Curious. Creative. Living Boldly.
  • Home
  • Journal
  • Fibre Arts
  • Journeywoman
    • Bangkok to London
    • Northern Sea Route Russia 1
    • Northern Sea Route – Russia 2
    • Journey Bhutan – East to West 2016
    • Antarctica 2016
    • Peking to Paris in Penny 2016
    • India and Bhutan in Penny 2015
      • Kolkata
      • ON the Tram…. a bit fish-bowley but lots of waves and smiles…
      • Siliguri to Darjeeling
      • A mountain Drive….. Paro to Thimpu
      • Mongar to Trashingang
      • Trashingang to Sandrup Jongkhar
      • Kale to Monymar… then to so many temples at Bagan
      • Temples in Myanmar
      • Magical Ballooning over Temples in Bagan
      • Bagan to Inlay Lake
      • Inlay Lake
      • Inlay Lake to Taungoo
      • Taungoo to Kyaiktiyo
      • Last day in Myanmar and missing clouds in the sky
    • Greenland 2015
      • Iceberg Gallery
      • Magical Greenland….
      • Julie the landscape
      • Walking the tundra
      • Ymer Island…
      • Zodiacs and Icebergs!!!
      • Ittorqqortoormiit
    • Iceland 2015
    • Antarctica 2014
    • Chile 2014
    • Morocco in Penny 2013
    • Europe 2013
    • Bhutan 2016
    • Journal Categories
  • Photography
    • Biography
    • Arctic Silence
    • Svalbard Ice 2018
    • Svalbard Mountains
    • Antarctica 2016
    • The Shape of Cold
    • The Ice Breathes
    • Greenland 2015
    • Whales
    • Hindsight
    • Exhibitions
    • Books
  • Julie
    • About Julie Stephenson
    • Journeywoman
    • Photography
    • Shaman and Healer
    • Storyteller
    • Wisdom
      • Courage
    • What others have said….
  • Connect
Previous Post
Next Post
May 23
in Earth and Sea

a week in Gariwerd – the Grampians

Off to the Grampians – the Aboriginal name for this region is Gariwerd. We are visiting in the Honeybee season, gwangal moronn when the honeybees are active and plentiful and the land cools after the summer heat.

It was becoming colder. Fibrous grey stringybarks flanked the road and touched above us, forming an arbour along the windy road. Bordering the bitumen, petals of purple bells on stalks gently jangled as we went past. Brown and green lichen stuck to trunks. It was evident that more rain had fallen here than other parts of Victoria. Storms had ripped through the bush with branches resting in parallel shreds across the slopes.

We set up camp at Troopers creek, just put the jug on and the squealing of brakes and adolescent voices broke through the fog. It was school camp time of the year and we were accompanied by a group of year 9 students from a Victorian school. Every night a new group came and set up camp. There was a cacophony of cockatoos and kids. Smoke and laughter filled the small clearing. Blue fairy wrens flitted from shrubs to tables, and seem to be excited by their new young company.

We walked up Hollow Mountain to the lookout and cave. Although cool, the sun warmed the ochre of the sandstone. The rock formations were breathtaking. Rising from the plains, the shapes, colours and overwhelming presence was humbling.

Some rocks were grey, sharp and sliced along fissure and sediment layers, others looked soft and round, worn and sculpted by wind and water. Newly fractured sandstone looked like a slice through an overcooked pavlova, white tinged with ochre where gnarled shrubs dug in their roots on exposed cliffs.

Driving home, tessellated grey clouds in lumps hung above clumps of olive green heads of trees. The mirror was the space in between the two, only the colour above and below was different. The weight of the water in the cloud hung low and wet heavy darkness was suspended precariously by silver sheets of light. The tops of the trees were dark and dense. The paddocks were brushed with fine, lime coloured rye grass, and the hollow ditches a brighter, thicker green.

Closer to camp, the new plum tip growth flushed across the hillsides. The lowering sunlight rimmed the new leaves with gold. Fire too had been through this area a couple of years ago. Dead black sticks pricked the clouds.

It was often too slippery to go on the walks so we drove many of the 4WD tracks and firetrails. It was on these tracks where we saw the land in its most natural state. We stopped often and listened. There were pockets of phone range and Max had to attend to business on the farm. I often hopped out and walked along the track. Rosellas chattered, small fairy wrens twittered and wattle birds squeaked. Blue insulation tape on wooden stakes marked the tracks alongside mounds of sand across the road. Swales prevented the storm rain from washing away the roads, yet in places, this measure did little to prevent erosion.

We visited areas right throughout the Gariwerd. It was only about 7degrees when we walked through an area with old sunken mine shafts, and a creek which was excavated for gold. About 12,000 people once lived in this area during the 1890’s searching for elusive gold. All that remains are empty excavation sites, the remnants of a single rail track winding through the hillside and photographs on a sign which illustrates the hardship they experienced living without power, without adequate clothing to protect them from the rain and the bitterly cold snowy winters.

The views from the lookouts were breathtaking. Rocky outcrops surprised us every corner. Rock layered like a plate of stacked triangular sandwiches poked into the sky. Sheets of colours and textures were imposing in their magnitude. The wind at the highest peak near the cliffs was so strong at one stage, Max and I were buffeted and had trouble standing. Max wanted to venture close to the precipice, and clambered a little, but after second thoughts retreated.

High on one mountain the rock formations were rounded and looked like giant cow pats, nestled into gnarled multi-branched trees, and areas nearby stone formed like giant dribble castles, now cold and covered in lichen.

The grass trees were majestic and robust. Sprays of thin, sharp, olive green skirted a single thick ribbed brown spike, covered with seed capsules which were like black beaks, open to allow pollination and dispersion of the small fine seeds. On the fine green lines, the dew droplets in the morning light sparkled with simple yet exquisite beauty.

The Gariwerd is truly spectacular, and we aim to return in another season, the petyan, when the all the flowers lace the land.

Share this:
1227
0
About the Author: Julie
I am a Journeywoman. I live my life as an explorer. An adventurer. An Observer. An Artist. There is no differentiation between how I live my life and the art that is an expression of it. It is through my experience adventuring the unknown, that I learn more about myself. My aim through this connection is to live where my expression is fully in alignment with the essence of who I am. “In the field of Fine-Art Photography, Julie stands apart from others with the way she sees the world and expresses her connection within it. Julie Stephenson’s photographs are sublime. Her work is an expression of her deep connection; and a gift to the world.”

  • Penny Broke in Kyrgyzstan….
    Read more
    in Penny, Uncategorized 0 comments
    0
  • Screening of video ‘The Ice Breathes’ at ANIMA MUNDI 2017, the International Art Festival in Venice!
    I'm off to Venice in August on our way to Russia; to view a screening of my Read more
    in Antarctica, Fine Art Photography 0 comments
    0
  • One Step at a time
    Read more
    in Motivation & Inspiration 0 comments
    1

  • Leave a Comment! Cancel reply

    You must be logged in to post a comment.
    Journal Categories
    • Fine Art Journal Posts
    • Northern Sea Route
    • Peking to Paris Journal Posts
    • India and Bhutan
    • Antarctica Journal Posts
    • Greenland Journal Posts
    • Morocco Journal Posts
    • Tonga Journal Posts
    • Photography Teaching Journal Posts
    • Inspirations Journal Posts
    • Books

    skeinydipping

    I looked down and saw my hands. Hands which have t I looked down and saw my hands. Hands which have touched; have loved; have created; have worked; have nurtured. My hands.   

I looked down and saw on my wrist and fingers items from around the world which have so many stories; items which have all been created from the heart and made by the hands of others. 

I looked down and saw beautiful yarn. Yarn which has been handled carefully through shearing, dyeing, skeining, balling; and now being knit in my beautiful hands. 

My hands are one of my gifts. This year I’ve really missed the touch of another with my hands, to feel the heart of another through my fingertips; but so grateful and love my hands which touch and feel; work and play!

What do you see when you look at your hands?

.
.
.
Knitting a fabulous  #slipstravaganzamkal by @westknits .
.
.

#gratitudeattitude #westknitsarethebestknits #westknitsmkal2020 #knittersofinstagram #knittersoftheworld #knittersofaustralia #indiedyedyarn #handmadewithlove #handmade #handmadejewellery #fromtheheart #createeveryday #livetotravel #healing #healinghands #creativehands
    My life is wonderful… and I have so many stories My life is wonderful… and I have so many stories. I’ve had adventures on all continents. Slept being rocked by the sea; felt the ice on my skin in both polar regions, and felt the silence of the deserts. I’ve walked stone steps in monasteries at altitudes where each step I’ve taken consciously and mindfully; focussing on treasuring every molecule of oxygen in the rarefied atmosphere. 

COVID has paused those adventures, but I draw upon my experiences as I navigate adventuring my days in a different way, on our ‘home range’. 

I recall my steps in Tibet as I walk through our bushland. I am mindful and conscious of my surroundings. I listen. I feel. I feel happy here. I am content.

My new stories may not hold the same experiences of connection with others; and may not be of extreme challenges or crazy things  (which I am rather prone to doing! 🙂 ) but they are not less wondrous… as I smell the warm eucalyptus waft from under my feet. 

I weave my stories, and this story is of my personal journey on my daily walk through our bushland. 
You can see some of my other woven stories on my website - link in profile. 

How do you express your life’s stories?
.
-
.
-
#weaversofinstagram #indiedyedyarn #indiedyed #rigidheddleloomweaving #ashford #inspiredbynature #contentcreator #emotionalbalance #homedeco #handcrafted #makersmovement #creativelifehappylife #wellbeing #travellerlife #journeywoman #weavingaustralia
    “....The Assookinakii cowl was created for those “....The Assookinakii cowl was created for those times in your life when you need a meditative and healing knit. Assookinakii (ass-s-oo-kin-uh-k-EE) means ‘healer’ in the Blackfeet language, thank you to Cut Woods School in Browning, MT for the tradish language support”. –  Candice from @thefarmersdaughterfibers 

Knitting this beautiful cowl by Candice from @thefarmersdaughterfibers for @sistersunitedmt ; WAS healing. 

As my hands gently formed the repetitive stitches I reflected on the word ‘Assookinakii ‘ - healer. I am a healer. I don’t understand it. It’s something unseen. Something within me which has been recognised by Ngangkari and ‘clever men’ here in Australia; and shaman and healers around the world as we travel. This recognition always has caught me by surprise; as I seem to walk a line between two worlds. 

As the stitches slipped from one needle to another and the beautiful colours of @spincycle_yarns revealed themselves; in the pauses between the stitches I heard a voice whispering to continue to seek connection with the natural world and listen deeply. 

What has been healing for you this year?
.
.
.
.
#healingjourney #meditationpractice #dyedinthewool #assookinakii_cowl #knittersofinstagram #knittingaddict #livinglifetothefullest #happydays #shaman #healer #healersofinstagram #listentoyourheart #indiedyedyarn #handmadewithlove #knittersgonnaknit #knittersoftheworld
    Follow me on Instagram
    This error message is only visible to WordPress admins
    There has been a problem with your Instagram Feed.

     

     

    2017 All photographs created by and property of Julie Stephenson.