“If you had to pick up a bucket of concrete, which hand would you use?“

As we mentally performed the request and our brain cogs slipped into place, Charlie put to rest a debate that had started early. It was 8am and we were on the Liverpool River in Arnhem Land, trolling for barramundi over a submerged rock bar that crossed the 70-odd metre wide river from side to side. My boyfriend Josh, his father Vince and I were arguing over rod-casting techniques – they were adamant I used the wrong hand to effectively work the fishing rod. In those 15 words Charlie, our guide, settled the matter in their favour, much to my chagrin. Round one to the boys.

The Liverpool is one of six river systems the Arnhemland Barramundi Nature Lodge has exclusive fishing rights to, along with roughly 200 kilometres of Northern Territory coastline. It’s the proverbial big pond full of big fish; probably the reason hundreds of anglers fly to this remote location from Darwin each year. We flew in shortly after category five Cyclone Monica flattened the area and the ground below resembled a greeny/brown rug on which someone had clumsily upended packets and packets of toothpicks.

Although late June isn’t the peak time for barra fishing in the Top End, the combination of pristine waters and experienced fishing guides generally yields enough quality barra to keep clients more than satisfied. However, the water was about 22 degrees; unusually chilly for this tropical fish that gets increasingly active as water temperatures rise. A local couple, who relocated to Maningrida from the Sunshine Coast for a change of pace, joined us for dinner at the Lodge one night and described the barra fishing situation in November. “As soon as your lure hits the water, before it’s even swimming, it’s absolutely annihilated,” he said, complete with accompanying pantomimes of landing a big one. “You could throw a spoon out there and they’d inhale it,” he reckoned, and went on to tell us they get hundreds of barra in a day session. It was about then the boys started drooling.

The barra Gods didn’t deliver for us that morning, but whoever’s in charge of the deep blue sea was smiling down for the rest of the afternoon. We’d switched to heavy duty rods with reels as big as paint tins and were trolling a few kilometres offshore. Charlie manoeuvred us around a bommie (bloke-speak for pointy coral rocks sticking out of the water) and our first pass netted us a triple hook up – cause for much hoohah. We’d motored over a 300-strong school of giant trevally (GTs), and all three rods screamed as line tore off the reels in the fish’s mad swim away from the boat. It took us 20 minutes to even get them to the edge.

Next was a school of Spanish Mackerel, which we were led to thanks to the pack of seagulls swooping madly to scoop up the small baitfish boiling on the surface – a sure indication that big Spaniards are pushing the bait to the surface from underneath. A 28 and a 25 pounder were landed in quick succession - prized catches for Vince and Josh. I was the barracuda queen that day, reeling them in one after the other. The first was a monster, about 1.2 metres, and it grinned at me with its mouth full of razor sharp teeth as I hauled it over the edge of the boat. This all happened in 20 minutes, and after a quiet morning chasing barra, that first troll around the rocks was electrifying.

Josh broke his lure off when he hooked something decent, which took the fancy of a passing bull shark. Charlie ordered him to cut his line – he’d had enough experience to know it was a waste of time to fight one of these monsters. A new lure was attached, an ‘Elton John’, so called for its pinky fluoro flashy colour scheme. It was brand spanking new, straight out of the packet, and when we surveyed the damage later, it was scored with strike marks and the hooks were bent almost straight.

They fight hard, these bluewater species, and the boys had no trouble tucking the butt of the rod under their arms and letting the tackle do its job. For me, a female with limited upper body strength, the butt automatically anchored into my belly button; the only way I could lever the rod against the weight on the end. I was rewarded with three welt marks across my guts and some interesting bruising to match. Pretty good trophies I reckoned, along with the 35 mega fish we hauled in that afternoon.

The Lodge is superb. We slept soundly, hidden away in the bush in a breezy safari-style cabin built onto a mud-brick ensuite. As far as fishing digs go – this is seven star. The after-dark activities take place on a huge timber deck that juts out over a magnificent valley - the prime spot to relax with a drink (that seems to fill itself when you’re not looking) and absorb the changing colours as the sun sets behind the buffaloes roaming among cathedral-like termite mounds below.

And then there’s the food. I’m holding Mick, the Lodge’s super chef, responsible for the two kilos I put on, which I’ve pinpointed to the mammoth roast rib eye fillets, baked spuds and golden syrup dumplings I scoffed on night two. Though that’s not a touch on the record – Mick tells me one bloke was there for a week and went home eight kilos heavier. But that won’t stop me going back for more.

Where: The Arnhemland Barramundi Nature Lodge is located in Arnhem Land, about 20 kilometres from Maningrida and 300 kilometres north east of Darwin
When: the Lodge operates most of the year, but shuts down from mid December until the end of February during the wet season
Who: The Lodge is operated by well-known fishing personality Alex Julius
Tips: In addition to fishing, the Lodge runs Aboriginal cultural tours and a bird-watching operation is being established - more than 280 species have been recorded in the region

By Jo Hindle, a guest writing about the Arnhemland Barramundi Nature Lodge.

For further information call 08 89831544, email This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it or visit www.barralodge.com.au.