The Tennessee Valley Angler blog continues to be one of fly fishing’s more amusing sites. (We sincerely hope that’s what they’re shooting for. Otherwise, never mind this post.)
Witness this post by Matt — a sad story about what happens when fishermen and crocodiles mix. It’s not so much the carnage on fishermen as the uneasy feeling we get that crocodiles are actually much smarter.
From The Billabong Mystery:
All this brought to mind a story from my youth. As you may or may not know, I spent much of the first 7 years of my life in Brisbane, Australia. My grandfather wasn’t much of a fisherman, but his neighbor was and, on occasion, took me fishing to his favorite billabong. For the uninitiated, a billabong is a (mostly) stagnant pool in a sometimes dry riverbed. Because they’re formed when the water stops flowing, fish are trapped in them and make for easy pickings.
This probably explains why crocodiles like them so much too.
So far, so good. Except, of course, that fishermen and crocodiles were mentioned in the same sentence. You can guess what comes next:
Sometimes, though, right in the middle of a good bite the fishing would seemingly stop altogether. At that point fishermen would calmly grab the stuff and head off to the riverbank, walking a pretty decent clip away from the water. The first, and only, time I saw this was on a trip where we had just arrived and were walking down the dusty, tan, rock covered trail to the hole. When Mr. Tilley saw everyone coming back up the trail toward us he cursed* and told me we’d be in for a long wait. Curious, I asked what the problem was, and the answer caused me to never fish that, nor any other, billabong again.
Occasionally, crocodiles simply jump out of the billabong and EAT one of the fishermen. Seems in addition to providing a runway across the river, the little causeway has the added honor of being a giant serving plate for crocodiles looking for a late summer snack. You can’t see them coming, and no one knows where they’re at while fishing. The only warning a fisherman has that crocs are even thinking about chewing your arms off is that the fishing stops completely. Despite not having emotion or reasoning, it appears fish are smart enough to run (swim) away when a 16-20 foot meat-eating reptilian monster comes swimming through the hole.
Fish are smart enough to leave when the crocodiles approach. The fishermen? The book’s not closed on them yet. You can read the entire crocodile-infested post at the TVA site. Kudos to Matt for the entertainment (or was it?).
[tags]fly fishing, fishing, billabong, crocodile[/tags]
Entertainment? Oh yes. If you knew Matt in person, as I now do, you’d know that’s his life’s purpose.
Anyway, I was thinking. This might be a good way to get rid of those luxury campers. You know, offer luxurious stays on the banks of an authentic Australian billabong. Just a thought,
hawgdaddy
hawgdaddy(Quote)
Excellent thinking. One night the place is jammed with $595/a night glampers.
The next morning, it’s a pristine wilderness, except with fatter, happier crocodiles.
You’re a genius.
Tom Chandler(Quote)
Thanks for the comments, Tom, I appreciate it.
I do believe it’s my sole purpose in life to amuse people. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for my stature, upbringing and stunning good looks…
Matt(Quote)
Well, I must be one of those dumber than the crocs. In college, I got into wade fishing for bass in some out-of-the-way places – swamps, really. One place I fished had some really nice fish in it – I saw one fellow catch one well over 12lbs out of it. Anyway, I waded almost the entire periphery of this pond, in old combat boots and jeans to keep the leeches out. There was a small gator who was resident there, about 4-5ft, and when the fishing slowed, I would tease him with this huge 3/4 oz Silver Minnow spoon that I had. I would have that gator going back and forth, chasing after the splash of my lure.
One day, he got his revenge on me. I had hung a pretty good fish in the pads. I made the mistake of overloading the graphite casting rod, and it broke off at the handle. However, I could still feel the fish, so I decided to go after it. Sure enough, this was the one place in the pond that had water that was over my head, so here I was, treading water in combat boots and soaking jeans, trying to find this fish. Of course, Mr Gator noticed all this, and slowly started cruising my way. In the meantime, I finally found the fish – felt like a 4-5lb bass, a nice fish, but not a trophy. Just then, the gator submerged like a scene from Das Boot, and the moment of decision had arrived for me – was the fish worth it? I wrapped the line around my hands and decided to make one last play for the fish – either it would come flying out of the lily pads, probably hitting me in the kisser, or the line would break, and Mr Gator would get an easy meal. The jerk jerked on the line, and it popped, and I eased out of the water…no doubt, the gator was laughing between chomps on my fish.
ijsouth(Quote)
We used to view gators as more of an annoyance than a danger when I was growing up.
The grass lines on some of the feeder streams into Mobile Bay are just LOADED with fish and, being brackish water, you never knew what would be running through there. But there were ALWAYS gators. Usually small ones – 2 to 4 foot – with an occasional big boy (or girl) lurking around.
At any rate, sometimes fishing topwater for Bass or Specks on the grass lines was near impossible, as a small gator would rocket out of the grass and attack your plug. I can’t count how many we’ve pulled in an released. It’s probably only eclipsed by the number that snapped the line, dragging a favorite topwater back to the grass with them.
If you’re ever in Mobile Bay and see a BIG gator with a Pop-R stuck to his lip, it’s probably one I had an encounter with a couple decades ago…
Matt(Quote)
ijsouth:
Matt: Just for the record, I don’t consider a 4-foot long gator a “small” anything, but I understand how relativity works, though I still doubt you’d find me playing catch and release with one.
C&R of a gator seems like a good way to acquire the nickname of “Stumpy.” Hell, I had my doubts about handling a pickerel…
Tom Chandler(Quote)