Gunbower State Park 

_{Male and female Kawir (Emu) in Gunbower State Park.}

I’ve been in the water many times, in the Mile (Murray). It’s not that wide, not really. I’m usually floating off a boat, maybe our camp is nearby. There are people, there are boats. It’s noisy, motors humming. Such is life—it’s loud now. But here, in Gunbower Forest, everything feels different, quieter, more profound.

I watch him as he removes each piece of clothing. It’s hot. Slowly, he descends the sharp bank. I lose sight of him momentarily as he slips beneath the canopy of overhanging branches. I begin to remove my clothes. I feel the sun—it’s one in the afternoon. My shoes are unlaced, they slide off easily. 

He’s on the bank, his feet sinking into the mud. It’s high afternoon, and the swallows dart overhead, weaving intricate patterns in the clear blue sky. The bush is dense on the other side of the river—the Mile. The thick foliage of Gunbower Forest wraps around us, its ancient trees standing as silent witnesses to our presence.

I step into the water, feeling the cool embrace of the river against my skin. The muddy bottom squelches beneath my feet, anchoring me momentarily before I push off and float. The world above the surface is a distant hum, replaced by the rhythmic pulse of the river and the whisper of the forest.

As I drift, I can’t help but feel a sense of disconnection from the chaos of modern life. Here, in the heart of Gunbower, time seems to stretch and bend. I am enveloped by the timelessness of this place, where every ripple and rustle holds a story of its own.

The forest is alive with sounds—birdsong, the rustling of leaves, the occasional splash of a fish – Pandyil (Murray Cod). Yet, it is the silence that speaks the loudest, a profound quiet that echoes through the trees and settles deep within me.

I swim toward the bank where he stands, watching me with a serene smile. His presence is comforting, a tether to reality in this dreamlike landscape. As I reach him, we share a moment of silent communion, acknowledging the sacredness of this place.

We walk along the riverbank, the mud squishing under our feet, leaving a trail of footprints that the river will soon wash away in flood. The forest thickens around us, its canopy filtering the sunlight into a gentle, green glow. The air is thick with the scent of earth and water, mingling with the sweet aroma of eucalyptus.

Deeper into the forest, the world seems to close in. The towering trees, their trunks gnarled and twisted with age, form a natural cathedral. We follow a narrow path, winding through the undergrowth, guided by an instinctive pull toward the heart of Gunbower.

There is a sense of being watched, not by eyes but by the forest itself. It’s as if the land remembers, holds memories of those who have walked here before us. 

_{Scar Tree Gunbower State Park} 

_{Observing a Scar Tree in Gunbower State Park}

_{Sketch of Mile (Murray) River as viewed from Gunbower State Park} 

_{Note that accompanied the sketch.} 

Ghow Swamp 

Four Australian Pelicans (Pelecanus conspicillatus) perched on deadwood in Ghow Swamp.

_{Pyramid Hill as seen from Ghow Swamp} 

Pyramid Hill

In the final hour of my efforts, the decision to include Pyramid Hill in this Cultural Map was a last-minute addition, but one that was both deliberate and necessary.  From the banks of Ghow Swamp, I was unexpectedly captivated by the sharp and unmistakable silhouette of the rocky pyramidic hill, rising some 300 feet above the surrounding plains. Its form, so prominent against the horizon, it seemed to bind the landscape together—not merely as a geographic marker, but as a vital link between these hallowed sites. This hill, composed of ancient granite, birthed from magma that solidified beneath the Earth’s crust (Cochrane et al. 1991), stands as a clear testament to the profound geological and cultural connections within this region.

_{Granite rock face of Pyramid Hill framed by native flora.}

Rising above the plains, Pyramid Hill stood as a sentinel, its form unchanged through centuries, a constant in a land that has seen so much change. I recalled Major Mitchell’s (June 30, 1836) words, describing the view from the summit as “exceedingly beautiful over the surrounding plains, shining fresh and green.” But as I stood there, I felt a different kind of beauty—a stark contrast to the solitude he described. The landscape is busier now, the golf course, the quarry, the township—all signs of a world that has moved on, yet the hill remains, unyielding.

Walking up the hill, I could hear the distant sounds of life below—children’s laughter, the hum of activity. I wondered what it felt like for the Barapa Barapa, Dja Dja Wurrung, and Yorta Yorta people, whose connection to this place runs far deeper than mine. It’s a connection I can only imagine, one that is not just to the land but to the very essence of what it means to belong here.

_{Looking Northwest, Khow Swamp and Gunbower State Forest can be seen in the distance from the summit of Pyramid Hill.}

Their relationship with this land, I suspect, was profoundly different from my own.

I spent time seeking a story, a narrative that would tell me more about this place. But Pyramid Hill is elusive, its story not written in books or carved in stone. Perhaps it is a story that has been lost, or perhaps it is one that lives on in ways I cannot see. Yet, standing there, I felt its presence—strong and undeniable. The granite beneath my feet, the wind in the trees, the history in the air—it all spoke to me in a language I’m still learning to understand. 

_{Citations that informed this:}

_{Cochrane, G. W., et al. Introducing Victorian Geology. Melbourne: Geological Society of Australia, Victorian Division, 1991.}

_{Clark, Ian D. Aboriginal Language and Clans: An Historical Atlas of Western and Central Victoria, 1800-1900.}

_{Clark, I. D., and T. Heydon. Dictionary of Aboriginal Place Names of Victoria. Melbourne: Victorian Aboriginal Corporation for Languages, 2002.}

_{Layton, Robert. 1997. “Representing and Translating People’s Place in the Landscape of Northern Australia.” In After Writing Culture: Epistemology and Praxis in Contemporary Anthropology, edited by Allison James, Jenny L. Hockey, and Andrew H. Dawson, Vol. 122, 143. London: Routledge.}

_{McConachie, Fiona, Bernhard Jenny, Karin Reinke, and Colin Arrowsmith. 2019. “Barapa Country through Barapa Eyes: Cultural Mapping of Gunbower Island, Australia.” Journal of Maps 16 (1): 13–20. https://doi.org/10.1080/17445647.2019.1701574.}

_{Mitchell, Major Thomas. Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia, Vol. 2. June 30, 1836.}

_{Weir, Jessica. 2007. “The Traditional Owner Experience along the Murray River.” In Fresh Water: New Perspectives on Water in Australia, edited by Emily Potter, Andy Mackinnon, Stephen McKenzie, and Jennifer McKay, 44–58. Carlton, VIC: Melbourne University Press.}

_{Whyte, Mallee. 2016. “Barapa Barapa Keeping Place Documenting Aboriginal History.” ABC Online. March 4, 2016. http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-03-04/barapa-barapa-keeping-place-documenting-aboriginal-history/7220892.}

_{Primary sources for this subject matter were the signage provided at each site, along with copies of this signage supplied by the council shire at each unique location.}