Below is my second installment of reflections from my hike along the Goldfields Track, with some ideas following on from my first collection. These are similarly minimally edited and presented in good faith with a willingness to learn by making mistakes.
Any words in language or stories that I share here have been made publicly available along the track by Djaara Balaki Wuka, or in the Goldfields Track guidebook. I give my sincere gratitude for the cultural gifts that have been shared in this way along the trail, and acknowledge full credit and custodianship of these stories to Djaara, their ancestors and peoples of neighbouring language groups.
Day 7 - Castlemaine to Fryerstown
Today I really saw upside down Country. Some of the old diggings in the Castlemaine National Heritage Park were really startling - huge ravines of erosion from sluicing, water races carving up the ridge lines and gargantuan mounds of displaced rubble called mullock heaps. It was almost unseemly, as though I was seeing the earth's entrails on display. In amongst these were occasional stone ruins of batteries, fences and kilns. Apparently it was fairly common practice for miners to source these stones from Djaara (Dja Dja Wurrung people) dwellings, fish traps and stone arrangements that held stories and astronomical information.
Another sign recounted how the land grab by settlers here happened within a matter of months - bringing disease, displacement and destruction. It is a harrowing thought for me, but an incredibly harsh lived reality for Djaara and their descendants. There would have been so little time to grieve or make sense of any of it. This sign reinforced a point that I reflected on last week too: the fact that Djaara were forced in one way or another to obey the ways of colonisers. This assimilation has been/continues to be celebrated by the dominant coloniser culture, but the spiritual and cultural cost is immense and ongoing.
Day 8 - Fryerstown
Fryerstown is quiet. I am camped in the schoolyard here of the old state school. Apparently at the peak of the gold rush about 15,000 people lived here, though today I've seen about three. According to the guidebook, back in the day there was a butcher, blacksmith, a boot factory (building still intact), 25 hotels and a lolly shop (regretfully not intact). On a short walk this morning my friend Mel and I, who is joining me for a couple of nights, came across a huge tree - its trunk about 2 meters in diameter. We realised that this must have been what many of the trees looked like pre-colonisation. It absolutely dwarfed anything we saw yesterday walking through the Castlemaine Diggings National Heritage Park. What we did see yesterday were many coppiced trees. This happens when certain Australian trees are chopped or burnt down and new shoots form off the stump, eventually maturing into a tightly clumped group of trees once the original stump rots away. Once you see one of them here, you can't unsee them - evidence of the past deforestation. We wondered what had prevented this wise old tree from suffering that same coppiced fate. The guidebook provided the answer, such that it is - the tree is next to the courthouse and is where prisoners used to be tied. That was its protective armour.
Day 9 - Fryerstown to Vaughan Springs
A review of two ankles:
Right ankle. Broken whilst bouldering about 18 months ago. Feels pretty strong, and honestly I’m still baffled and so grateful to walk on it again without pain.
Left ankle. Decimated by years of netball. Weak, painful and only held together with elastoplast and sheer determination. I rolled it (again) on my second day of walking and now it is really complaining about it. I may need to adjust my plans, but for now I am grateful that the walk today was short.
Day 10 - Vaughan Springs
There is a gold rush era Chinese cemetery in Vaughan Springs. It was a burial ground for mostly Chinese miners and some Europeans from about 1855 to 1859, and was eventually fenced off and a plaque installed to mark the area by the Bendigo Chinese Society in 1928. This has more ceremony to it than the Chinese section in the cemetery in Blackwood where my own ancestors lie buried. When I was younger I remember my mum explaining to me that there was a section of unconsecrated ground at the back of the cemetery that was used for Chinese people and for sex workers. Apparently, only the respectable white settlers deserved the ground blessed by God.
The Goldfields Track guidebook also talks about the Chinese people who came in search of gold, being the second largest group of migrants behind the British. Most of them came from the Pearl River Delta region of Southern China, where the impacts of drought, floods, famine and conflict had left many people in debt. Most of these migrants were men, with only 11 women recorded amongst the 38,337 Chinese people in Victoria in 1861.
There was, of course, a lot of racism. The folks arriving from China worked together in organised groups to pay off their debts, as opposed to the rugged individualism of most of the white miners. These communal efforts were quite successful, which left white folks feeling threatened by the presence of “the Chinamen”. This led to increasingly violent attacks on Chinese miners by Europeans. The response to this was to restrict the entry of Chinese people through measures such as a poll tax of £10 introduced by the Victorian Government in 1855 for Chinese migrants - because of course it was the presence of Chinese people that was the problem, rather than the xenophobic and violent behavior of the white people. To get around it, many Chinese folks landed in South Australia instead and walked two weeks to arrive in central Victoria. Despite making it work via this physically demanding loophole, racist policies such as these lay the groundwork for the White Australia Policy, passed soon after federation in 1901.
Unsurprisingly, there is no detail about the specifics of the interpersonal violence perpetrated by white settlers against Chinese miners in the guidebook. This is another topic for me to research in more detail to aid my reflections about the complicity of my ancestors in settler-colonial violence. It is also worth noting that the White Australia Policy directly influenced the introduction of measures to facilitate British migration to Australia in the mid 20th century, which is how my Pa ended up coming here as a £10 pom. So really, in a certain sense I wouldn't even be here in this country if it hadn't been for anti-Chinese racism on the goldfields. I am of course grateful that Pa was able to come here and seek a better life, but the origins of that policy are confronting nonetheless.
I just went for a short swim in Bulatjal Baluk (the Loddon River). A lot of the riverbed is exposed after a dry summer, but there is a small area that is dammed as part of the mineral springs here. Instead of a concrete dam wall to ensure a supply of water, Djaara use stories, songs and way finding passed down through generations to locate water sources in the dry season. Nevertheless, the concrete blockage in the river meant that there was a spot deep enough for me to swim in the wrong way water. It was freezing, though it felt therapeutic for my still sore ankle. As I was sitting on a partially submerged log basking in the Autumn sun and icing said ankle in the water, a young child walked towards the river. They seemed curious so I waved and they waved back. Their guardian came over looking for them making sure the little one was safe and not going too close to the water alone. After being called back to help with lunch the little one exclaimed excitedly to their guardian “I've just seen a mermaid!”. Their guardian smiled knowingly at me perched on the log in my undies and sports bra and said “wow so beautiful!” We both laughed in mutual acknowledgement that magic is real as the two of them walked away towards their lunch.
Later in the afternoon, I heard delighted screaming coming from the 1940s era giant metal slide. There was a white family - parents, child and dog - alongside an East Asian family with one parent and three kids, who I assume were Chinese because I overheard them speaking Mandarin. The entire Asian family were going down the slide together with the little white kid wearing a pink tutu, whilst the white parents cheered and took videos. As the Asian family left, the white people's dog tried to go with them, and the white parents said “thanks for playing with us” to which the Asian family responded with equal joy and enthusiasm. The interaction ended with the little white child asking “can you come stay at our house in Castlemaine tonight?” There is a long way to go in healing race relations and disrupting white supremacy in this country, and some basic human kindness and connection doesn't reverse years of structural racism. Even so, moments like this give me sparks of hope that with meaningful effort we can do better.
Day 11 - Vaughan Springs to Porcupine Ridge
Today has been the most challenging day thus far. At this point, I am feeling both tired physically and I'm also fatigued from processing some of the big changes that are happening in my life and relationships. Setting off this morning, I also wasn't sure how far I would get with my sore ankle. Icing it in the river and smothering it in Tiger Balm got me off to a promising start. From there, it was a matter of listening to my body and taking it super slow. As my mind became agitated in waves of activity trying to process change, I had to keep reminding myself to come back to my body, slow my pace and find the pleasure in savouring more gentle movement. There is wisdom in that. Nevertheless, I struggled to get myself going again after lunch because I was so exhausted, but I did it. I found a good spot to camp, wrote some angsty poetry, pitched a tent and now I am watching the golden hour morph into sunset.
One of the Djaara signs today spoke of how people are not separate from biodiversity - we are part of it. The same sign spoke of the timeline of devastation that occurred from the time of invasion here in 1836, through the gold rush beginning in 1851 and continuing to the present day. A combination of violence, disease and destruction of life-giving Djandak (Country) brought utter devastation. Ultimately, this damage was wrought by a European, western Colonial way of thinking that sees humankind as separate from nature - a logic that leads to land clearing, disrupting waterways and disturbing the soil. One way or another, I see a future in which we must once again know ourselves to be part of the ecosystem rather than apart from it. Time will tell if this realignment can happen through intentional learning and healing, or through crisis. Reality will probably look like a bit of both, but the more we can listen, uphold and give agency to Indigenous ways of being and knowing, the better chance we all have of undertaking that transition with grace.
I am so very lucky to be here, doing what I am doing. Today a Thich Nhat Hanh quote popped up in a meditation app that I use that I thought was apt and worth sharing: “Letting go gives birth to happiness.”
Day 12 - Porcupine Ridge to Lalgambook Retreat (a.k.a. Kira’s house)
Today started in the Upper Loddon State Forest with sandstone beneath my feet, which I have learned used to be an ocean floor now tipped on its side to form ranges. The area is called Porcupine Ridge, probably a misnomer because of the yulawil (echidnas) in the area - I didn't see any and instead saw a feral fox darting into a blackberry thicket. Such is the way. As I carefully ambled down the range I watched as the soils transformed to reddish scoria - volcanic plains. This more fertile earth also means more cleared land, which I felt saddened by when comparing it to the Indigenous land management practices I was reading about yesterday. Gold isn't the only thing that has led to deforestation around here. That being said, when I stuck my nose in and got a whiff of a fresh bale of hay on the way past it smelled sweet and earthy and delicious. I know the people who run farms here work hard to earn their living and provide for city slickers like me. And when I saw a paddock with a few horses in it (including a baby!!) the horse girl in me squealed with glee and reminisced about my years at Trentham Pony Club. Some of these landscapes that result from the destruction of Country have also been places of deep joy and nostalgia for me. Both things can be true at the same time.
When Kira picked me up just north of the Midland Highway, I asked if we could go further back up the road because I had missed a sign with information about Victoria's first Aboriginal Reserve near Mount Franklin (Lalgambuk) which we could see looming in the distance. The sign was too faded and impossible to read, but Kira has some articles on the subject that they said they can share with me.
Kira's family property is named after Lalgambuk and it is very beautiful here. Tonight I am sleeping in a bed - I suspect I will rest well after a tiring few days.
Day 13 - Lalgambook Retreat
Today was a slow day spending time with Kira and their family. It was also a day for me to regroup and change plans because of a bushfire in the area. This kind of rest day was well-needed for me, and I am very grateful for the whole family's hospitality.
I am quite tired and about to head to bed, but I just stepped outside to look at the full moon. She was beautiful - shining silver in a sea of deep blue. I’m always amazed by how much light the moon reflects back down to us when she's full - sunlight was extra steps. It's no wonder that cultures all around the world have different full moon celebrations and rituals. What a joy it's been to watch her grow over these past couple of weeks. I hope I can continue to pay attention to her phases even as I progress back into city life at the end of the month.
Day 14 - Lalgambook Retreat to Tipperary Springs
I am sitting here at Tipperary Springs, nursing an ankle who has gone ahead and made the executive decision that Daylesford is as far as I walk for now. Between a track today heavily eroded by flood, a Vic Emergency bushfire advice current for the next area I was planning to walk through and my own body saying she's had enough it seems the elements are against the idea of me continuing the next leg of the journey from Daylesford to Blackwood and beyond. At least for now.
Let the record show that it was the dodgy netball ankle NOT the dodgy bouldering ankle that has given up - friends don't let friends play netball (sorry Mum - I know you love that game).
I am very lucky to be in a position here with people to help me and with options for other ways to continue - Kira is bringing me my bag and Dad is coming to pick me up and drive me to Blackwood so that I can rest and recuperate there. It feels a fitting end to the walking section, having reflected on the rugged individualism that has shaped a lot of the colonial history here, to be relying on loved ones to help me.
It is disappointing, of course, to end my walk early. I have already been emotionally tender so I’m feeling it harder than I may have otherwise. That being said, I have learned so much already in the last two weeks, and I am so grateful to have been able to spend that time walking on Djandak. I hope this upcoming downtime allows me to find some of the answers to questions that have come up along the way - to fill some of the blanks in the half told stories of the guidebook and no doubt uncover more questions. There is always more to discover, and I know that this process of learning and unlearning is lifelong - perhaps generations long. There will be no doubt more beauty to behold here, too, as I rest lovingly on Wurundjeri country.
Goldfields Hike(?) Part Three
Part three of my adventures and reflections incoming - see parts one and two for more context.