Walking With Dyarubbin Part II — A River of Many Identities

Today I continued my journey along the Dyarubbin, visiting five locations and exploring seven sights along the great river. With my camera ready, I followed its winding course through familiar parks, quiet lagoons, riverbanks and an elevated lookout. Some of these places have been part of my life for years, yet approaching them with an interest in Dharug history gave them another dimension. Alongside my own memories, I began to consider the much longer relationships between people, water and Country that give these places their meaning.

I began at Hanna Park in North Richmond, a place woven into my personal history. It was here that I had my first kiss, attended Carols by Candlelight and spent numerous occasions fishing along the river. I remember fishing with bread and the excitement of landing a large catch. Returning today brought those memories back, but my attention also turned towards the Dharug people whose relationship with this river reaches far beyond my own lifetime.

Listening to a podcast as I walked the winding paths, I tried to take in the park with greater awareness of its Aboriginal heritage. The river looked magnificent, stretching beneath the bridge that appeared to divide the park into two parts. I found myself watching the water and considering how differently this landscape might have been experienced before the roads, bridges and recreational spaces that now shape our movements. A place I knew through childhood, romance and fishing was opening into a much larger story.

From North Richmond, I drove to Pughs Lagoon, introduced in the material I was following as Marrang Ngurra. This, too, is familiar ground. I often pass through on my daily walks, and it holds memories of companionship and intimate encounters. Today, however, I lingered with a different purpose. I was learning to recognise the lagoon as a place associated with food, medicine and gathering, where water supported relationships between people, plants and animals.

The description of floodplain lagoons as the river’s kidneys stayed with me. It encouraged me to think about the quieter waters as part of the life of the river, connected to its movements and floods. Looking across the lagoon, I noticed the variety of birds and imagined Dharug people gathering food around its edges, including hunting turtles. These were my own attempts to picture the landscape’s earlier life, prompted by what I was learning. They made a familiar walking place feel richer and more alive.

My next destination was Windsor, where I explored Howe Park, Dyarubbin Park, Governor Phillip Park and Macquarie Park. Following the riverbank around the town, I moved between grassy spaces, open views and stretches where the water drew my attention away from the buildings behind me. I then crossed the bridge towards Macquarie Park and walked down to the beach. Moving through these connected places gave me a sense of how much of Windsor’s identity rests upon its relationship with the river.

The accounts I was following drew my attention to Dharug connections with this landscape, including food gathering, yam cultivation, ceremony and the experience of floods. Standing beside the water, I thought about the knowledge needed to live with a river capable of nourishing the floodplain and dramatically reshaping it. Its beauty carries power. The water that sustains life can rise, spread and transform the ground beneath our feet.

As I crossed the bridge, I imagined people swimming, fishing and seeking eels in the river below. I also began thinking about crossings themselves. From a car, the bridge can feel like a brief passage between destinations, but on foot I became more aware of the two banks and the different possibilities each offered. Access to water, food, shelter and suitable gathering places might have shaped activity along particular stretches. The crossing became part of my exploration, giving me another way to consider how people move through and relate to Country.

From Windsor, I drove to Streeton Lookout at Freemans Reach. Here, the perspective changed completely. After spending much of the day close to the water, I could now see the river meandering through the valley below. The view was extraordinary. Its bends revealed a larger pattern that had been difficult to grasp from the banks, connecting the places I had visited within one unfolding landscape. I paused to take photographs, wanting to capture something of that breadth and beauty.

My final stop was Pitt Town Lagoon in Pitt Town Nature Reserve. Only a short distance from town, the broad expanse of water felt like another world. Bardenarang Creek connects the lagoon with the Hawkesbury River, continuing the network of waterways I had been tracing throughout the day. Learning about the area’s significance as a meeting place added another layer to the scene before me.

Waterbirds were scattered across the lagoon and gathered along its edges. Watching them, I thought about the food and other resources that such wetlands could provide, and the knowledge required to understand their seasons and changing conditions. There was so much activity in what might initially appear to be a quiet landscape. Taking photographs encouraged me to slow down and notice it: the movement of birds, the shape of the shoreline and the reflections across the water.

What stayed with me most was the way the Dyarubbin takes on different forms and identities depending on where I encounter it. At Hanna Park, it holds personal memories. At Pughs Lagoon, its presence is felt through the life of the floodplain. Around Windsor, it shapes the town and invites reflection on crossings, food and gathering. From Streeton Lookout, it becomes a sweeping feature of the valley, while at Pitt Town Lagoon its connections unfold through wetlands and birdlife.

Across all these places, I felt a continuing sense of awe, affection and beauty. The river’s power lies in its ability to sustain life, transform landscapes and give each place a distinctive character. I returned home with a collection of photographs and a deepening appreciation of the waterway that has accompanied so much of my life. Following the Dyarubbin is teaching me to look more closely, to listen to the stories being shared and to recognise how much there is still to learn.