NT Fishing Report

With Alex Julius                13 January 2011

You may have seen and/or read the news about Phil Newton who was bitten by what was suspected to be a brown snake last weekend.

Phil is one of the top young anglers who work at Fishing and Outdoor World. He was up the Adelaide River with mates, and they pulled over to the bank at a likely spot to get out of the boat and have a cast from the shore.

Phil was only wearing thongs, and walked hardly five metres before he trod on the snake which promptly bit him on the foot.

His mates raced him back down the river to Goat Island where they made a 000 call, and then down to the boat ramp where an ambulance was waiting.

Phil experienced plenty of pain and, as you can imagine, a good deal of anxiety too, but he’s okay now after a few days in hospital.

Phil reckons the shame of it was that they were doing okay, with an 80cm and 75cm barra in the boat already.

It’s not at all surprising to encounter snakes along our tidal river banks at this time of year after plenty of rain. It’s at this time of year – and right up until well into the run-off – that the river banks are crawling with frogs which at night busily feed on all the insects around the water’s edge.

Often the “croaking” noise is deafening, and it’s a smorgasborg for snakes.

In the early ‘80s, when everyone still fished from car-top tinnies, during the run-off I used to launch at the Daly River Crossing or at Brown’s Creek – depending on how high the river was – and travel down the Daly to set up camp high up the bank at the mouth of what is now known as Diesel Creek.

It was “my” spot.

As an aside, if you’ve ever wondered how Diesel got its name, it’s because that was my nickname for a couple of years after the first Barra Classic in 1982 when I put diesel instead of petrol into my boat fuel tank and sent blue smoke messages which could be seen from kilometers away on Corroboree Billabong.

In those days, Diesel was a great spot to camp because it was much clearer than it is nowadays. It also placed you in great proximity to other feeder creek hotspots down the river – the iconic Elizabeth Creek, for example, is only 4km downstream from Diesel.

On top of that, mates and I would have mind-blowing sessions catching barra on surface poppers and fizzers at night, just casting from my tethered punt.

The downside was that there is a wet-season swamp up the back of the creek mouth, which of course is why Diesel has always been a pretty good spot to chuck a lure during the run-off – it’s a small but classic feeder creek.

The downside was that the mozzies from the swamp went three to the kilo and fought each other for air space.

One year, after a camp-oven dinner, and near asphyxiation from sticking our heads in the rising fumes, we heard the tell-tale boofs of barra feeding at the creek mouth on the rising tide.

With kamikaze mozzies spearing us through all but thicker clothing, and exposed skin burning from the dollops of Kokoda army-issue insect repellant we’d applied, we grabbed our rods and walked down to the punt to jump in and have a cast.

The frogs were going mad, and the ground seemed to vibrate with their incessant booming croaks.

I was in front on the narrow path halfway down and along the bank, and suddenly had a premonition which stopped me dead in my tracks.

It was pitch black.

“Who’s got the torch?” I asked.

“Me,” my mate Neil Almond replied.
He was bringing up the rear and flicked it on, lighting up the ground around us.

Well blow me down if there wasn’t a brown snake, about a metre-and-a-half long, lying across the path only a step in front of me.

But hang on…it gets better – between me and the other mate just behind, Geoff Bird, there was another sizable brown snake.

And yes, it gets even better – between Geoff and Neil at the rear, there was yet another deadly brown.

Unbelievably, I’d stepped over two snakes, Geoff had stepped over one and Neil’s destiny awaited him.
Fortunately, because of the mozzies, we had shoes, thick socks and long pants on, but that didn’t stop us from simultaneously leaping high up the bank and belting back to the smoking fire.

Boy, we had certainly been lucky, and from that day on I’ve always been very wary around river banks, especially when the frogs are croaking.

Champion east coast tournament angler, Carl Jocumsen, and MotoGP Champion, Casey Stoner, with a brace of Peron Islands golden snapper, jigged up before the storm.