The resurgence of the Hunter Wetlands over the better part of the last 20 years after it was nearly entirely lost to urban and industrial expansion in the second half of the 20th Century is a testament to returning parts of the Hunter's diverse and stunning landscape to nature.
The Herald has a considerable archive telling the stories of the region's natural landscape. Back in 2019, I remember travelling with reporter Matthew Kelly to look into the history of Myall Point at Port Stephens - a spit of sandy scrub that once held a couple of houses and a lighthouse, according to local lore - washed out to sea in a massive Sygna-sized storm around 1927.
"It's a fascinating story of how the environment can change and how humans adapt around it," he told me on the drive up.
The resurgence of the Hunter Wetlands has pulled up a plethora of stories that, among others from the region, show how we have been adapting around our local environment for millennia, none more so than these uniquely Australian myths about who we are and where we came from:
Baimie, the sky god
Just outside of Singleton on the land of the Wanaruah People, a massive overhanging rock in the foothills of the Great Dividing Range depicts a larger-than-life male figure outlined with white pigment and filled with red. He spreads his arms wide and has two large white eyes.
Surveyor Robert Hamilton Matthews noted the imagery in a paper to the Royal Society of NSW in 1983, which observed the heritage art around a year earlier and collected stories from local First Nations people about its meaning.
The story goes that Baimie came down from the sky during the Dreaming and created forests, rivers, and mountains, instructed the people in the laws of life, and taught them songs and traditions that have survived generations.
According to Indigenous lore, Baimie and his two sons - Booma-ooma-nowi and Ghindi-inda-mui - taught the Ngemba people near Brewarrina in western NSW to build stone fish traps by heaving many stones into a dry river bed to create a system of weirs and waterways that could trap fish migrating up- and downstream. Archeological evidence of these traps has been dated as far back as 40,000 years, according to the peak Indigenous governance body in the western part of the state.
After creating the mountains, lakes, and rivers around Lake Macquarie, Baimie is said to have leapt back into the spirit world from Mount Yengo south of Putty, which explains why the mountain has a flat top.
Mowane the kangaroo of Nobbys Beach
An 1818 depiction of the Nobbys Headland by Joseph Lycett in the University of Newcastle's collection shows a jut of a rocky outcrop in the mouth of the harbour where the river meets the ocean.
In local legend, it was said that the giant kangaroo Mowane leapt or swam across to the island to escape judgment for a crime he committed against a local wallaby.
He concealed himself inside the rock formation, where he remains. He was sometimes known to crash his tail down on the earth or roll and shake, causing the island to tremor, leading modern researchers to believe the legend helps explain tectonic movement in the area in ancient times.
The darkness from the mountain
The Awabakal people describe an ancient volcanic eruption during the Dreaming around Redhead. It is said that great darkness came over the land from a hole in a nearby mountain, so intense that it blocked out the sun.
The people came from all around to decide what should be done about bringing back the sunlight, and according to the records curated by the Arwarbukarl Cultural Resource Association, the Elders determined to bury the darkness underground.
The people collected rocks, sand, and vegetation and covered the thick darkness, after which many generations walked across the earth, pressing the darkness and the earth fire down until it became "nikin" or coal.
Burning coal is likened, then, to reigniting the fire.
The Hexham bunyip
The Bunyip has been depicted and described in various forms - sometimes like some giant cat or aquatic tiger, other times as an enormous starfish, and others still as an indistinct but giant creature 11 paces long and four paces wide (according to antiquarian Reynell Johns).
The Bunyip is, however, almost universally considered a water spirit that lurks in swamps and waterways, not unlike the kelpies of mythic Scotland.
The Hunter Wetlands has its own dreadful Bunyip. It is described as having "eyes like golden orbs" and a "tremendous roar like a lion" in The Don Dorrigo Gazette and Guy Fawkes Advocate in January 1924.
Modern interpretations of tall tales say that the Bunyip is most likely a tale that grew from the distinctive call and golden eyes of the elusive Australasian bittern bird.
BirdLife Australia describes the bird as a "stocky, thick-necked heron" with a call that can occur in "sets of several booms".
During spring and summer, males "utter a distinctive, resonant bass booming call, preceded by up to three quick short, quieter gasps".
The bird's call is thought to be associated with breeding. It is most frequent at dawn and dusk and may continue through the night.
Still, the tales of the Bunyip lurking in the shallows, waiting to pounce, have been used for generations to warn children to be careful around open water, where anything can happen.
