Well folks,
the shark fishing frenzy didn’t die off. Not at all. In fact, it snowballed
into a determination that consumed all of us. Steve’s half fear-half passion
for sharks was the catalyst for our group and eventually, we whipped ourselves
into a fury in hopes of achieving our goal. The all-nighter at Eagle Bluff left
us empty handed and heavy hearted, and we hauled our gear up the rock face just
in time to find Ranger Mat pulling up to our camper. Apparently, we didn’t see
the sign for ‘no camping’ in the general area, but since Mat was a fisherman
himself, he took pity on us and sent us off with a warning and some fishing
advice. The day was anew and we travelled into Monkey Mia with bleary eyes, yet
not wanting to miss the treasure at this special place; wild dolphins swim up
to the shore every morning and can be hand fed.
As we
approached the beach, we could already see the stormy-coloured fins cruising in
the shadows, and many more family and friends of theirs just a little further
out. We were right on time. With the biologist’s permission, our group of ~20
daintily stepped into the shallow water. He paced back and forth, talking about
the magic of Monkey Mia.
Ever since the 80’s, friendly dolphins have been
coming in to score a treat or two off of the local fisherman. Eventually it
became well known for the interactions, and people came from all over to feed
the animals. Of course, the darker side of human nature prevailed and the
porpoises eventually were getting over-fed and abused. Thankfully, research
teams and the Department of Conservation have laid heavy restrictions and
rationed the fish; now the dolphins are happy as are the tourists. Only 6 people
got to feed a dolphin. Steve was the lucky choice of one volunteer and I was
allowed to enter the slightly deeper water as well. It was over before it
started, as Steve gently slipped the fish into the dolphins grin. Once the
dolphins gobbled their last fish, they swam back out to sea to nurse their
calves and hunt in the wild. I say hesitantly that this experience was
extraordinary, since everyone seems to sway to the charms of dolphins, but it
definitely was intriguing and unique, as the dolphins are undomesticated. We
decided to stay the night, and buoyed the van amongst roving and cheeky emus in
the caravan park.
The rest of
the day we all spent lazing about; swimming, napping, reading. Steve and I took
a walk and (surprise, surprise) ended up chatting up a lady fishing off the
point. We gained some valuable bait information from her that we utilized the
next day when Tim pursued his exotic dream to work on a pearl farm.
While he
was out to sea, Steve and I dug for cockles in the sand with our feet while the
tide was out, and broke them open with our hands. It felt like real natural
living, like people must have used to behave in the not-so-distant past. This
trip has recently really been reminding me about getting back to the
simplicities of life and how beautiful nature can be. No-one is keeping up with
the Jones’ out here; people have their tent and a radio and a cold beer and it
brings them satisfaction – as it should. It’s nice to be removed from all of
the wants and relish the needs for once. Anyway, Steve caught a small whiting
and another fish we have yet to identify. As he was filleting them at the beach
fish cleaning station, he went to throw the salivating pelicans some scraps,
and a bandit seagull swooped in and stole our whiting fillets! Needless to say,
we didn’t dine on fish that evening, but it was a fun day all the same.
When Tim
returned from the pearl farm, full of more facts than interest for it, we
packed it in and drove towards Carnavron. As the sun unhurriedly sunk down,
Steve and I perfected a dual-wave to passing tourist vans and marveled at the
abundant feral goats munching their dinner at the side of the road. Eventually,
the goats became a point of anxiety, as do the kangaroos as soon as dusk
approaches. We weren’t going to make it to Carnavron, but we found a quaint
stop-over campsite chalk full of Europeans in campers akin to ours.
We had
decided earlier on in the trip that after a few bevies, even simple games of
cards went astray as we couldn’t remember whose turn it was, or who-laid-what. In
a stroke of genius, I had found a knock-off version of Jenga in a Target in
Perth – the perfect dim-witted game for nights like these. We lit a candle and
drank wine and port, savouring a several-course meal and playing ‘Jumbling
Towers,’ until I lost too many times for it to be fun.
The next
day’s journey landed us in beloved Exmouth. Ever since our whale shark
adventure back in May, Steve and I have held fond feelings for the small town.
We were happy to return and show Tim around. Steve was keyed up knowing that
the Ningaloo Reef resides on the outskirts, making it a prime fishing area, as
well as being known for West coast shark varieties. Last visit, we had met some
fishermen who raved about the sharks who stole their catches, and would have
invited us onto their boat had we had any extra vacation days. We pondered:
maybe we needed a boat to catch our shark?
While
driving the dusty red roads into town, we passed several 4WD’s hauling boats adorned with rod-holders
like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Much to Tim’s chagrin, we hung up a sign in
on our window, “Honk if you will take us fishing!” in hopes someone with some
extra room in their vessel would adopt us for the day. It was worth a shot, but
in the end it didn’t get us any closer to getting on a boat, so that night, as
we dined on quesadillas at the Big 4, we decided to see what we could scare up
at the local Potshot pub.
As it was a
Thursday, we didn’t end up finding too many serious fisher-guys to schmooze
with, but we met a lovely couple from Port Hedland, a raucous group of burly
men in the annual billfish tournament, and some hipsters playing a game of
giant Jenga! With our newfound expertise, we joined in the games and had
generous offer from Tom, a local spear-fishing hipster, to take us out on his
tinny on Saturday. We skipped back to the caravan park and made lime and
cracked black pepper popcorn on the mini-stove before falling into a buttery
sleep, while visions of fins danced in our heads.
The next
morning we went to the local tackle shop and stripped the boys there for
information. They gave us some well-known spots for catching sharks and some
other tips – like taking a gander at the marina’s fish-cleaning stations to
score some berley/offal and some bait. We headed to Learmonth Jetty with dreams
as big as Steve’s oversized flip-flops. Before we started into the big mission,
Tim and I ventured out on to some smaller reef sites around the jetty to do
some Hawaiian sling fishing while Steve, dead set on his shark, chewed the fat
with others on the jetty who had lines in. Tim and I were sorely unsuccessful,
but the visibility wasn’t great and the fish were too fast so we didn’t mind.
Once we dried off, the fish-off began.
The guys
put their lines into the water, and started catching small fish lingering
around the shade of the jetty for bait. I even indulged in a little hand-lining
myself and was rewarded with a small prize for our bait bucket. As the day drew
to a close, the other fisherman threw in the towel and went home to hot
dinners, while we were just getting started. Darkness arrived and the boys
chucked in our set-up as well as fish remains to attract the fins.
Despite
some close calls, our bait always returned intact, and the only fins we ended
up seeing where those of dolphins. Only this time, we didn’t welcome the
dolphins half as much as we did in Monkey Mia, knowing that the lot of them
were probably scaring away the sharks in the area. Throughout the long night,
the ocean recompensed us with many wondrous creatures and sights. Phosphorescents,
glowing intermittently in luminous green sparks covered the surface. The Indian
Ocean revealed her crabs, squid, turtles, and gigantic manta rays to us as the
clocked ticked on towards the AM.
The most exceptional event of the night
happened while Tim was taking a nap shift and Steve and I made slow conversation
by the light of the lantern. We heard the sharp and wet sound of a dolphin
clearing his blowhole in close proximity to the jetty. With nothing else to do
but wait, we were ecstatic to find the fins of a few doing some nighttime
feeding beneath our feet! With our sense of sight almost unfeasible, our ears
sharpened and located the dolphins when they surfaced to breathe. The
phosphorescent in the water alighted their lean bodies as they soared through
the water chasing after small fish. In one instance, Steve and I leaned over to
witness 3 or 4 dolphins dash past us in a tornado of bubbles, flaming in neon
green, drawing streaks on the surface like sparklers do in the night. This rare
sight is so hard to explain, but it really touched us in a place where the best
memories lay.
The morning came, as it insistently does, and
nature’s last spectacle exposed humpback whales breeching in the far off
distance, sending up sprays of sea water into the sunrise. Once again, we were
groggy, disheveled, and sharkless. In our near-drunken state of sleep
deprivation, we haunted the tackle shop. The employees were shocked that we
hadn’t reeled in a toothy new mate overnight. They shrugged their shoulders,
not offering too much more advice – the sharks should come to us, they are basically a nuisance in the area
instead of a goal for anglers.
In an
attempt to not let our vacation get carried away solely by fishing expeditions,
we laid plans for another night of shark-ing, but spent the day seeing some of
the other sights Exmouth has to offer. Actually, we almost got ourselves and
our van into another pickle, as we attempted to enter Cape Range National Park
Descending,
we cooled off by doing a drift snorkel at Turquoise Bay. We strapped on our
fins and masks and allowed the current to carry us across the reef. The
visibility was crystal, and the reef rivaled the Great Barrier, on a smaller
scale. We saw heaps of fish, and on our second run, we were enchanted by a
black tipped reef shark. (Obsessed,
much?!)
Finally,
the day shortened and it was time for round two. So far, the sharks were ahead
of our game. We drove to the Mildura Cattle Ship Wreck in hopes this new spot
would prove more lucrative for our efforts. Steve and Tim’s balloon-baits were
quickly snagged on coral and as the precious light dwindled, we made a
difficult game time decision: we would go back to Learmonth Jetty, braving
kamikaze kangaroos during the twilight drive and praying a second visit would
make the local advice true. The boys
anxious waded into the shallow water to save their bait, and we sped away
(stopping at the local beer store for a quick top-up of course!)
Rolling up
to the jetty a second time felt like coming home. Expertly, the boys set up
their intricate system of balloons, hooks, metal line, scales, blood and zip ties
and got their bait out to sea. Then, we waited. A local couple joined us on the
jetty later on, fishing for squid. We entered some nonchalant friendly
conversation with them, which ended up to be quite vital. Jared boosted our
confidence saying that he’d caught sharks off of the jetty many a time and
analyzed our rigging. He laughed when he saw our giant fish heads, their eyes boorishly
poked out and zip tied onto massive hooks – what were we trying to catch, a 14
meter Tiger Shark? Being fresh-water kids from Canada, we had no idea of the
meal portions of sharks, so we had gone big instead of going home. Jared
brought us to the light. Steve deftly cut a small strip off of the frame of a
massive Spanish mackerel and threaded it onto his hook.
We ate dinner
in anticipation and I went to do the dishes after we supped, the boys doggedly
manning their post. I washed up and returned to the end of the jetty, and
immediately set into shock! Steve was adorned in the gundle, rod bent in
exertion, the line peeling out into the night. Fish on! The boys worked in a
synchronous manner, Steve guiding the shark towards shore, while Tim lighted
the way. The 6 foot beast appeared under the circle of our torches and we
spotlighted it as Steve balanced along the rocks, trying to beach it.
 |
| Can you spot the 'fangs?' |
It became
clear that they needed to get into the water, into the home of the enemy. The
water was shallow, but the mood was hectic as they splashed down into the sand,
guiding the fin into shore. I ran around the long way and met them at the
waterline. With a warrior heave, Steve pulled the shark onto the sand and him
and Tim leaped up in an ecstatic bro-hug. Our quest was over, our trophy was
thrashing its gleaming body in the moonlight as we whooped our triumph. The
agitated beast smoldered with rage in the surf as the bros tried to unhook the
line, two fangs seeming to hiss at me while I aimed the camera. Meet Fang, our
6 foot Tawny Nurse shark.
After a few
(safe) photo opportunities, we sent Fang back out to sea, watching her writhe powerfully
over the shallow beach, and then smoothly fly into the darkness to hunt another
day. Big hugs and beers were cracked in celebration. The moon unsheathed itself
from behind the clouds, looking uncannily like the slice of an orange. We spent
some more of the late evening fishing, but the ocean went eerily quiet. It
seemed as if Mother Nature had conceded with our prize Fang, but she yielded no
more. One mustn’t get too greedy regarding the balance of the natural world. We
were able to sleep that night, in peace.
It seems
that the spell is over, Fang released us from its clutches (thank God!) We left
Exmouth feeling satisfied, and read to embark on new adventures – ones that
don’t have anything to do with
fishing!
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