In Kangaroo Valley, a Private Weekend Digging Into Country

Between the Southern Highlands and the South Coast, a private weekend shaped by place, cultural programming and botanical hospitality, with a seasonal table drawn from the valley, its local producers and produce; cooked by an acclaimed chef, two hours from Sydney and a world away from it.

Words and photography by Giulia Mendes

Kangaroo Valley · Destination Field Story

The drive from Sydney to Lake David takes just under two hours. There are two ways in: an inland route via Fitzroy Falls, or the coastal way through Berry. Most people who know the valley take the second, for good reason. Berry is worth slowing down for, with heritage shopfronts and hanging flower baskets, the kind of main street that makes you want to stop for a coffee and just look around for a while. From there the road climbs Cambewarra Mountain, one of the more scenic stretches on this part of the South Coast: narrowing and bending as it climbs, the ocean visible below and behind you for a stretch near the top, before the road crests the ridge and drops into Kangaroo Valley proper. I passed through the village on the way down, one pretty main street, a general store, a pub that looks like it hasn't changed much in decades, and then the paddocks fold into hills I wouldn't expect to find this close to Sydney. Kangaroo Valley is enclosed by the Illawarra Escarpment, steep green walls that close the place off from the world outside it almost completely.

I was on my way to a Wylde Systems experience, a private cultural and hospitality weekend hosted at Lake David. The property sits on the edge of Lake Yarrunga, tucked into that enclosure of hills and bushland, a private 44-acre estate hosted by owner and entrepreneur Chris Ristevski. To give a sense of scale, the eight-bedroom homestead sleeps up to nineteen guests, with a chef's kitchen built for exactly the kind of long-table dinner we'd have there later that evening. A pool and a tennis court sit on the grounds, and the lake is visible from almost every room.

The Welcome

Nobody handed us a schedule

I arrived on a Saturday afternoon in July, after a run of rainy days, to sun that felt closer to autumn than the middle of winter, and a small group already settling in: three couples, Chris and the rest of the crew. He met me barefoot, which told me more about the place and set the tone for the whole experience more than any welcome speech or formal idea of arrival could have: unhurried, comfortably close to the land. We walked to the back of the property overlooking the water. Nobody rushed us to do anything or handed us a schedule.

The lake caught the afternoon light and threw it back in long, broken pieces across the water, and somewhere near the treeline, wombats were moving slowly through the grass, some with joeys trailing behind them. Despite almost ten years of calling Australia home, it was my first encounter with a wombat, and a special one at that. Kangaroos were everywhere too, hopping across the hills, unbothered by any of the guests.

"We build each program around the group and the place together. The idea is that guests leave with a renewed sense of their relationship to nature, and to themselves, without having to travel far to get it," Chris told me.

At three in the afternoon, with the lake still bright behind us, we were gathered outside and welcomed by Drew Longbottom, a local language practitioner, knowledge holder, cultural advisor and mentor from the Jerrinja Aboriginal Community.

Drew told me later that the valley has been doing this for a very long time, and that the weekend I'd driven down for was, in a sense, a recent version of something much older.

"Kangaroo Valley was a place where different mobs would meet, at certain times of the year. We'd use it for trade, for ceremony, and for arranging kinship and marriage. It was a place where mobs came together to share information, but also to barter and trade."

Drew and the dancers opened the weekend with a Welcome to Country and Smoking Ceremony, followed by a corroboree. I won't attempt to describe its specific content or meaning here, that isn't mine to interpret. Drew's own description is better than anything I could write:

"A corroboree is a place where you pass on information. When we have experiences in order to pass that knowledge on, we have a corroboree. The singing is the verbal expression of the story you're telling. The dance is the expression of that story through movement. It's where people come together to share information and teach lessons."

What I can describe is its effect on a group of people standing in the afternoon light through to sunset: flat afternoon gold slowly deepening, a truly relaxed immersion in nature. Conversation stopped, nobody reached for a phone, though nobody had asked us not to. The curiosity of what was being said and the beautiful movements had already sharpened everyone's attention.

At one point I stepped back from the group with my camera, because I wanted to see it from a small distance: the smoke rising, the group standing loosely together in front of Drew, the quiet holding everything together, the light shifting the entire time. It was one of the most peaceful things I've watched in a while.

Drew described the smoking ceremony as doing two distinct things.

"It's important for everybody to debrief the negative feelings that sometimes feel heavy inside ourselves. These heavy feelings can become a burden, and it's not always easy to share them, because we don't like to burden other people. This is a space where you can come and debrief without verbalising what your problems are. You can just mindfully let go of things."

Boomerang Lesson

Once the corroboree wound down, Drew moved the group into something more hands-on: a boomerang throwing lesson. He talked us through grip, stance, the angle of release, the way wind and the shape of the boomerang work together rather than against each other, practical instruction delivered with the patience of someone who has clearly taught a lot of people who have never thrown one of these before and are about to be spectacularly bad at it in front of each other, which most of us were. Two of the group managed a return throw before the sun dropped fully behind the ridge.

"The returning boomerang wasn't used for striking animals. It was used to mimic a bird of prey. When an eagle or a hawk hunts, they fly above and glide, they spot their prey and start to circle down. When you throw the boomerang, it's made to mimic that, the turn is similar to wings flapping. A flock of birds in a tree will look up and see something circling above them. The old women used to string a net between the trees, and the birds would fly off and get caught in the net. You'd keep what you needed to feed everybody and release the rest."

"It's a method of catching as much of a food source with less effort," he said. "It was made to catch a lot at once, not to strike one particular bird at a time."

I asked Drew whether there was anything guests should understand before they arrive.

"They don't really need to understand anything in particular, and that's a good thing for me, because I can share what I share with them and they get an understanding of something they knew nothing about. The idea is to give people a new outlook, and take them on a journey of new discovery."

Botanicals

Straight from the trees

As the sun went down properly, Chris had a fire going outside. Some of the group stood around it for a while, watching the last of the light go off the lake, while others had already drifted inside and found the good armchairs by the window, where the view was just as worth watching. A fireplace had been lit a while before we moved in.

Byron Woolfrey was already there, preparing botanical drinks. He's part of the Wylde Systems crew, and the man behind Trolley'd, Australian eco-friendly hospitality company better known for its aviation-themed bar activations around the country. Trolley'd works with native ingredients, regional produce and carefully sourced botanicals, turning them into drinks that read as the season and the place they came from. Byron talks you through each one as he pours it.

My favourite was the dehydrated rhubarb that came from Burrawang in the Southern Highlands, sitting on top of a spritz made with Illawarra plum, riberry, lilly pilly, lemon myrtle, blood lime, blood orange and lemon, infused gin, and botanical tinctures. The non-alcoholic options got exactly the same attention.

"Sharing the knowledge of the plants is a symbiotic relationship. It's our duty to pass that on. This weekend is about reconnecting to the ecosystem, as opposed to working against it," Byron said.

Wine and Dine

Nothing on the table needed a passport

Dinner came from chef Stephen Santucci, also present at the table talking about produce, season and provenance in a way that turned the meal into conversation about where his ingredients come from, a menu that could only have been written in the valley, in this season, by someone who actually knows the people growing the food. Stephen runs the kitchen at Moonacres in Robertson, having trained in Italy under Michelin-starred chef Salvatore Tassa before heading up the kitchen at Vini in Surry Hills.

On the weekend, I thought a lot about how Sydney eats. It's one of the most multicultural food cities on earth. But somewhere in that abundance, a strange gap opens up: ask a lot of Sydneysiders what Australian food actually is, beyond a barbecue or a pie, and you'll get a pause before an answer. It's not that the culture isn't there, or that Australian food culture is thin or borrowed. It might just be further from the big cities, and some of us have never eaten dinner close enough to where it grew to notice it.

That's what the table at Lake David proved. Nothing on it needed a passport, apart from a little Italian influence. The tonnato that opened the meal was built from Mountain Side beef out of Shoalhaven, sitting alongside Moonacres' own preserved South Coast tuna, smoked romanesco and a cavolo nero harissa. What followed was whipped South Coast latchet with radicchio castelfranco, then a braised Pine Hill Wiltipoll hogget shoulder, from a farm up the road in Robertson, with spigarello, sourdough gremolata and braised chickpeas, all finished with a rhubarb and almond tart and goat's curd. The menu was built around local and regional produce, with each course tied to growers and suppliers Stephen knew directly.

After dinner, nobody suggested the next activity. The fire was still going under a sky thick with stars, some of the group stayed at the table while others moved closer to the warmth. Nobody checked a watch, and the night passed without anyone noticing it slip away. It was a reminder that not every retreat needs an itinerary; sometimes, the absence of one is the point, and that alone is something I'd go back for.

The Details

Lake David at Lake Yarrunga

Wylde Systems experience

More information and enquiries: wyldesystems.com

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