Page 196 - Mit dem Wohnwagen durch Australien 2

to Europe and we have lots to talk about. They are avid Fisher people and immediately invite us to go clobbering this
very evening with them. Beat and I look at each other, I pull up my eyebrows and he lifts his shoulders in a shrug.
What is clobbering? Clobber are bottom dwelling fish with poisonous spikes at its head and of the cat fish family.
They come out at night into the shallows and are hunted with spears. Ok, we don the waders which we are loaned
by Paul and drive behind their car to a secluded shallow bay. There we each take a torch and a spear. We get a
short introduction to this weapon and start wading into the shallows. Paul pulls a little rubber dinghy with an empty
esky, for the caught fish. Very optimistic! The bottom is all white sand and Loz explains, that cobbler are masters at
mimicry. They can change their colour to their surroundings, so they will also be sandy white. Since I have never
seen a cobbler in my life, it is all the same to me. I would not recognise one if it were bright red and wore blue
braces. Beat wades with Paul and I go with Loz. After half an hour we have not sighted even one and almost are
ready to turn back, when Paul shouts out, that they saw one, but that it escaped. Cobblers are very shy and
sensitive. The hear the slightest noise when it is approached, so no wonder there is none what with our chattering
and splashing. And then I think I spot one, a small one. Loz confirms my sighting. It is really ugly; a long thin white
tail with a fierce large head. It is to small, so it escapes. When Cobblers are agitated, they get their spikes out and
sting their foes. A sting hurts like hell for about 24 hours and then slowly fades away. Next we hear Paul calling out:
“We have got one!!” Our hunting fever is awakened. I spot the next one, a sizable fellow and Loz spears him. Paul
approaches with the rubber dinghy and Loz puts her spear into the Esky, then she uses a carton tube to get the
Cobbler off the spear careful that she does not touch the poisonous spikes. Slowly, the dead fish turns to a darker
colour, no more need to camouflage. All in all we take nine cobblers during the 2 hours foray that evening. It is tough
wading in knee high water and we get tired, sure to have some muscle aches in the morning, but happy with our
catches. Beat, Paul and Loz all speared three each. I spotted three, but could not spear them. I have a kill block.
Next morning Paul cleans the fish. First he cuts off the heads with the poisonous spikes and feeds them to the ever
present Pelicans, which are not affected by the poison. Then he fillets them and cuts out the middle bone with its
smaller side bones. The toughest work is, to cut the fillet out of the leathery skin which does not have any scales.
Beat sharpens all Paul’s knives and his helps progress. We get the fillets of three fish. We cook them lightly brushed
with flour and then turned in an egg and fried in a little butter. They are simply delicious. Another legend for the telling
around the camp fire is born.

THE DRAGON OF MOUNT BARKER
We knew early on, that the seaside towns with their beaches, good fishing and entertainment would be heavily
booked over Easter and not to our taste anyway. So we decided to go a bit inland, to Mount Barker. After we had
booked a number of our travel colleagues told us, that they could not get a place anymore, it was fully booked. We
counted us lucky. Little did we know... We should have had inkling when I called to book. The lady on the phone,
from Scottish descent no doubt, was rather abrupt and sounded much hassled. The only really clear message,
repeated twice, was that we could only arrive after 2 pm in the afternoon. Rather unusual. Well, we were only about
1 hours drive away and had to leave the old campground as customary, by about 10 am. We would have to kill the
intermittent time everything was closed on Good Friday.

When we got apprised of the fact, that we needed to leave our first campground in Albany on Thursday, I called
again to inquire if we could come one day early. After some stressed huffing and puffing, shuffling of papers and
short abrupt sentences it was made clear, that this was not possible. They were simply too busy over that weekend.
We could only come on Friday and only after 2 pm. Yes, yes we got it. Good Swiss that we are, we spent some two
hours on the village green with a couple of other caravans and at 2 pm sharp reported to the site office. We were the
only ones; the other caravans had disappeared earlier. It turned out, they were told the same, but simply did not
heed it. The campground did not look too busy, but we got assigned a tight little spot between two fix caravans at the
busy Albany Highway. That would not do at all. Steve the husband of the hassled lady was nice enough to let us
have a place towards the bush were we were all alone. Alone, except for a myriad of colourful bush birds, parrots
and Rosellas a wonderful spot. The surrounding peaks and landscapes tempted us to some lovely excursions. We
enjoyed it immensely and I went to the office to prolong our stay. I should have known better. The minute I entered
the office the 10 year old daughter looked at me with a dark unsmiling stare and the mother shushed me to a
whisper. Somebody was asleep in the house and everybody had to tiptoe in the office. Needless to say, that this did
not help to give me a homey feeling. We felt more like intruders than as welcome guests and it wasn’t cheap either.
I dreaded the moment when I had to ask her if I could receive a fax and drew that moment out as long as I could.
Worse still, later I needed woe and behold a telephone book. She whispered her answers through the half opened
door and handed the book out the same way. No more office entry for the likes of me. It would get worse. Horror
upon Horror; on her daily rounds, the lady looked very sternly at our setup. She grew taller and taller as she