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Ben Stubbs joins a guided walk that follows the path of the original inhabitants and reveals a bounty of bush tucker. Stories are told of the tribes of the Wiradjuri, Ngunnawal and Walgalu people who would come down from the hills each year and push through the valleys to the spot where the Tumut and Goobarragandra rivers meet. In their hundreds they would continue on to the Bogong moth feasts on Mount Jagungal, following the natural highway of the Tumut River. Along the way they would fashion axes and spears to help them hunt and survive. As the clouds overhead threaten rain, Shane Herrington and Talea Bulger sift through the dirt, picking out the chipped stone artefacts, showing me proof that their people passed through this corridor thousands of years ago. Herrington and Bulger are Aboriginal discovery officers working for the National Parks and Wildlife Service and they are guiding me through the history of their traditional country: the Tumut Valley. As we stand in the bush beyond the northern reaches of the Kosciuszko National Park, Herrington introduces me to the bush-tucker loop in his native language: "Welcome to my grandfather's country, my country, Wiradjuri country." We are wandering through the red dust looking for bush food and even though the Tumut Valley is full of fruit trees and waterways, the scrub out here looks thirsty; it crackles and breaks as we brush past overhanging limbs and wade through kangaroo grass. Herrington finds the first item on his shopping list: a dog bush, otherwise known as karri. He breaks off a clump of the leaves from a tree hidden in the undergrowth and smells it. It's a pungent herb that is thrown in curries for flavour and it is also used as a vaporiser. When clumps of the dog bush are put into a small fire the leaves suck in the oxygen and allow the flames to catch onto the kindling. We continue past a wall of bush, which on any other day I would stumble through without giving a second glance. Herrington knows this area is ripe for exploring; he grew up nearby, in the former Aboriginal mission of Brungle. Cradling an axe and his medical kit, he points out a kunzea plant, used around campfires as a reptile repellent. Next to it he pulls at the white flowers of a tea-tree, which is used to repel insects. Herrington and Bulger are constantly on the lookout for slithering "gutis", or snakes. I'm shown a clump of bush mistletoe, or "snotty gobbles" as they're affectionately known. These sweet little fruits look like bean-sized lychees and grow as a parasite on trees. Mistletoe birds eat them, their droppings fall on branches and start growing, using the tree as life support. On the lookout for some tucker a little more substantial, we search for a currajong tree. We scan the bush and eventually identify a small sapling in the dirt under the shade of a scribbly gum. Herrington takes the first shift and starts digging towards the currajong tree's roots with a sharpened stick. The earth smells sweet as we burrow further down towards its tail. More than a metre down Herrington finally reaches the end of the currajong tree. Rather than a collection of frayed tree roots we find a white oblong tuber still attached to the base. It looks like a radish; its white flesh, however, tastes just like a cucumber when we brush off the dirt and take a bite. Foraging for bush food seems relatively straightforward but when I go to grab a handful of kangaroo apples, Herrington and Bulger pull me up. Eaten untreated, the kangaroo apple is toxic; it must be soaked to leach out the poison. They tell disaster stories of poisonous plants mistaken for bush food. This newspaper report show the Wiradjuri people what their ancestors and their did. This also attract people to come see these amazing artifacts which were preserved for many years. The Wiradjuri people can also learn the traditional way to things using these artifacts.