In the heart of South Australia’s Murray River region, where the ancient waterways carve through sun-baked earth, stands a living monument to human ingenuity and nature’s resilience. Captured in two photographs separated by over a century, this river red gum tree (Eucalyptus camaldulensis) bears a scar that whispers tales of Indigenous craftsmanship. Almost certainly a “canoe tree” shaped by the First Peoples, these images—taken roughly 130 years apart—offer a poignant glimpse into Australia’s deep cultural heritage and the enduring spirit of its landscapes. Join me as we delve into the history, significance, and ongoing story of this remarkable tree.
The Discovery and the Viral Sensation
The story begins with a pair of photos that first surfaced online around 2021-2022, quickly captivating audiences on platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and Reddit. Shared initially by Trevor Thomas, a local from South Australia, the images juxtapose a black-and-white shot from the 1890s with a vibrant color photo from the 2020s. The older image shows a massive trunk with a fresh, elongated scar where bark was meticulously removed. Fast forward 130 years, and the same tree thrives, its wound healed into a textured testament of time.
What makes this particularly compelling is the tree’s probable use as a canoe tree. Indigenous Australians, including groups like the Ngarrindjeri along the Murray, harvested bark from mature red gums to fashion canoes, shields, coolamons (carrying vessels), and shelters. The scar, estimated to have been made 20-30 years before the first photo, dates back to around the 1860s or 1870s. This sustainable practice ensured the tree survived, regrowing bark over decades while providing essential tools for river life.
The photos went viral, appearing in posts across social media. For instance, on Instagram, accounts like @nationaltreeday highlighted the tree’s resilience in 2021, while more recent shares on X (formerly Twitter) in 2024 and 2025 echoed the awe, with users like @SparX__J and @kylawndog reposting the images and adding context about Indigenous sustainability. Even as late as December 2024, pages like Clinton’s Walk for Justice on Facebook recirculated the story, emphasizing the tree’s cultural depth.
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Cultural Roots: The Art of Scar Trees
Scar trees, or canoe trees, are more than botanical curiosities—they are cultural artifacts etched into the living wood. For thousands of years, Aboriginal peoples across southeastern Australia selected river red gums for their size and bark properties. The process involved careful incision: using stone axes or fire, they outlined an oval or rectangular section of bark, peeling it away without killing the tree. This bark, when heated or soaked, could be shaped into lightweight, buoyant canoes ideal for navigating rivers like the Murray.
These practices reflect a profound understanding of ecology. Trees were chosen for their maturity (often centuries old) and location near water, ensuring minimal impact on the ecosystem. Today, such trees are protected heritage sites, with examples cataloged by institutions like the South Australian Museum, which holds archives from the 1960s documenting similar specimens. One notable site near Finniss, South Australia, features a red gum from which a 1.5-meter canoe was likely crafted, serving as a visible link to pre-colonial life.
The river red gum holds special significance in Indigenous lore. Known for its resilience, it’s often seen as a symbol of endurance and connection to Country. Renowned photographer Harold Cazneaux’s 1937 image, The Spirit of Endurance, immortalized a red gum in the Flinders Ranges, capturing its gnarled form as a metaphor for survival. Our featured tree echoes this, standing as a bridge between eras.
Ecological Powerhouse: The Life of a River Red Gum
Botanically, the river red gum is a powerhouse. Native to Australia’s riverine floodplains, it can reach heights of 45 meters with trunks up to 3 meters wide. Its bark, shedding in ribbons of red, cream, and gray, gives it a fiery appearance—hence the name. These trees are flood-dependent, relying on periodic inundation to germinate seeds and recharge groundwater.
As keystone species, they support diverse wildlife: hollows house owls and possums, leaves feed koalas, and roots stabilize banks against erosion. However, they’re under threat. Climate change, river damming, and reduced flooding in the Murray-Darling Basin have led to widespread dieback. Reports from the 2020s note thousands of trees succumbing to drought, highlighting the urgency of conservation efforts.
The Photos: A Visual Journey Through Time
Imagine the 1890s photo: a sepia-toned giant by the river, its scar raw and prominent, perhaps photographed by a settler or explorer documenting the “new” land. Contrast this with the modern shot—lush greens framing a healed, multicolored trunk, captured with digital precision. The exact location remains somewhat elusive in public shares, but it’s believed to be along the Murray near Renmark or similar areas in South Australia.
Posts on X from users like @TimeMachine4U in 2024 describe it poetically: “Almost Certainly A Canoe Tree Cut By The First People. These Impressive Photos Of A River Red Gum Are 130 Years Apart!” Such shares often include side-by-side images, evoking wonder at how a single organism outlives human generations.
Modern Reflections and Future Threats
In 2025, as we reflect on these images, they serve as a call to action. Indigenous-led initiatives, like those by the Murray Lower Darling Rivers Indigenous Nations, advocate for better water management to save these trees. Viral stories like this one foster awareness, blending history with environmental advocacy.
Yet, challenges persist. Invasive species, salinity, and urban expansion compound climate woes. Protecting scar trees isn’t just about preserving the past—it’s about honoring living cultures and ensuring ecological balance.
Conclusion: A Legacy Etched in Bark
This river red gum, scarred yet steadfast, reminds us that history isn’t confined to museums; it grows, breathes, and adapts. From Indigenous artisans to modern photographers, it connects us across time. As we share these photos—whether on X, Instagram, or beyond—let’s commit to safeguarding such wonders. After all, in a world of fleeting digital moments, a tree that spans centuries offers a grounding perspective.
If you’ve encountered a scar tree or have your own photos, share in the comments below. Nature’s stories are best told together.
Note: While “Munyao Matheka” appears in the original query, searches suggest it may refer to individuals on X, though no direct link to this story was found. If it’s a specific reference, feel free to clarify!
