In which we Venture into Fish'n n Crab'n Heaven or How the Captain Visits the First Circle of Hell

The magnificent, almost untouched wilderness of Hinchinbrook Island beckoned to Arjuna from across the channel to our mooring at Orpheus Island. Its 1200 metre peaks hidden in the cloud-wrack beckoning the crew to make a summit attempt. Its endless waterways teeming with fish said to be desperate to jump into passing boats. The serenity of the Hinchinbrook Channel, legend.

Mighty Hinchinbrook, girt by cloud and mangroves

The course to Hinchinbrook lay across a short remaining section of Halifax Bay (also devoid of mackerel) towards the absolutely mighty sugar jetty spearing out from Lucinda for almost six kilometres. On the first night at Orpheus Island, lights were visible way out off Hinchinbrook and our assumption was that this was a sugar bulk carrier waiting in the channel to load but in the morning, it became apparent that the lights were actually the far end of the jetty. The Second Mate, always a font of interesting information, was able to advise that when the jetty was built, the design had to accommodate the curvature of the Earth. The Captain wishes to advise however that the jetty actually appeared completely flat - just like the surface of the Earth and the seas that we sail upon.

The mighty Lucinda sugar jetty, the mighty 100 lb trolling line, the mighty $14 fishing rod

The Able Seamonkey helmed much of the course to the jetty as part of his training. Other distant vessels either rapidly veered away to give us sea room at our somewhat erratic approach or started honking five times in their panic: international code for 'we are unsure of your intentions'. Normally, we would correct our course to assure everyone else of our bearing but in this case we honked back with the horn to signal we were either going to starboard (one honk) or port (two honks) so the Able Seamonkey could keep helming. Unfortunately, with the rapidity of the changes to direction, this soon ran together like a three honk blast (meaning we are "going engines astern") and with further zigzagging we were soon issuing seven blasts in sequence ("Don't shoot, we are carrying breadfruit") or eighteen blasts ("Crew are down in saloon drinking margaritas").

A red and black triangle

Clouds off the starboard bow

A deepish draft vessel like Arjuna must ride the tides coming into or out of the Hinchinbrook Channel at the southern end. A set of lead markers points the way in from just north of the end of the jetty to almost the shoreline at the town of Lucinda. We crossed the shallows (the Able Seamonkey having been relieved of the helm) just on the turn of the tide with about a metre under the keel and then veered north 
to follow the channel markers up inside Hinchinbrook itself. Our trolling line, deployed at the very exit of Little Pioneer Bay that morning, still dragged behind us doing little more than creating resistance and attracting the odd seagull.

Nope. I don't remember where this was

From the Hinchinbrook Channel, one could be forgiven for thinking they were cruising up any other estuarine type section of the east coast until the cloud parts and the sheer size of the mountains becomes clear. We marvelled at the lofty peaks as we carefully manoeuvred through the dense conglomeration of tinnies dotted around the main channel. It seemed that the entire population of Lucinda was out on the water this fine Monday morning - and this would be not far off given that the population in 2006 was 448. In fact, we checked online to see if it was perhaps a regional public holiday. No, this was just another Monday morning at work in these parts.

Our comrades on Mustang Sally refer to places like this as "fish'n and crab'n heaven". The Captain noted with some suspicion that there were a lot of people sitting in tinnies in fish and crab heaven but not a lot of fish being reeled in. Was this, perchance, due to the large population of crocodiles in these waters? Was Hinchinbrook Channel completely eaten out ? Or could it be that several hundred fisherfolk were all using the wrong bait and lures ? All good conclusions to be jumped to.

Arjuna chugged slowly in towards our intended first anchorage; tucked in behind Haycock Island in the middle of the channel. As the trolling line was pulled in, a silvery shape jumped on the line - and finally, another fish had jumped at the lure. It is left as an exercise to the reader to determine the distance in nautical miles between Pearl Bay, the site of our last strike, and Hinchinbrook. The Captain hauled on the line but it was immediately obvious that this was not a mighty pelagic monster destined to feed the crew for weeks, rather it was exactly the same type of fish we had pulled in at Pearl Bay which we had since determined was a wolf herring. We had half a mind to return this delightful looking fish to the water after the mouthful of bones from the last meal but in a stroke of genius decided instead to pickle it on the assumption that all members of the herring family were appealing after a week in vinegar.

The Haycock Island anchorage proved to be a fine spot to overnight and the storm of fish   

We spy a fine looking craft at Haycock Island

continued with a couple of "grunters" picked up off the back of the boat while we sat at anchor. The crab trap was baited with some fish bits and dropped next to the island to await the crabs from fish and crab heaven to start raining down like manna.
In the afternoon, the tender was deployed and the Captain and Third Mate assembled some

Harvesting the bounty of the sea

rods and departed into a tributary creek promising the remainder of the crew that they'd be back with several barramundi and mangrove jack for dinner. There is something eerie when the engine is turned off in a very still murky mangrove creek in the middle of crocodile country in a small inflatable boat.
The tender drifted along while the fishing team displayed tremendous casting skills putting their lures precisely amongst the trees on the bank and from time to time up on the mud. This continued without so much as a bite for a little while until the tender drifted past a mud bank with the clear imprint of crocodile belly skin - at which point, the fishing trip was cancelled and the endless stream of fish were left for those with more robust boatware.
Surprisingly, the crab trap was empty and the bait untouched when checked later but regardless, the fish eating members of the crew were finally happy again with the tiny morsels of fish that we had managed to bring in that afternoon.
During the night, on one of his regular trips to the deck to check the vessel, the lie of the boat, the weft of the wind and the cut of the cleats, the Captain looked out on the waters of the Hinchinbrook Channel. The wind was dead, the tide was slack, the night was clear.  The stars were reflecting in the perfectly mirrored surface. If the Captain had but a quill and a pot of ink he might have penned some poetry for the occasion but the call of the doona and the threat of being seized off the deck in the middle of a stanza convinced him otherwise.

We spy a fine looking craft at Paluma Creek

We left Haycock Island behind and continued north up the channel. The next port of call was in Paluma Creek, a reasonably large creek running out of the island itself with enough depth to take our draft. There are only one or two spots on the entire west coast of Hinchinbrook where the mangroves are broken and actual solid ground can be reached. This was not one of these areas. In fact, motoring into Paluma Creek took us deep into the murky, greeny brown hell of the mangroved black heart of Hinchinbrook. Not wanting to paint too dark a picture, we can report that despite its mangrove infested drawbacks, this anchorage was extremely picturesque. Tucked under some of the nearest mountains with cloud coiling off the summit and interesting birds eking out a living around us, we were actually very happy with this position.
 

Egads! An egret! Wading birds with feet are a rarity in these parts

The crew were under strict instructions in the Hinchinbrook Channel: there was to be no wandering around the swim deck or dangling over or in the water lest an arm, leg or full crew member was seized by a croc and tucked under a log to rot for later consumption. The Captain, however, wished to learn more about this fish and crab heaven so the crab trap was prepared and dropped under the mangroves and the insubstantial Zodiac taken up a small side creek. Small fish were actually visible in the shallow areas but no barramundi presented themselves to be caught.

The clouds stream over Mordor Hinchinbrook

While casting idly into the mangroves, a large crabbing tinny swooped on past and almost sent the Zodiac and occupant into the mud. On their return, the two crab fishermen slowed up and graciously handed the Captain some pilchards to use as bait, paused, then looked the tiny PVC Zodiac up and down and suggested that they wouldn't be caught in a boat that small in a creek like this. Apparently, this area was inhabited by a monsterous beast approaching Hollywood levels of size and aggression. Although one might dismiss this as a gentle ribbing at some out-of-towner's expense, the genuine way they expressed this did hint of their seriousness and expectation that they would be telling the Cardwell Times about a horrible incident for the evening edition. The Captain returned to the relative security of

The First Mate takes fishing duties into her own hands

Arjuna, although a crocodile of the size in question would have had no problems extracting the soft centres from Arjuna's crispy shell.

As night descended, with no new fish to speak of, and no crabs in the trap, a slight buzzing sound at the edge of the human audible frequency range signalled the onslaught of an insect assault from the very pit of the mangroves. We sealed the vessel, dropping the bimini mesh,

Paluma Creek, viewed through defensive mosquito mesh

lighting mosquito coils and turning on the mozzie zapper. This kept most of the bloodsuckers at bay, the odd one making it through to receive a faceful of fly spray for its trouble. In the morning, the cockpit was covered in the dead and dying. Surprisingly,  the insect plague had not achieved the levels of our experience at Garry's Anchorage but in fairness, we did not have the same level of chemical weapons at our disposal back then.

Fish traps, Scraggy Point

Needless to say, several of the crew were sporting welts from the most subversive of the Paluma Creek insect population and all were keen to move on - even at the expense of departing from the gates of this fish and so called crab heaven. So, later in the morning the

Freshwater mosquito hatchery, Scraggy Pt

trusty plow was dropped in the mud off Scraggy Point and finally we caught sight of a piece of the actual Hinchinbrook landmass. Scraggy Point is almost directly opposite the cyclone ravaged remnants of Port Hinchinbrook as well as the town of Cardwell at the northern end of the channel. There are some ancient aboriginal fish traps on the shore and a camp site for those wishing to donate blood to support the wildlife in this beautiful world heritage area. We brought the team ashore for some much needed exercise and a rinse in the creek flowing down from the hills.

An awesome photo of a bird by the First Mate

This was our only brief touch on Hinchinbrook. This would be quite the place to visit on foot - perhaps via  the walking track that extends down the eastern side of the island. The well prepared traveller would be advised to pack some tropical strength insect repellent and an umbrella. We had a calm night at Scraggy Point - not always guaranteed since the wind and tide can work against each other for some rough weather here - and the next day we emerged under the jib and engine into the new waters of Rockingham Bay.

Another crew member takes the fishing duties into their own hands

Eternal beams of light shine down upon fish'n and crab'n heaven