Australian writer Kerry van der Jagt only began exploring her Indigenous ancestry in adulthood. But through shared experiences and conversations with other Indigenous people across Australia, she’s finding ways to reconnect with her saltwater heritage—and with her ancestral sea Country.
Silver gulls glide overhead while sooty oystercatchers play chase with the waves, their red lipstick and pink stockings adding to the mosaic of the shore. We tread carefully, eyes peeled for sea treasures; cuttlefish, sea glass, tendrils of curly kelp. Ahead, the beach is a white arc of stained glass water pressed against tangerine rocks.
As beautiful as it is historically tragic, this coast—named the Bay of Fires in 1773 by Englishman Captain Tobias Furneaux—was once the traditional homeland of the palawa (Tasmanian Aboriginal) people.
After the British invasion of Tasmania in 1803, and the systematic genocide of its First Nations people, only a handful of palawa survived, from an estimated island-wide population of between 3,000 and 10,000 people. Today, descendants of this matrilineal line of survivors are reclaiming their lands, birthright and palawa kani language (which is always written in lower case).
To learn more, I’ve embarked on the wukalina walk, Tasmania’s first Indigenous owned and guided multi-day hike through the Bay of Fires and Mount William National Park regions.
We pause at the base of shell middens, dwarfed by the dune-sized mounds where the palawa once feasted, discarding shells and bones over thousands of years of family meals. Here, our young guide Carleeta Thomas shares stories about her connection to saltwater Country, explaining that while men hunted on land, it was the women who harvested the sea.
Later that afternoon, Thomas teaches us to string maireener shells to make a necklace, a tradition that has been handed down through countless generations before her. “While the wukalina walk is helping us to preserve our culture, it’s also a personal journey to help regain my Aboriginal identity,” says Thomas.
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Siting cross-legged in a craft circle, I’m too shy to tell her I’m on a similar quest. My journey—from first receiving confirmation that my maternal grandmother was a descendant of the Awabakal people from the mid-north coast of New South Wales to being comfortable enough to share it with others—has not been an easy one.
Growing up, my family rarely spoke about our cultural ties to the ‘flat water people’ around Lake Macquarie. Raised by a single mother and grandmother, living in a housing commission estate in the western suburbs of Sydney, and surrounded by a large (and somewhat rebellious) extended family, invited ridicule enough. An introvert by nature, the less said about our ancestors the better.
“Connection to saltwater Country means everything to us, because it’s where we live, it’s what we know, it sustains us—culturally, spiritually, emotionally and physically. We love saltwater food, traditional food from the ocean, but it also extends our responsibility about looking after saltwater Country and our coastline.”
- Darren ‘Capes’ Capewell
Yet, once my Nan passed, I found the courage to dig deeper, to reconnect those ties that had been severed, and finally to identify as Aboriginal. What began as a quiet calling, a kind of genetic memory if you will, has morphed into a mission to better understand my cultural identity.
“It’s not about seeing nature or Country, but the feeling it gives you”, says Darren ‘Capes’ Capewell. “When I come back on saltwater Country, I take a deep breath, fill my lungs. I’m glad to be back home. It’s what I know.”
Capes, who was born to a Malgana father and Nhanda mother, runs cultural tours of Gutharraguda (Shark Bay World Heritage Area) in Western Australia through his company Wula Gura Nyinda Eco Adventures. We first met a decade ago, with Capes leading me on a kayaking tour across Big Lagoon, his welcome to Country seeming to conjure mermaid-like dugongs from the misty depths of the water.
“Connection to saltwater Country means everything to us, because it’s where we live, it’s what we know, it sustains us—culturally, spiritually, emotionally and physically,” he says. “We love saltwater food, traditional food from the ocean, but it also extends our responsibility about looking after saltwater Country and our coastline.”
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We’ve remained friends ever since, his spontaneous “g’day sista” greeting down the phone an instant portal to tens of thousands of years of kinship. During one chat, we talked about the obligation that comes with caring for Country. “If you look at our lore and culture, it’s the oldest conservation framework on the planet,” Capes said. “If you look after Country, Country will look after you. If you respect Country, Country will respect you. It’s reciprocal because it sustains us.”
Without exception, Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people’s sense of belonging is derived from a deep and spiritual attachment to Country.
Another time, somehow knowing without asking that I was struggling to fully understand the importance of Country, he put his nephew Jack Capewell on the phone.
“It’s my life. I can’t live away from the water. Everything I do is based on the ocean,” Jack told me. “When I’m not on Country, I feel lost. If I’m not having a good day, or things aren’t going my way, I’ll go to the beach. Just the noise of the ocean makes me feel better. I’ve always been told, growing up, that we are saltwater people and that’s where we belong.”
“Every Country is connected by saltwater in some way or form,” he says. “That’s what saltwater is to me. It brings people all together.”
- Zac Bennett-Brook, artist/surfer
On a sailing trip of the Tiwi Islands, I learnt about the role of skin groups, a matrilineal system that determines a person’s identity, including who they may marry; while a tour of Cape York Peninsula with Culture Connect introduced me to work being undertaken by the Indigenous Rangers program to protect the Great Barrier Reef.
South of Sydney, in the beachside city of Wollongong, artist and surfer Zachary Bennett-Brook expresses his connection to saltwater Country through his company Saltwater Dreamtime. From his garden studio, Zac paints circular motifs in bright contemporary colors of indigo, pink and purple onto surfboards. His work, which he describes as a blend of surf culture and contemporary art, can also be seen on large-scale murals in the Illawarra, Bondi, Sydney and suburbs.
“I’m after a Doppler effect like you’d see naturally on the surface of water as it radiates out,” says Bennett-Brook. “Like when you cast a stone into still water. I like to think that the ripples are how art and culture is shared. If we share it, it radiates out and people gain knowledge.”
I have one of Zac’s paintings hanging in my home, a vibrant canvas of his trademark circles super-imposed with the silhouette of two dolphins. Like the best artwork, it resonates with a spiritual energy, which is at once calming and uplifting.
Born and raised in Wollongong on Dharawal Country, Zac is a proud Indigenous man of Torres Strait Islander heritage. “When I’m painting, I enter a very meditative state,” he says. “I feel a sense of connection. It comes from my mind through the paintbrush out onto the canvas or wall. It is humbling to think that art forms have been carried on for thousands of years and I’m able to tell my personal story and share it for people to enjoy.”
Zac is one of those people you feel instantly drawn to, grounded and generous, with a hint of scallywag, like your best friend from school. We live in neighboring suburbs, swim at the same beaches, comb the same rock pools. Over the years, he’s taught me that although the Country I’m living on now is not my Country, we are still all connected.
Light streams in over Zac’s shoulder as he applies shimmering dots and waves, his voice as calming as the ocean. “Every Country is connected by saltwater in some way or form,” he says. “That’s what saltwater is to me. It brings people all together.”
Later, I head down to the beach, bobbing in the ocean between sets, diving under when a wave rolls in. For a moment I am suspended, yet moving, part of a salty universe linking me to all the earth’s oceans. It’s where I come to find my way back, to feel blood memory pulsing through my veins, connecting me to ancestors long past and taking me home to my sea Country.
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The author acknowledges and pays respect to the Traditional Custodians and Elders of this nation and their continued spiritual and cultural connection to, and custodianship of, Country.
Kerry van der Jagt is an award-winning freelance writer sharing stories about sustainable travel, history, culture and the environment. Her goal is to visit all 15 post-Soviet states, and to ride a Ferris wheel in each.
