Paddy in The Top End (20.3.2007)

Last Friday found me at work till 11:30 am, before heading off for the annual Irish Society’s St Patrick’s Day Golf Tournament at Darwin Golf Course, Marrara. This is an ambrose tournament – each team has 6 players and everyone plays from the spot where the best ball from each team has landed. There is as much emphasis on drinking beer round the course as there is for the playing of golf. We were a player short and none of us are much good, nor are any of us Irish. Due to the amount of players, each team must start from a different hole. Of course, as in previous years, we had to start and finish from the furthest hole from home, which effectively means we had to do 2 laps of the course and walk twice as far as some other (more important) folk.

It was 35 degrees Celsius and running at about ninety percent humidity. We had the advantage of a local lad – lives next to the course – he led the way.

After trudging 900 metres, he realised we’d taken the wrong route and had to backtrack 600 and skirt the estate within the golf course. We did this, then had to walk a further 1200 metres – and ended up about 300 metres from where we’d turned around. Turned out you could actually get through that way! Though I try to exercise on a regular basis, cross-country marches trailing a buggy full of rusty clubs is not my strong suit. My shirt was soaked with sweat down to my guts before I’d swung a club and my shoulders were tight as a drum through leading my buggy over the rain soaked pasture. We commenced a’swinging with little success – I played slightly better on the third hole, after my heart rate dropped below 180.

With two holes (of the nine) to go, and being way out of contention for any prizes, we took a poll – all agreed: Col, Muzzy, Grizzly, Pottsy and myself – we were too close to the clubhouse now to continue swinging clubs! We’d almost finished our stash of beers anyway. So in we went, had more drinks and watched the golfers receive their prizes at the presentation. Though we got none, all were given a hat, stubbie holder, ball and sunscreen by Elders, the major sponsor, before tee-off, so I was content enough. At 6:30 I headed home to catch the last half of the tigers premiership opening game on the telly (I’m tipping Paul Whatuira to have a huge season this year!).

We lost the footy too but I had a few more drinks, when my mate Pauly rang. He lives in Newcastle, so we had a few bourbons and a chat for a couple of hours. I received a cheeky SMS from my old house mate Evea about the footy. I was feeling pretty friendly by this stage so I rang her and asked her round – unfortunately she was just about to hit the town (which was well beyond me). She invited me along to see Kasey Chambers at the entertainment centre on Saturday night – I told her I’d sleep on it and get back to her next day. I finally crashed about 1am – with the intent to sleep till lunchtime.

The phone woke me up at around 10am – Chad. He tells me he’s gonna fulfil a promise he’d made months ago, if I was interested? Run-off Barra fishing in the flooded Adelaide River.

“Too right mate! I’m in. When are we going?”

He said he’d be round in an hour.

Jesus! I’d not eaten the night before and was very foggy minded and not feeling the greatest but jumped up and prepared some brekky. I dropped my knife twice and almost spilled my juice – hand eye coordination was very patchy. I grabbed my fishing gear and had trouble recalling a few knots, as I prepared a new leader for my Barra outfit. Chad showed up and off we took, down the Stuart Highway – my brain felt like it was floating in an otherwise empty chamber, and the cabin of his Ford Explorer seemed to be echoey. We needed boat fuel for the “Barra Beast” and Chad needed some more soft plastic lures, so he pulled in at Eleven Mile, where there’s a BP garage and a tackle store side by side. Chad poured the petrol and I went in to get drinks and sandwiches for the trip. I grabbed two large Poweraids to try and replenish the electrolytes, a large bottle of water and four assorted sanga’s.

I went to pay for it and the woman says “The fuel as well?”

I say “Yeah, okay”.

Chad entered the garage and approached the counter to pay for the petrol but I told him I already had it in hand. He said beauty and he’d meet me next door in the tackle shop. I had a ‘dry-box’ sitting on the floor of the passenger seat, containing my mobile phone, digital camera and keys. With the car all open, I was reluctant to leave it there, so I opened the back door and threw in the sangas and water, then placed the two Poweraids in the console. I looked on the floor and couldn’t find my dry-box, so I bent down and checked under the seats, no luck. He had dragged out a big canvas bag and put it on my seat, so I went through that and found all manner of things but not my dry-box. So I picked up the drinks and went through the console – still no luck. I looked up while I thought about where else he could have put it – then I saw the “Barra Beast” hooked up to a blue Ford Explorer at the next row of pumps! I looked around startled and realised this was a blue Nissan Patrol! I grabbed my stuff, whipped round to the back door and got my sangas out and darted round the front, looking over my shoulder for the irate Patroller to come hunting down the rotund, glassy-eyed car thief that had just rifled through his belongings! Apparently no one saw it – they’re an unobservant bunch down at Eleven Mile.

The rain absolutely hammered down as we flew along the Arnhem Highway toward the Adelaide – straight into my open tackle bag, sitting on the boat floor. The shower had stopped while we launched the boat and off we shot. The downpour recommenced as we gunned along the river at full noise and the drops stung the face and arms – though this would be the last we saw of it. We pulled up and anchored at a nice colour-change creek outflow and began to fling a few lures. One thing you notice about fishing the Adelaide, is the constant heavy scent of cow dung that just hangs in the humid air, from the stock on the surrounding stations. We had a heap of strikes and both lost a few fish at the boat, around 60cm, with plenty of rats. I took a few good camera shots – the best one being of Chad’s 60cm Barra, leaping completely out of the water, you can even see the lure he tossed midair.

We were later joined by Matt Flynn, the local fishing writer, and his fellow Fish Finder Forum member, Dodgy-One, who cast up a storm with his wicked fly-rod.

All up we finished the day without a keeper to fillet but had another memorable day on the Adelaide, one of the Top Ends great rivers.

I got up this morning stiff as a board from swinging golf clubs and flicking lures for hours – it’s one of the fine, painful pleasures of a weekend living in the Far North.