This article appeared in the October 1999 Edition of The Complete Fly Fisher Magazine.
PJ Jacobs
Looking out of the starboard window as the big turbo props of the Aero Commander 500 angrily clawed their way into the sky, my eyes feasted upon patches of coral that broke the surface of the aquamarine sea not far below us. This, I knew, was the beginning of the Great Barrier Reef, host to many piscatorial legends and a place which most certainly ranks high on the wishlist of every fly fisher in the world. However, my final destination - Cape York - still lay two-and-a-half hours ahead, and from there yet another day by boat to take me into the fabled Gulf of Carpentaria. We were on the third and final leg of a journey which had started on a cold and dreary Johannesburg night three days ago, and here I was, now almost halfway around the world. Steve Starling had told me to come "with an open mind and a sense of adventure", and as the aircraft progressed slowly northwards, I realised that this opportunity to fish one of the real "wild" places on earth, was the chance of a lifetime!
As we descended through thick cloud cover, my first glimpse of the airstrip below reminded me somewhat of home, or rather, should I say, there are many similar strips in far away places in Africa. The scenery was vaguely familiar too, and later whilst driving through the little settlement of Bamaga, I had to keep on reminding myself that I was in fact many thousands of miles away on a different continent.
From Bamaga we drove further north, heading for Seisia at the very tip of Cape York, the northernmost point of mainland Australia, and for us the gateway into the Gulf of Carpentaria. A trip to Cape York is considered a pilgrimage by some, being very remote and for most part, true wilderness area. The closest major settlement is Cairns, a thousand miles by dirt road to the south, with very little sign of human habitation along the way. The Cape sports an abundant variety of animal, plant and marine life which are the main drawcards for lovers of the outdoors, and provide ample rewards for those prepared to made the journey. Rainforests, coral reefs and tropical islands (Captain Cook style), are all around you and mostly in pristine shape. This is probably due to the government realising the importance of conservation, and the many national parks in the area underscore that fact. The Aussies are proud of what they have and how they go about conserving it, and rightly so in my opinion. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here?
The Capricorn Mist
At the jetty in Seisia (a famous angling spot for, inter alia, giant kingfish or GT's, as they are fondly called in Oz) the Capricorn Mist, which was to be our home for the next eight days, lay waiting for us, spic and span and ready for the journey into the Gulf. The boat is owned and operated by Captain Greg Bethune and his wife Jennie, who live on board and make their living by chartering sportfishing ventures. They also have an office on the mainland in Seisia as well as the necessary outbuildings and equipment to maintain and keep afloat the Capricorn Mist, but apart from a few weeks every year, they spend all their evenings on board, whether on charter or not.
The "Mist" is a 40 feet diesel powered boat, with every inch of deckspace put to good use. The layout of the vessel was planned such that it feels a lot bigger and more spacious than other, much larger boats. On board you'll find every convenience you could hope to have, from freshwater hot showers, proper ablution facilities and comfortable cabins, to delicious meals prepared by Greg and Jennie. All kinds of equipment and tackle, including spare fly rods, are carried on board, and four skiffs are towed behind from which the actual fishing is done once the mothership reaches its destination. This is probably the most effective way to fish a large area, as you have the mobility of a fast skiff, coupled with the comforts of the bigger vessel at the end of a hard day. I am not ashamed to admit that in my fishing career I have seen quite a few operations of this kind, and been aboard more boats than I care to remember, but never have I experienced such total professionalism and dedication as aboard the Capricorn Mist. To say that the operation runs smoothly is an understatement, and one soon comes to take for granted things which on other boats will be an event (or a miracle), for Greg and Jennie do their bit to earn their stripes, and what is more, they go about if with a smile.
Our party consisted of the crew, being Greg and Jennie, Steve Starling (T.C.F.F.'s Australian Field Editor) and his son, another father and son team from Oz - Andrew and "Shark" Smith (a distinction bestowed on Al by Greg for having landed a 250lb tiger shark in 40 minutes - you had to be there to believe it), and yours truly. The Smiths, although not fly-rodders, are proficient bait and lure fisherman, and accounted for mote than their fair share of fish caught and released. Greg and Steve are both fly fishermen by choice, but equally adept at using other forms of tackle, should the occasion (or their jobs) demand it. Steve's son Tom, is a chip off the old block, and having to fish against this young bloke in any type of competition would definitely put you at a serious disadvantage.
Fishing from the skiffs
It was a pleasure to watch both Greg and Steve wield the long rod, and their combined piscatorial knowledge is such that fishing beside them was akin to having a mobile reference to Smith's Seafishes on tap, whenever you needed it. Greg is presently pioneering sight-fishing to Pacific permit in this area, and already has a few impressive sized specimens to his credit. He also ties a mean Merkin, and certainly knows how to use it. Steve and I both had a few good shots at big fish, but permit being permit, they were not easy to convince to take a fly. However, if sight-fishing to these frustrating fish is your thing, you could do a lot worse than spend time fishing the shallow sand flats of the Gulf with Greg.
The Capricorn Mist's home is the Gulf of Carpentaria in Australia's northern Queensland province, which is a vast and relatively shallow piece of water situated in the Arafura Sea. Here a number of rivers deposit their waters into the Gulf, contribution to the richness of the animal, bird and marine life. For the fly fisher, it is quite literally a piscatorial paradise. Vast numbers of gamefish patrol these waters and this offers excellent fishing opportunities for species such as barracuda, queenfish, tuna, many types of kingfish, springer, spanish mackerel, cobia and Indo Pacific permit (Trachinotus blochii), to name but a few.
The fertile rivers
The rivers are also fertile fishing grounds for everything from queenfish, barramundi, snapper, tarpon (Megalops cyprinoides) and kingfish, as well as different species of perch and a host of other fish besides. At the mouth of the Gulf, the Jardine River signals the beginning of its range for the famous saratoga, (Scleropages jardini, a prehistoric fish of the family Osteoglossids, which is related to a similar fish found in the jungles of the Amazon and from which the river derives its name), and here, under the right conditions, oxeye tarpon can be caught in droves. In fact, if you are a cumulative species hunter, you could chalk up quite a few varieties of fish in this part of the world, and you may be lucky enough to take some record specimens here as well.
In my travels around the world it has been my experience at most venues that, generally speaking, the fishing tapers off in wintertime - this is true even of tropical areas such as the Caribbean and Cape York. Although there are certain species which are obviously abundant in winter, the cooler water temperatures brought about during this time of year do have the effect of fish being less active than during the summer time. Sometimes this is the period to look for trophy fish, but as the fish are normally less aggressive during the colder months, technique and strategy will play an important role if you are to achieve any form of consistent success.
However, an advantage of fishing tropical regions in wintertime, is that like the fish the bugs are also less active. This can be a blessing, for such regions are prone to producing pests like sandflies, horseflies and mosquitoes in profusion, which can make your life a misery. My trip to the Gulf was in wintertime, and the weather for most of the part was as idyllic as one could hope for. Judging by the amount of fish caught in what is generally accepted as a less than perfect time, a stint in the summer months should have you taking fish on almost every cast.
One of my Queenfish
As it was, the fishing was excellent, the waters at times literally teeming with fish. One morning whilst drifting a falling tide in a rivermouth, I took queenfish on almost every cast. The current was funneling baitfish out into the ocean, right onto the doorstep of a waiting school of queenies, who were more than happy to hang around in the same spot for a few hours and enjoy the feast. These fish were all in the ten to eighteen pound range, and by lunchtime I had taken so many, that the strain was beginning to tell and I was more than willing to pack up and head back to the mothership for a feed. We had the same experience with certain of the kingfish species, for instance the Gnathanodon speciousus, or golden trevally as they are called in Oz. They are a hard fighting fish, and a morning spent trying to get a few of these bullies in the boat will burn off more calories than you may care to admit. They are abundant in this area and grow to large sizes, with a twenty pounder being nothing really exceptional. At times they could be seen feeding on the surface, gorging themselves on jelly prawns, their backs halfway out of the water. It is an awesome sight and providing we had the right flies at the end of our tippets, almost every cast put us into a fish. There were some calm periods too, but on average they were more than enough fish to keep me happy, and the good weather combined to make it an unforgettable trip.
One particular evening, after a hard day in the sun, I was standing aft on the "Mist" with a frosty in hand, watching the other guys take one fish after the other by simply flicking a piece of bait in-between the two skiffs that were tied behind the boat. We had decided to anchor offshore, as the sea was calm and flat as a tabletop. The guys were just fooling around, with Greg's sharp wit keeping a smile on everybody's face. As the excitement and size of the fish caught grew, I finally gave in and exchanged the can of beer for a fly rod. Paying scant attention to size of tippet of the particular rod I had chosen, I tied on a large, well weighted Whistler, got into one of the skiffs anchored on the port side, and made a lazy cast. Stripping back the fly I nearly choked when a huge GT, that looked at least fifty pounds, had a go at my fly as I lifted it from the water. Sobering up in less time than it takes Steve Starling to say "Rex Hunt", my next cast was placed more deliberately and the fly fished with all the concentration I could muster at that time of day. The setting sun had me thinking that it may not be wise to tangle with the likes of the size GT that had chased my fly, at that time of day, and I also had no idea of the condition of my tippet, which had already accounted for more than its fair share of fish.
This train of thought was rudely interrupted as my next strip was met by the type of solid resistance that only a big fish can produce, and my heart skipped a beat. Imagine having in your hand a direct connection to something totally wild, which at that time is usually monumentally "peeved off" at having discovered the fraud. For a moment you can almost feel the fish gathering its wits, and the next instant all hell breaks loose as the fly line takes on a life of its own, rushing at great speed into the water, seemingly in pursuit of the fish it is attached to. I suspected that I was in for a battle of sorts, and when the fish immediately employed dirty tactics by trying to connect me to one of the skiffs tied behind the "Mist", it had me frantically scurrying about, With Greg's help I was soon on board the mothership, but this small feat was short lived as I realised with a sinking feeling that I would have to manoeuvre a fully loaded fly rod underneath the anchoring ropes of both the skiffs that were tied behind the boat. And this all whilst being attached to whatever on the other side of the line, which was pulling like a freight train, and intent on reaching the Polynesian Islands in record time!
Now for those familiar with taking kingfish on a fly rod, I need not explain that to be able to land one of these fish effectively, one has to, from the word go, put as much pressure on the fish as you and your tackle can muster, and keep it up there. Give it time to rest and compose itself, and you will end up fighting that same fish three times as long as you would normally have. Well, by the time I had untangled my pulsating fly rod from the anchor ropes (which took some doing by the way), the fish had moved off into deeper water, the speed of the run slowing down as panic gave way to determination. Soon I was in the bow of the "Mist" with the fish having slowed down to a dead stop. It was stalemate - I could not move it an inch. Bad sign.
When at last the fish started moving, it simply followed the same tactics and I imagine it had a whale of a time (no pun intended) forcing me to dance the Light Fandango whilst again manoeuvring my rod underneath rigging, anchor ropes and tackle. Realising that this type of sortie could have only one disastrous conclusion, Greg shouted to get one of the skiffs untied and ready so that we could get the fish sway from the boat. The fish was using all this time to rest and when we eventually managed to get into the skiff and some distance away from the big boat, it had stopped taking line, content on rather settling down to a tug of war. Another bad sign. It took a while (and to be honest, a lot longer than I would care to admit) to land this fish, and even with Steve showing real Aussie hospitality by keeping us in stock of frosties, it was getting to be a bit of a strain. With Greg complaining that the battle was now seriously impacting on "happy hour", I finally landed the big golden as the last rays of sunlight played out over an otherwise tranquil scene. Not the big GT I saw chasing my fly, in fact, not even close. A reasonable golden, respectable even, and like me, exhausted. When at last the fish was revived and swam away, it was a toss up who felt more relieved, the golden or I. I reckon that's another one for the book, and this had nothing to do with size.
Greg and Jennie's charters, Carpentaria Seafaris, can be customised to suit your needs, but mostly consists of an eight day trip into the upper part of the Gulf of Carpentaria and back. Day one is spent steaming towards the first stop, which is the Doughboy River, where anchor is weighted in the rivermouth that evening and everything prepared for the next day when the fishing starts in earnest. Anchoring in a rivermouth has its advantages, particularly for those who are prone to motion-sickness, as this virtually eliminates the pitch-and-roll movement of the ocean. Crack of dawn (or later if you prefer) sees the skiffs with two anglers per boat, head off to their chosen destination for the mornings fishing. This can mean heading up-river to target species that frequent that particular river, or along the coast for some fast action on marauding gamefish.
Lunch is usually back at the mothership, and thereafter the afternoon session progresses, which can continue to last light if you so prefer. Depending on the quality of the fishing, the mothership may remain anchored here for two days, of move the very next day to the next stop en route, being the Macdonald River, where the same routine is followed, whilst the mothership relocates once again. The fishing is mostly from the skiffs, and both sight-casting and blind-fishing is done, depending on the availability of the species sought. Great fun can also be had fishing from the beach, usually in crystal clear water, to various types of gamefish that prowl the shallows close inshore. There is virtually no surfbreak, which considerably improves the opportunities for sight-fishing, but one needs to keep an eye open, as salt water crocodiles sometimes share the beach with you, and these nasties are not too particular when it comes to deciding between man and fish for a meal.
The remaining days are spent in the Jackson River and finally, the Skardon River where Greg traditionally collects mud crabs for a gourmet dinner. The last day is spent on the skiffs, following the Capricorn Mist as she steams back to Seisia, fishing along the way until lunchtime. From here everything is batted down for the journey home, with the last evening spent on board back as the jetty, where strangely, nobody wanted to go fishing. A final breakfast on the "Mist" the next morning, and then Greg takes you back to Bamaga by car, where you will find you aircraft waiting to transport you back to Cairns, and from there, with a heavy heart, home.
It sounds like paradise, I know and trust me, it is. Fishing a true wilderness area for a week and having it all to yourself, is an experience no true lover of the outdoors will ever forget. There are few places like it left on the planet, and if the opportunity comes knocking on you door, don't think twice about letting it in. You can bet your Sage I'll be back there as soon as I can.
