Chapter 15: Grafton - II

“By the way, what was the flooding like three years ago?” I asked Evans.

“A lot of rain. The upstream tributaries in the Range really got hit. And that meant there was really a lot of water in the Clarence. They talked about the Great Flood – well, we nearly beat the record. But our house is over eight metres above high water, so we weren’t in danger.”

At nearby Lilydale, the Clarence River peaked at 20.94 metres at midnight on Monday, 28 January 2013. That was close to the 1954 flood peak of 21 metres.

“They evacuated around seven thousand in Grafton and issued a warning for some streets here in South Grafton. But we were OK. They set up an evacuation centre in South Grafton High School.” [Streets that the warning applied to in South Grafton included Bent, Ryan, Cowan, Abbot, Spring, Through, Skinner, Wharf, Armidale, Beetson, Bligh, Edward, James, Kelly, Kennedy, New, Orr, and Vere.]

“No fun.”

“No, but I was once in a tropical cyclone in the Indian Ocean when I was a Sub Lieutenant on a cruiser. We had sustained winds of over 100 knots. I didn’t have a dry five minutes in 36 hours! That really wasn’t any fun.”

“You don’t talk about that period much.”

“No. Nor do you talk about pre-Perth, either.”

“True.” We fell silent.

“Here we are! Let’s get your dunnage into the house.”

We made quick work of it. I suggested we try using the diesel in my emergency store, and Evans said we could try it in Rainbow. The Beechcraft didn’t burn diesel.

Willy said that Scott had called. He was going on a cruise around the Bass Strait and then would finish his eleven weeks. With luck, he’d get home for Christmas and have to report in the New Year. She disappeared.

“I wonder where they’ll send him,” Evans mused.

“Has he any specialization?”

“No. But he did politics and history. They might make him a naval attache somewhere. Singapore or Colombo might be possible.”

“Colombo?”

“They’ve been working on better relations with Sri Lanka. But ... they might well send him to Garden Island, that’s hq in Western Australia or to Sydney.”

“Sydney,” echoed him again.

“It’s fleet base east. But there’s no sense in guessing. Some clerk might decide that as both his mum and dad can fly, he should go to the Naval Air Station in Nowra. Or up to Cairns. You never know what the clerks will do.”

“Start the coals, Captain!” came Willy’s voice.

“Yessir. Immediately, sir!” Evens snapped a salute in the direction of the voice.

We grilled beef in the rear yard and ate it at a picnic table. There were fewer insects than I would have expected, but Willy said there were two important factors: we weren’t near the Clarence and the many flowers and trees in bloom there were highly attractive to “those bugs.” I was going to explain that mosquitoes and gnats and flies weren’t bugs, but that cicadas, aphids, planthoppers, leafhoppers, and other hemiptera were. I held my tongue.

But I did ask about NSW fishing day.

“It was hell last year,” Evans said.

“OK, then,” I said, “How about we go upstream on Rainbow tomorrow and go for a ride in Willy’s flying chariot on Sunday?”

“Brilliant,” she said. “That’s why you’re the Director and we’re old retired folks.”

I snorted. “Moreover, I need a new permit. Mine expired. Can we stop somewhere in the morning and I’ll invest another few dollars?”

“BCF. It’s barely a detour. And they open at 8:30.”

We each had a bottle of Thunder Road pale ale. It was delicious. “Wait til tomorrow,” said Evans. “Thunder Road bought the old Grafton Brewery and began brewing Grafton Bitter again about two years ago. It’s the best.”

“But... ?” I asked.

“But it doesn’t come in bottles nor tins. Only in kegs. And only locally. We’ll stop at one of the hotels in town tomorrow. But now let’s log you in so we can see your fish.”

It took only a few minutes for me to get into my account, but there were hundreds of unread mails. I looked for last Wednesday, and there were but four. Only one was obviously a.jpg, so I opened it. I hadn’t realized how dumbfounded I looked with a large fish dangling from my hand.

“Wow!” said Evans, “That really looks nice. Congratulations. Now, push that button.”

I moved the mouse, pushed “print,” heard a whir and Evans had a copy. I did it again and then exited the mail program.

“May I keep one of them?”

“Certainly.”

“What time do you get up?”

Willy laughed.

“Is that funny?”

“We’re retired. The children are gone. We get up whenever we want to.”

“If we’re going fishing,” remarked Evans, “we ought to be up by 7:30 and breakfasted and out an hour later. BCF at 8:30 and we can be on the water by nine or so.”

“Yessir! Cap’n, Sir!” Willy responded. And we went off to bed.

In the morning I spent $14 for a one-month fishing permit (as it was $7 for three days, this would cover the possibility of fishing again). Both Evans and Willy had long-term permits: three years for $85. Quite a bargain for the “recreational fishermen.” That meant we couldn’t resell the catch.

Willy had cut a hamper of sandwiches and we had a thermos of coffee and and igloo of bottled water.

We loaded up and cast off. The Volvo engines caught and roared immediately and settled to a grumble. “We’ll go upstream aways before we drop a line,” Evans said. “The Clarence is quite long, making innumerable twists and bends. I know there are over 100 islands, but many of them move with every flood. There’s a notable gorge and several falls upstream. The bass fishing is best upstream of the gorge, but the bass and the eastern cod are good down here, too. The cod get thrown back, they’re endangered.”

I nodded, but I was admiring the riverbanks.

A short distance upstream from Grafton ... the Clarence River has a wide, pebble-strewn bed with small islets supporting Casuarina trees in the middle of the channel. The banks of the channel are steep, but also stepped, giving the impression of a series of terraces. [I. Douglas, “Fluvial Landforms,” in D.N. Jeans, ed., Australia: A Geography, 1978

After about two kilometres, the river made a 90-degree bend to starboard, then two kilometres later, another 90-degrees to port. We then made two more turns to port and then three broad U-shaped turns where there were sandy islets to port and then to starboard.

“There are a few rapids coming. We’re coming to where the Orara flows in from the south and west,” Evans said. “There’s a large sandy flat just beyond and then several shoals. When the water’s lower in the summer the rocks can be quite dangerous, so I’ll keep to starboard.”

The shoals were quite obvious, as the water was clear where it wasn’t foaming. It seemed to me that Willy was keeping watch lest we hit a rock or ground on a shoal. But she didn’t say anything.

We swerved again. “Coming to Eaton Creek to starboard,” Evans said. “After that we can think about dropping a line and troll as we go somewhat further upstream.” There were a number of utes with trailers and small boats on the sand. A few blokes waved and I waved back.

“We’re making good time. Lilydale’s over there to port. By road it’s close to 50 kilometres to Grafton, but it’s less than that on the river and about half of that as the Beechcraft flies.” He raised his voice. “Want to get out some trolling tackle, Willy?”