Philip Weigall pays a post-bushfire visit to Falls Creek.

Like a trillion dollars or a light year, I find 1.1 million hectares to be a quantity beyond comprehension. Yet that is the area of Victoria’s mountain country burned by bushfire early this year. Trying to grasp the magnitude of the fire, I stood on Mt Cope in late February, and gazed east. From nearly 2000 metres above sea-level, receding waves of scorched forest ridges disappeared over a distant horizon. It was hard to believe that a single bushfire had swept through this entire panorama, and beyond.

My base on this journey was the alpine village of Falls Creek. The trip was originally planned as a regular fishing holiday in the heart of Victoria’s alpine country. In the event, the fires and their aftermath postponed the trip for over a month. When it was finally safe to travel up to Falls Creek, I braced for an Ash Wednesday landscape, and wondered if I would find any trout at all.

In fact, the post-fire landscape around Falls Creek, and beyond, was nowhere near as apocalyptic as I had feared. The scale of the burned area was immense, but the extent of the damage varied. While some slopes displayed nothing but dead black trunks amid the grey ash, many ridges and valleys were still clothed in living trees —a little singed, but already recovering. In places, understorey plants were alive, and some areas had escaped the fire completely.

Right in the fire zone, there was a daily increase in greenery. Blackened ferns shot new fronds, green grass sprouted among the ash, and bracken shot up at a rate of several centimetres a day.

THE KIEWA RIVER
First stop on most trips to Falls Creek is the Kiewa River. The Kiewa Valley itself escaped the fires, and in late summer, the patched green and brown farmland looked as it usually does towards the end of February. The river was low and clear, offering no hint of the fires that had raged far upstream.

Several bridges and roadsides provide easy access to the Kiewa, and it was a simple matter to select a couple of stretches to fish. The river is one of the clearest north-east streams, and I soon located a number of nice browns—usually moments after they located me! I forced myself to slow down, recalling that when the Kiewa is flowing gently, polaroiding and stalking risers is often a more effective strategy than fishing blind.

Eventually, I found an orange-legged Polyhopper that at least some of the trout would eat if it didn’t land too close. Later, when gathering clouds dimmed the polaroiding light, an Orange Spinner—always useful on the Kiewa—fooled a couple of sippers.

Above Mt Beauty, the Kiewa splits into two branches. Initially, the Kiewa hydro-electric scheme diverts flow from both. However, a short distance from town, the West Kiewa reverts to an attractive fastwater—unfortunately access roads were still closed when I visited, due to fire damage.

It isn’t until half way up the road to Falls Creek that the East Kiewa and its branches become appealing. At Bogong Village, the river flow is diverted by Lake Guy, so above here, the two feeder streams are once again respectable waters. Even in the wake of the fires, the country here is breathtaking.

At the turn-off to Bogong Village, the twisted metal remains of the council road depot testified how intense the fire had been here. Clearly, the Kiewa branches had been subjected to a fierce onslaught, and I wondered how the fish had fared. I fished the Rocky Valley Branch for a few hundred metres to confirm the presence of at least some trout in the shady, tumbling water—good news after reports of fish kills further upstream.

The wide, bouldery bed of the Pretty Valley Branch is definitely a place for wading boots and careful steps. Signs warn of sudden rises in level due to discharges from a distant power station. Yet access options are somewhat better than for Rocky Valley, thanks to a road bridge a couple of kilometres upstream. Despite stretches of blackened bankside, I soon found fish—typically, fat 30 cm rainbows, but also the odd larger brown. A buoyant dry like a Royal Wulff or fat Red Tag worked well, so long as every pocket was searched. The best brown actually rose in an insignificant sidewater, well away from the main current. The key to success was staying out of sight, and presenting well-managed drifts on a short line.

THE MITTA MITTA
From Falls Creek, the Bogong High Plains Road offers one of Victoria’s loveliest drives into the upper reaches of the Mitta Mitta River. Much of the high plains had been spared the fire, but as the road dropped into the Mitta valley, the surroundings grew more ominous. On the final descent to the Omeo Highway junction, the country looked as if it had been blasted by a bomb. Well before I should have been able to see it, the Mitta came into view below, no longer concealed by thick scrub and forest. Bubbling over granite boulders, and drifting through dark glides, the river itself seemed the only living thing in the whole valley.

This reach of the Mitta is a part of my angling history. Here, as a teenager, the Julian brothers and I enjoyed our first fishing camps as independent travellers. Though it was always half expected, I gaped to see my old friend so changed. And then, among some fallen, incinerated trees, a trout rose. How could something as fragile as a trout have survived this conflagration? I walked without my rod to the tail of the next pool, and not one but three bow-waves disturbed the flat water. For the moment I stopped wondering how the trout could still be alive, and started thinking about flies. Without insects on the banks, perhaps Mitta favourites like the Geehi Beetle or Polyhopper would be out?

Plenty of trout were rising in the flat pools, with several beauties slashing occasionally in the turbulent runs. The aquatic insects at least seemed to be thriving. Amid the surreal surroundings (even the sword-grass was burned to the waterline) the February fishing was as good as it usually is. The trout—nearly all browns—did not forgive a careless cast, or a likely pocket noticed too late. But if I fished carefully, and searched every hiding place, I caught fish, including some nice ones. Some rose to a Royal Wulff, though more were interested in the brown nymph dangling beneath.

It was joyous to find the river itself so unscathed, and yet all around was sadness. The bird calls were gone. I passed a sambar deer dead at the water’s edge. A wallaby, minus half its tail fur, burst out of the tussocks on a tiny unburned island. Still alive three weeks after the fire, perhaps it would live. Even a tiger snake swimming across the river seemed lost and pitiful. What would it eat? Where would it hide?

Because of temporary road closures, I couldn’t reach the main tributaries. Middle Creek tends to offer faster fishing than on the Mitta, in somewhat overgrown water (though less so for a while!), for generally smaller trout. The Bundarra and Cobungra rivers are a bit further away, but are also respected trout streams, and I trusted that if the Mitta had survived, then they would have too.

ROCKY VALLEY
A return to the high plains offered the solace of green and life after the devastation of the Mitta valley. Although some of the country around Rocky Valley Dam had been burnt, it was easy to find a shore where the snowgrass, heath and snowgums were untouched above the normal perimeter scar. The walk to the water’s edge was accompanied by leaping alpine hoppers, and flitting birds. Beetles buzzed out of the scrub to land, with typical beetle determination, right in the water. The trout rose with gratitude, and as always at Rocky Valley, there were plenty of them.

The crystal-clear water teams with brown trout. Many are tiny, but there are good numbers of 300-500 grams, and some of a kilo or more. I headed for one of the deeper, bouldery shores, knowing that these often yield the bigger trout in daylight. During bright conditions, the numbers of fish do not necessarily mean easy fishing. Though rises were plentiful, closer examination showed many to be erratic ‘oncers’. With a fickle breeze and intermittent sun, I went for a team of English dries, mixing and matching a Bibio Hopper, Bobs Bits, and a Carrot. As instructed by Peter Hayes on earlier trips, I fished them static for a few seconds, then pulled back at varying speeds. I ended up with three browns up to a pound or so, and missed twice that many.

PRETTY VALLEY
Pretty Valley Pondage is somewhat higher and more exposed than Rocky Valley. The slightly stained water is also stable and more fertile, with significant weed growth below the surface. There was little fire damage around the lake, or upstream. A generally more difficult water than its neighbour, the trout are also larger.

The evening I chose to fish Pretty Valley turned out cooler and windier than hoped. Little trout midged enthusiastically in the calm water near the bank, but the big ones seemed absent—until a two foot beauty hurled itself out of the ripple some 50 metres from where we fished. Inspired to leave the calm water, I searched the wavelets with a slow-retrieved Stimulator, but nothing. In the fading light, I finally came to a spot I recognised from a couple of years earlier. Here during a caddis hatch, I had taken 4 fish in a row, each of a kilo or so. I trickled the fly persistently along the tussock island edges, and suddenly it was gone in an explosion of water. I lifted into brief weight, and then the line was limp. BUGGER! I fished with new purpose, but alas, I had missed my only chance.

THE FUTURE
The fishing on the alpine lakes is likely to be as good as ever in the wake of the fires, with the possibility of increased nutrients boosting fish size, particularly in Rocky Valley Dam. The effect of ash run-off into the streams is harder to foretell. Though the ash is revegetating by the day, until robust ground cover forms, there is the possibility of heavy rain flushing excessive loads into the streams. At worst, this could result in localised fish kills. Along the Kiewa, storages and a flow-regulation capacity greatly reduce this risk. Natural streams like the Mitta have no such protection.

However, even in the worst case, the giant Lake Dartmouth contains a very large population of wild browns, virtually unaffected by the fires. Many of these fish will have migrated into the Mitta during autumn/winter spawning in 2003. In the event of a catastrophe, these trout and their progeny should speed the recovery of the Mitta Mitta system. Meanwhile, moderate quantities of ash and nutrients entering the streams will only boost fertility, and probably result in better hatches (and better trout!) for the next few seasons.

As I write this on the first day of autumn, snow is falling on the Bogong High Plains. I can imagine the white flakes quietly concealing the black ash on Mt Cope’s flank, where I stood only days ago. I think that’s a sign.