A mountain rose from the land and soared into the sky. Seven Sisters were born inside, blessed by Biame. They whispered to the mountain: “Grow and grow and grow.” It soon became so tall its peak was lost in Night.

Then one day the mountain exhaled a mighty breath. The Sisters emerged like shooting stars, leaving glorious energy in their wake. It fell to the Earth as golden rain and rainforests grew in the mountain's shadow. Marment, the mother spirit, smiled upon this new life.

The Seven Sisters transformed into a sparkling constellation. From above, they watched the mountain become Nature's warrior. Other warrior spirits came to live at the mountain to battle and learn from his greatness. Many wars were waged and the earth trembled beneath their magnitude. The spirits threw dazzling spears of lightning and their war cries echoed as explosions of thunder.

Today, if you gaze at the mountain from the north, you can see the face of the warrior chief. He wears the scars of endless battle. This is Wollumbin, the fighting chief of the mountains.

Today, I search for the face of the legendary Wollumbin. Initially, the task appears impossible. The mountain is scrawled with various scars weaving in and out of one another, creating an intricate labyrinth, rather than a stony gaze. I blur my eyes and watch the mountain waver. In my state of dreamy haziness he finally emerges. The darker lines become more prominent and form the features of eyes, nose and mouth. Wollumbin wears a grave expression, watching the forests nestled below him. The Dreamtime legend flitters through my mind as I observe the rivers of scars embedded in his face.

These scars extend beyond Wollumbin. They flow through the forests, touching the animals and trees, finally breaking like violent waves upon the people who have lived here for thousands of years and loved and worshipped the land as a sacred God and Spirit.

The scars worn by the native people are not so difficult to find. You don't have to blur your eyes. I see the scars in their wistful gaze which constantly drifts back towards Wollumbin; I hear the scars in their quaking voices as they pray for the mountain's regeneration; I feel the scars in their hearts as they stand in silence, immersing themselves “with the Earth, the mountain, the sky… the sacred ground.”

Wollumbin is situated in the Tweed Valley, in north-eastern New South Wales. Wollumbin is an Aboriginal name meaning “Fighting Chief of the Mountains.” This name was bestowed by the Bundjalung Tribe who resided in Wollumbin's surrounding forests. The tribe believed the mountain was a battle site between Nature's warrior spirits, as it was constantly shrouded by rain, lightning and thunder.

Today, the mountain known among its people as Wollumbin, is officially entitled "Mount Warning" by the Australian Geographical Names Board. Captain James Cook declared this name in May 1770 during his voyage aboard The Endeavour along the eastern coast of New South Wales. The mountain served as a warning to sea-farers of numerous treacherous reefs located near the shore.

Wollumbin is the central remnant of an ancient shield volcano which erupted over 22 million years ago. Today it looms 1100 metres above sea level, half the height of its former grandeur. Wollumbin has attracted high numbers of tourists since it was reserved for public recreation in 1928. It is no wonder, I reflect, as I follow the worn footpath leading me to its foot. The mountain towers above the forests as if a majestic guardian. I crane my neck to find the peak but it fades into swirling cloud. I smile as I remember some refer to Wollumbin as “Cloud Catcher.”

The forests seem enchanted by Wollubin's spiritual aura. They are lush with palms and figs and tangled vines and wildflowers. I inhale gulps of pure air, relishing the scent of fallen rain and leaf litter. This world is almost silent. There is only the occasional song of a native bird and the sludging of my joggers pressing into damp soil. I feel as though I am in a forgotten fairytale world that existed long before man decided to capture Nature's grace with an axe. I tread with humble footsteps.

Since 1966, the forests encircling Wollumbin have been considered national parks, and the New South Wales National Parks and Wildlife Service has regulated their access. The Australian Government has identified the Wollumbin estate as one of the highest conservation priorities in Australia. The unique nature of the forests - fertile volcanic soils, high humidity and annual rainfall - creates a unique ecosystem unlike any other in the world. Over 500 plant species have been recorded - sixteen of which are considered rare, and nine of which are nearing extinction. 200 animal species are known to inhabit the forests; twenty of these have been listed as endangered under the NSW Threatened Species Conservation Act. Scientists believe the Wollumbin region contains evidence toward the origin of life. In 1986, Wollumbin was listed as a World Heritage Site.

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.

“This country is a spiritual thing. We need to protect Mother Earth. And we do that by standing up individually protecting Mother Earth. When we come together to do it then we make one hell of a noise… We still have over 300 hectares of this forest to save. It's sitting there as a conservation zone and it is up to be mined. That is where we're going, the next direction to stop that. So not only you, the white people and the Aboriginal people, we have to come together as one to do this. We have to do it together. We have people from all different tribes. We have people from all different countries but when you make one country to live in it's your part to protect. Everybody.”

Silence ensued and every head in the forest bowed.

Later that evening, watching a traditional tribal dance, I slipped into conversation with the woman beside me. The topic began with the dancers but soon drifted toward Wollumbin, and became a heart-felt discussion of the future of the forests. As the woman spoke, her eyes continually flickered somewhere mine could not follow, and her forehead creased with an anguish that mine had never known. She reached out to touch my wrist and said something that has never left me:

“The forests serve as a link for our people in the twentieth century to pass their dreams and desires from one generation to the next. Our respect for the forest, the land, defines our relationship with the whole world. That is the very opposite of the society in which Aboriginal people are now forced to live as the result of the invasion of our continent by the Europeans two hundred years ago.”

Resting on the wooden bench at Wollumbin's base, beside the sign that embodies a history of Australia's cultural conflict, I ask a passer-by her reflections upon the mountain's spiritual significance. Margaret Taylor, aged 42, replies:

“I read in the car on the way here that Aboriginal people ask people to consider not climbing the mountain because of cultural reasons. I guess it's one of those things. That's why we were coming here in a way and I sort of respect their beliefs and their feelings but I guess it's for everyone.”

Margaret shrugs and smiles, then turns to begin the hike.

I guess it is one of those things. The scars of European colonization extend throughout Australia. They flow through time, land and people. Wollumbin evokes many questions that seem to have no right answers. Perhaps no answers at all. The warrior chief watches silently, as I stand and glance between the two paths paved by man. The sign of the Bundjalung Tribe stands beside him, small and humble.

Visitors are asked to respect the cultural and historical significance of Wollumbin at all times.

The sign remembers the Dreamtime in a world where Dreams have been forgotten. I vow I won't forget. I return the way I came.