When he asked the name of the river . . .
. . . bemused, they replied only 'yarro yarro' . . .
. . . it flows . . .
Birrarung
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n ecological artery, carrying the land's lifeblood from its beating heart in the Yarra Ranges, through Melbourne and out into Port Phillip Bay, is Birrarung. Lifegiving, ancient, and permanently scarred. Encased in the suffocating metropolis of Melbourne, it is smothered not only by the ever-spreading concrete but by a name that bears an ignorance known only to Indigenous Australians and anybody who chooses to listen to them. In 1835, at the dawn of European colonisation, John Wedge, a surveyor accompanying John Batman, asked two Indigenous guides, both originating from the north-east area tribes, rather than those of Birrarung, what they called this water. Their reply: 'yarro yarro', meaning only 'it flows', became the river’s name. The history most commonly accepted in Australia is a written one, and this misinterpretation of 'yarro' masks the oral tradition of Birrarung.
As we stand upon the Princes Bridge, suspended above the sepia waters, thousands of years of oral histories echo faintly from the passing current below. We place an ear to them and find this river from which our city grew, cradled on its banks and nourished at its breast, is a distant stranger to us. To know her once more we experience the stories as intended: never written, but spoken to us.
he Koorie Heritage Trust is located less than one hundred metres from where we begin our walk. The Trust acts as a gathering point of Aboriginal people’s history and culture within Melbourne, a collection of stories past, present and ongoing.
We meet our guide Kalyani alongside the river bank, the incessant buzz of Federation Square reverberating from a few metres away. She carries with her a collection of dream-like stories; she is relatively young but the stories are millennia old. Through countless hours spent volunteering with the Trust, a dedication only a love for her culture, people and the land could provide, she tends to them. Each tour, she shakes them awake to greet people like us who before now, have been sound sleep.
'It’s a bit mystical to imagine places and what they would have been like. You know the place where we are standing right now is a place where Aboriginal people would have met, eaten and practised ceremony for thousands of years . . . we’re here, on this sacred place that’s held so much rich history'.
She threads her way along the banks of the river, now meticulously manicured and paved, an artificial attempt at a once natural haven. We follow, as she threads her words also, creating a tapestry, that resembles the banks we tread.
Birrarung—meaning place of mists and shadows in Woiwurrung, the Wurundjeri tongue—now spans 242 kilometres across inner-eastern Melbourne. Where we stand, the carefully laid pavement cracks, chips and dissipates. The river once consisted of thin streams that intertwined to create a larger network. We sink into the ground as the land grows damp making way for these veins. Fertile wetlands awaken around our feet. Kalyani notes the river is dispersed, it breeds into a sprawling chaos, resembling the intricacies of an ancient tree root, likewise snaking into the earth and providing life for everyone around it. The MCG crumbles, and streams and lagoons take its place. Rivalling a city populated by over four million, this place is no less crowded with life.
Intrinsic to this land are its people. Our Western notions that land and space exist to serve us are in constant tension with the concept of 'connection to Country'. Here, the people and land melt into one, an enduring dance of reciprocal affection and care.
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Explore the Koorie Heritage Trust at
The Yarra Building, Federation Square,
Flinders & Swanston St
Melbourne
The Yarra River viewed from Princes Bridge
A busker prepares on St. Kilda Road
River red gums dot the banks of the river throughout Birrarung.
An ancient union
'Country in Aboriginal English is not only a common noun but also a proper noun. People talk about country in the same way that they would talk about a person: they speak to country, sing to country, visit country, worry about country, feel sorry for country, and long for country . . . Because of this richness, country is home, and peace; nourishment for body, mind and spirit; heart’s ease.'
– Deborah Bird Rose, Nourishing Terrains
ifty metres on from where we started, Kalyani points to a plaque beside us: the Kulin Nation is made up of five tribes including the Wurundjeri, Boon Wurrung, Taungurung, Dja Dja Wurrung and Wadawurrung people. All five tribes may speak different languages but they coexist in close proximity along the river and across the land now identified as Victoria. Annually until 1835 they would unite along Birrarung for a celebration known as Tanderrum.
The union; an eruption of singing, dancing and celebration. Not only to nurture essential inter-tribal relationships but to sustain and manage the land with culture and ceremony. The river, a servant meeting place, nourisher, hub of life. The people likewise its servants, its eternal caretakers.
Our guide comes to a halt. We’re jolted out of this dream and back to the paved banks of a modern Birrarung where the vast swamp-lands and streams retract into one tired, limping body. Kalyani will guide us back, only this time it is to the point of Birrarung where this relationship with country was at its most tender. She unveils to us 'The Falls' . . .
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The Falls
An artist's impression of The Falls, 1836
e stand here sandwiched between the MCG and Birrarung. To the left the colossal stadium appears to puff out its chest, threatening the ebbing of the river to our right. Kalyani describes parts of Birrarung once rivalling 'the G' in its grandeur. 'The Falls', the centrepiece of the river’s ecological grandeur, was once a physical barrier between the fresh water of the river and the salt water of Port Phillip Bay. Our guide describes to us how the fresh water was clear, an oasis of wildlife including dolphins, eels and crabs. An abundant food and water source for the Kulin nation. We become shaded by a forest of Red Gums and we imagine these people simultaneously tending to and harvesting 'The Falls', the Indigenous concept of country again at the forefront of our imagination.
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Members of the Kulin nation knew that to cut down a tree would end its life, preventing its use by the generations to come. Instead, the tribes harvested its resources: making tools from its branches, medicine from its leaves. Canoes carved from the outer layer of bark, pulled gently from the tree, adorn the waters surrounding 'The Falls'. Like a badge of an affection now lost to them, Kalyani notes that a few of the Red Gums nearby still wear scars of this practice.
A Redgum tree
Remnants of Indigenous usage on Redgum trees
The colonisers’ written histories suggest that 'The Falls' were arguably the reason Melbourne is here today. Ironically the allure of natural beauty and resources beckoned its demise, for we the European Settler, did not arrive here with this same concept of country.
'The boat went up the large River I have spoken of which comes from the East, and I am glad to state about six miles up found the River all good water and very deep. This will be the place for the village . . .'
– John Batman, 8 June 1835
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ccording to John Batman’s journal, ownership of country in the early 1800s was achieved through the trading of small trinkets as payment, purchasing this land from the Kulin Nation. Kalyani too details that the bits of mirror, beads, string, given to the tribes were seen as 'a type of rent for staying on their land'. The barrier between languages is omnipotent. Comprehending this now, we notice the imbalance in the foundations of this city.
The natural oasis begins to crumble around us. Though encouraging life to flourish for over 30,000 years, 'The Falls', did not allow passage for European ships. So, within only a few decades, the entire river was straightened, widened and deepened. Unpredictable and prone to flooding, the core structure of Birrarung was altered for flood mitigation—a colony of streams stitched up and re-cut into the land, the ornamental lake at The Royal Botanic Gardens a pale remnant of its wild origins. Yet after over a century of trying to tame the wild Birrarung to protect our buildings and farmland, it is we who have been subjugated. The river, though bent and broken, still determining how the city develops.
Finally in 1883 'The Falls' were destroyed entirely. Forming a deep laceration, bleeding the saltwater into the fresh, incapable of ever healing. Kalyani points that this is the river we have been walking today. We circle back and conclude our tour with the Koorie Heritage Trust. We part on a river bank much different to the one on which we met.
The Yarra river. The MCG in the background is where The Falls once were.
Stepping into the present
s our eyes skim the ever-moving brown hues, the once turquoise and fruitful waters seem a distant dream. We recall Kalyani also laughing, 'if you went swimming in here you would have to take some serious medication, it’s so dirty and polluted it would make you very sick'.
Encased in a smog rather than mists, and shadowed by a forest of skyscrapers, Birrarung bears no resemblance to its original form. Today the name refers only to a man-made parkland opened in 2002 along the northern banks of the river.
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Rubbish polluting the river
This time we walk the river considering its future. The water and vegetation no longer signal a thriving ecosystem. Instead, litter catchers trap water bottles, plastic wrappers, footballs and oBike helmets: the detritus of consumerism. Birds sit upon the metal, accustomed to a life surrounded by our waste. We too have also become indifferent, as Birrarung still provides 70% of Melbourne’s drinking water. We stand beside this life source, watching as a plastic bag floats by.
Modern caretakers
he Yarra Riverkeeper Association refuses to accept the river’s slow demise. We spoke with Nicole Kowalczyk, who is working alongside riverkeeper Andrew Kelly and a devoted community team, to address the environmental threats facing the river today.
'We separate things into visible pollutant and ones that are not visible. Obviously visible ones are much easier to survey so in our litter audits we find that plastic bottles, tennis balls, spray paint cans, and all sorts of plastic packaging are the main litter items we come across on the litter track. . . and we also conduct microplastic surveys, we found that microplastics are a real issue'.
Based on a recent study into the concentration of microplastics—plastic pieces smaller than 5mm in diameter—the Association estimates that annually close to 600 million microplastics enter Port Phillip Bay from Birrarung. The
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Plastic rubbish is a significant problem for the Yarra River
report attributes the high concentration of microplastics in our waterways to the 'wide use of single use plastics, improper waste management practices, inadequate wastewater treatment and littering'.
'So that’s one issue, then of course you’ve got all the sort of non-visible pollutants: the fertiliser, the pesticides, the hydrocarbons coming from roads and tyres'.
Nicole admits Birrarung’s history of abuse, 'I think it’s a lot better than it was in the past, you know, sewage used to be diverted into the Yarra River, a lot of industrial pollutant used to be flushed directly in'.
Plastics, pesticides and pollution flood the river from 'land-based sources and enter the oceans through storm water drains, waste water treatment plants and river runoff' putting further strain on an already struggling river. Nicole’s recommendations for a healthier river however are simple, 'I don’t think every person needs to revolutionise everything they do, but I think it’s important to be mindful of how you dispose of your waste'.
From past to present
tension arises within the ambience as we stroll along the Main Yarra Trail. The sounds of the rain and the birds struggle to be heard against the thrum of traffic on Swan Street Bridge and the chug of the boats on the water. We turn and walk back towards Southbank promenade, towards the faint murmur of human conversation carried on the wind.
Birrarung, despite its mistreatment, still plays host, as if incapable of shunning us. It is still a culturally significant meeting place to the people of the Kulin Nation, hosting traditional ceremonies like Tanderrum. A modern cultural significance latches to its banks as we arrive at Flinders Street, meet at Princes Bridge, drink at Arbory Bar and eat at Pure South Dining; experiences that define the cosmopolitan city. Celebration and unity are as intrinsic to the river as its endless flow.
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The Yarra River continues to be used as a hub for cultural activities
The river’s cultural function remains eerily similar to that of hundreds, or even thousands of years ago. The stark difference however, is our relationship to this grand host. On September 21 2017 the Victorian Parliament passed the Yarra River Protection or (Wilip-gin Birrarung murron, meaning 'keep the Yarra alive') Act in collaboration with Melbourne Water and the Wurundjeri Tribe Council. This gave recognition to the importance of the Wurundjeri people in the prosperity of the river, an independent voice to the river by way of the Birrarung Council. Most importantly, the act recognises that rivers are indivisible living entities; a belated promotion of the Indigenous concept of country.
This is one step forward in an interminable journey. Like the actions of our European ancestors towards the Indigenous peoples of this land, the damage done to the river is irreparable. Although Birrarung can never return to its original glory, we must resist condemning it to an untimely demise. We must turn to the knowledge of its original caretakers: to care for Birrarung, as we do ourselves and as we do one another. Tending to the river as it does to us, we may be able to ensure this city of ours never truly loses the place of mists and shadows.
Birrarung: Then and now
Birrarung's timeless flow