Riparide | Cattlemans Hut Adventure
Recently, Jacqueline and I, were sent away for a Riparide adventure to the High Country in Victoria. Armed with a pen, paper, camera and tripod for self timed photographs we captured our story in word and imagery. Story to follow below....
Riparide Adventure – The Willows at Anglers Rest
Photos and words by Chris McConville and Jacqueline Bransgrove.
After an early start we headed off through the beautiful area of Gippsland and soon found ourselves travelling through quaint country towns filled with stunning autumn foliage. After stopping in Bairnsdale for supplies we headed for the small picturesque town of Omeo.
The Great Alpine Road carves through the mountains with the Tambo River flowing steadily along side. With each sharp bend in the road, views of the river below were met with soaring landscapes of native bushland and shadowed valleys. A true sight to behold, making the butterflies in our stomachs dance recklessly.
Upon reaching Omeo, a small town nestled in the mountains with a steep main street filled with historic buildings; we stretched our legs and filled our lungs with the sweetest of mountain air.
Continuing on to Anglers Rest, we meandered through Alpine National Park to the infamous Blue Duck Inn. A legendary restaurant and bar popular with fly fishers and locals that overlooks the Cobungra River, and a checkpoint for us to leave the main road as per our host, Helen’s directions.
Bumping along down a dirt track marked with cattle grids and narrow driveways leading to bush shacks, our directions were accurate, “keep driving until you reach the first farmhouse on the right in open cleared land”. In hindsight this was a modest understatement, not nearly suggesting anything of neither charm nor the beauty we were about to behold, The Willows.
Greeted by Helen and her dogs George and Jack, we were instantly in awe of her and her world. A strong, mature woman, hardened by decades in the high country with a glint in her eye that beamed wisdom, humility, character and cheeky whit. A woman you could ask a dozen questions, and still want to ask two-dozen more.
From the balcony that surrounds Helen’s mud brick house, we caught our first glimpse of the Bundara River and the cattleman’s hut. O’Connell’s Hut was built in 1904 and is a sight that must be witnessed. The term ‘rustic’, seems almost too contemporary and lacking of authenticity to describe this stunning piece of Australian High Country history. ‘The Man from Snowy River’ film has long been a favourite of Chris’ and mine, and now here we are, perched in the high country with our own log cabin.
Under Helen’s advice we lit the fires straight away, for as soon and the sun drops behind the mountains so does the temperature. As the evening mist was creeping into the Bundara Valley, it was time to open some beers that we had cooled in the river and take in the wonderful views. It felt as though we were in the middle of nowhere, with only the wispy tails of chimney smoke as a reminder or our neighbours.
Making the most of last light we wandered the property, giving the horses a pat and scanning the river for trout. The hut looked spectacular in the dusk light, with a small stream running beside it and a disused waterwheel. As the light faded we watched the fire and listened to the Bundara River flowing in the distance. With no electricity we used solar lamps, candles and the glow of the fire for light while we enjoyed dinner and sipped red wine, basking in one another’s delight for the experience we were having.
In the middle of the night we woke to Clydesdale horses neighing outside the hut, as if the were welcoming us to their home. What an experience! After a bit of excited laughter and discussion, we drifted off back to sleep with crackle of the wood fire our symphony.
In the morning we woke to a ghostly mist hanging low on the land. All colour was muted and the valley was warming up as the sun slowly rose over the mountains. A light dew had settled on everything under the clear night sky creating a steady rhythm of water droplets from the tin roof, which gained tempo as the sun began to kiss it’s cold face.
Jamie our fly fishing guide picked us up in his landcruiser and we headed down the dirt road into the Bundara Valley to a section of the river that provided good access and an abundance of open river. After putting our waders on and chatting to Jamie about fishing and life in the High Country, he set Chris up fly-fishing a mesmerising section of the river. Jamie then spent some time teaching me how to fly cast, which, must be admitted is much harder than it looks.
After going through some local knowledge on the river and best flies to use, we started fishing upstream. Jamie knew the river incredibly well and was pointing out deep pools and bubbling runs to fish. For the day, Chris hooked up six trout but failed to land any with the trout being very selective. The attraction of fly-fishing is often not about the fishing at all, and is sometimes an invalid excuse for adventure. While exploring beautiful mountain streams you’re left in awe of your surroundings, soaking up the natural beauty with an almost greedy appetite. The Bundara River certainly was certainly no exception. We journeyed upstream admiring the vast range of red and orange autumn colours that lined the river, while the misty rain softly fell; it was stunning.
Upon return to the hut, again we enjoyed a mountain stream cooled beer whilst animated in reliving the one that got away before heading to The Blue Duck Inn for dinner. Over a warming bottle of red wine and dinner in front of the fire we browsed all the historic photos on the timber-clad walls. I spotted a photo from 1904, of three suited men with the gold nugget they discovered. Excitedly I read that one of the men was to the surname of O’Connell, with no apparent mention of a given name. He built the hut we were staying in! Surely! And, indeed, he did.
We woke several times in the night, listening to the rainfall meet the tin roof whilst again the wood fire crackled in the background. By daybreak, the rain had all but cleared allowing us to watch kangaroos boxing in the fields, from the invigorating comfort of an outside shower with hot water and beautiful stonewalls. An experience that was dreamlike in everyway, and difficult to forget.
After some breakfast, cheese and tomato toasties, accompanied by hot coffee and tea, it was time to meet our trail ride guide. Cath was a character to say the least.
A woman of the high country. She is the fifth generation of her family to farm the Bundara Valley. Surely this would date her family as possibly some of the first to settle there? And fact aside, what an amazing lineage and connection to the land they must have. Needless to say as for wrangling a horse, she seemed to do it without any cognition.
I was on a beautiful chestnut horse called Mack and Chris had a dark beauty called Tom. Strong and stoic mountain horses they were. Fans of Pedro the Donkey they were not – a story for another time though. Exiting the property, we soon found ourselves on an undulating trail filled with snow gums that were sprinkled with water from the nights rain. Winding our way down to the Bundara River, the views of the river beating it’s way past the volcanic boulders and river stones were breathtaking.
We slowly walked our steeds along the river where we loved seeing all the rustic cabins tucked away in the trees. What a beautiful simplicity these people have for a lifestyle I thought to myself, as we began the hour-long journey for home. We found ourselves riding along a trail that weaved through a once bushy area that had been burned off. The landscape was stark and smelled of burnt ash, a nostalgic and humbling scent. It was all so beautiful and striking. What a perfect way to spend the morning. What a gracious experience we were having. Our hearts were full and our imaginations alight.
Keen to make the most of our final afternoon, we went fly fishing and exploring this remarkable property where we already felt so at home. Making sure to visit our favourite animals again - Pedro the donkey, Phil the Clydesdale, George and Jack the dogs, the geese and of course our once load bearing horses. Soaking up as much as we could, avoiding all thoughts about our departure the next day.
On our final night we cooked outside under the stars, with the cattleman’s hut at our backs. Horses wandered close by, as we talked about the magical few days we had just experienced. The cold night air moved in with ease and the campfire smoke lay low, struggling to make its way through the blanket of darkness. Sitting there, warmed by the fire, gazing at the stars and listening to the river flowing. It’s the simple things in life that really do make us happy. Life is sweet.
We will never forget our adventure to O’Connell’s Hut. We’ll be back.
