Tasmanian getaway Part 1

As Dan has already mentioned, the 2019/20 winter fishing in the UK was dire. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to travel to the Southern hemisphere and swap seasons for just shy of a month, spending most of my time camping and fishing in Tasmania’s vast wilderness.

With the season comparable to early June in the UK, I planned to spend    most of my fishing time targeting trout and leave marine species till the last week of my stay. Unfortunately, after an early heatwave in October, the weeks leading up to my arrival in Tassie were characterised by unseasonal storms, snow and sub-Antarctic wind. I secretly hoped this lull in spring would pass by   the time I arrived, but sadly this wish did not materialise. Despite passing through smoke-ridden Sydney, I touched down in a windy, 9°C Hobart. The walk to the terminal building got me questioning whether I’d packed enough warm clothes, as I had intended on spending a considerable amount of time in the west and central highlands.

All negative thoughts soon disappeared; no sooner had I stepped into ‘Spot On – the fishing connection’, Hobart's legendary tackle shop, I was eager to cast a line. I must have spent a good hour discussing different lakes and rivers to try over the coming weeks but did eventually head off with a license and selection of new lures to try.

The first session was an urban trip in South Hobart, working my way upstream from the CBD, fishing the creek that supplies Australia’s oldest brewery. It was a pleasant trip, I caught about half a dozen pristine trout from the minute creek in the company of numerous wallabies, cockatoos and pademelons. Although I enjoy fishing tiny urban streams, I had my sights set on exploring some of the more remote areas where the trout have often never seen an angler.

Cascade Brewery and Mt.Wellington in the distance

An urban trout

 After an evening pouring over maps, a plan was hatched with Jon to climb mount Anne and fish the mighty Tyenna river on the return to Hobart, hoping the water levels would have dropped by then as no more rain was forecast. The Tyenna has been somewhere I’ve wanted to fish for some time, this small river is renowned for being incredibly productive; every year double figure fish are pulled from its idyllic waters.

Sadly, we heard the following morning that the Mt Anne region was closed due to bushfire damage so quickly came up with a plan B. We elected to head north-west to Mount Field national park, hike the Tarn Shelf circuit and fish the Tyenna over the long weekend.

The weather was glorious in Mt Field, I distinctly remember applying copious amounts of sun cream before we shouldered our bags. Fishing rod in hand, we began a steep ascent through mixed forest dominated by the endemic and charismatic Richea pandanifolia, the giant grass tree. A few patches of slushy snow were scattered through the forest, but we thought little of it. As we climbed higher, the pandani grove morphed into a thicket of snow gum and the patches of slushy snow became more prevalent. 

Jon beneath a towering 'Pandani'

First signs of snow

Rather alarmingly, at perhaps 1050m altitude, there was a good 5 inches of snow on the track. This did not bode well as the track would climb several hundred metres more before levelling out and following the tarn shelf. We spotted a couple walking towards us, which sent alarm bells ringing. It was still early in the morning; surely no one would have managed to already complete the circuit anti-clockwise? My fears were confirmed, we were told they lost the trail above the treeline in deep snow. Eager to carry on, we ignored their advice to turn back and sought an alternative route to the plateau. We hoped it would be possible to at least make it out if the trees and get glimpse of Lake Seal. Thankfully we did find the track and managed to join up with another set of footprints which followed the route we were following on the map for several kilometres. We were blessed with blue skies and stunning views; a white blanket coated the peaks and cols above us, in stark contrast to the dark, tannin stained waters of Lake Seal below.

A surreal scene for Australian summertime

Our hearts soon sank again as we saw the two figures who had been walking ahead of us approaching. A quick chat revealed that making any progress through the waist deep snow and icy bogs which lay ahead was unpleasantly arduous, so they had chosen to turn back. We decided to carry on regardless, following their footprints to a hut in the distance where we could stop for a bite to eat and assess the situation – it was almost midday and we hadn’t even seen the lakes I planned on fishing! From the hut I could see the Mackenzie tarn, the first of a series of 8 small lakes which the trail follows. It appeared to be frozen over, not something you often come across in Australia!

We decided to make our way slowly down to the tarn, we still had ten hours of daylight and no other plans. It was quite entertaining, trudging through deep snow whilst probing for rocks and pools, every now and then coming across the top of a trail marker confirming we were still on the right track. After a few obligatory pictures by the frozen tarn, we decided to venture onwards to the next one (which was only half frozen) so I could finally cast a line. I wasn’t surprised that nothing was interested in my lures, but nonetheless felt some sense of achievement for attempting to fish in this surreal location.

Not a bad spot for lunch!

We made the decision to have lunch then turn back to go and fish one of the lower lakes below the snowline. Whilst sitting by the lake, a German girl who was running the route showed up and exclaimed “Oh, I guess the footprints end here then!”. We had a chat and explained how we were turning back; it had taken five hours to walk little more than a quarter of the circuit. She tried to persuade us to continue as she didn’t have a proper map, only a small pamphlet with a sketch of the route. We decided against it and wished her good luck before finishing lunch. Feeling slightly worried for her, I climbed a small crag to see if I could spot her bright blue jacket in the snow. I caught sight of her, however she appeared to be lost, stuck on the wrong side of the next tarn, penned in by a braided creek and boggy ground hidden by snow. We decided to continue to show her the correct route, crossing the stream on the other side of the lake. She thankfully saw us and re-joined the right track. We decided to try and reach the next tarn and have a few more casts before heading back, however in the distance ahead of us we could see a group of brightly clothed hikers! This signalled that we’d reach the halfway point if we met, assuming they had started at a similar time to us that morning. We decided to put fishing on hold and meet the group. It turned out that the snow was a lot sparser ahead and progress a lot quicker.

This meant we could finally justify an hour or two fishing the tarns and streams that abound the high plateau. We caught numerous pristine trout from this magical place before heading off at pace to complete the circuit before darkness fell. Reaching the Tyenna valley in twilight, we pitched our tent and cooked two trout surrounded by a plethora of endemic Tasmanian fauna emerging to graze on the lush floodplain. We ended the monumental day by hunting for glow worms amongst tree ferns in the nearby forest before setting pre-dawn alarms for the next fishing trip, in total awe of the experience we had just been through.  

An immaculate brownie, note the vivid red spots on the adipose fin