Although the increase in protection of the forests' biodiversity appears reassuring, the spiritual significance of Wollumbin is yet to be attended to. The Bundjalung Tribe occupied the Wollumbin forests for hundreds of years prior to European settlement in 1788. The Bundjalungs worshipped the mountain as sacred ground; Wollumbin was a site of religious ceremonies and initiation rites. Climbing the mountain was a privilege and an honour, exclusive to “law men” who had endured a lifetime of rigorous spiritual training.
Today, tourists from all over the world embark upon the challenge. It is a steep 4.5 km ascent uphill, requiring at least two and a half hours each way. The forest gradually transforms as one attains greater height; it commences subtropical velvet-green, and becomes sun-yellowed, temperate vegetation, brimming with a variety of birds. The last 200 metres consist of a strenuous rock scramble; chains provide assistance for the steep, upward haul. The final destination is magnificent. The forests stretch almost forever, vast and lush, laced by sparkling ocean borders. Clouds drift through your hair. You can see Cape Byron and beyond.
I know this because I have ventured to the summit of Wollumbin before. Two years ago, I climbed the mountain with my new boyfriend. We had spent the previous night camping and woke early that morning, gazing at the mighty adventure towering above us. Equipped with bottles of water and taboulli sandwiches, we embarked on the climb. We marvelled at the forests' wondrous beauty as we followed the mushy footpath, pointing out koalas and squirrel gliders, kneeling to smell the strongly-perfumed flowers, occasionally pausing for mouthfuls of water or to extract a leach that had crept into a shoe. We emerged to the top, breathless and shiny with sweat after the steep two and a half hour hike. We were in love, and nothing seemed more beautiful that day than a kiss in the midst of clouds. Clutching hands, we stared at every distant horizon. The climb had been physically and spiritually elating, and we both felt a powerful sense of connection to the land we had left our footprints upon. The view seemed like a gift from Mother Earth. I marvelled at her artwork and silently murmured my gratitude.
Now, two years afterward, I approach the mountain's base. The footpath that has led me here abruptly ceases and a new road awaits. The new road is a winding uphill journey, scattered with rocks and tree roots, promising Wollumbin's peak. I pause and repeatedly glance in either direction. The walking track has become a confrontational division of cultural beliefs. I either return the way I came, or begin to climb. My heart is equally torn. I settle onto a wooden bench almost consumed by vines, and remember the day I spent at the summit. It is as vivid as the tiny diamonds of light gleaming down on me from the canopy. A tremor of guilt flashes through me.
Today, Wollumbin is symbolic of a complex ethical dilemma. Friday, 27th October 2006, a new sign was unveiled at its foot.
The sign reads:
Wollumbin (Mount Warning)
has been a sacred place of great significance to the people of Bundjalung since time immemorial.
Wollumbin, along with other significant sites in its surrounds, provides a traditional place of cultural law, initiation and spiritual education.
Under Bundjalung law, only specifically chosen people are allowed on this mountain.
Climbing to the summit is against the wishes of Bundjalung Elders. Visitors are asked to respect the cultural and historical significance of Wollumbin at all times.
Gurri Tribes of the Bundjalung Nation
Watching today's enthusiastic hikers stream past, it is evident the sign has not deterred many from attempting the climb. I wonder if I would have hesitated if it had stood there two years ago. Maybe; maybe not. I don't know. As I watch the tourists marching past, armed with water bottles and determination, the words of Eric Walker, the “oldest, wisest, and most respected Elder of the Bundjalung Tribe”, echo through my mind:
“It's a holy mountain to us, it's just like a cathedral or a church, you know. It was at that place that our people used to go up and talk to God and God would give the Elders the directions and the laws and they would come back and tell our young people.”
In October 2006, I attended the annual Wollumbin Festival. It is a three day event, rich in cultural activity, “dedicated to the worship and celebration of Mother Earth.” The festival comprises traditional dance displays and workshops, art exhibitions, live music, and the reflections of the Bundjalung Elders' on historic tribal values and the impact of white colonisation. When I arrived at the festival, I had no knowledge of Wollumbin's sacredness to its people; I merely came with the idealistic belief that I had had an intense spiritual experience on the mountain and wanted to help ensure its protection. Hours later, enclosed in an intimate circle of grave, silent faces, I listened to the speech of Bundjalung Elder, John Roberts. His words pierced the night like stars in blackness and crowds gathered all around him, mesmerised by his emotion.
