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A Bundjalung man named Ashley Moran clearly remembers the initial occasion he completed the new multi-day Gidjuum Gulganyi Walk in northern New South Wales, well before it became publicly accessible in the April just passed.

Back in 2020 and the latest Great Walk had not yet been formed. “The route was marked with pink ribbons by the path-building team, but it was pretty arduous trying to find a way through lush forest and locate the small pink markers,” he says.

He was engaged in creating the trail since its inception in 2018. As leader of the Widjabul Wia-bal Gurrumbil Aboriginal Corporation, he worked with conservation services and the traditional custodian group, which speaks on behalf of the Minjungbal clan of the Tweed Valley area within the Bundjalung people.

As a committed community member of the Widjabul Wia-bal clan, he also has a deep-rooted link to the initiative: the southern part of the path passes through his ancestral country. (The Minjungbal people are the custodians of the upper section of the trail.)

To minimize environmental damage, the Gidjuum Gulganyi (meaning “Old People’s track”) primarily retraces age-old routes that run along the southern border of the ancient crater, formed after the enormous local mountain, once known as Mount Warning, blew its top 23 million years in the past. Only a portion of the multi-day walk is entirely new.

This makes the Gidjuum Gulganyi a special insight into a region that’s inseparable from the peoples who have resided in and traversed it – with its diverse forest ecosystems, tropical vegetation, cascades and wide open valleys – for tens of thousands of years.

It was Moran’s job, when he traced the pink markers in 2020, to do some “on-site verification” on a couple of potential paths through Widjabul Wia-bal country. This entailed ensuring that Aboriginal sites would not be negatively impacted by the trails developed by wildlife agencies, which was done in cooperation with track builders from the local area and from a southern island, seen as highly skilled in the world.

The majority of Indigenous locations located by the local organization were not directly on the path, but several were sufficiently proximate to justify changing the path. “It was essential to guarantee that people could avoid unintentionally encountering a important location. So we have not disclosed the locations of the documented places and we’ve made sure they’re a good distance off the track, to avoid any unexpected finds or damage.”

The process provided Moran with a better appreciation of traditional territory. “[It] led me to consider about how the Old People would have used the trails, back when there was a vast expanse of jungle up there.” Only 1% of this local forest ecosystem in the Byron hinterland is left, due to land clearing by colonial arrivals; numerous historic pathways weaving through the landscape were even converted into timber routes in the late 1800s.

“As far back as 22 millennia in the past, these trails would have been frequently traveled by various clan groups within the traditional society,” Moran explains. “People in the tableland areas would have relied on them to walk to the coast in the warmer months for nourishment. Older members would have taken the routes to get to Wollumbin, a deeply meaningful location [for them].

“Everyone would have watched for seasonal indicators in the environment, like plants flowering or migratory birds appearing, to tell them the time and place they had to be to find nourishment or perform certain ceremonies. These traditions and journeys occurred for generations and were deeply rooted in our knowledge systems and traditions.

“The route is part of our historic travel corridors, like the thoroughfares we have today, enabling movement through the country … If people were descending from the highlands to access the beach, they’d rest at designated areas to refresh themselves, to recover, stay overnight, just like we take a break on a long trip to take a breather,” he comments.

Several designated campsites on the trail are now campsites where walkers can set up camp on hardwood platforms amid giant trees; the final campsite also has spectacular views across a dramatic ravine.

The Indigenous group was at first concerned about the effect of a extended trek on their ancestral territory, he recalls. “But the further we engaged with park authorities, the more our discussions became about developing business opportunities for our people and leveraging the trail to promote our heritage.”

A fresh Indigenous tourism offering with Widjabul Wia-bal guides is now being established at a scenic waterfall, at the conclusion of the trail, and is expected to begin by the end of 2026. There are plans for Indigenous custodians to assume responsibility for upkeep of the path, run cultural tours and businesses such as refreshment services, and provide shuttle services to and from the trail.

Wildlife agencies is also collaborating with Widjabul Wia-bal native title holders and the local Aboriginal land council “to develop cultural interpretation signage that will enable Gidjuum Gulganyi hikers to understand the cultural values of the Country they are experiencing during the four-day hike,” notes an official. They expect this to be put in place before mid-2026.

“We aim to make certain this goes beyond a recreational route but an way to discover about traditional territory,” he states. “To give people an appreciation of what this region signifies for the Widjabul Wia-bal people and the other custodians in the northern NSW, which will in turn breathe new life into the trail, bring it back to life.”

In Moran’s favourite section of the trek, the trail reaches a canyon with “the most beautiful scenery” looking toward the state boundary. “The sight left me in awe the initial occasion I experienced the trail, being able to look back at the historic mountain and through the scenic valley. It truly amazed me.”