Sure, sure Phil - those aren't red claw, those are lobsters. After all Mark's Mum had sent us pictures and a video of her preparing a catch they had landed at Boondooma Dam. Their red claw looked nothing like that. According to Ann they didn't rate highly on the taste stakes either, she described them as bland and quite forgettable.
The planning for this weekend had not got off to a great start. Unbeknownst to me the Fun Police had long ago quashed the idea of a moonlight paddle across Wivenhoe - even the Ranger was not allowed on the water at night. Fortunately Phil had spotted the error and bought it to our attention. Next stuff up was my idea to head out via Mt Nebo and Mt Glorious to avoid the Friday traffic crawl on the Ipswich Motorway. We encountered little or no traffic as we wound our way up the forested road. Near the top a car towing a trailer was coming back down, possibly because he like us, paid heed to the sign saying that the road ahead was unsuitable for trailers. Having been warned, it would not be a good look ending up off the side of the mountain with trailer still in tow so we headed back to Brisbane via Samsonvale. The descent was steep. Some of the corners were taking second gear braking and suggested we had made a good decision. Turning right into Settlement Rd, then left onto Waterworks Rd we were caught in the burl of Friday night traffic. In the unfamiliar western suburbs we were soon wondering where Frederick Street had gone. After some stressful moments of "where the bloody hell
are we" and no where to pull over, somehow we fluked it onto the flyover and were merging from the right into the flow along the Western Motorway then onto a now deserted Ipswich Motorway.
The scenic route had turned a one hour journey into three so it was well and truly dark when we pulled into the unfamiliar camp ground. We had been given up for good. Phil and Fay were comfortably set up as expected but our eyes just about popped when we saw Ray's princess tent. Perched under the shelter of a
giant fly was a tent you could stand up in and swing a Manx. Certainly not the kit he would be stuffing into his kayak in five minutes.
Phil kindly produced an LED array (he claimed it was under my command, not request) which cast a broad light for the pitching of the Taj. An exercise made easier (and hopefully less traumatic) by the recent purchase of Easton Poles. While the price of the poles was more than the equivalent of a new alternative tent, it seemed sacrilegious to toss a little used Macapac onto the scrap heap. We hungrily ate our dinner while everyone else tried out a new blueberry muffin recipe recommended by my Mum.
Against a beautiful still sunrise streaked by a pink jet stream we were off to check the pots Phil and Fay had set yesterday afternoon. Phil and Fay have this red clawing down pat. Fay had a bucket that sat snugly in her front hatch whereas Mark had a wide mouthed yellow bucket strapped into his rear hatch. Having never
lifted a pot before my courage deserted me when I found myself facing off a lobster. Well it was the largest red claw I had ever seen. It had attitude and making a rapid beeline for my end of the pot. No bloody way was I getting near that critter - it was armed and dangerous. Squawk was soon followed by "RAY". Now Phil, THAT was a command, not a request. The lively lobster was unceremoniously lobbed into the yellow bucket with the casual expertise of someone who handles the real deal - muddies. Following pots had smaller critters which Mark suggested could be shaken from the pot into the yellow bucket - no contact required, although towards the end I had enough pluck to handle the smaller ones.
We returned to camp with our remarkable booty of lobsters and red
claw to find Carol had arrived. With growing courage I picked up a trophy speciman for Carol, all the while not realising I was about to have one dropped down my britches. Nice one you lot. We settled into breakfast while Carol pitched tent. The Australian minors were precocious and quite happy to use a foot as a step to
hop up to the table top, sit on the back of a campstove, look inside an open tent or exploit any opportunities, including my porridge. We went to Fernvale for the essential fresh bread, more bait and coffee while the men were left to cook the critters. On our return a giant pot of little lobsters was ready and waiting. The claws were munched on first, then when time lapsed within a
reasonable proximity of lunch it was onto red claw sandwiches. All was quiet as we savoured the sweet and tasty delicacy in the shade with a view over the lake accompanied by a glass of white wine or home brew. These were not the same bland critters Ann had eaten.
With the SW picking up we headed back to re-bait the pots. At times like this the need for a snug fit rather than a round bucket in a rectangular hatch shows itself. The anchor (Yip Yip) came into its own as it helped hold position while rebaiting the pots. Now knowing how good these critters were had me plucking them out of the pots. Phil didn't expect to catch many during the day and we were all surprised by the haul - certainly enough for everyone to have some for dinner. Lobsters trying to reverse engineer an escape from Fay's forward hatch bucket were promptly bought in line by her finely tuned forward paddle stroke. Called the red claw stroke it is a deft flick of the enforcing paddle across the offending tail just before placing the paddle in the water. Coming into camp a steady gust almost blew Ray into a knockdown and had Mark bracing to hang onto his cargo.
Much to my pleasure there was a place where I could light up the pine cones and rafters from our house without unsettling the group or fauna, although the fixed plate was a size limiter on my aspirations. While the pot came to the boil exquisite entrees including pesto dip and fried haloumi were served. Dinner menus were amended to include the lobsters. Some were cleaved in half then grilled on the BBQ with a dash of lime
and cajun, others served in laksa or with a rice noodle, spinach cashew stir fry. All came with a white wine or a home brew. Great stuff - I think we will be doing this more often.
As the fire started to settle marshmallows were toasted over the
embers, or for those with more courage, the flames that licked out the back of the fireplace. There will be an enduring supply of firewood as many trees have died around the perimeter of the lake, likely drowned during flood mitigation which had the lake level within inches of the amenities block. The
height of the flood waters was amazing, just look for the rubbish
about 40 feet high in the trees above the main road as it swings down and around to the right to cross the Brisbane River as you drive west out of Fernvale.
It was not all that cold overnight, not as cold as it could have been but cold enough to keep Dave Stokes in bed. Before breakfast we paddled upon a mirror to check the pots. Each pot had a leaner haul, but Carol and Ray's additional pots made up the difference. Location was important. When Ray put his pots out next to the
camp he only pulled two red claw that were hardly worth the effort. In Phil's chosen location there was one pot that returned a big haul or 9 or 10 medium red claw, twice. We had put it down to having missed that pot, but with another standout performance
the following day it seemed that that particular location scored the jackpot, a jackpot not repeated either side a mere 20m away. Another observation was that if you had a very large red claw in the pot, it seemed unlikely that you would get anything else aside by-catch which included shrimp, cat fish and talapia.
We circumnavigated Pelican Island and it's distinctive fragrance on the leeward side returning to camp where I happily started up the fire having been unfairly chided for neglecting my duties. With the red claw ready for a late lunch we headed out to have a look at Hayes Inlet. Here a large number of picnic shelters similar to those at Logan Inlet would have you think it was a public use area, not locked off for exclusive use by members of the Brisbane Valley Sailing Club. Phil and Fay headed back to check and rebait the pots while we went south to look at the interesting forms of Platypus Cliffs. For some reason I thought they had large caves in them and they
certainly looked fascinating from a distance. Up close and personal all they turned out to be were large scalloping indentations in conglomerate rock. Tick.
By now the breeze which had promised us an excellent sail home was petering out. While it was only an hour's paddle to camp, it certainly felt longer and we thought Phil and Fay would have been in long before we got back. Carol overheard a conversation about people having chicken parmegiana for dinner and she piped up saying we were having red claw to which the chap said "red claw, bloody red claw I am sick of the bastards". Turned out we had our boats loaded and were tucking into a late lunch red of yes, you guessed it, red claw sandwiches when they pulled ashore carting yet another bounty. One was put in the pot some children had set close to their campsite. Their joy was complete when they pulled in the pot to see a decent sized critter eyeing them off. They sensibly squatted down next to the pot and tucked their little hands close to their bodies calling for Dad to get it out of the pot..
The moon was not far off full and high in the sky as we headed out leaving Phil and Fay with the campsite to themselves. It was
Phil who made the weekend. After 20 years of camping at Logan Inlet it was Phil knew the drill with being on the water at night. It was Phil who knew what to bait the pots with. It was Phil who knew where to put them and it was Phil who knew how to cook them so that they were sweet and tasty. Much of the catch may as well have been called lobsters, their size only limited by the 10cm opening in the pots. Where, why and how you catch
such lobsters is not for me to divulge. As an initiate of the Annual
Red Claw Convention, this weekend will certainly be back on the agenda. Not only was it great fun, the food exquisite, held in the setting of a shady camp ground with superb clean and tidy amenities - it came with a waterside view and the bonus of boats and gear with no sand or salt to wash away.
So here's to the next Red Claw Convention on the full moon. Be
sure to book your campsite early and bring a recipe for red claw, or with the right advice, lobster.
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