Wilson’s Prom has a secret spot, nestled in under the Cathedral and Mt. Latrobe; just over the ridge from Sealers’. Few have been there, but at least a couple of Kellaway associates have visited more than twice. Unburned temperate rainforest, with no under-story and towering eucalypts, interspersed with rare Myrtle Beech. Fortunately, it’s incredibly difficult to find, even when you’ve been there before.
Twice entered by forging a path through rough sword- and wire-grass bush on the fringe of the Five Mile swamp and once by dropping off Latrobe with hopeful forays down several promising valleys. The greatest camp in the world is Paradise; you feel almost obliged to individually place leaves back over the space your little tent occupied, to try to convince the tree gods that you hadn’t actually been there. Some experiences don’t quite sink in at the time, but as the years wear on the good fortune becomes apparent.
Inextricably linked to Paradise, Tall Trees is the tale of what happened to all the Prom’s big trees, except the ones too difficult to extract – the ones living in those same little valleys running off Latrobe and the Cathedral. Sealers’, on the other hand was decimated. But the Prom is only a microcosm of the grand scale rape of Victoria (and wherever else on the mainland of the Great Southern land that tall trees made their home). It took a 1,000 years to strip England of its forests. Imagine (we can only do this) a Victoria (three times the size of England) which was effectively one giant forest, as white man started the incursions. Roughly fifty years later, 90% of the old growth forest had been ripped out. Time will tell, but the collateral environmental damage of those years will almost certainly mean that trees of such grandeur will never again grace this Earth.
lyrics
PARADISE (Under the Tall Trees)
Thigh-deep, sticky mud
Leeches, specks of blood
Pleasure, could it be this?
Mossies, loving kiss
Where are we going now
Did I hear you say, we're going down?
To paradise, under the tall trees
Under the tall trees
Wire grass, rotting logs
Contours, lead to bogs
Blind bluff, tricky ridge
More mud, swordgrass thick
Where are we going now
Did I hear you say, we're going down?
To paradise, under the tall trees
Under the tall trees
Nettled, scratched and wrapped
Swamp-gums, a gully trap?
The wall parts, alluring gap
Tall Beech, on no map
Where leads this easy way
Did I catch a glimpse of a Mountain Grey?
And an Ash in light, such a tall tree
This is paradise, under the tall trees
Paradise, under the tall trees
Paradise, under the tall trees
Paradise, under the tall trees
Paradise, under the tall trees
TALL TREES
They grew far away in a foreign land
No one had seen them, not first-hand
But everybody knew, the south was where they grew
Blue sky all day in a foreign land
Then came the men, the axe and the saw
The tall trees watched a cancer taking more
Every sapling knew, its time would soon come due
They grew straight and proud in this foreign land
People saw the photos, trees wider than a house
Standing on the trunk and look no bigger than a mouse
These wonders of the world reached up
To meet a clear blue sky, so high
They’re all gone, all gone
First they took the tall trees close at hand
Then word filtered through of a bigger stand
Started a new push, deep into the bush
They grew far away in a distant vale
Then the forests heard the deathly sound
The screaming chainsaw ripping big ones down
A sad and sorry fact, can’t find an alpine ash
They grew far away in another time
People saw the photos, trees wider than a house
Standing on the trunk and look no bigger than a mouse
These wonders of the world reached up
To meet a clear blue sky, so high
They’re all gone, all gone
They grew far away in another time
They grew far away in another time
They grew far away in another time
They grew far away in another time
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