Journal articles on the topic 'Rivers Victoria Gippsland Conservation'

Population genetics can reveal otherwise hidden information involving a species’ history in a given region. Koalas were thought to have been virtually exterminated from the Australian state of Victoria during the koala fur trade of the late 1800s. Koalas in the South Gippsland region of Victoria were examined using microsatellite markers to infer population structure and gene flow and to locate a possible remnant gene pool. The results indicate that the South Gippsland koala population had higher genetic diversity (A = 5.97, HO = 0.564) than other published Victorian populations, and was genetically distinct from other koala populations examined. South Gippsland koalas, therefore, may have survived the population reductions of the koala fur trade and now represent a remnant Victorian gene pool that has been largely lost from the remainder of Victoria. This paper illustrates that historic anthropogenic impacts have had little effect on reducing the genetic diversity of a population in the South Gippsland region. However, the South Gippsland population is now subject to threats such as logging and loss of habitat from housing and agriculture expansion. Our results suggest that the South Gippsland koalas require an alternative conservation management program.

Eleven stream stations within the basins of the Bemm, Cann, Thurra, Wingan and Genoa Rivers were sampled during a 3-month interval following a prolonged drought and intense and extensive forest fires. Emphasis was placed on flows resulting from three major storms that occurred during this period. Water-quality impacts of the fires were intermingled with those of the preceding drought, and flow- related comparisons with pre-drought data showed appreciable increases in colour, turbidity, suspended solids, potassium and nitrogen levels in the Bemm River, which was only marginally affected by the fires. In the Cann and Genoa Rivers, with much larger proportions of catchment burnt, electrical conductivity and phosphorus concentrations also rose substantially. Marked depletion of dissolved oxygen (to <6 mg I-1) was unique to streams with burnt catchments, but resulted from stagnant conditions at the end of the drought as well as from changes occurring at the time of the first post-fire storm. The fires had little obvious effect on temperature and pH regimes. Peak turbidities and concentrations of suspended solids and phosphorus were much greater in the Cann and Genoa river systems than elsewhere. Maximum values for these indicators were 130 NTU, 2300 mg I-1 and over 0.8 mg I-1, respectively. In the Thurra and Wingan basins, which were also burnt, stream suspended-solids levels were lower (<200 mg I-1), but solutes sometimes reached very high maxima (indicated by peak electrical conductivities of up to 110 mS m-1). Variations in catchment topography and soils and the relative importance of surface and subsurface flow probably account for these differences. The first post-fire storm produced the highest measured levels of many indicators in most streams, although the greatest flows were associated with the third storm. Nitrite and ammonia were notable exceptions to this generalization. Estimates of catchment exports indicated high sediment yields and moderate to high phosphorus yields from the Cann and Genoa catchments, by comparison with other Australian data.

Context Pathogenic infections are an important consideration for the conservation of native species, but obtaining such data from wild populations can be expensive and difficult. Two pathogens have been implicated in the decline of some koala (Phascolarctos cinereus) populations: urogenital infection with Chlamydia pecorum and koala retrovirus subgroup A (KoRV-A). Pathogen data for a wild koala population of conservation importance in South Gippsland, Victoria are essentially absent. Aims This study uses non-invasive sampling of koala scats to provide prevalence and genotype data for C. pecorum and KoRV-A in the South Gippsland koala population, and compares pathogen prevalence between wild koalas and koalas in rescue shelters. Methods C. pecorum and KoRV-A provirus were detected by PCR of DNA isolated from scats collected in the field. Pathogen genetic variation was investigated using DNA sequencing of the C. pecorum ompA and KoRV-A env genes. Key results C. pecorum and KoRV-A were detected in 61% and 27% of wild South Gippsland individuals tested, respectively. KoRV-A infection tended to be higher in shelter koalas compared with wild koalas. In contrast with other Victorian koala populations sampled, greater pathogen diversity was present in South Gippsland. Conclusions In the South Gippsland koala population, C. pecorum is widespread and common whereas KoRV appears less prevalent than previously thought. Further work exploring the dynamics of these pathogens in South Gippsland koalas is warranted and may help inform future conservation strategies for this important population. Implications Non-invasive genetic sampling from scats is a powerful method for obtaining data regarding pathogen prevalence and diversity in wildlife. The use of non-invasive methods for the study of pathogens may help fill research gaps in a way that would be difficult or expensive to achieve using traditional methods.

The rate and spatial scale at which natural environments are being modified by human land-uses mean that a regional or national perspective is necessary to understand the status of the native biota. Here, we outline a landscape-based approach for using data from the ‘New Atlas of Australian Birds’ to examine the distribution and status of avifauna at a regional scale. We use data from two bioregions in south-east Australia – the Gippsland Plain and the Strzelecki Ranges (collectively termed the greater Gippsland Plains) – to demonstrate this approach. Records were compiled for 57 landscape units, each 10′ latitude by 10′ longitude (~270 km2) across the study region. A total of 165 terrestrial bird species was recorded from 1870 ‘area searches’, with a further 24 species added from incidental observations and other surveys. Of these, 108 species were considered ‘typical’ of the greater Gippsland Plain in that they currently or historically occur regularly in the study region. An index of species ‘occurrence’, combining reporting rate and breadth of distribution, was used to identify rare, common, widespread and restricted species. Ordination of the dataset highlighted assemblages of birds that had similar spatial distributions. A complementarity analysis identified a subset of 14 landscape units that together contained records from at least three different landscape units for each of the 108 ‘typical’ species. When compared with the 40 most common ‘typical’ species, the 40 least common species were more likely to be forest specialists, nest on the ground and, owing to the prevalence of raptors in the least common group, take prey on the wing. The future status of the terrestrial avifauna of the greater Gippsland Plains will depend on the extent to which effective restoration actions can be undertaken to ensure adequate representation of habitats for all species, especially for the large number of species of conservation concern.

We review the distribution, habitat and conservation status of the eastern pygmy-possum (Cercartetus nanus) in Victoria. Data on the habitat occurrences and rates of detection were gleaned from 133 published and unpublished fauna surveys conducted from 1968 to 2003 in Gippsland; northern Victoria; the Melbourne area and south-western region. C. nanus was reported from a broad range of vegetation communities, which predominantly included a dense mid-storey of shrubs rich in nectar-producing species such as those from the families Proteaceae and Myrtaceae. Survey effort using a range of methods was immense across surveys: 305,676 Elliott/cage trap-nights, 49,582 pitfall trap-nights, 18,331 predator remains analysed, 4424 spotlight hours, and 7346 hair-sampling devices deployed, 1005 trees stagwatched, and 5878 checks of installed nest-boxes. The surveys produced 434 records of C. nanus, with Elliott/cage trapping, pitfall trapping and analysis of predator remains responsible for the vast majority of records (93%). These data and those from the Atlas of Victorian Wildlife indicate that although C. nanus has a widespread distribution in Victoria, it is rarely observed or trapped in fauna surveys. Only 11 (8%) of the surveys we reviewed detected >10 individuals. C. nanus is likely to be sensitive to several recognised threatening processes in Victoria (e.g., feral predators, high frequency fire, feral honeybees). There is also evidence of range declines in several regions, which suggests that the species is vulnerable to extinction. Therefore, we recommend that it be nominated as a threatened species in Victoria.

Riparian sand and gravel banks are inhabited by a fauna that is well adapted to varying river water levels and frequent inundation of the banks. Arthropods found in these habitats were studied from November 1998 to January 1999 in the upper and lower floodplains of the main rivers and tributaries in ten major catchments in the Victorian Alps. Wolf spiders (Lycosidae, 68%) and ground beetles (Carabidae, 7.8%) were the most abundant arthropods, with densities averaging 14.6 ± 1.8 (s.e.) and 2.3 ± 0.4 individuals m–2 respectively. Species composition and wolf spider densities changed substantially between upland and lowland rivers. These differences correspond with changes in altitude, shading, and gravel and gravel bank size. Comparison of our results with similar studies conducted in temperate Northern Hemisphere floodplains showed significant differences. Carabidae, not Lycosidae, are the dominant arthropod group in Northern Hemisphere floodplains. Wolf spider densities are higher in upper than lower reaches of rivers in the Victorian Alps, but do not change along rivers in the Northern Hemisphere. In contrast, carabid beetles showed similar densities between upland and lowland floodplains in Victoria, but increase in density along rivers in the Northern Hemisphere. A second, monthly sampling program on gravel banks along the Avon River (Gippsland) over a one-year period in 1996 and 1997 provided information on the life histories of eight common gravel-bank arthropods: Venatrix lapidosa, V. arenaris, two undescribed Artoria species (‘A’, ‘B’) (Lycosidae), Eudalia macleayi, Elaphropus ovensensis, Perileptus constricticeps and an unidentified Loxandrus species (‘B’) (Carabidae). Artoria sp. A and sp. B are diplochronous. Despite its smaller size, Artoria sp. B matured one month after Artoria sp. A. Lower temperatures at upland streams and rivers, the typical habitat for Artoria sp. B, may delay its development in comparison with Artoria sp. A, which is generally found further downstream. The life histories of both lycosid spiders and carabid beetles, characterised by prolonged reproductive period and short larval development, appear to have some adaptive value in regard to the disturbance-prone environment.

East Asian Lacquer: Material Culture, Science and Conservation.Shayne Rivers, Rupert Faulkner, Boris Pretzel (eds.)Archetype Publications.London November 2011.240 páginas, 297 x 210 mm.ISBN: 9781904982609.Esta publicación es fruto de un proyecto de investigación internacional de 5 años de duración (del 2003 al 2008) que tuvo como desencadenante el estudio de un método apropiado para la conservación del llamado “Mazarin Chest” del Victoria and Albert Museum.

Koala (Phascolarctos cinereus) populations in southern Australia have a history of bottlenecks – earlier this century the species became extinct in South Australia, and almost so in Victoria. Subsequently large numbers of animals from island populations (founded from very few animals) have been translocated back to mainland sites and to other islands in the region. As part of a larger study of the genetic structure of koala populations in southern Australia, we have undertaken a survey of mitochondrial DNA restriction fragment length polymorphism (mtDNA-RFLP) variability. Genomic DNA from 91 koalas from five populations was examined using 23 restriction enzymes, and mtDNA fragments were detected using a domestic cat full-length mtDNA clone. Only one of the enzymes, TaqI, revealed polymorphism – a relatively low amount of variation compared with other mammals, although low mtDNA-RFLP variation has also been reported in Queensland koalas. French Island and populations established predominantly from French Island immigrant koalas, either directly or via other island populations, were indistinguishable by haplotype frequencies. The mtDNA data are thus consistent with the interpretation that the koala translocation programme has homogenized gene frequencies amongst those populations involved. South Gippsland is not recorded as having received translocated koalas directly, and has significantly different mtDNA-RFLP haplotype frequencies from all other populations examined. The fact that this distinction was not previously observed in nuclear gene frequencies may reflect predominantly male-mediated dispersal in koalas.

The nesting requirements of the yellow-tailed black-cockatoo (Calyptorhynchus funereus) were studied at 68 sites in Eucalyptus regnans forest in the Strzelecki Ranges, South Gippsland, Victoria. Nest trees were located and their characteristics related to forest stand variables. Eighteen nest hollows were found. Nest trees had a mean diameter at breast height of 2.5 m, a mean estimated age of 221 years, a mean height of 58 m and for live nest trees a mean crown diameter of 22 m. The currently proposed rotation time for silvicultural systems of 80-150 years will reduce the number of hollow-bearing trees suitable for nesting yellow-tailed black-cockatoos. Adequate numbers of trees must be retained in logged areas and wildlife corridors and reserves, and protected to ensure a continual supply for yellow-tailed black-cockatoos and other hollow-dependent species. If agonistic behaviour is operating between female yellow-tailed black-cockatoos, nesting potential may be enhanced if trees retained on coupes are evenly distributed rather than clumped. Silvicultural systems that facilitate the protection of trees retained on coupes would benefit the conservation of the yellow-tailed black-cockatoo.

Understanding the migratory behaviour of fishes is critical to the conservation and management of fish assemblages in coastal rivers. We analysed the otolith chemical signatures of smelt, Retropinna sp., from inland and coastal populations in mainland south-eastern Australia to determine whether individuals within coastal populations of the species were diadromous. Assessments of otolith chemical composition combined with water chemistry data were used to make inferences about the migration histories of individual fish. A proportion of the smelt collected from the freshwater reaches of a coastal river exhibited diadromous movements, with the majority of fish analysed showing evidence of estuarine or marine occupation as larvae/juveniles and a minority inhabiting freshwater throughout their life histories. A broad range in the daily ages of upstream migration into freshwater (15–106 days) and the timing of these migrations suggest that spawning and migration occur over several months during the summer/autumn period. The results of this study suggest that southern smelts are an ecologically variable taxonomic group and that conservation and management actions should take into account the range of migratory behaviours exhibited both within populations and across regions.

A total of 67 taxa, forming part of a major radiation of freshwater hydrobiid snails in Tasmania and eastern Victoria, are described. Four genera are recognised within the radiation: Beddomeia (47 taxa), Phrantela (13 taxa), Nanocochlea, gen. nov. (three taxa) in Tasmania and Victodrobia, gen. nov. (four taxa) in eastern Victoria. Fifty-nine of the species-group taxa are newly described, three of these being given subspecific status. Species-group taxa are separated using morphological data based on 78 characters from the shell, radula, non-genital and genital anatomy. Individual taxa appear to occupy a rather small range of habitats, although within the radiation species are found in many different environments ranging from large rivers to tiny seeps and springs or caves. Nearly all taxa occupy very small geographic ranges, 38 being known only from single localities. Maps indicating the distributions of described taxa and additional populations with similar shell morphologies (but otherwise unworked) are presented. A preliminary phylogenetic hypothesis based on a cladistic analysis, and an overview of the biogeography of the group are presented and conservation considerations are discussed.

Targeted searches of approximately 150 km of cliff lines for two rare sandstone shrubs, Melaleuca triumphalis Craven and Stenostegia congesta A.R.Bean, thought to be restricted to the Victoria River gorge system within Gregory National Park, increased the number of known populations from 3 and 6 to 31 and 37, respectively. Both species occur predominantly in rocky and often fire-protected niches on sandstone cliffs and scree slopes, and are frequently associated with permanent drip-lines and seepage areas. Although their broad habitat requirements are similar, the two species do occur in slightly different niches. The data presented here suggest that M. triumphalis is reasonably fire tolerant, whereas S. congesta appears to be more fire sensitive. Weeds and introduced animals are not thought to pose a threat to these rare species. Models developed using remotely sensed and landscape-scale data (digital elevation models, radiometrics, geology and distance to rivers and streams) suggest that these species may also occur outside Gregory National Park in other areas of the Northern Territory such as on Bullo River and Bradshaw stations and in Keep River National Park. It is suggested that both species be regarded as Vulnerable under the IUCN guidelines.

It is important to have knowledge of basic population parameters to understand how these vary geographically and temporally and how they contribute to population dynamics. This paper investigates three of these parameters in Victorian koala populations: sexual maturity, aspects of the breeding season, and the continuity of individuals’ breeding. The investigation was carried out in koalas of known-age in two free-living (Redbill Creek on French Island and Brisbane Ranges) and one semi-captive (the Koala Conservation Centre on Phillip Island) population as well as koalas of unknown age in four Victorian populations of overabundant koalas: Mt Eccles and Framlingham in south-west Victoria, French Island in Western Port and Snake Island in south Gippsland. At sexual maturity, female koalas had a mean age (±95% confidence interval) of 24.4 months (23.5–25.3 months), a mean head length of 125 mm (124–127 mm) and a mean body mass of 6.6 kg (6.3–6.8 kg). Only 7.4% of independent females (of unknown age) were carrying young when they weighed less than 6 kg. The breeding season was more restricted in the south-west populations. At Framlingham and Mt Eccles 85% and 91% of births, respectively, occurred between December and March. At Snake and French Islands only 46% and 53% of births, respectively, were recorded in the same period. In the Chlamydia-free population (Red Bill Creek) none of the koalas that were monitored stopped breeding and then resumed breeding in a subsequent season whereas many females from Chlamydia-infected populations (Brisbane Ranges and the Koala Conservation Centre) did so. This variation in reproductive patterns is likely to make an important contribution to the variation in the demography observed in different koala populations.

AbstractHog deer were introduced to Australia in the 1860s, where they have spread across the Gippsland region of Victoria. Due to its status as an introduced species and an important game animal within Victoria, management of the species is complex. Given this complexity, genetic studies can provide important information regarding population structure and diversity which can assist in controlling problematic populations of hog deer, while also ensuring viable game stock in sites managed as game reserves. The aim of this study was to investigate the population genetic structure and diversity of the Victorian hog deer 150 years after introduction using short tandem repeats (STRs). Hog deer samples were collected across 15 sites of differing management regimes in the Gippsland region of Victoria and genotyped for 13 polymorphic STR loci. Up to four distinct genetic clusters were identified across the sites sampled, suggesting that despite low observed genetic diversity, population structure is present across their range. It was also possible to detect evidence of recent translocations among populations. This study suggests that the presence of distinct genetic clusters may enable management of separate genetic units, considering invasive species and game management objectives.

The use of socioeconomic and cultural parameters in the assessment and biomonitoring of ecological health of aquatic ecosystems is still in its nascent stages. Yet, degradation of aquatic ecosystems has elicited concerns because of its bearing on social and economic development of communities consisting of marginalized and vulnerable groups, as well as the expenses and technical knowhow involved in biomonitoring approaches. In this study we developed a Citizen-based Index of Ecological Integrity (CIEI) for assessing and monitoring the ecological status of vulnerable African riverine ecosystems in Lake Victoria Basin, Kenya. The hypothesis is that the citizen-led socioeconomic and cultural metrics provides a more cost-effective broad view of ecosystems than other biomonitoring methods in the assessment of water resources in the developing countries. Selected rivers in the southern part of Lake Victoria (Rivers Kuja and Sondu-Mirui) recorded the highest CIEI than their northern counterparts (Rivers Yala and Nzoia) that had moderate to poor ecosystem integrities. The study demonstrates the usefulness of this approach to elucidate the source of impairment, the extent of impacts and provide a justifiable rationale to advice policy makers on developing guidelines for conservation and management of aquatic ecosystems. We recommend for adoption and promotion of the CIEI perspective in areas where such approaches appear defensible for the assessment of catchment-wide practices in areas with robust indigenous knowledge to provide a broad-view of the ecological health of the aquatic ecosystem.

The use of socioeconomic and cultural parameters in the assessment and biomonitoring of ecological health of aquatic ecosystems is still in its nascent stages. Yet, degradation of aquatic ecosystems has elicited concerns because of its bearing on social and economic development of communities consisting of marginalized and vulnerable groups, as well as the expenses and technical knowhow involved in biomonitoring approaches. In this study we developed a Citizen-based Index of Ecological Integrity (CIEI) for assessing and monitoring the ecological status of vulnerable African riverine ecosystems in Lake Victoria Basin, Kenya. The hypothesis is that the citizen-led socioeconomic and cultural metrics provides a more cost-effective broad view of ecosystems than other biomonitoring methods in the assessment of water resources in the developing countries. Selected rivers in the southern part of Lake Victoria (Rivers Kuja and Sondu-Mirui) recorded the highest CIEI than their northern counterparts (Rivers Yala and Nzoia) that had moderate to poor ecosystem integrities. The study demonstrates the usefulness of this approach to elucidate the source of impairment, the extent of impacts and provide a justifiable rationale to advice policy makers on developing guidelines for conservation and management of aquatic ecosystems. We recommend for adoption and promotion of the CIEI perspective in areas where such approaches appear defensible for the assessment of catchment-wide practices in areas with robust indigenous knowledge to provide a broad-view of the ecological health of the aquatic ecosystem.

Streams and rivers are globally threatened ecosystems because of increasing levels of exploitation, habitat degradation and other anthropogenic pressures. In the Lake Victoria Basin (LVB) in East Africa, these threats are mostly caused by unsustainable land use; however, the monitoring of ecological integrity of river systems has been hampered by a lack of locally developed indices. This study assessed the health of four rivers (Nzoia, Nyando, Sondu–Miriu and Mara) on the Kenyan side of the LVB using physicochemical water quality parameters and a fish-based index of biotic integrity (IBI). Fish tolerance ranking was derived from principal component analysis of water quality parameters, and the concept of niche breadth (NB). The relationship between fish species and water quality parameters was examined with canonical correspondence analysis, whereas community metrics and stressors were evaluated through Pearson network correlation analysis. Fish species richness, trophic structures, taxonomic composition and species tolerance were used to generate the metrics for fish-based IBI. NB showed that most of the fish species were moderately tolerant to poor water. Moderately tolerant and intolerant fish species were negatively correlated with a high level of organic loading in the Mara River. Fish-based IBI scores for the rivers ranged from 26 to 34, with Sondu–Miriu scoring the lowest. Our results show that the cumulative effect of stressors can adequately rank fish species tolerance according to the disturbance gradients and further develop regional metrics to assess river health. Despite the fact that fish communities are declining, continual management and enforcement of environmental regulations are important, with conservation and management of headwaters and low-order streams being essential while they are still species rich.

Abstract Many of the national parks in East Africa are equally as famous for their iconic landforms as they are for their diversity and concentrations of fauna and flora. The newly formed Ngorongoro-Lengai Geopark in northern Tanzania is the first geopark to be established in the region, but there is remarkable potential for geotourism in the majority of the national parks. The most spectacular landforms have been shaped by the East African Rift System. Formation of the two major rifts in the region, the Albertine Rift (or western branch) and the Gregory Rift (or eastern branch), was accompanied, or in some cases preceded, by extensive alkaline volcanism. The rifting and volcanism are primarily Late Cenozoic phenomenon that dissected and overprinted the older regional plateaus. Rifting impacted the regional drainage and captured major rivers, including the Victoria Nile. Chains of ribbon lakes formed in the rift valleys. The Albertine Rift consists of a sequence of sedimentary basins with deep freshwater lakes, but the shallow soda lakes of the Gregory Rift are associated with mostly volcanic terrains. Plateau-style volcanic outpourings smoothed out the older land surfaces, created near-lunar landscapes in parts of the rift valley, and built up rift shoulders to tremendous elevations. Magma erupted from central conduits formed giant stratovolcanoes which reveal evidence of explosive, Plinian-style volcanic activity. East Africa includes some of the largest and best preserved calderas on Earth. The Ngorongoro Caldera is a world heritage site. The ice-capped peaks of the two largest volcanoes in the region, Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya, are among the highest free-standing mountains on Earth. The region includes active volcanoes, several of which are potentially hazardous as they are located near urban centres. Examples include Longonot-Hells Gate (Kenya), Mount Meru (Tanzania) and Nyiragongo (Democratic Republic of Congo). East Africa is renowned for the unusual rapidity of Darwinian evolution during the past thirty million years, including evolution of primates and hominins, and it is not a coincidence that significant palaeoanthropological discoveries have been unearthed from the Oldupai Gorge and Laetoli sites in northern Tanzania. The evolutionary period coincides with the onset and persistence of rifting and volcanism. Speciation is following an island-style pattern in East Africa, despite the continental setting, as regional plateaus are being dissected by the ongoing rifting and volcanism into smaller and smaller geological terrains. This is illustrated by restriction of the endangered Mountain gorilla to regions where afromontane forests developed in rift-related uplands isolated by extensive savannah grasslands.

Special Care Notice This article contains images of deceased people that might cause sadness or distress to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers. Introduction Like many cities, Perth was founded on wetlands that have been integral to its history and culture (Seddon 226–32). However, in order to promote a settlement agenda, early mapmakers sought to erase the city’s wetlands from cartographic depictions (Giblett, Cities). Since the colonial era, inner-Perth’s swamps and lakes have been drained, filled, significantly reduced in size, or otherwise reclaimed for urban expansion (Bekle). Not only have the swamps and lakes physically disappeared, the memories of their presence and influence on the city’s development over time are also largely forgotten. What was the site of Perth, specifically its wetlands, like before British settlement? In 2014, an interdisciplinary team at Edith Cowan University developed a digital visualisation process to re-imagine Perth prior to colonisation. This was based on early maps of the Swan River Colony and a range of archival information. The images depicted the city’s topography, hydrology, and vegetation and became the centerpiece of a physical exhibition entitled Re-imagining Perth’s Lost Wetlands and a virtual exhibition hosted by the Western Australian Museum. Alongside historic maps, paintings, photographs, and writings, the visual reconstruction of Perth aimed to foster appreciation of the pre-settlement environment—the homeland of the Whadjuck Nyoongar, or Bibbulmun, people (Carter and Nutter). The exhibition included the narrative of Fanny Balbuk, a Nyoongar woman who voiced her indignation over the “usurping of her beloved home ground” (Bates, The Passing 69) by flouting property lines and walking through private residences to reach places of cultural significance. Beginning with Balbuk’s story and the digital tracing of her walking route through colonial Perth, this article discusses the project in the context of contemporary pressures on the city’s extant wetlands. The re-imagining of Perth through historically, culturally, and geographically-grounded digital visualisation approaches can inspire the conservation of its wetlands heritage. Balbuk’s Walk through the City For many who grew up in Perth, Fanny Balbuk’s perambulations have achieved legendary status in the collective cultural imagination. In his memoir, David Whish-Wilson mentions Balbuk’s defiant walks and the lighting up of the city for astronaut John Glenn in 1962 as the two stories that had the most impact on his Perth childhood. From Gordon Stephenson House, Whish-Wilson visualises her journey in his mind’s eye, past Government House on St Georges Terrace (the main thoroughfare through the city centre), then north on Barrack Street towards the railway station, the site of Lake Kingsford where Balbuk once gathered bush tucker (4). He considers the footpaths “beneath the geometric frame of the modern city […] worn smooth over millennia that snake up through the sheoak and marri woodland and into the city’s heart” (Whish-Wilson 4). Balbuk’s story embodies the intertwined culture and nature of Perth—a city of wetlands. Born in 1840 on Heirisson Island, Balbuk (also known as Yooreel) (Figure 1) had ancestral bonds to the urban landscape. According to Daisy Bates, writing in the early 1900s, the Nyoongar term Matagarup, or “leg deep,” denotes the passage of shallow water near Heirisson Island where Balbuk would have forded the Swan River (“Oldest” 16). Yoonderup was recorded as the Nyoongar name for Heirisson Island (Bates, “Oldest” 16) and the birthplace of Balbuk’s mother (Bates, “Aboriginal”). In the suburb of Shenton Park near present-day Lake Jualbup, her father bequeathed to her a red ochre (or wilgi) pit that she guarded fervently throughout her life (Bates, “Aboriginal”).Figure 1. Group of Aboriginal Women at Perth, including Fanny Balbuk (far right) (c. 1900). Image Credit: State Library of Western Australia (Image Number: 44c). Balbuk’s grandparents were culturally linked to the site. At his favourite camp beside the freshwater spring near Kings Park on Mounts Bay Road, her grandfather witnessed the arrival of Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick Irwin, cousin of James Stirling (Bates, “Fanny”). In 1879, colonial entrepreneurs established the Swan Brewery at this significant locale (Welborn). Her grandmother’s gravesite later became Government House (Bates, “Fanny”) and she protested vociferously outside “the stone gates guarded by a sentry [that] enclosed her grandmother’s burial ground” (Bates, The Passing 70). Balbuk’s other grandmother was buried beneath Bishop’s Grove, the residence of the city’s first archibishop, now Terrace Hotel (Bates, “Aboriginal”). Historian Bob Reece observes that Balbuk was “the last full-descent woman of Kar’gatta (Karrakatta), the Bibbulmun name for the Mount Eliza [Kings Park] area of Perth” (134). According to accounts drawn from Bates, her home ground traversed the area between Heirisson Island and Perth’s north-western limits. In Kings Park, one of her relatives was buried near a large, hollow tree used by Nyoongar people like a cistern to capture water and which later became the site of the Queen Victoria Statue (Bates, “Aboriginal”). On the slopes of Mount Eliza, the highest point of Kings Park, at the western end of St Georges Terrace, she harvested plant foods, including zamia fruits (Macrozamia riedlei) (Bates, “Fanny”). Fanny Balbuk’s knowledge contributed to the native title claim lodged by Nyoongar people in 2006 as Bennell v. State of Western Australia—the first of its kind to acknowledge Aboriginal land rights in a capital city and part of the larger Single Nyoongar Claim (South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council et al.). Perth’s colonial administration perceived the city’s wetlands as impediments to progress and as insalubrious environments to be eradicated through reclamation practices. For Balbuk and other Nyoongar people, however, wetlands were “nourishing terrains” (Rose) that afforded sustenance seasonally and meaning perpetually (O’Connor, Quartermaine, and Bodney). Mary Graham, a Kombu-merri elder from Queensland, articulates the connection between land and culture, “because land is sacred and must be looked after, the relation between people and land becomes the template for society and social relations. Therefore all meaning comes from land.” Traditional, embodied reliance on Perth’s wetlands is evident in Bates’ documentation. For instance, Boojoormeup was a “big swamp full of all kinds of food, now turned into Palmerston and Lake streets” (Bates, “Aboriginal”). Considering her cultural values, Balbuk’s determination to maintain pathways through the increasingly colonial Perth environment is unsurprising (Figure 2). From Heirisson Island: a straight track had led to the place where once she had gathered jilgies [crayfish] and vegetable food with the women, in the swamp where Perth railway station now stands. Through fences and over them, Balbuk took the straight track to the end. When a house was built in the way, she broke its fence-palings with her digging stick and charged up the steps and through the rooms. (Bates, The Passing 70) One obstacle was Hooper’s Fence, which Balbuk broke repeatedly on her trips to areas between Kings Park and the railway station (Bates, “Hooper’s”). Her tenacious commitment to walking ancestral routes signifies the friction between settlement infrastructure and traditional Nyoongar livelihood during an era of rapid change. Figure 2. Determination of Fanny Balbuk’s Journey between Yoonderup (Heirisson Island) and Lake Kingsford, traversing what is now the central business district of Perth on the Swan River (2014). Image background prepared by Dimitri Fotev. Track interpolation by Jeff Murray. Project Background and Approach Inspired by Fanny Balbuk’s story, Re-imagining Perth’s Lost Wetlands began as an Australian response to the Mannahatta Project. Founded in 1999, that project used spatial analysis techniques and mapping software to visualise New York’s urbanised Manhattan Island—or Mannahatta as it was called by indigenous people—in the early 1600s (Sanderson). Based on research into the island’s original biogeography and the ecological practices of Native Americans, Mannahatta enabled the public to “peel back” the city’s strata, revealing the original composition of the New York site. The layers of visuals included rich details about the island’s landforms, water systems, and vegetation. Mannahatta compelled Rod Giblett, a cultural researcher at Edith Cowan University, to develop an analogous model for visualising Perth circa 1829. The idea attracted support from the City of Perth, Landgate, and the University. Using stories, artefacts, and maps, the team—comprising a cartographer, designer, three-dimensional modelling expert, and historical researchers—set out to generate visualisations of the landscape at the time of British colonisation. Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup approved culturally sensitive material and contributed his perspective on Aboriginal content to include in the exhibition. The initiative’s context remains pressing. In many ways, Perth has become a template for development in the metropolitan area (Weller). While not unusual for a capital, the rate of transformation is perhaps unexpected in a city less than 200 years old (Forster). There also remains a persistent view of existing wetlands as obstructions to progress that, once removed, are soon forgotten (Urban Bushland Council). Digital visualisation can contribute to appreciating environments prior to colonisation but also to re-imagining possibilities for future human interactions with land, water, and space. Despite the rapid pace of change, many Perth area residents have memories of wetlands lost during their lifetimes (for example, Giblett, Forrestdale). However, as the clearing and drainage of the inner city occurred early in settlement, recollections of urban wetlands exist exclusively in historical records. In 1935, a local correspondent using the name “Sandgroper” reminisced about swamps, connecting them to Perth’s colonial heritage: But the Swamps were very real in fact, and in name in the [eighteen-] Nineties, and the Perth of my youth cannot be visualised without them. They were, of course, drying up apace, but they were swamps for all that, and they linked us directly with the earliest days of the Colony when our great-grandparents had founded this City of Perth on a sort of hog's-back, of which Hay-street was the ridge, and from which a succession of streamlets ran down its southern slope to the river, while land locked to the north of it lay a series of lakes which have long since been filled to and built over so that the only evidence that they have ever existed lies in the original street plans of Perth prepared by Roe and Hillman in the early eighteen-thirties. A salient consequence of the loss of ecological memory is the tendency to repeat the miscues of the past, especially the blatant disregard for natural and cultural heritage, as suburbanisation engulfs the area. While the swamps of inner Perth remain only in the names of streets, existing wetlands in the metropolitan area are still being threatened, as the Roe Highway (Roe 8) Campaign demonstrates. To re-imagine Perth’s lost landscape, we used several colonial survey maps to plot the location of the original lakes and swamps. At this time, a series of interconnecting waterbodies, known as the Perth Great Lakes, spread across the north of the city (Bekle and Gentilli). This phase required the earliest cartographic sources (Figure 3) because, by 1855, city maps no longer depicted wetlands. We synthesised contextual information, such as well depths, geological and botanical maps, settlers’ accounts, Nyoongar oral histories, and colonial-era artists’ impressions, to produce renderings of Perth. This diverse collection of primary and secondary materials served as the basis for creating new images of the city. Team member Jeff Murray interpolated Balbuk’s route using historical mappings and accounts, topographical data, court records, and cartographic common sense. He determined that Balbuk would have camped on the high ground of the southern part of Lake Kingsford rather than the more inundated northern part (Figure 2). Furthermore, she would have followed a reasonably direct course north of St Georges Terrace (contrary to David Whish-Wilson’s imaginings) because she was barred from Government House for protesting. This easier route would have also avoided the springs and gullies that appear on early maps of Perth. Figure 3. Townsite of Perth in Western Australia by Colonial Draftsman A. Hillman and John Septimus Roe (1838). This map of Perth depicts the wetlands that existed overlaid by the geomentric grid of the new city. Image Credit: State Library of Western Australia (Image Number: BA1961/14). Additionally, we produced an animated display based on aerial photographs to show the historical extent of change. Prompted by the build up to World War II, the earliest aerial photography of Perth dates from the late 1930s (Dixon 148–54). As “Sandgroper” noted, by this time, most of the urban wetlands had been drained or substantially modified. The animation revealed considerable alterations to the formerly swampy Swan River shoreline. Most prominent was the transformation of the Matagarup shallows across the Swan River, originally consisting of small islands. Now traversed by a causeway, this area was transformed into a single island, Heirisson—the general site of Balbuk’s birth. The animation and accompanying materials (maps, images, and writings) enabled viewers to apprehend the changes in real time and to imagine what the city was once like. Re-imagining Perth’s Urban Heart The physical environment of inner Perth includes virtually no trace of its wetland origins. Consequently, we considered whether a representation of Perth, as it existed previously, could enhance public understanding of natural heritage and thereby increase its value. For this reason, interpretive materials were exhibited centrally at Perth Town Hall. Built partly by convicts between 1867 and 1870, the venue is close to the site of the 1829 Foundation of Perth, depicted in George Pitt Morrison’s painting. Balbuk’s grandfather “camped somewhere in the city of Perth, not far from the Town Hall” (Bates, “Fanny”). The building lies one block from the site of the railway station on the site of Lake Kingsford, the subsistence grounds of Balbuk and her forebears: The old swamp which is now the Perth railway yards had been a favourite jilgi ground; a spring near the Town Hall had been a camping place of Maiago […] and others of her fathers' folk; and all around and about city and suburbs she had gathered roots and fished for crayfish in the days gone by. (Bates, “Derelicts” 55) Beginning in 1848, the draining of Lake Kingsford reached completion during the construction of the Town Hall. While the swamps of the city were not appreciated by many residents, some organisations, such as the Perth Town Trust, vigorously opposed the reclamation of the lake, alluding to its hydrological role: That, the soil being sand, it is not to be supposed that Lake Kingsford has in itself any material effect on the wells of Perth; but that, from this same reason of the sandy soil, it would be impossible to keep the lake dry without, by so doing, withdrawing the water from at least the adjacent parts of the townsite to the same depth. (Independent Journal of Politics and News 3) At the time of our exhibition, the Lake Kingsford site was again being reworked to sink the railway line and build Yagan Square, a public space named after a colonial-era Nyoongar leader. The project required specialised construction techniques due to the high water table—the remnants of the lake. People travelling to the exhibition by train in October 2014 could have seen the lake reasserting itself in partly-filled depressions, flush with winter rain (Figure 4).Figure 4. Rise of the Repressed (2014). Water Rising in the former site of Lake Kingsford/Irwin during construction, corner of Roe and Fitzgerald Streets, Northbridge, WA. Image Credit: Nandi Chinna (2014). The exhibition was situated in the Town Hall’s enclosed undercroft designed for markets and more recently for shops. While some visited after peering curiously through the glass walls of the undercroft, others hailed from local and state government organisations. Guest comments applauded the alternative view of Perth we presented. The content invited the public to re-imagine Perth as a city of wetlands that were both environmentally and culturally important. A display panel described how the city’s infrastructure presented a hindrance for Balbuk as she attempted to negotiate the once-familiar route between Yoonderup and Lake Kingsford (Figure 2). Perth’s growth “restricted Balbuk’s wanderings; towns, trains, and farms came through her ‘line of march’; old landmarks were thus swept away, and year after year saw her less confident of the locality of one-time familiar spots” (Bates, “Fanny”). Conserving Wetlands: From Re-Claiming to Re-Valuing? Imagination, for philosopher Roger Scruton, involves “thinking of, and attending to, a present object (by thinking of it, or perceiving it, in terms of something absent)” (155). According to Scruton, the feelings aroused through imagination can prompt creative, transformative experiences. While environmental conservation tends to rely on data-driven empirical approaches, it appeals to imagination less commonly. We have found, however, that attending to the present object (the city) in terms of something absent (its wetlands) through evocative visual material can complement traditional conservation agendas focused on habitats and species. The actual extent of wetlands loss in the Swan Coastal Plain—the flat and sandy region extending from Jurien Bay south to Cape Naturaliste, including Perth—is contested. However, estimates suggest that 80 per cent of wetlands have been lost, with remaining habitats threatened by climate change, suburban development, agriculture, and industry (Department of Environment and Conservation). As with the swamps and lakes of the inner city, many regional wetlands were cleared, drained, or filled before they could be properly documented. Additionally, the seasonal fluctuations of swampy places have never been easily translatable to two-dimensional records. As Giblett notes, the creation of cartographic representations and the assignment of English names were attempts to fix the dynamic boundaries of wetlands, at least in the minds of settlers and administrators (Postmodern 72–73). Moreover, European colonists found the Western Australian landscape, including its wetlands, generally discomfiting. In a letter from 1833, metaphors failed George Fletcher Moore, the effusive colonial commentator, “I cannot compare these swamps to any marshes with which you are familiar” (220). The intermediate nature of wetlands—as neither land nor lake—is perhaps one reason for their cultural marginalisation (Giblett, Postmodern 39). The conviction that unsanitary, miasmic wetlands should be converted to more useful purposes largely prevailed (Giblett, Black 105–22). Felicity Morel-EdnieBrown’s research into land ownership records in colonial Perth demonstrated that town lots on swampland were often preferred. By layering records using geographic information systems (GIS), she revealed modifications to town plans to accommodate swampland frontages. The decline of wetlands in the region appears to have been driven initially by their exploitation for water and later for fertile soil. Northern market gardens supplied the needs of the early city. It is likely that the depletion of Nyoongar bush foods predated the flourishing of these gardens (Carter and Nutter). Engaging with the history of Perth’s swamps raises questions about the appreciation of wetlands today. In an era where numerous conservation strategies and alternatives have been developed (for example, Bobbink et al. 93–220), the exploitation of wetlands in service to population growth persists. On Perth’s north side, wetlands have long been subdued by controlling their water levels and landscaping their boundaries, as the suburban examples of Lake Monger and Hyde Park (formerly Third Swamp Reserve) reveal. Largely unmodified wetlands, such as Forrestdale Lake, exist south of Perth, but they too are in danger (Giblett, Black Swan). The Beeliar Wetlands near the suburb of Bibra Lake comprise an interconnected series of lakes and swamps that are vulnerable to a highway extension project first proposed in the 1950s. Just as the Perth Town Trust debated Lake Kingsford’s draining, local councils and the public are fiercely contesting the construction of the Roe Highway, which will bisect Beeliar Wetlands, destroying Roe Swamp (Chinna). The conservation value of wetlands still struggles to compete with traffic planning underpinned by a modernist ideology that associates cars and freeways with progress (Gregory). Outside of archives, the debate about Lake Kingsford is almost entirely forgotten and its physical presence has been erased. Despite the magnitude of loss, re-imagining the city’s swamplands, in the way that we have, calls attention to past indiscretions while invigorating future possibilities. We hope that the re-imagining of Perth’s wetlands stimulates public respect for ancestral tracks and songlines like Balbuk’s. Despite the accretions of settler history and colonial discourse, songlines endure as a fundamental cultural heritage. Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup states, “as people, if we can get out there on our songlines, even though there may be farms or roads overlaying them, fences, whatever it is that might impede us from travelling directly upon them, if we can get close proximity, we can still keep our culture alive. That is why it is so important for us to have our songlines.” Just as Fanny Balbuk plied her songlines between Yoonderup and Lake Kingsford, the traditional custodians of Beeliar and other wetlands around Perth walk the landscape as an act of resistance and solidarity, keeping the stories of place alive. Acknowledgments The authors wish to acknowledge Rod Giblett (ECU), Nandi Chinna (ECU), Susanna Iuliano (ECU), Jeff Murray (Kareff Consulting), Dimitri Fotev (City of Perth), and Brendan McAtee (Landgate) for their contributions to this project. The authors also acknowledge the traditional custodians of the lands upon which this paper was researched and written. References Bates, Daisy. “Fanny Balbuk-Yooreel: The Last Swan River (Female) Native.” The Western Mail 1 Jun. 1907: 45.———. “Oldest Perth: The Days before the White Men Won.” The Western Mail 25 Dec. 1909: 16–17.———. “Derelicts: The Passing of the Bibbulmun.” The Western Mail 25 Dec. 1924: 55–56. ———. “Aboriginal Perth.” The Western Mail 4 Jul. 1929: 70.———. “Hooper’s Fence: A Query.” The Western Mail 18 Apr. 1935: 9.———. The Passing of the Aborigines: A Lifetime Spent among the Natives of Australia. London: John Murray, 1966.Bekle, Hugo. “The Wetlands Lost: Drainage of the Perth Lake Systems.” Western Geographer 5.1–2 (1981): 21–41.Bekle, Hugo, and Joseph Gentilli. “History of the Perth Lakes.” Early Days 10.5 (1993): 442–60.Bobbink, Roland, Boudewijn Beltman, Jos Verhoeven, and Dennis Whigham, eds. Wetlands: Functioning, Biodiversity Conservation, and Restoration. Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 2006. Carter, Bevan, and Lynda Nutter. Nyungah Land: Records of Invasion and Theft of Aboriginal Land on the Swan River 1829–1850. Guildford: Swan Valley Nyungah Community, 2005.Chinna, Nandi. “Swamp.” Griffith Review 47 (2015). 29 Sep. 2015 ‹https://griffithreview.com/articles/swamp›.Department of Environment and Conservation. Geomorphic Wetlands Swan Coastal Plain Dataset. Perth: Department of Environment and Conservation, 2008.Dixon, Robert. Photography, Early Cinema, and Colonial Modernity: Frank Hurley’s Synchronized Lecture Entertainments. London: Anthem Press, 2011. Forster, Clive. Australian Cities: Continuity and Change. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2004.Giblett, Rod. Postmodern Wetlands: Culture, History, Ecology. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1996. ———. Forrestdale: People and Place. Bassendean: Access Press, 2006.———. Black Swan Lake: Life of a Wetland. Bristol: Intellect, 2013.———. Cities and Wetlands: The Return of the Repressed in Nature and Culture. London: Bloomsbury, 2016. 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(Quoted material transcribed from 3.08–3.39 of the video.) O’Connor, Rory, Gary Quartermaine, and Corrie Bodney. Report on an Investigation into Aboriginal Significance of Wetlands and Rivers in the Perth-Bunbury Region. Perth: Western Australian Water Resources Council, 1989.Reece, Bob. “‘Killing with Kindness’: Daisy Bates and New Norcia.” Aboriginal History 32 (2008): 128–45.Rose, Deborah Bird. Nourishing Terrains: Australian Aboriginal Views of Landscape and Wilderness. Canberra: Australian Heritage Commission, 1996.Sanderson, Eric. Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2009.Sandgroper. “Gilgies: The Swamps of Perth.” The West Australian 4 May 1935: 7.Scruton, Roger. Art and Imagination. London: Methuen, 1974.Seddon, George. Sense of Place: A Response to an Environment, the Swan Coastal Plain, Western Australia. Melbourne: Bloomings Books, 2004.South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council and John Host with Chris Owen. “It’s Still in My Heart, This is My Country:” The Single Noongar Claim History. Crawley: U of Western Australia P, 2009.Urban Bushland Council. “Bushland Issues.” 2015. 29 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.bushlandperth.org.au/bushland-issues›.Welborn, Suzanne. Swan: The History of a Brewery. Crawley: U of Western Australia P, 1987.Weller, Richard. Boomtown 2050: Scenarios for a Rapidly Growing City. Crawley: U of Western Australia P, 2009. Whish-Wilson, David. Perth. Sydney: NewSouth Publishing, 2013.

About half way through Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s film Home (2009) the narrator describes the fall of the Rapa Nui, the indigenous people of the Easter Islands. The narrator posits that the Rapa Nui culture collapsed due to extensive environmental degradation brought about by large-scale deforestation. The Rapa Nui cut down their massive native forests to clear spaces for agriculture, to heat their dwellings, to build canoes and, most importantly, to move their enormous rock sculptures—the Moai. The disappearance of their forests led to island-wide soil erosion and the gradual disappearance of arable land. Caught in the vice of overpopulation but with rapidly dwindling basic resources and no trees to build canoes, they were trapped on the island and watched helplessly as their society fell into disarray. The sequence ends with the narrator’s biting remark: “The real mystery of the Easter Islands is not how its strange statues got there, we know now; it's why the Rapa Nui didn't react in time.” In their unrelenting desire for development, the Rapa Nui appear to have overlooked the role the environment plays in maintaining a society. The island’s Moai accompanying the sequence appear as memento mori, a lesson in the mortality of human cultures brought about by their own misguided and short-sighted practices. Arthus-Bertrand’s Home, a film composed almost entirely of aerial photographs, bears witness to present-day environmental degradation and climate change, constructing society as a fragile structure built upon and sustained by the environment. Home is a call to recognise how contemporary practices of post-industrial societies have come to shape the environment and how they may impact the habitability of Earth in the near future. Through reflexivity and a ritualised structure the text invites spectators to look at themselves in a new light and remake their self-image in the wake of global environmental risk by embracing new, alternative core practices based on balance and interconnectedness. Arthus-Bertrand frames climate change not as a burden, but as a moment of profound realisation of the potential for change and humans ability to create a desirable future through hope and our innate capacity for renewal. This article examines how Arthus-Bertrand’s ritualised construction of climate change aims to remake viewers’ perception of present-day environmental degradation and investigates Home’s place in contemporary climate change communication discourse. Climate change, in its capacity to affect us globally, is considered a world risk. The most recent peer-reviewed Synthesis Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change suggests that the concentration of atmospheric greenhouse gases has increased markedly since human industrialisation in the 18th century. Moreover, human activities, such as fossil fuel burning and agricultural practices, are “very likely” responsible for the resulting increase in temperature rise (IPPC 37). The increased global temperatures and the subsequent changing weather patterns have a direct and profound impact on the physical and biological systems of our planet, including shrinking glaciers, melting permafrost, coastal erosion, and changes in species distribution and reproduction patterns (Rosenzweig et al. 353). Studies of global security assert that these physiological changes are expected to increase the likelihood of humanitarian disasters, food and water supply shortages, and competition for resources thus resulting in a destabilisation of global safety (Boston et al. 1–2). Human behaviour and dominant practices of modernity are now on a path to materially impact the future habitability of our home, Earth. In contemporary post-industrial societies, however, climate change remains an elusive, intangible threat. Here, the Arctic-bound species forced to adapt to milder climates or the inhabitants of low-lying Pacific islands seeking refuge in mainland cities are removed from the everyday experience of the controlled and regulated environments of homes, offices, and shopping malls. Diverse research into the mediated and mediatised nature of the environment suggests that rather than from first-hand experiences and observations, the majority of our knowledge concerning the environment now comes from its representation in the mass media (Hamilton 4; Stamm et al. 220; Cox 2). Consequently the threat of climate change is communicated and constructed through the news media, entertainment and lifestyle programming, and various documentaries and fiction films. It is therefore the construction (the representation of the risk in various discourses) that shapes people’s perception and experience of the phenomenon, and ultimately influences behaviour and instigates social response (Beck 213). By drawing on and negotiating society’s dominant discourses, environmental mediation defines spectators’ perceptions of the human-nature relationship and subsequently their roles and responsibilities in the face of environmental risks. Maxwell Boykoff asserts that contemporary modern society’s mediatised representations of environmental degradation and climate change depict the phenomena as external to society’s primary social and economic concerns (449). Julia Corbett argues that this is partly because environmental protection and sustainable behaviour are often at odds with the dominant social paradigms of consumerism, economic growth, and materialism (175). Similarly, Rowan Howard-Williams suggests that most media texts, especially news, do not emphasise the link between social practices, such as consumerist behaviour, and their environmental consequences because they contradict dominant social paradigms (41). The demands contemporary post-industrial societies make on the environment to sustain economic growth, consumer culture, and citizens’ comfortable lives in air-conditioned homes and offices are often left unarticulated. While the media coverage of environmental risks may indeed have contributed to “critical misperceptions, misleading debates, and divergent understandings” (Boykoff 450) climate change possesses innate characteristics that amplify its perception in present-day post-industrial societies as a distant and impersonal threat. Climate change is characterised by temporal and spatial de-localisation. The gradual increase in global temperature and its physical and biological consequences are much less prominent than seasonal changes and hence difficult to observe on human time-scales. Moreover, while research points to the increased probability of extreme climatic events such as droughts, wild fires, and changes in weather patterns (IPCC 48), they take place over a wide range of geographical locations and no single event can be ultimately said to be the result of climate change (Maibach and Roser-Renouf 145). In addition to these observational obstacles, political partisanship, vested interests in the current status quo, and general resistance to profound change all play a part in keeping us one step removed from the phenomenon of climate change. The distant and impersonal nature of climate change coupled with the “uncertainty over consequences, diverse and multiple engaged interests, conflicting knowledge claims, and high stakes” (Lorenzoni et al. 65) often result in repression, rejection, and denial, removing the individual’s responsibility to act. Research suggests that, due to its unique observational obstacles in contemporary post-industrial societies, climate change is considered a psychologically distant event (Pawlik 559), one that is not personally salient due to the “perceived distance and remoteness [...] from one’s everyday experience” (O’Neill and Nicholson-Cole 370). In an examination of the barriers to behaviour change in the face of psychologically distant events, Robert Gifford argues that changing individuals’ perceptions of the issue-domain is one of the challenges of countering environmental inertia—the lack of initiative for environmentally sustainable social action (5). To challenge the status quo a radically different construction of the environment and the human-nature relationship is required to transform our perception of global environmental risks and ultimately result in environmentally consequential social action. Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s Home is a ritualised construction of contemporary environmental degradation and climate change which takes spectators on a rite of passage to a newfound understanding of the human-nature relationship. Transformation through re-imagining individuals’ roles, responsibilities, and practices is an intrinsic quality of rituals. A ritual charts a subjects path from one state of consciousness to the next, resulting in a meaningful change of attitudes (Deflem 8). Through a lifelong study of African rituals British cultural ethnographer Victor Turner refined his concept of rituals in a modern social context. Turner observed that rituals conform to a three-phased processural form (The Ritual Process 13–14). First, in the separation stage, the subjects are selected and removed from their fixed position in the social structure. Second, they enter an in-between and ambiguous liminal stage, characterised by a “partial or complete separation of the subject from everyday existence” (Deflem 8). Finally, imbued with a new perspective of the outside world borne out of the experience of reflexivity, liminality, and a cathartic cleansing, subjects are reintegrated into the social reality in a new, stable state. The three distinct stages make the ritual an emotionally charged, highly personal experience that “demarcates the passage from one phase to another in the individual’s life-cycle” (Turner, “Symbols” 488) and actively shapes human attitudes and behaviour. Adhering to the three-staged processural form of the ritual, Arthus-Bertrand guides spectators towards a newfound understanding of their roles and responsibilities in creating a desirable future. In the first stage—the separation—aerial photography of Home alienates viewers from their anthropocentric perspectives of the outside world. This establishes Earth as a body, and unearths spectators’ guilt and shame in relation to contemporary world risks. Aerial photography strips landscapes of their conventional qualities of horizon, scale, and human reference. As fine art photographer Emmet Gowin observes, “when one really sees an awesome, vast place, our sense of wholeness is reorganised [...] and the body seems always to diminish” (qtd. in Reynolds 4). Confronted with a seemingly infinite sublime landscape from above, the spectator’s “body diminishes” as they witness Earth’s body gradually taking shape. Home’s rushing rivers of Indonesia are akin to blood flowing through the veins and the Siberian permafrost seems like the texture of skin in extreme close-up. Arthus-Bertrand establishes a geocentric embodiment to force spectators to perceive and experience the environmental degradation brought about by the dominant social practices of contemporary post-industrial modernity. The film-maker visualises the maltreatment of the environment through suggested abuse of the Earth’s body. Images of industrial agricultural practices in the United States appear to leave scratches and scars on the landscape, and as a ship crosses the Arctic ice sheets of the Northwest Passage the boat glides like the surgeon’s knife cutting through the uppermost layer of the skin. But the deep blue water that’s revealed in the wake of the craft suggests a flesh and body now devoid of life, a suffering Earth in the wake of global climatic change. Arthus-Bertrand’s images become the sublime evidence of human intervention in the environment and the reflection of present-day industrialisation materially altering the face of Earth. The film-maker exploits spectators’ geocentric perspective and sensibility to prompt reflexivity, provide revelations about the self, and unearth the forgotten shame and guilt in having inadvertently caused excessive environmental degradation. Following the sequences establishing Earth as the body of the text Arthus-Bertrand returns spectators to their everyday “natural” environment—the city. Having witnessed and endured the pain and suffering of Earth, spectators now gaze at the skyscrapers standing bold and tall in the cityscape with disillusionment. The pinnacles of modern urban development become symbols of arrogance and exploitation: structures forced upon the landscape. Moreover, the images of contemporary cityscapes in Home serve as triggers for ritual reflexivity, allowing the spectator to “perceive the self [...] as a distanced ‘other’ and hence achieve a partial ‘self-transcendence’” (Beck, Comments 491). Arthus-Bertrand’s aerial photographs of Los Angeles, New York, and Tokyo fold these distinct urban environments into one uniform fusion of glass, metal, and concrete devoid of life. The uniformity of these cultural landscapes prompts spectators to add the missing element: the human. Suddenly, the homes and offices of desolate cityscapes are populated by none other than us, looking at ourselves from a unique vantage point. The geocentric sensibility the film-maker invoked with the images of the suffering Earth now prompt a revelation about the self as spectators see their everyday urban environments in a new light. Their homes and offices become blemishes on the face of the Earth: its inhabitants, including the spectators themselves, complicit in the excessive mistreatment of the planet. The second stage of the ritual allows Arthus-Bertrand to challenge dominant social paradigms of present day post-industrial societies and introduce new, alternative moral directives to govern our habits and attitudes. Following the separation, ritual subjects enter an in-between, threshold stage, one unencumbered by the spatial, temporal, and social boundaries of everyday existence. Turner posits that a subjects passage through this liminal stage is necessary to attain psychic maturation and successful transition to a new, stable state at the end of the ritual (The Ritual Process 97). While this “betwixt and between” (Turner, The Ritual Process 95) state may be a fleeting moment of transition, it makes for a “lived experience [that] transforms human beings cognitively, emotionally, and morally.” (Horvath et al. 3) Through a change of perceptions liminality paves the way toward meaningful social action. Home places spectators in a state of liminality to contrast geocentric and anthropocentric views. Arthus-Bertrand contrasts natural and human-made environments in terms of diversity. The narrator’s description of the “miracle of life” is followed by images of trees seemingly defying gravity, snow-covered summits among mountain ranges, and a whale in the ocean. Grandeur and variety appear to be inherent qualities of biodiversity on Earth, qualities contrasted with images of the endless, uniform rectangular greenhouses of Almeria, Spain. This contrast emphasises the loss of variety in human achievements and the monotony mass-production brings to the landscape. With the image of a fire burning atop a factory chimney, Arthus-Bertrand critiques the change of pace and distortion of time inherent in anthropocentric views, and specifically in contemporary modernity. Here, the flames appear to instantly eat away at resources that have taken millions of years to form, bringing anthropocentric and geocentric temporality into sharp contrast. A sequence showing a night time metropolis underscores this distinction. The glittering cityscape is lit by hundreds of lights in skyscrapers in an effort, it appears, to mimic and surpass daylight and thus upturn the natural rhythm of life. As the narrator remarks, in our present-day environments, “days are now the pale reflections of nights.” Arthus-Bertrand also uses ritual liminality to mark the present as a transitory, threshold moment in human civilisation. The film-maker contrasts the spectre of our past with possible visions of the future to mark the moment of now as a time when humanity is on the threshold of two distinct states of mind. The narrator’s descriptions of contemporary post-industrial society’s reliance on non-renewable resources and lack of environmentally sustainable agricultural practices condemn the past and warn viewers of the consequences of continuing such practices into the future. Exploring the liminal present Arthus-Bertrand proposes distinctive futurescapes for humankind. On the one hand, the narrator’s description of California’s “concentration camp style cattle farming” suggests that humankind will live in a future that feeds from the past, falling back on frames of horrors and past mistakes. On the other hand, the example of Costa Rica, a nation that abolished its military and dedicated the budget to environmental conservation, is recognition of our ability to re-imagine our future in the face of global risk. Home introduces myths to imbue liminality with the alternative dominant social paradigm of ecology. By calling upon deep-seated structures myths “touch the heart of society’s emotional, spiritual and intellectual consciousness” (Killingsworth and Palmer 176) and help us understand and come to terms with complex social, economic, and scientific phenomena. With the capacity to “pattern thought, beliefs and practices,” (Maier 166) myths are ideal tools in communicating ritual liminality and challenging contemporary post-industrial society’s dominant social paradigms. The opening sequence of Home, where the crescent Earth is slowly revealed in the darkness of space, is an allusion to creation: the genesis myth. Accompanied only by a gentle hum our home emerges in brilliant blue, white, and green-brown encompassing most of the screen. It is as if darkness and chaos disintegrated and order, life, and the elements were created right before our eyes. Akin to the Earthrise image taken by the astronauts of Apollo 8, Home’s opening sequence underscores the notion that our home is a unique spot in the blackness of space and is defined and circumscribed by the elements. With the opening sequence Arthus-Bertrand wishes to impart the message of interdependence and reliance on elements—core concepts of ecology. Balance, another key theme in ecology, is introduced with an allusion to the Icarus myth in a sequence depicting Dubai. The story of Icarus’s fall from the sky after flying too close to the sun is a symbolic retelling of hubris—a violent pride and arrogance punishable by nemesis—destruction, which ultimately restores balance by forcing the individual back within the limits transgressed (Littleton 712). In Arthus-Bertrand’s portrayal of Dubai, the camera slowly tilts upwards on the Burj Khalifa tower, the tallest human-made structure ever built. The construction works on the tower explicitly frame humans against the bright blue sky in their attempt to reach ever further, transgressing their limitations much like the ill-fated Icarus. Arthus-Bertrand warns that contemporary modernity does not strive for balance or moderation, and with climate change we may have brought our nemesis upon ourselves. By suggesting new dominant paradigms and providing a critique of current maxims, Home’s retelling of myths ultimately sees spectators through to the final stage of the ritual. The last phase in the rite of passage “celebrates and commemorates transcendent powers,” (Deflem 8) marking subjects’ rebirth to a new status and distinctive perception of the outside world. It is at this stage that Arthus-Bertrand resolves the emotional distress uncovered in the separation phase. The film-maker uses humanity’s innate capacity for creation and renewal as a cathartic cleansing aimed at reconciling spectators’ guilt and shame in having inadvertently exacerbated global environmental degradation. Arthus-Bertrand identifies renewable resources as the key to redeeming technology, human intervention in the landscape, and finally humanity itself. Until now, the film-maker pictured modernity and technology, evidenced in his portrayal of Dubai, as synonymous with excess and disrespect for the interconnectedness and balance of elements on Earth. The final sequence shows a very different face of technology. Here, we see a mechanical sea-snake generating electricity by riding the waves off the coast of Scotland and solar panels turning towards the sun in the Sahara desert. Technology’s redemption is evidenced in its ability to imitate nature—a move towards geocentric consciousness (a lesson learned from the ritual’s liminal stage). Moreover, these human-made structures, unlike the skyscrapers earlier in the film, appear a lot less invasive in the landscape and speak of moderation and union with nature. With the above examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity can shed the greed that drove it to dig deeper and deeper into the Earth to acquire non-renewable resources such as oil and coal, what the narrator describes as “treasures buried deep.” The incorporation of principles of ecology, such as balance and interconnectedness, into humanity’s behaviour ushers in reconciliation and ritual cleansing in Home. Following the description of the move toward renewable resources, the narrator reveals that “worldwide four children out of five attend school, never has learning been given to so many human beings” marking education, innovation, and creativity as the true inexhaustible resources on Earth. Lastly, the description of Antarctica in Home is the essence of Arthus-Bertrand’s argument for our innate capacity to create, not simply exploit and destroy. Here, the narrator describes the continent as possessing “immense natural resources that no country can claim for itself, a natural reserve devoted to peace and science, a treaty signed by 49 nations has made it a treasure shared by all humanity.” Innovation appears to fuel humankind’s transcendence to a state where it is capable of compassion, unification, sharing, and finally creating treasures. With these examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity has an innate capacity for creative energy that awaits authentic expression and can turn humankind from destroyer to creator. In recent years various risk communication texts have explicitly addressed climate change, endeavouring to instigate environmentally consequential social action. Home breaks discursive ground among them through its ritualistic construction which seeks to transform spectators’ perception, and in turn roles and responsibilities, in the face of global environmental risks. Unlike recent climate change media texts such as An Inconvenient Truth (2006), The 11th Hour (2007), The Age of Stupid (2009), Carbon Nation (2010) and Earth: The Operator’s Manual (2011), Home eludes simple genre classification. On the threshold of photography and film, documentary and fiction, Arthus-Bertrand’s work is best classified as an advocacy film promoting public debate and engagement with a universal concern—the state of the environment. The film’s website, available in multiple languages, contains educational material, resources to organise public screenings, and a link to GoodPlanet.info: a website dedicated to environmentalism, including legal tools and initiatives to take action. The film-maker’s approach to using Home as a basis for education and raising awareness corresponds to Antonio Lopez’s critique of contemporary mass-media communications of global risks. Lopez rebukes traditional forms of mediatised communication that place emphasis on the imparting of knowledge and instead calls for a participatory, discussion-driven, organic media approach, akin to a communion or a ritual (106). Moreover, while texts often place a great emphasis on the messenger, for instance Al Gore in An Inconvenient Truth, Leonardo DiCaprio in The 11th Hour, or geologist Dr. Richard Alley in Earth: The Operator’s Manual, Home’s messenger remains unseen—the narrator is only identified at the very end of the film among the credits. The film-maker’s decision to forego a central human character helps dissociate the message from the personality of the messenger which aids in establishing and maintaining the geocentric sensibility of the text. Finally, the ritual’s invocation and cathartic cleansing of emotional distress enables Home to at once acknowledge our environmentally destructive past habits and point to a hopeful, environmentally sustainable future. While The Age of Stupid mostly focuses on humanity’s present and past failures to respond to an imminent environmental catastrophe, Carbon Nation, with the tagline “A climate change solutions movie that doesn’t even care if you believe in climate change,” only explores the potential future business opportunities in turning towards renewable resources and environmentally sustainable practices. The three-phased processural form of the ritual allows for a balance of backward and forward-looking, establishing the possibility of change and renewal in the face of world risk. The ritual is a transformative experience. As Turner states, rituals “interrupt the flow of social life and force a group to take cognizance of its behaviour in relation to its own values, and even question at times the value of those values” (“Dramatic Ritual” 82). Home, a ritualised media text, is an invitation to look at our world, its dominant social paradigms, and the key element within that world—ourselves—with new eyes. It makes explicit contemporary post-industrial society’s dependence on the environment, highlights our impact on Earth, and reveals our complicity in bringing about a contemporary world risk. The ritual structure and the self-reflexivity allow Arthus-Bertrand to transform climate change into a personally salient issue. This bestows upon the spectator the responsibility to act and to reconcile the spectre of the past with the vision of the future.Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Dr. Angi Buettner whose support, guidance, and supervision has been invaluable in preparing this article. 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