Bob got the first hit. He snapped the fishing pole back to set the lure and then started reeling as deftly as he could. The river guide, Morgan, maneuvered the boat around so he could get his net to the side of the boat. When Bob pulled it in, we saw its silvery shape, a barramundi, the most popular gamefish in the Top End of Australia.

When Morgan measured the fish, he found that it was only 45 cm long. The legal limit is 55 cm. In other words, at 17 ¾ inches, the fish was too small and we had to throw it back

We were fishing on the Adeleide river just a few kilometers south of where the Arnhem highway slices through this part of The Outback. We were on a part of the river that is a boundary area of fresh and saltwater. To the north was Adam Bay and the Timor Sea. To the south the river winds its way into Litchfield National Park. The area where we fished defined where the mangroves gradually give way to clutches of bamboo and paperbark trees lining the river.

Bob and the undersize barramundi

I got the occasional bite, but was not having too much success. Suddenly, Gavin, an Aussie from Melbourne, yanked his pole back and started to reel it in. We all pulled our lines in to prevent entanglements and watched his struggle with the fish. When he pulled it in, we all cheered, it was clearly a nice sized fish. Morgan placed it next to the measuring tape and pronounced it legal at 65 cm long (just over 2 feet).

Morgan placed it into a cooler and we proceeded south. At lunchtime we stopped along the edge of the river and made our way up a muddy path to a crude base camp that Morgan had set up. It was a simple structure with 4 wooden beams supporting a canopy. Morgan fired up the gas grill and tossed on lamb chops, burgers and sausages. We had a very hearty lunch. One of the frequent monsoonal rains came in as we were eating so we just sat back and enjoyed the cooling breeze that flowed through the camp. Morgan entertained us with stories and misadventures with past clients. When the rain slacked off, we tossed the leftover food to the side of the camp. Birds swooped in and greedily ate our castoffs. We got back on the boat, warily watching the edge of the water for a croc snout.

Gavin and his prize catch

We fished some more, but got no more bites. About 30 km from our starting point, we reached Goat Island. Goat Island is the home of a very small inn run by an Aussie named Dennis. As we pulled in we could see that he only wore shorts and a dark leather hat studded with crocodile teeth. He was covered in tattoos from shoulder to toe. With the creases on his face partially covered by his scraggly beard and mustache, he looked like he lived a rugged life. I kept thinking that his rugged appearance made Crocodile Dundee look like a boy scout. As we approached, he put on a t-shirt to be more presentable.

Morgan explained that Dennis preferred getting away from it all. He was certainly isolated. The closest glimmer of civilization was the small dock to the north that we had used for our departure.

Dennis - a real Outback Aussie

After introductions, Morgan hauled out the barramundi that Gavin caught. Dennis graciously offered to clean it for him so we all got out and watched him work. We also toured the small four room inn. It was a cluster of metal structures with green siding, some sitting on stilts to avoid flooding of the river. The kitchen was at the base of one of the structures, it’s only walls were sheets of green mesh, gossamer protection against the mosquitoes. Dennis had plans on turning Goat Island into the ultimate getaway location. He was interested in hiring Morgan’s company to ferry guests to the inn. I suppose for those who do want to get away from it all, this would be the perfect destination.

After cleaning the fish we said our goodbyes to Dennis and headed back north, back to civilization.

Morgan the river guide - at the helm