Thredbo River – Part Two

Twelve months passed before we could coordinate a return to the Thredbo Valley Track (TVT) to explore its full length and uncover the jewels awaiting us in the new lower section from Crackenback to Jindabyne. La Niña conditions had continued to dominate the East Coast of Australia, and after flooding out our plans the year before (see Part One, FL#111), we were nervous again about the forecast for the week we had scheduled. With frequent showers predicted and a healthy new respect for the mountain’s ability to generate its own precipitation, our window looked tenuous, but we were hopeful and upbeat.

We returned with an entire family entourage this time. My own family has been coming to Thredbo camping since Max, my now nine-year-old son, was collecting Easter eggs on the river’s edge aged two. Balancing broader demands of downhill mountain biking, walking (and maybe even relaxing) was going to be challenging, and picking the best of the weather would make that even more of a juggling act.

We awoke to a sunny, pleasant morning and hastily prepared to capitalise on the conditions, kickstarting where we left off at the head of the Thredbo Valley Track just below Thredbo Village.

THREDBO VILLAGE TO CRACKENBACK

The river emerges below the alpine village, with the valley opening out and the gradient settling for a spell into a pleasant paced piece of water. If open casting and long gentle glides are your thing, this water will have you in heaven. Grassy banks and crystal clear water make it possible to pick off fish with careful polaroiding or telltale rises. Just go longer and lighter here with your leader and tippet if the trout are shy, and consider more subtle flies like an F-fly or Plume Tip to maximise opportunities.

The top half of the TVT has a series of magnificent arched bridges crisscrossing the river. Thoughtfully designed with a corten steel rusty patina, they nestle into the valley on either side of the river, providing unique vistas and ideal prospecting platforms for eager fly anglers.

Downstream of the first bridge, the river gradient kicks in again, and from here to Thredbo Diggings campground, the river terrain embarks on a rinse-and-repeat pattern of terraced sections with faster water, boulders with pocket water and open runs and pools in areas where the gradient slows. It’s a case of pick your favourite water and enjoy.

The campgrounds have plenty of fish in the surrounding water, with rainbows aplenty and browns as well. Most anglers release their fish, which has kept the fishing surprisingly productive, with little signs of pressure, so be thoughtful of other anglers when indulging in a quick fish straight from camp.

Immediately below Ngarigo Campground, named after the people indigenous to this country, there is some wonderful pocket water where you can leapfrog between giant granite boulders for cover. The track is slightly back from the river, so you’ll get a few scratches as you bush-bash to the water, but it’s worth it. Advancing downstream, the gradient increases dramatically, making for excellent mountain biking, but can be challenging wading and fishing. The rewards are there for those with the energy.

The pace eases back significantly after ‘the big drop,’ and there are large runs and deep pools on offer for those fishing upstream from Thredbo Diggings. The track keeps its distance from the river here, so be prepared to navigate the scrub if you’re dropping in from the trail.

Below Thredbo Diggings, all the way to Lake Crackenback, the trend of large pools and long runs continues. The bike track takes a turn inland, with the first realistic access opening up again right before Crackenback, but there is access to productive water on foot all the way along the river via Bullocks Track.

THEN THERE WERE FOUR

Having a few non-anglers with us on our return proved handy in having a tailored shuttle service to drop us back to the beginning of the Thredbo Valley Track below the village. My son Max was keen to join us, being an energetic mountain biker and showing the first signs of consistent interest in fly fishing. The four of us, including my mate Sean and his son Conor, strapped rods to bikes and trundled out of the village and onto the trail.

The river glistened beside us in the bright sun and I could see a few fish divulging their holding spots, but I kept that to myself until we had a few km’s of track under us. The first bridge over the river had us peering intently into the water below and it wasn’t long before we dropped the bikes beside a patch of promising pocket water.

The overhanging scrub meant it was a little demanding for the boys, so it was grown-ups on call for this stop. Sean was still fiddling with his rig, and the excitement of the first cast got the better of me as I quietly slid in below a pool. One of the advantages of covering so much river on bikes is you can cherry pick your water. The fat sprightly rainbow that sucked down my Pink Bead Pheasant Tail on the first drift proved we had picked a winner straight out of the blocks.

I have always found these reaches of the Thredbo are at their best leading up to mid-morning. The water sparkles with the eastern light shining over your shoulder, and this brief session didn’t disappoint, with a few more fat rainbows to hand before the kids understandably wanted to get a line wet.

Conor whipped off down the trail, his front wheel suspended in the air and no pedalling (it’s called ‘a manual’ apparently), with the rest of us just trying to keep both feet on the pedals over the rolling terrain. The vibe was upbeat and everyone was happy to be miles from anywhere and anyone, other than the occasional biker or walker.

We stopped off at a big series of bends in the river, best described as the Omega — see if that’s enough to find it on a map? We’d made a futile attempt to fish the edges here after the river had blown out the year before. The flow couldn’t have been more contrasting, with manageable water for Conor to warm up his longer range casting.

I had another spot in mind for Max. It wasn’t long before we crossed another bridge, just above the ranger’s station, revealing long open glides below us, with the odd trout sporadically breaking the surface. Hastily I pulled the rod out of its jerry-rigged holder and hustled Max straight toward the honey hole. Not exactly the way to build a resilient mindset with a best water first approach, but one which capitalised on our mobility, the manageable terrain, and lack of wind for a novice.

Leapfrogging upstream, Max and Conor were starting to roll out a few respectable casts and, importantly, manage their drifts. It resulted in a few half chances that had their little tickers beating out of their chests with anticipation and desire to catch the next one.

Ngarigo Campground was busy with all manner of outdoor adventurers as we rolled on through to our next stop. I’ve fished the spot I had in mind many times over the years, where the river seems to drop off the end of the earth dramatically into a steep series of stepped pocket water; granite boulders the size of Volkswagen Beetles muscling the flow from one place to another. Searching the calm between the chaos, some surprising fish can be found and it’s here I hoped Conor’s persistence would pay off.

Rock-scrambling down from the track, we found a nice ledge in the river where the water slowed between cascades, and a defined run connected the tip and tail of the pool.

I was quietly confident as I monkey-gripped Conor into position mid-stream. With a clear back cast, the key ingredient was line management.

‘Strip, strip, strip’, I insisted over Conor’s shoulder after he delivered some casts into the ideal zone. Before he knew it a rainbow had sampled his Humpy and spat it out again in full view, only a few metres upstream. His arm went bolt upright, but there was too much line between him and the fish and the hook didn’t set.

‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured, ‘that won’t be the last. Just keep connected and you’ll be sweet.’

Before we knew it, another eager taker erupted on the surface. This time the connection was fluid and Conor had his first Thredbo trout heading toward the net.

High fives and hoots from Sean, while furiously snapping photos, accompanied Conor’s euphoria before releasing the fish and exclaiming, ‘let’s get another one!’ And he did, several more.

Victorious, the team rolled on back to camp at Diggings, with a heady sense of achievement and the second half of the track still to come.

CRACKENBACK TO JINDABYNE

Technically the TVT stops just short of Jindabyne at the Gaden Trout Hatchery, ten minutes out of town. As I mentioned in Part One of this story (FL#111), we’d been hankering to hit this new stretch of track, freshly cut through the forest on the northern side of the river from Bullocks Flat to the hatchery. It’s a hell of an undertaking to cut and harden an 18km track suitable for mountain bikes from nothing.

The lower track is different to its uphill predecessor, where Beginner classified trails give way to Intermediate biking. Frequent technical rock gardens and surprisingly regular uphill switchbacks make this stage for the less faint-hearted.

There are no realistic options, so once gravity takes hold it’s a long way home if you decide it’s not for you.

The fishing rewards were surprising in that they are hard won. Convenient access is limited due to the track’s elevation and lack of proximity to the river’s edge, especially in the first 9km or so. You can bush-bash down in places, but given the overall distance you need to cover, adding a further mission to the exercise could be unappealing. In fact the first 3km can be explored on the south side of the river on the By The River trail. It’s novice friendly and runs directly along the bank.

The water at the Crackenback end has its own unique pattern with pools and runs aplenty, but with a mix of baby boulder gardens strewn in amongst them to keep things interesting. Polaroiding fish from the banks is a real possibility and hatches in the evenings can have the water boiling in places. But if you want to fish by yourself, then a spot that doesn’t have drive-up access and a lakeside resort might be a better option.

Back on the TVT the km’s go by, teasing you with brief glimpses of jaw dropping water. Plunging down massive boulder gorges, the granite giants stoically interrupt the flow before relinquishing to enormous flat pools with froth lines cutting through them and sipping fish positioned perfectly out of casting reach.

The fish here are fit, they need to be, and there is some real heft to the rainbows along with lots of sprats to fill in the fun.

The first realistic access kicks in after about 10km, from where a pattern of spurs, just before uphill switchbacks, continues to landmark potential access points as you travel downstream.

Eventually, the mountain gives way to high country farmland as you approach the hatchery, and the access and wading become friendlier. Extra-long pools and runs repeat down the remaining river. With no public roads into any of the lower half of the river, it’s a matter of choosing a spot you fancy, with the knowledge that the only people to step in that part of the river on a given day might be the odd angling farmer.

It’s worth noting, as you approach the hatchery at Gaden, there is a fishing exclusion zone, so please make yourself abreast of the current restrictions before stumbling into an expensive mistake.

NEW WATER

The weather pleasantly surprised us, with threats of showers never eventuating and grey skies giving way to the summer sun by early afternoon. But the forecast now looked menacing. It wouldn’t take much to blow things out for the second year running!

We saddled up, in waders and raincoats. Max elected to rest back at camp after several hectic days of activities, which turned out to be a blessing when we realised the effort level involved on the lower TVT.

A tip for new players is, don’t miss the turn off over the Ski Tube bridge as you approach Crackenback. We did and had an impromptu tour of the resort.

Counter-intuitively we began climbing straight away. A running joke of ‘rivers flow downhill — right’, began as we tackled the seemingly endless uphill switchback sections of the trail before plunging back down with gravity assist being all too brief! Wearing waders, on a bike of all things, was a bad call and we were dripping in sweat.

The weather hadn’t materialised as expected; riding away from the mountain probably helped. As we caught a glimpse of a boulder strewn gorge below, our hearts skipped a beat at the turquoise depths and the potential they held.

Finally within throwing distance of the river, we stalked down to the river’s edge. Clouds of snowflake caddis puffed from the surrounding tea tree, dancing around us like a shower of welcome confetti.

A gigantic boulder field preceded by an enormous flat-water pool greeted us. It was intimidating how wide and powerful the river had grown after 10km. But there were manageable pockets among the boulders and the pool looked wadable, in the tail and edges at least.

Rigging up a dry dropper to fish the short but deep pockets, I scrambled up the back of a granite beast, surrounded by raging water. Lobbing a short cast into the less turbulent water bordering the main flow, the dry dipped and I was muscling a fish to keep it from flushing down the next shoot and the next. The upsized 5X allowed me to lean a bit harder, manoeuvring the fish out of the chaos and into the net.

The pocket water continued to fish in this manner, with the Pink Bead Pheasant Tail continuing to be taken without hesitation.

With the precarious water picked apart, Conor took over in the tail of the pool. We had already seen a few fish show themselves. The setup was difficult, with the water too deep to wade in the main current line, leaving the challenging task of learning to mend, for the first time, across the slack water in front of him. He was rewarded for persistence with an eat, but connecting with the fish proved challenging with the awkward dynamics.

Proceeding up the distinct foam line running down the edge of the pool, fish rising to caddis continued to torment Conor before fatigue, frustration and water depth got the better of him, and his dad took over.

It wasn’t long before Sean and I were both into some thumping rainbows. The fish here were fit and fat and gave us both a workout. Sean had success with a dry, and I got down deep in the head of the pool with a Peeping Caddis nymph that was happily accepted as part of the menu.

The day was drawing on and with a bit under half the track to go, we moved on down the river. A few more spots looked like carbon copies of the setup we’d just fished. The windows of easy access were still infrequent and the uphill switchbacks were relentless.

With thighs ready to explode, the river valley finally began to open up near Brooks Mill Creek, and patches of hillside farmland became visible, indicating our re-entry into civilisation. As the track got closer to the river’s edge and the scrub opened up, the long runs and pools repeated themselves down the valley, tempting us into one last session. Conor revelled in the friendlier terrain and was laying out casts like he’d been doing it for a lifetime.

As the trail snaked its way across the final meadow before one last bridge at the hatchery, the group’s sense of achievement was palpable. Max was there at Gaden to greet us with our families, and he too was giddy with having been part of the adventure. He even managed to chalk up several trout on fly over the coming days to add to his accomplishment.

After 45km of riding and fishing over two episodes, we were exhausted. As we pulled off our helmets and sweaty waders, quietly contemplating whether it was worth the rigmarole, Sean’s favourite adage rang in my ears.

‘It’s only effort mate.’