The Northern Rivers area of eastern Australia is famous for its... rivers! This recording was made near a waterfall in one of the many waterways that form on the slopes of the Wollumbin volcano, which forms the northern edge of the region. The water here is cool and the hue is brown from the rich volcanic soils over which the rain flows before gathering in the river valleys. The area is famous for its healing energy and with this recording you can see whether this energy can be transmitted at a distance of space and time into your body.

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The last time Wollumbin erupted was 23 million years ago. So, in bringing the fire element from the slopes of Wollumbin the sound comes from the combustion of local wood that had been felled by a recent storm. Even though the volcano once stood at more the twice its current height and breathed fire with such force that it created the largest erosion caldera in the entire Southern Hemisphere of planet Earth, it is quiescent now. But that energy still courses through the plants that grown from its soil and the waters that course down its skirts. So there is a volcanic element at play behind the crackling of the tree branches and leaves being burned in this recording.

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The Eastern edge of the Wollumbin caldera has eroded down into the sea. This point, called Cape Byron, is the Eastern most point of the entire Australian continent. It is often a very windy place. This recording was taken just off the beach beneath a Coastal Pandanus tree and captures the Air Element where it intersects with water (the South Pacific Ocean), earth (beneath a weathered tree perched between sand and mountain), and Fire (at the foot of a wise old volcano). Being so ephemeral, we can only sense the air element when it interacts with one of the other three elements. This recording captures all three interactions in one.

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The north eastern corner of the Australian state of NSW is home to a primordial remnant of Gondwana Land's original rainforest. This area, sometimes called "The Big Scrub" was once a vast subtropical lowland rainforest fed by the rich volcanic soils left over from the ancient Wollumbin Volcano (or what white settlers called Mount Warning). The forest was largely destroyed starting in the 1840’s by the timber and then the dairy industries. Today the original rainforest exists only as isolated remnants scattered throughout the region ringed by the extinct Wollumbin caldera. It consistently rains around 2,000 mm/yr in the Big Scrub yet there are extended periods of sunshine (often on the same day as the rain). The rich, red volcanic soil and mild, largely frost-free climate compliment the rain and the sun to create the ideal conditions for the earth to manifest itself in all its variety and glory. This recording was taken at dawn along one of the ridges created by Wollumbin's last eruption 23 million years ago.

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Not far from what is now called Sydney, on 7 May 1770, Captain James Cook sailed along Australia’s Eastern seaboard and described in his journal "some pretty high land which projected out in three bluff points.” One of the three “bluff points” was called Tudibaring in the local Aboriginal tongue, purported to mean 'place where the waves pound like a beating heart', perhaps because of the flat rock shelves at the base of the high bluff that the surf continuously pounds. This recording was taken during a hot summer afternoon thunderstorm in a quiet New South Wales coastal neighborhood that now hugs the rim of this headland. 

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As you travel from Australia’s Eastern seaboard, the temperate forests and lush undergrowth slowly shifts to rolling grassland and eventually to a hard scrabble semi-arid region that marks the beginning of Australia’s great deserts. The biggest town in the area, Broken Hill, sits within a small range of mountains--hills really--that the English settlers called the Barrier Ranges because they marked this final shift from a land of the living to a land of apparent emptiness and death. To the East of these ranges, the third longest river in Australia, the Darling, finds its first shape and meanders aimlessly though the increasingly fertile landscape as it finds its feet and strength on the way to the ocean. To the West, however, the "barrier" is crossed and you could travel nearly 3,000 miles as the crow flies finding yourself only in desert before you hit the Indian Ocean. This soundscape is recorded near a hill called Mount Darling. In keeping with the minimalism of the place, you will hear very little and what you do hear won't change much. The sound mainly consists dry brown grasses moaning hollowly in the empty wind and the incessant chatter and hum of insects buzzing just above the rocky outcroppings and endless sand. The occasional miniature flying creature comes into earshot but that is about it. With fewer than 3% of Australia’s already small population calling these deserts home, you wouldn’t be alone in thinking that it is blank and empty and inhospitable. But the indigenous peoples of Australia have called these sun-drenched places in Australia’s red center home for many tens of thousands of years. And generation after generation lived a vibrant and sophisticated life over those fifty or sixty thousand years, learning to live closely with the land below, learn from the sky above and harmonize with the subtle dream world that permeated everything. Listen carefully and hear the land as they heard it. Nothing much has changed (in the sounds at least) for a long, long time. If you can let go of thought and judgement even for a few moments and give in to the sound you will begin to get a sense of the thin veil that separates the human mind from the Dreaming. This is what a place sounds like where the people have no word for time.

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Shenandoah is a phonetic rendering from the Algonquian schind-han-do-wi which means "beautiful daughter of the stars." The rolling hills are so iconic that not only have songs been written about them but the Shenandoah song is also known as the Ballad of America. The steady hum of crickets from deep in the woods in this section of the Blue Ridge Mountains will lull you to sleep or ensconce your meditation or study time into the sounds of Appalachia. Perhaps you will remember that you, too, are a son or daughter of the stars.

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The Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, for most of its acreage, is a harsh and unforgiving landscape of slickrock and sand, creosote bushes and cacti. But here and there you will find dry washes in the twisting, layered, petrified sand of white slickrock. And in some of those washes there are small, cylindrical basins with a bit of mud and grass. And if you’re lucky a little water. This recording was taken high up on the side of one of these slickrock mountains next to just such as water hole (though it was so small and muddy as to barely earn that name). The most prevalent sound is that of the ever-present wind moaning and muttering and shoving across the hard rock of the landscape in an undulating intensity. But, thanks to the little bit of water, you can hear the occasional sounds of flying, chirping, buzzing and crawling insects (some a little close for comfort!), as well as the little tussocks of grasses moving in their natural rhythms with the endless wind. Despite the desolation of the place and the unforgiving sun, the occasional bird makes an appearance as well. Perfect for meditation, studying, sleep, or any other situation where white noise/nature sounds are useful.

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Southern Utah on a map or from the air looks like a land of sand and rock and heat. But threading through the almost Martian landscape are scores upon scores of narrow canyons and deep gorges. At the bottom of these gullies are rich riparian environments that support a wide range of plant and animal life. In this recording you will hear the calming sounds of birds at dawn from the bottom of one of these canyons in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. If you listen closely you may catch the occasional cricket and perhaps even the distant sound of the small animals going about their morning routine. Perfect for meditation, studying, sleep, or any other situation where white noise/nature sounds are useful. 

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If you are looking for a vibrant, undulating, natural white noise to allow you to focus on your meditation or studying or melt into sleep, this windy winter day’s recording near Australia’s Eastern shores makes an excellent choice. Just an hour or so to the south of Sydney lies a sprawling park that has over a hundred kilometers of walking tracks and some of the finest coastal vistas you will find anywhere on earth, which is probably why it was one of the first areas in the country to be set aside for conservation. The recording was made near a place called Wattamolla Beach (not far from the famous Wedding Cake Rock and Figure Eight Pools). The coastal track that snakes along the coastline of the park is a place of exceptional beauty, even on a blustery, rainy winter’s day. Perhaps especially on such a day. The vast grey expanse of the open ocean comes to a sudden end at the jagged line of warm yellow and copper colored sandstone coastal bluffs. The broken boulders and verticality of the cliffs tower above the crashing surf then arch back as they blend seamlessly into the coastal heath of low shrubs. The undulating scrub of the heath has been shaped by the relentless wind into curves and folds as though the wind itself were frozen in time the patterns of branch and leaf that these fierce survivors of the heath make in their slow, low-slung growth. The creeks that trickle out of the denser, wetter Eucalyptus forests further inland reach their terminus in this part of the park hundreds of feet above the sea in a perfectly perpendicular cliff edge  that drops almost at a straight right angle down to the crashing waves below. On windy days like the one in this recording some of the smaller creeks invert at the cliff face. The roaring wind literally reverses the waterfall from the lip of the cliff down to the sea to instead rising, improbably, directly up into the air and blending with the sputtering wind and moisture whipped along from the precipitating clouds or the foaming white caps in the sea far below. The wind was gusting strongly enough to blow a grown man over, so it was too windy to record near the cliffs and upside-down waterfalls. Instead, I bushwhacked into the brush, following a dry creek bed a few hundred meters into the thick heath. What you will hear in this recording is mostly wind and more wind. Most of the birds are sticking close to the ground and the thicker parts of the heath but from time to time you can hear them above the wind’s roar. They do fly very close a few times so don’t be too surprised. And if you listen closely enough you can just make out the occasional sputter of rain tickling the thick, fire blackened bark and long, grassy leaves of the New South Wales Grass Tree. 

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