing in itself!" It was then that I admitted that it's taken me a few years to show him my highly treasured and closely guarded secret location.
It's such a stunning place. Typically Australian landscape, hard, unfriendly and dangerous to those unfamiliar to its nature.
What we figured to be an aboriginal grinding stone
No signs of human activity. Unmarked sand bars.
This was my stretch of the river. No bogans, no burnouts, no broken beer bottles, just a stunning part of a river where the sandbanks have no human foot prints. Although saying that I did see the rubbish washed down stream from the last big wet. Bloody humans.
We were greeted at the bank by an inquisitive platypus, or perhaps he was just doing his rounds for a feed. Whatever the case, we both knew that seeing platypus is a sure sign of a healthy river, in such good health primarily because of a lack of mans interferance. Can you spot the platypus?
Jack searching for platypus
We knocked the top of a coldie (or two) and decided to check our lines before we could no longer be bothered doing anything more physical than reaching for another beer out of the esky.
Lo and behold we had plenty of success and hauled in three eels, one of them being pretty big. We spent the remaining hours chewing a few snaggers and finishing off my kale and prosciutto fusilli pasta. Eventually it was time to hit the sack. I lay there resting in my swag, rolled out in the jeep totally happy. I drifted off to the symphony of croaking frogs and the rustle of the river over the rocks.
At dawn I left camp and hiked down stream to explore. The further I walked the more I felt closer and connected to the raw nature of the place.
Reluctantly we packed the jeep and headed back to our 'realities' and responsibilities. We put out the fire and cleaned any evidence of our visit. We passed through the private farm which was our granted access to the river, past endless paddocks and herds of inquisitive sheep.
On the drive home it was pretty quiet, both of us relaxed by the morning light. We did however vow to keep the location a secret and return back as soon as possible.