A TALE OF THREE HIGHWAYS - LAKE MARABOON TO BILOELA (23 AUGUST 2017)

As we pulled out of the Lake Maraboon Caravan Park and made our way on to the dam wall roadway in the early morning gloom, we decided that our departure had been well timed as far as the weather was concerned.

The normally blue waters of the lake matched the sky above. Pick an adjective...grey, dull, overcast, threatening...they all fit.

Fortunately for us, as we traversed Emerald for the last time in the foreseeable future, 

and made our way out onto the first of today's three highways, the Capricorn (A4), the threat of rain remained but that, and we had 'three greens'.

The Capricorn Highway connects Barcaldine in the west to Rockhampton on the coast (well, it's almost on the coast). On today's trip of just under 350 kms, it would take us east from Emerald through the south-eastern corner of the Bowen Basin to within about 60 kms of 'Rocky', before we were due to make a significant turn. 

We were certainly not out of 'coal country' yet, although as we drove out through the grazing lands east of Emerald, the only reminder was the constant presence of the electric railway line on our right.

By the time we had reached the beginning of the undulating country between Emerald and Blackwater, the major coal mining town some 75 kms to the east, the skies began to clear and distant ranges loomed ahead of us.

For some time the flat lands deserted us and the highway wound its way through heavy stands of roadside timber.

As we emerged from this line of hills, we could again gaze out across the obviously dry plains stretching away to the mountains, with the ever present railway line infrastructure now much more 'in our faces'.

If ever there was any doubt about the crucial role that electricity plays in both extracting and transporting coal in this part of the basin, sub stations such as this on the outskirts of Blackwater soon put paid to that. 

Power poles of a different kind lined the Blackwater town by-pass as we trundled through

and pushed on towards Bluff, the next town on our route. By now the weather had again begun to look ominous, but this was all meteorological 'bluff'.....not a drop fell

as we ducked under yet another coal train loader on the eastern outskirts of Blackwater

and forged on ahead to Bluff. I have included this town welcome sign for a reason. We noted the rider 'Rail in Action' 

and never were truer words spoken, well painted in this case. There is not a lot to Bluff itself, but what it may lack in size and population, it certainly makes up for in trains, on the approach,

through the town centre

and out the other side. Engines and rolling stock were lying about in extraordinary numbers. We had, at one stage, contemplated an overnight stay here in a free camp behind the local pub, but altered circumstances precluded that. I suspect it could have been an interesting night of 'what you see is what you get in the pub'!

No sooner had we left the coal trains of Bluff in our mirrors, when this interloper appeared on the scene. Now that's definitely not a coal train. The open grating sides of these trucks were a reminder that cattle production is also an very important industry in this part of the world.

Two hours out and it was time for a break. This well appointed roadside rest stop looked just the ticket, and it was. But here a comfort stop and a stretch of the legs was carried out to the loud and demanding vocal accompaniment of a very different and most unexpected kind.

A strutting white rooster, imperiously and noisily patrolling the fence line of his nearby enclosure, was a definite first for us!

This roadside rest stop also doubles as a yard in which construction equipment is stored. We remain unsure if this raucous rooster was kept as a pet or a guard chook, but he was certainly one to make his presence felt. "I wonder?", thought I. Sure enough, scattered crumbs of one of Liz's rest break chocolate chip biscuits were very effective in shutting him up for a time. My continuing state of good health and serene domestic relations demand that I make no further comment!

The highway service station at Duaringa was soon but a memory

as we made our way into another range of hills

through which the Capricorn Highway dipped and curved its way over the last 60 kms or so we were to us it.

As we emerged back onto the relatively flat plains with an ever present back drop of a mountain range, we farewelled the Capricorn Highway and turned right to make our way south-east along the Leichhardt Highway (A5)

for all of about 30 kms to the most oddly named town of Dululu. Biloela was now 'sub 100', always a milestone on a longish day.

Lightly timbered cattle grazing plains 

and the occasional section of mild highway undulations were features of this leg of our trip into Dululu

where, at this major town intersection the navigator had to get busy. There may not be much to Dululu (although from the brief glimpses we had it looked to be a very pretty and inviting place) but it can certainly boast a major road or two. For us there was to be no turn involved.....we continued straight on as directed, but now we had joined the Burnett Highway (A3), our third for the day....so you see the title of this offering  does make sense after all!

As we pushed southwards out of Dululu (I just love that name!) there was a marked change in the countryside through which we passed. The dry, brown plains gave way to large paddocks of irrigated lucerne and other crops.

By the time we reached the little township of Jambin, with its charming town sign proclaiming its presence in the Banana Shire (?) 

we were soon reminded of what we had seen east of Echuca and Moama.....this is definitely hay country....and there is lots of it!

At last!  After over six hours at the wheel (including breaks) this was a most welcome sign,

as was that announcing our arrival at our chosen park for the night, a large and comparatively cheap park run entirely by local volunteers (and very conveniently located at the end of town at which we had arrived).

Whilst admittedly this building housed far more than the park office and was tarted up accordingly, it really presented delightfully. Liz did the necessary business inside 

and we were soon presenting our entry card to the gateway reader. After a nervous wait the imposing entry gates slowly swung open to admit the Mobile Marshies to their overnight lodging ground. Now that's a park gate if ever we have seen one.

Despite a small hiccup, we were soon tucked up on our somewhat dry but adequate site.

This proved to be a very interesting park, about which I'll have more to say in my next.

WE LEARN THAT REDCLAW ARE NOT ALL THEY ARE CRACKED UP TO BE - LAKE MARABOON (18 - 22 AUGUST 2017)

We were men on a mission, not from God, (love the Blues Brothers!) but we were determined nevertheless. If we were ever gong to finally capture redclaw, this was the place and the time. But before we hit the water, there was a deal of preparation to be done (like sorting out nets and bait and making sure we had all the right identification tags on them as is required by the Queensland fishing rules). 

Needless to say all this hectic activity resulted in a thirst of some proportions. And for the first night of our stay, the balmy evening weather was just the ticket for a convivial gathering Chez Marshies.

But annoyingly, Murphy visited the camp, and the weather turned on us. A really unseasonal cold snap, which was was characterised by some quite nasty winds, enveloped central Queensland for the next couple of days. And where were we? Right in the heart of central Queensland....of course! The lake was a decidedly unfriendly place to be in a small tinnie throughout this time, so we resorted to the next best alternative.  It was time to party.

This seemed an ideal time to share some of the fine mackerel which had been gracing our freezer ever since we left FNQ. 

So after a day of pottering about, Chef Pierre's galley swung into action, but only after some frantic digging under the bed for winter togs! This was the first time I had worn long trousers for months...it was seriously chilly, but we boxed on undeterred.

The table was set with a suitable salad selection and all the necessary condiments, again under the Marshies' awning, and appropriate liquid refreshments were sourced from fridges and the grog lockers.

The thick, chunky fillets of mackerel, kept moist in their wrappings of egg wash and panko crumbs, came to the table hot and golden, another triumph from the outdoor kitchen.

The boys were having a very good time, and yes, bugger the rules about white wine with fish!

The party mode continued the following day (what's a thick head or two between friends?) After much of the day was spent mucking about with the boat and unhitching the motor from its travelling clamps on the rear bumper bar of his van, it was Hens' turn in the galley. A fine lamb roast with all the trimmings was the promise, and believe me, my very good mate does not tell fibs.

We sat down to a sensational feed, but there was more.....the bottle of red at the top of the table was no ordinary tipple.

During the course of the day Hens had casually asked if I knew anything about Penfolds wines. "A bit", was the cautious reply, "why do you ask?" He then ducked into his van and came out with a bottle of red, thrust it in my direction and, in a tone as laid back as that of his initial query, asked if this would be any good.

"Any good?" I spluttered as the label sank in.  "Mate, this is a poor man's Grange, and a lot of pundits consider it as good, if not better".

The bottle being proffered so casually was a 2006 St Henri Shiraz, no less (with a going price in the order of $150 or so). How it appeared at our feast is a very long story....a matter for another day!











Needless to say, this was the opening shot of what proved to be a very, very good night during which more salvos were fired, none of which came within the proverbial bull's roar of the first!

But after all these shenanigans, and with the weather gods finally smiling on two very impatient newcomers to the game of redclaw capture, it was time to set sail on the wide (now) welcoming waters of Lake Maraboon.  

The potato and pumpkin baits had been par boiled and the rock melon cubed invitingly. Redclaw are vegetarians, believe it or not, and are much more amenable to soft offerings in the bait pocket than veggies which are raw and hard. What actually goes in there is a subject of constant and hot debate amongst the various pundits. We just whacked in a range of the relevant goodies we had on hand, using the very amateur (so we were told later) logic that by doing so (rather than sticking to one particular bait) there just might be something to appeal to the tastes of all the creatures crawling about on the bottom of the lake within sniffing distance of our nets. 'A' for effort so far!

Off we went, full of optimism and little else by way of knowledge. We had been told to drop the nets in no more than three metres of water, and that picking a spot near some fallen trees or other infrastructure was a good idea.

So this was our version of 'going down to the sea in ships' which was in fact going down to the lake with a topper!













There are times when having a tinnie on a trailer is much less work, but needs must, so after first detaching the outboard from its travelling stand and sorting out a cable or two,









Hens engaged the lowering motor and the descent began.

He has certainly done this before, and all went well as our small craft continued to lower away









until we were able to detach the umbilical cords and float her free.















All that now remained to be done was to attach some propulsion, check that all the nets and baits were on board, 











and we were off,









right across to a patch we had discovered earlier during a recce, some three miles from our launching site (for those of you who are questioning my use of terminology, all distances at sea are still measured in nautical miles....so for any who might now be huffing, puffing or tutting, this is not a case of age and intransigence on show!)

This is a big lake, and our white wake wash was soon but a distant speck on the water to any watching from shore, which leads me to regale you with a few relevant stats.

The wall of the Fairbairn dam, which is 825 metres long and 46 metres high, was built across the Noga River between 1968 and 1972. With its catchment of over 16,000 square kilometres, the Noga was able to deliver a significant amount of water upstream of the dam wall. The result is a lake which now holds a working volume of just over 1.3 million megalitres, but it did reach a volume of 2.3 million megalitres during the floods of 2010-11. That, folks, is a lot of H2O.

The dam, which is the second largest in Queensland, was built with three aims....to supply water to local irrigators (there are now 300 of them), flood mitigation (well proven), and to provided drinking and industrial water to Emerald and towns in the Bowen Basin, including Blackwater, Bluff, Dysart and Middleworth. 

Apart from all this very sensible stuff, it has also become an aquatic playground of some significance, stocked with several species of fish and rampant with redclaw. Apart from the fishing, the waters of Lake Maraboon provide a wonderful venue for those who have a penchant to destroy all peace and quiet on jet skis or in speed boats.





Now back to the business at hand. The 'deckie' for the day was a very relaxed person, both outbound










and on the return trip after the nets had been set (it had become a touch breezy by now). It was just such a treat to be out on the water at last, even though we both strongly suspected we really didn't quite know what we were doing!  We left the nets out overnight and pulled them the next morning.




And of course I know the question on all your impatient lips is "did we catch any redclaw?" Well, yes we did.........but!

Brutal honesty (and the irrefutable evidence of the photo of the day's catch in the bottom of our esky) demands that I now confess to complete novice status when it comes to netting redclaw. 











The sum total of several trips and varying drops was two reasonable sized specimens and five bubs. 






And, as is always the way, the night before we left we finally found someone who was willing to share the good oil about drop points. We had clearly not been in the right place. These chaps were returning each day with up to fifty or more of the size of our two 'big boys'.







These were the blokes I mentioned previously who were standing at the end of the camp kitchen, where they were actually cooking and divesting the tails of their shells. This is what a good catch looks like!













Ah, well, one has to start somewhere! We were determined that we should at least prepare and cook our paltry catch to find our for ourselves just what all the fuss is about and why so many spend endless hours streaming out onto the lake each day in a quest for these over sized 'yabbies' (they can grow up to 500 gms).












While I got to work, a flock of the local sulphur crested cockatoos lined up nearby for a quick bathe under a sprinkler.









where, true to form, they could not even complete their ablutions without a noisy squabble













or seeing off some cheeky apostle birds with a fine display of possessive ire.










Liz and Max wisely decided to stay well clear of the cleaning table. They took the opportunity to  relax on the now bare cement of our slab (we had packed up ready to leave the following morning) whilst your scribe beavered away nearby to what I have to say was a commentary which fell far short of encouraging!








With the bodies discarded, there was even less of the catch to go into the pot. It hardly seemed worth the effort, but I was determined (no, Liz, determined not stubborn..have another drink and let me get on with it!) 







The internet and fellow campers were all full of advice as to the best method of rendering the raw meat edible. I chose to boil them in highly salted water, and then plunge them into a bowl of iced water to stop them overcooking before beginning the onerous task of clipping open the shells and extracting the meat.









Hardly a feast fit for a king, and here comes the rub. After nibbling on one small tail, 










it was a quick dash to the galley to whip up a bowl of seafood sauce. We had learnt the hard way why just about every recipe I had found relating to redclaw included the liberal use of spices and/or condiments.




As the title of this missive suggests, we had now discovered that the word 'delicate', oft used to describe the taste of these crustaceans, should be replaced with one which reflects the truth....tasteless... well almost!



Redclaw, we now knew, are best eaten in close conjunction with something else, such as in a mornay, pickled, or, as is produced by the park cafe kitchen, a pizza topping.











These redclaw pizzas (one of several very good varieties available), which formed our farewell evening dinner, were delicious, but I have to say only because of the other topping ingredients (which strongly featured spring onion).  Point proved!




This revelation came as something of a relief, which may sound odd given that I have carted my redclaw nets all around the country and become frustrated with my previous failed attempts to catch any. Now that I have discovered first hand just what a non event these are on a plate, the nets will be finding a home in our storage shed in Adelaide and I'll tick redclaw off the bucket list for good. 

Having said that, I have to reiterate it had been marvellous being out on the water with one of my best friends...having a go! I would happily do the same again in similar circumstances, except I'd probably curry favour with neighbours by giving any I caught away. 

But now our adventures at Lake Maraboon had come to an end. Our schedule demanded that we move on. Friends at Burnett Heads were expecting us. We really did have a marvellous time here, but in the absence of an available boat and/or good company, we do not feel drawn to an inevitable return. Lake Elphinstone, which we had passed some days before, had much more appeal. For us, Lake Maraboon was just all too glitzy, busy and noisy (and redclaw have now lost all their drawcard status!)