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The Gulf Country of the Northern Territory and Queensland has stimulated the Australian imagination for two centuries. Settlers, speculators, explorers, exploiters, dreamers and more lately the bloody Grey Nomads have all been infected by romantic notions generated by the Gulf Country, none of which seem to apply in reality. But Karumba is a town with personality. It has virtually no history, and in this region that is an attraction.
Karumba’s a neat little joint. The Sunset Tavern is perched on the edge of the beach, Broome style, and looks west into the spectacular setting sun. It has shutters instead of doors. Tonight they’re all open and a warm breeze wafts under the wide eaves and into the bar. Nirvana.
Many of Karumba’s sprinkling of houses and units are for rent. Most houses are made from metal, this being Termite Central. Right now every one of them is occupied, air-conditioners roaring. This town of around 150 permanent residents has three large van parks, each packed to overflowing. We arrive at sunset on Friday night. A short tour reveals two interesting phenomena: the town is split in half and to get from one part to the other you have to go back to the highway, and each of the van parks is closed off to people wanting a site for the night. “No booking, no admittance” snarl the signs. People are being turned away. With luck I have made a prior booking at one of the Parks, but less luckily for two nights later in the week.
“We thought you might be here early,” says Brenda the manager, “so your sites are ready.”Hah. God does exist. We ignore the desperate appeals of other homeless refugees and drive through the checkpoint into the Karumba Sunset Tourist & Van Park. Karumba had about 10,000 visitors a year for decades, Brenda tells us. Now in the Naughties it has over 100,000. Word has got around about the fishing. It’s the only town on the Gulf with ‘beach access’ (for ‘beach’, read ‘mud’); the rest of the coast is choked with croc-infested mangroves.
This morning the tide is out, almost to the horizon, showing the vast flatness of the floor of the Gulf. The Barramundi Discovery Centre is a local hatchery and is a key attraction but is closed because of the town’s Seafood Festival at the Recreation Club (Barra & Chips, $8.00). Karumba used to be a big prawn processing town with over 70 trawlers, but the moment the trawlers started to process and freeze their catch on board the Karumba prawn processing business rolled over and died. It’s gone.
Apart from tourism, the export of lead and zinc ore is the only commercial activity left. A 5000-ton shallow-draft freighter ferries its load several kilometres offshore to a deep-water loading point and transfers its loads to foreign freighters. Seems a clumsy system to me.
There are three charter fishing boats in town. Lance Edwards is the Barramundi expert, “the best in the top end” we’re told. We drive around looking for him up every lane and in every carpark. No one is catching Barra locally – the same old story – only Lance knows where they are.
“They seek ‘em here, they seek ‘em there, they seek the buggers everywhere.” Seek as much as you like; if the Barra don’t want to be found they won’t be found. Either the water’s too cold, it’s too windy, the season’s wrong or you have the wrong bait or lure, so the Barra remain aloof. Sure, every town up here claims to be the Barra Capital of the Top End but no one except Lance is catching any or even trying. Even the Barra on menus is suspect – Harry’s menu in a Darwin hotel said that his Barra was frozen and imported. Barramundi is a Perch and is found all through Asia. The so-called Nile Perch you see in Coles and Woolies is Barramundi – they’re just not allowed to call it that.
We find Lance at the back of the motel. He is cleaning his mean-looking black boat and its 150h.p outboard while his clients clean their fish. Damn. These guys have caught Barramundi. They’ve booked Lance for four days and tomorrow’s their last day.
“Hey, Lance,” says our guide, “these fellers want to see you.”Lance is a coffee-coloured Aboriginal with sponsor’s stickers sewn onto his overalls.
“Lance, I’m Harry, this is Boonie and Peter.”
“Guh.”
“Any chance getting out with you and the Barra?” ..."Nup.”
“No cancellations?”
“Nup.”
“Well, maybe...”
“Booked out.”
“Could we...”
“Nup. Goin’ back home after termorrer.”
Lance has finally made his position clear. It is “Nup.” Later we hear he takes his clients about 60km up the coast to find the elusive Scarlett Pimperburra. He charges his two clients $1000 per head per day. People say he deserves his reputation because he delivers the goods. NEXT: Gulf attractions and finally going fishing after those damned elusive barramundi .
