Upstream: Riding the Snowy River
- Vern
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
Mind Blown
When I was young, my dad pointed at Lake Jindabyne and said, "Did you know that there is a town underneath all that water?" You can imagine what that does to a 10-year-old's mind, and I've been fascinated with not only Lake Jindabyne but the Snowy River that feeds it ever since.
Growing up with movies like The Man from Snowy River, watching Jim Craig strolling through the alpine gum trees, with no greater sense of a simple existence, only fueled my curiosity about the High Country.
Then, learning about the Snowy Hydro system, each phase of my life offered a different perspective, not only to the engineering but also to the amazing stories behind its establishment and how it defined Australian culture.
I've had a growing idea of following the Snowy River from one end to the other. So when I found myself at the foot of the Victorian High Country in Traralgon at the end of the Sydney to Melbourne tour with Aussie Bike or Hike, and the mouth of the Snowy River was only half a day’s ride away, there was not going to be a better opportunity.
Clouds descend
As I rode closer to the river’s final point at Marlo, the wet weather was starting to settle in, giving me just enough time to take a look around the town and take a few pictures.
Marlo is one of those places where you’d effectively say it is 380 km east, and 30 years from Melbourne. Established in the 1880s, about a lifetime after the city, it has a population of just over 600 people. It is a sleepy seaside town where you could easily imagine Eric Bana strolling onto the set of The Dry 3.
Marlo’s existence wasn’t just near the Snowy River; it was the General Store on the busy intersection of trade heading up the river from the sea. Timber, cattle and supplies headed to our next stop along the river, Orbost.
Luckily, it didn’t take much more than a blink of an eye to see the town before heading along the sweeping corners surrounded by lush green dairy farms to Orbost, as the late November afternoon storm had arrived, and I sought shelter in a nice little cabin-style accommodation just outside of town, the Marlo Motel.
The next day, I was following the river to Jindabyne, and the longer path would take most of the day, so the rain rattling on the tin roof easily instigated a good night’s sleep.
Buchan Good Time
Where Marlo was the greeting party from the sea, Orbost was the bustling centre built on timber, but these days, the trucks leaving town are more likely to be carrying cattle or milk than logs.
The shape of the land surrounding Orbost gives a glimpse of the power the Snowy River once had. Moving timber and supplies out of the region was difficult, and when the melted snow reached the river, the whole area flooded. A rail line to Melbourne improved the delivery of supplies via the Glipsland, but in 1916, Victorian Railways built the longest timber rail bridge ever to cross the Snowy floodplain.
Like so many industry-based country towns, the booming town slowly subsided and transitioned. Then in 1987, the once-critical rail bridge fell silent and now sits quietly in the paddocks surrounded by cows, a reminder of the town’s timber past.
The popular route from Orbost is to head North-East along Bonang Road, over 600 corners, 100 km winding forest road, and when I say popular, it’s widely considered one of the quietest main roads in Victoria. But that will need to stay on the list for another time, because this ride is about the river rather than the road, I’m taking Buchan-Orbost Road North-West, which is even quieter.
The road is sealed but remote. I saw only two cars in the hour it took to reach Buchan, running alongside the Snowy River in the basin before losing sight of it, climbing up through the valley, surrounded by the trees left to grow in the absence of the timber industry. The road varied in shape, from sharp hairpins to sections where you could see the road stretch around the ridge and disappear up into the low cloud. The type of road that has you wondering if anyone realises it exists.
Right at Buchen, I ride parallel to the river heading north along Gelantipy Road. Named after a settlement that is all but gone. There was once a fuel stop, Seldom Seen Roadhouse, the only fuel heading north, but since the owner's passing in 2012, it has since been cleared, and only a Telstra phone booth surrounded by bush in the middle of nowhere marks the spot.
The further you ride north, the more the road distinctly feels like it’s heading into the wilderness.
Barry or McKillops
Now that we’re in the middle of nowhere, which direction do you go? From Wulgulmerang East, you can continue north up Snowy River Road, which, once into NSW, becomes The Barry Way.
TripAdvisor is filled with harrowing stories from dirt-intolerant people unquestioningly following Google Maps on the way to Jindabyne from Melbourne, but for Adventure Riders, the road is actually relatively easy, although water will make things more interesting pretty quickly. The Barry Way is arguably among the most stunning places to see the Snowy River—120 kms of stunning dirt road that should be on any adventure rider’s must-do list.
However, back at this lonesome fork in the road, it’s an hour of riding north before returning to the river, and we want to see more, so instead we’re going to head east along McKillops Road.
Off the Gelantipy plateau, we make our way down through twisting roads, initially sealed, then switching between sandy gravel and red clay. There’s enough regular local traffic to keep the surface smooth and compacted.
A short detour and a couple of hundred-metre hike to Little River Gorge is worth the look to see one of the deepest gorges in the state. Downhill on the way in, a little slower on the way back to the bike.
At this point, the Snowy River has been deep in the wilderness of the obviously named Snowy River National Park, and out of view for a couple of hours, until you turn a sharp switchback at Wheeler Saddle. The hairpin turn offers an unobstructed view of the next 10 km of winding dirt road that descends steeply into the valley. The Snowy River is again visible as it snakes north and around another ridge, with McKillops Bridge just out of sight.
Bridge over the River Snowy
While there’s a big fancy bridge in Sydney that people around the world will recognise, there are other bridges that are iconically Australian, and McKillops Bridge is certainly one of those. There aren’t too many structures in the world that can be both grand and understated at the same time. Built with simple functionality, but breathtaking to see in person.
Built in 1935, McKillop's bridge stands tall and sturdy, with concrete pillars supporting it 30 metres above the river below, a height that screams over-engineered. The 255-metre span over a river only a few metres wide seems unnecessarily extreme for the throttled Snowy River we see today.
As a single lane bridge, you can easily see when another vehicle approaches, but still far enough away that you’re not quite sure if they’re moving or not. The wooden railings on the sides seem strong enough, but they make you wonder whether they’d actually stop anything or if they’re just there for emotional support. Particularly since they’re not far below a rider’s waist height, as you block out the visualisation of how easily you could drop over it.
But the Victorian Country Roads Board made the height of the bridge for Snowy’s wild past, water filled with rage that could take down a lesser structure, which it did.
When the original bridge was built and due to be opened in January 1934, a few hundred metres further upstream, with a height of 3 metres above the highest recorded swells, a large summer storm flooded the river. It tore the bridge apart only eight days before the official opening.
In December the following year, this second version of McKillop’s bridge was officially opened by the Victorian Premier Albert Dunstan and remains today the longest example of a timber-deck metal-truss bridge in Victoria.
Riding on feels a little like a show continuing after the main event. Still, not too far up the road, you’ll find Ambyne Suspension Bridge, which used leftover parts such as cables from the original McKillop’s bridge, as well as bits and pieces from another suspension bridge at Orbost.
McKillop’s Road continues South-East to join up to the northern end of Bonang Road from Orbost, then crosses the border into NSW and heads into Delegate.
Town-capsule
Delegate is one of the earliest settlements in the Snowy region, with grazers dating back to the 1830s, and it was an important stop between the Monaro and Gippsland regions. My grandfather, Arthur Bridges, ran trucks up and down these daunting roads with his business based in the little town where my mum was born. The town remains small, with a population of just over 300, but it retains a classic country-town look, like a time capsule of early 20th-century homes and wide streets. I visited my mum’s old house, and apart from the garden out the front, it remains exactly as it did when she left for Sydney 60 years ago.
From Delegate, we swing around to Bombala, top up on fuel, and find some more grade-A dirt on Gunningrach Road before it joins The Snowy River Way, one of the few places in Australia offering views of the snow-capped mountains in the distance, even in November. The easy country roads are a nice post-lunch stroll to eat up some kilometres as the late afternoon sets in.
There are a few sneaky spots where you can get back to the river, but Dalgety is the next true touchpoint. The town’s claim to fame was that, in 1904, the Royal Commission selected it as the location for Australia’s capital, but considering most people haven’t heard of it, that obviously didn’t happen. It eventually lost out in a 9-round elimination-style ballot, reaching the final before losing to Canberra. This little town was a mere few votes away from being the correct answer on worldwide trivia quizzes.
Crossing back onto the western side of the river, we join the northern sealed end of the Barry Way, taking us into Jindabyne.
Time to settle down
Jindabyne is where the Snowy River is at its most civilised. Although we’re now roughly 300kms upstream, with only 50kms to go, it’s the metaphorical centre of the Snowy.
Jindy is where country town meets peak snow tourism, where the story of the flooding of the old town that formed Lake Jindabyne unfolds.
The Snowy Scheme constructed the dam between 1964 and 1967, but Old Jindabyne didn’t disappear overnight. The massive project had now been running for well over a decade, so locals had plenty of time to contemplate their new town up the hill. The NSW Government and Snowy Hydro created new churches and shopping centres, and some of the original homes were moved up the hill and still stand in Jindabyne today, quietly carrying pieces of the old town with them.
The lake rose slowly over several years, and the town gradually slipped beneath the water as the Snowy Scheme filled the valley in the early 1970s.
The lake now provides year-round tourism with skiing in winter, swapped out for mountain biking in summer, not to mention fishing and, of course, a great central location for adventure riding.
Daming the river controlled it. An estimated 1 million megalitres per year used to flow down the Snowy, but during the initial decades of the scheme, only 1% flowed through, with the rest diverted to power generation and then to the Murray River. Today, the flow is around 15-20% of return flow back to the river, but it’s now a more mature pace than it was in its wild, younger years.
Snow Bound
Alpine Way past Thredbo is arguably one of the greatest roads in the country, but to keep following the river, we’re going to head along Kosciuszko Road, towards the highest point of our containment, Mount Kosciuszko.
If you venture off the main sealed road, you’ll find dirt roads to remnants of the early days of the scheme's construction. What are now campsites were once construction settlements.
In the 1950s, Island Bend was a settlement of workers from over 30 countries, most of whom had escaped the poverty left in the wake of World War II. Along with many other countries, Australia was asked to take on 100,000 displaced people from Eastern Europe. Great timing, as skills were needed for what would become the world's biggest engineering projects.
You can now camp on the grounds where tales of multiple cultures collided in the remote snowy bush, finding common ground and a new home while working on an ambitious project. Accounts of German and English, sparking hostile conversations of what really happened on Dunkirk, but ending in the most Australian way, drunkenly stumbling out of the mess arm in arm as best mates.
We continue to follow Guthega Road a little further up the river, getting narrower as we approach the top. While pondering the disbelief that there is still a dirt road leading to ski resorts, we come upon Guthega Dam. One of the first dams built in the Snowy Scheme, part of the system that began diverting Snowy River water through the mountains for power and irrigation, water that would find its way more than 2,500 kms away in South Australia.
Today, it serves as a backdrop to the ski industry it accidentally created, beginning as a recreational area for workers, with the first ski tow installed in 1957. The early 60s saw it grow until ski clubs established it as a ski resort in 1965. Just like Guthega, Perisher Valley, and Smiggin Holes were construction camps before becoming ski resorts.
The largest ski resort in the southern hemisphere has plenty of short dirt roads snaking around dormant chair lifts during the warmer months, which link through Blue Cow and Smiggin’s Link Road to connect us back onto Kosciuszko Road for our final section up to Charlotte's Pass.
To the Top
Now it was the simple task of finding the very beginning of the Snowy River, but that would be on foot because Charlotte’s Pass is as far as you can travel by motor.
It’s a 10 km walk upstream, crossing the river when there are only a few kms to go, and it still has a reasonable flow. Once the top is in sight, it becomes a tiny trickle split by two origins on a hillside. Picking up the small pieces of water in the shadow of the top of Australia.
The Snowy River used to run wild, flooding valleys and carving through the mountains, but today it’s controlled and a little more predictable. Many of us adventure riders are probably the same. We might not be as wild as we once were, but we’re still moving in the same direction, just with a bit more control and a bit more appreciation for the road along the way. And like the Snowy River, the best journeys aren’t about getting to the end quickly, but about everything that happens between the start and the finish.
If you’d like to follow this ride’s itinerary or download the GPX file, head to MotoRides.com.au
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