North Head overlooks Ulladulla harbour. The local Indigenous Council have created a walking track that winds through the scrubland. Mostly, I walk to the south of the harbour. This morning, before sunrise – after a long break from this side – I went north. Carved wood figures, created by local Koori artists are spaced along the track.
A Snake guards the Headland, looming large at the entrance; Snake-spirit is of the earth, of grass and leaf litter, powerful, all-seeing, though rarely seen. Dangerous, often poisonous, but the venom can be healing and revelatory, not just deadly.
Snake-spirit was to stir soon, I was to discover.
Hunter-man stands tall near the start of the track. Seafood – shellfish and fish – sustained the local Indigenous People.
Old and new. Where once fish were speared or caught in rock traps, a multi-million dollar fishing industry now ply these waters.
Standing looking out to the rising sun at the tip of the Headland, Snake-spirit awoke.
To the front, a peaceful ocean and warm sun filled my view.
But to the rear I felt movement. From the ground beneath, creeping up my spine. Serenity at the fore, dis-ease at back.
Suddenly, in a frenzy that swept through my body, I was being attacked by some sort of hooked knife or machete. My back was hacked as I was brutalised onto the ground. The attack was ferocious, unrelenting.
The vision dissolved.
The ‘inner-eye’ had glimpsed into the past. The earth, snake-spirit, had revealed a North Head, secret. A killing most likely from the pioneering past.