This is the 214th anniversary of the day Phillip discovered pretty cove called Werrong with its run of good, clean water. He must have been delighted by the smooth-trunked angophoras that seemed to spring straight from the sandstone around it, their limbs turning bright salmon pink as they shed the last of the old year’s bark. And the water was full of bream. One of Phillip’s rowers, an American named Jacob Nagle, hooked a beauty while the Governor was ashore examining the cove he would re-name Sydney for a dithering and now-forgotten Home Secretary.
Philip’s party left the following morning, and for one last time – just a few days – the Cadigaleans had Cadi all to themselves. As they woke next morning to warm themselves by the fire, they faced, as always, the incomparable harbour that gave them their life and their name; watching its ruffled waters and musing, perhaps, that the rowboat’s visit had been a bad dream. Doubtless they enjoyed those last few lazy summer days travelling to their favourite spots to fish. The women would take to their canoes with fishing line in hand, a fire smouldering amidships and perhaps a baby on their shoulders; while the men strolled to a sheltered cove, its surface like a mirror. There they would chew mussels, spitting into the water and spearing the fish that came to the burley. Or maybe they’d just pluck a feed of oysters from the rocks, or gather great handfuls of flowers to make a sweet