Jeremy is attacked by a shark

Temperature - Day (maximum):
approx. 30 degrees

Anna Plains Station – 06.05.2001

To have a change from the daily camel training I go fishing today with some jackeroos. I’m glad that my strict boss gave me the go-ahead for this, although I have to admit at this point that my boss is inside me. Unfortunately, he is often very hard on me, but sometimes I can convince him that the world isn’t just about work and that a little free time won’t do us any harm.

We had actually planned to set off at 7.30am, but the crew from Anna Plains had gone wild at the Sandfire Roadhouse last Saturday evening. Almost every Friday or Saturday evening, the jilleroos and jackeroos of the outlying stations meet at this legendary roadhouse to have fun. There are no bars, restaurants or discotheques here, just the petrol station, which for these people means all the leisure activities available within a radius of 250 kilometers.

Chris the gardener can hardly walk with pride. He was lucky enough to spend a few hours with a girl who also works on one of the wards. Mark, the mechanic, has not gone away empty-handed either and Jeremy, the new windmill man, is just returning from Sandfire at this very moment. It is 9 a.m. by the time we have loaded the small boat, the outboard motor, the cool box and all the fishing gear onto the back of the Ute. Time is of the essence. because the tide is about to go out. I ride with Jeremy while Chris and Mark speed along the narrow track ahead of us in another Toyota. We rumble along the small farm tracks at breakneck speed, making me break out in a cold sweat. The speedometer needle moves between 90 and 100 kilometers per hour and, in my opinion, all it takes at this crazy speed is a small driving error and the heavy Jeep would roll over horribly. “Don’t you think we could tip over in one of the bends?” I ask Jeremy cautiously.

“Oh no, it’s so heavily loaded with about 800 liters of diesel that it’s impossible to throw it on its side.” “What, 800 liters of diesel? Where are they loaded and why so much?” I want to know. “As a windmill man (boreman), I have to be able to travel long distances. Sometimes I might repair a windmill far away and continue my route from there the next day. I think I could cross half of Australia in an emergency without having to go to a gas station. But the fuel is also intended to fill up the clearing vehicle or a tracktor that is used far away from the homestead.” “And where is the stuff stored?” “You see the big tank on the loading area? It’s in there. The Toyota also has two tanks that I always fill to the brim before I leave the homestead. “It’s reassuring to know that we’ll never run out of fuel, but on the other hand we’re sitting on a real bomb if the diesel ignites in an accident. Once again we turn into a long bend that runs over a slight hill. If someone comes towards us at a similar speed, we will split up into our individual components. I am happy when we arrive at the beautiful, endless beach. Just a few years ago, I wouldn’t have believed that there were hundreds of kilometers of deserted, almost untouched beaches in Australia. Thousands, even millions of beautiful shells lie around here. Some of them are 20 or 30 centimeters tall. You could collect yourself silly here. There are so many mussels that you could easily fill whole sacks of potatoes in a single day. The paradisiacal-looking beach winds endlessly along the Indian Ocean. It’s like the Garden of Eden for birds. Large groups of seagulls fish in the shallow water or scuttle back and forth on the sand. A few rocks protrude from the waves, announcing the retreat of the sea as they grow larger. Mangroves border the bay on the left, while huge clouds of smoke reveal the existence of a bushfire on the right. In Europe, thousands of tourists would flock to such a place. Sun loungers would be lined up next to each other or every square meter of the white sand would be covered with towels. I am glad that there are still places on our earth that have been spared by our western world. Perhaps these beaches here will have a few more decades of peace before the great onslaught of destruction.

The dinghy is quickly unloaded and the outboard motor bolted to it. Mark and Chris jump in and pull the net behind them, the end of which is secured with a peg in the shallow water. After they have made it about 100 meters into the bay, they chug back. “Unbelievable! We saw at least four big sharks! They were right next to our boat! One of them even hit my hand with its dorsal fin when I was clinging unsuspectingly to the side of the boat!” Chris exclaims excitedly. “When I think about the fact that we laid out the net on foot last weekend, I still feel quite queasy afterwards. We’re lucky that the sharks didn’t just bite our legs. The place is teeming with these predatory fish,” say Chris and Mark. I quickly grab my video camera to be ready in case we catch one of the sharks in the net. The water is already receding. In the meantime, Chris and Mark take the dinghy back and forth in the bay. They have cast out their fishing rods and are waiting for one of the tasty pollack to bite. Jeremy and I, on the other hand, wait on the beach until the sea recedes a little to see if anything has got caught in the net. A little later, the time has come. Jeremy goes into the knee-high water and lifts the net. “Oooh, oooh, that’s a big lump,” he shouts, freeing a magnificent saithe about 40 centimeters long from the net’s loops. He happily brings it to the beach, puts it down and kills it. He hurries off again. This time he can barely lift the net because a swordfish about 2 meters long is wriggling back and forth like crazy. I am glad that he is giving this beautiful fish its freedom. The strange-looking fish quickly swims into deeper water. “Whoa! That’s a monster!” I hear him shout. I can hardly believe my eyes when I recognize the head of a sizeable shark. “It’s caught on something. Can you bring me the pliers from the toolbox?” he asks. I give him the pliers, with which he carefully tries to cut the dangerous predator free. I stand there spellbound with my video camera and film his every move. After maybe 10 minutes he has the fish free. When he then mobilizes all his strength to clutch the 2 ½ or 3-metre fish with both arms and half lift it out of the water, my breath catches in my throat. “I hope you know what you’re doing!” I shout. Jeremy laughs and poses in front of the camera for a few moments until the shark gets too excited and twitches back and forth briefly but vigorously. The movement is enough to free himself from Jeremy’s grip. Without being able to intervene, I now experience what is happening. With a splash, the shark’s upper body falls back into its element and thankfully swims a few meters towards the open sea. But suddenly he has changed his mind, makes an elegant 180 degree turn and glides straight towards the astonished Jeremy. It only takes seconds before Jeremy shoots through the splashing water as if ignited by a rocket to escape. The shark follows him quickly and purposefully. “Watch out, he’s coming!” I shout. Jeremy can no longer hear me at this moment and makes a big leap to the other side of the net. The shark shoots in to follow him and, in doing so, has brought itself back into captivity. Breathing a sigh of relief, I realize that Jeremy’s intelligent behaviour has brought him to safety. I actually just wanted to go fishing for a while and almost witness a person being attacked by a shark. I am now quite sure not to venture into these dangerous waters. Just a few months ago, photographer Ken Maley, myself and our camel Hardie walked hundreds of meters into the sea until it was up to our waists. We then turned around so as not to endanger the cameras with the salty splash water. On the way back, Ken had felt a large fish between his feet. We had laughed about this experience afterwards, but there are so many big sharks in the knee-high water that this fact is no laughing matter.

Jeremy is apparently quite a fearless daredevil. Without thinking twice, he frees the shark from the net a second time, but this time he lets it go without touching it again. For at least another five minutes I can watch its dorsal fin slowly, as if in slow motion, cutting a swath through the shallow water. While Jeremy is already cutting another shark out of the net, I’m still looking after the fin that finally disappears from my field of vision.

After less than an hour, we caught three sharks, a swordfish, two catfish and maybe seven pollack in the net. Jeremy releases all but the pollack and the catfish. “You have to be very careful not to get one of the catfish’s spines into your skin. They contain a poison that puts you out of action for several days and must be excruciatingly painful,” Jeremy explains the fish to me. “Ahhh, now it’s got me after all!” he exclaims in shock and presses his index finger with the fingers of his left hand. “Bad? ‘ I ask, startled. “No, I don’t think it went that deep to inject poison.” Later, we carry our booty to the ute and put it in the cool box. “Do you still not feel anything?” I want to know. “No, I think I was lucky,” he says, rubbing the puncture site.

Chris and Mark only managed to catch two catfish during the entire time, which they put in the cool box, visibly disappointed. The sea has now retreated several hundred meters. We decide to call it a day and head back. Again, Jeremy races across the green plain as if in a hurry, so that I hardly have a chance to take my eyes off the narrow path. When we arrive at the homestead, I’m glad to have spent an eventful day with these guys. Jeremy then hands me a large pollack. “But I didn’t do anything to catch him,” I say, happily surprised. “But of course, you were there and that’s your share,” he replies with a friendly laugh. “Enjoy it,” he calls after me as I walk across the freshly mown lawn of the farm.

We spend the late afternoon intensifying Jasper and Edgar’s weaning training. It takes some effort to catch Edgar, but when I catch the end of the neck rope lying on the ground and pull on it, he stops immediately. The post is already having an effect, because yesterday he simply tore the rope out of my hand during his escape. Again, we tie Edgar and Jasper to one of the two posts. Thanks to the two iron pipes set in concrete, we are able to train the two at the same time. This method saves us time, as it is not uncommon for Jasper or Edgar to be tied to it while we are working with the other. Jasper leaves today, protesting loudly. This time it is enough to tie the leg sling around his front foot and he goes down voluntarily. Edgar doesn’t behave quite so badly any more either. Although he still kicks and punches, we are able to get him to take a shower after a relatively short time.

In the evening we enjoy the fresh, very tasty pollack in garlic sauce with buttered potatoes and vegetables. I then tell Tanja about my latest shark adventure. Rufus lies contentedly on his blanket with a full stomach and mumbles to himself. He also seems to have enjoyed the pollack scraps, because he stretches and stretches from time to time and waits for me to finally romp around with him.