Journal articles on the topic 'Sandstone – New South Wales – Sydney Basin'

Surface reflection profiling with the Mini‐SOSIE technique successfully mapped shallow coal seam structure in the western Sydney Basin, New South Wales. Several minor faults and zones of fracturing were detected. In regions of thick Triassic sandstone cover, data quality was poor and unsuitable for geologic interpretation. Synthetic seismograms based on nearby borehole and petrophysical control show excellent agreement with the Mini‐SOSIE sections and illustrate the deleterious filtering effects of coal seams and sequences. To establish a phenomenological basis for seismic wave propagation in shallow coal measures, two vertical seismic profiles (VSPs) which used small explosive charges were recorded with high spatial and temporal sampling. Numerous multiple reflections were observed in the downgoing wave display. The isolated upgoing waves were migrated to yield blurred images of the main coal seams. The subsurface velocity function, also deduced from the VSP, shows broad correlation with the geologic log. The VSP seismograms are not simple because of the combined effects of wave absorption, scattering, and interference. Such problems impede recovery of fine structural detail from seismic data in the shallow environment, particularly when a surface energy source is used.

AbstractThe Hawkesbury Sandstone (Hawkesbury Series, Sydney Basin) on the southeastern coast of New South Wales, Australia, preserves a depauperate but important vertebrate tetrapod body-fossil record from the Early and Middle Triassic. As with many fossil sites around the world, the ichnological record has helped to shed light on the paleoecology of this interval. Herein, we investigate historical reports of a trackway pertaining to a putative short-tailed reptile found at Berowra Creek in the 1940s. Reinvestigation of the surviving track-bearing slabs augmented by archival photographs of the complete trackway, suggests that these impressions, which consist primarily of didactyl tracks (plus less common monodactyl and tridactyl traces), represent the earliest example of a swimming tetrapod found in Australia. Another isolated specimen (possibly from a nearby locality at Annangrove) appears to represent similar didactyl swim traces of a second, larger individual. Although the identities of the trackmakers are unknown, the Berowra Creek individual had an estimated body length of between ~80 cm (short-coupled) and 1.35 m (long-coupled), and produced the subaqueous trackway while travelling upslope (against the current) on a sandbar within a braided river system of the Hawkesbury Sandstone. These trackways partially resemble amphibian swim traces in the so-called Batrachichnus C Lunichnium continuum, but appear to represent a unique locomotion trace. This reanalysis of the Berowra Creek trackway provides insight into the locomotion of tetrapods of the Triassic Hawkesbury Series, which remains a poorly understood aspect of their life history.

As in many growing urban areas, the prevention of environmental damage as Sydney spreads westward into the Hawkesbury-Nepean River basin is a major challenge for planners, managers and the local community, We surveyed macroinvertebrates at 45 river and stream sites in April-June 1996, and reviewed data from other sources, in order to assess the issues involved in conservation of the lotic macro invertebrate fauna, Regional richness is high with 443 recorded species and morphospecies, Cluster analysis showed community pattems related mainly to waterway size (separating the Hawkesbury-Nepean River from tributary streams), geology (tributaries on shale or sandstone), tidal intrusion and urbanization (impoverished faunas in urban streams). The ability of genus richness of mites and major insect orders to reflect overall genus richness at a site was limited, and Diptera and Trichoptera appear to have the greatest value as biodiversity predictors. Urban expansion is the major threat to lotic macro invertebrate communities in the region, but agriculture, flow regulation, sand and gravel ex1raction and introduced species have probably also impacted on the fauna, Streams with high conservation value for macroinvertebrates include those few on the Cumberland Plain and surrounding slopes that retain substantial indigenous vegetation in relatively undeveloped catchments. The Hawkesbury-Nepean River sfill harbours a rich faunal community and is also important for conservation, The development of effective strategies for conservation assessment and management is problematic for several reasons, Some species in the region are known to be vulnerable, but the status of most cannot be assessed because of a lack of taxonomic and zoogeographic information, Most "biodiversity indicator" concepts are of dubious value for aquatic macroinvertebrate conservation. A multi-faceted management approach emphasizing subcatchment reserves, riparian restoration and the control of threatening processes is required.

The rarely encountered giant burrowing frog, Heleioporus australiacus, is distributed widely in a variety of sclerophyll forest habitats east of the Great Dividing Range in south-eastern Australia. Analyses of variation in nucleotide sequences of the mitochondrial ND4 gene and thousands of nuclear gene SNPs revealed the presence of two deeply divergent lineages. Multivariate morphological comparisons show the two lineages differ in body proportions with > 91% of individuals being correctly classified in DFA. The two lineages differ in the number and size of spots on the lateral surfaces and the degree by which the cloaca is surrounded by colour patches. The mating calls are significantly different in number of pulses in the note. The presence of a F2 hybrid in the area where the distribution of the two taxa come into closest proximity leads us to assign subspecies status to the lineages, as we have not been able to assess the extent of potential genetic introgression. In our sampling, the F2 hybrid sample sits within an otherwise unsampled gap of ~90km between the distributions of the two lineages. The nominate northern sub-species is restricted to the Sydney Basin bioregion, while the newly recognised southern subspecies occurs from south of the Kangaroo Valley in the mid-southern coast of New South Wales to near Walhalla in central Gippsland in Victoria. The habitat of the two subspecies is remarkably similar. Adults spend large portions of their lives on the forest floor where they forage and burrow in a variety of vegetation communities. The southern subspecies occurs most commonly in dry sclerophyll forests with an open understory in the south and in open forest and heath communities with a dense understory in the north of its distribution. The northern subspecies is also found in dry open forests and heaths in association with eroded sandstone landscapes in the Sydney Basin bioregion. Males of both taxa call from both constructed burrows and open positions on small streams, differing from the five Western Australian species of Heleioporus where males call only from constructed burrows. Using the IUCN Red List process, we found that the extent of occupancy and area of occupancy along with evidence of decline for both subspecies are consistent with the criteria for Endangered (A2(c)B2(a)(b)).

The coal seam gas content of the Late Permian Illawarra Coal Measures ranges from Methane that occurs within the basin was mainly derived as a by-product of coalification. Most of the CO2 was derived from intermittent magmatic activity between the Triassic and the Tertiary. This gas has subsequently migrated, mainly in solution, towards structural highs and accumulated in anticlines and near sealed faults.The total desorbable gas content of the coal seams is mainly related to depth, gas composition and geological structure. At depths

The Permo-Triassic Gunnedah Basin has good potential for the discovery of commercial petroleum. Gas shows have been reported from the Porcupine-Watermark, Black Jack and Digby Formations, and from the basal sandstone of the Purlawaugh Formation in the overlying Surat Basin sequence. Gas flowed on drill stem test from the Porcupine-Watermark Formation in the Wilga Park No. 1 discovery well although the find was sub-commercial. An oil show was observed in Lower Permian volcanics, and oil staining has been observed in the Pilliga Sandstone in several wells. The origin of oil staining in the Pilliga Sandstone is unknown, however, and may have been the result of diesel contamination during drilling operations.Structural style within the basin sequence is characterised by north-south and north-north-west/south- south-east trending anticlines which formed in response to periodic compressive and left lateral strike-slip movements along the main Hunter Mooki Thrust Fault. These anticlines are attractive exploration targets.Westerly-derived quartz-rich sandstones occur at several stratigraphic levels within the Black Jack Formation and within the upper Digby Formation. Sandstones of the western bed-load fluvial system (lower Black Jack Formation) are most prospective with thick sections (up to 8 m) giving permeabilities from several hundred to several thousand millidarcies. Marine reworked easterly-derived sandstones up to 12 m thick in the Black Jack and Watermark Formations have minor reservoir potential with permeabilities in the order of tens of millidarcies. All potential reservoirs within the sequence are considered to be adequately sealed. Regionally extensive shaly units deposited either by marine incursion or lacustrine inundation overlie most reservoir horizons; remaining reservoirs are capped by intraformational shales.Organic petrology and geochemistry indicate the best potential source rocks within the Gunnedah Basin are floodplain, lacustrine and shallow marine facies of the Purlawaugh, Napperby, Watermark, Maules Creek and Goonbri Formations. The shallow marine Arkarula Sandstone Member within the Black Jack Formation also has significant potential for oil generation. Vitrinite reflectance, liptinite auto-fluorescence and TAI values indicate Lower Permian sediments are marginally mature to mature for oil generation. Combining the data on source quality and quantity with thermal maturity, the Permian sediments - in particular the Watermark Formation - have the best potential for generating oil.

Eucalyptus dealbata subsp. aperticola S.A.J.Bell & D.Nicolle, a new mallee red gum from Triassic aged sandstone benches in the northern part of Wollemi National Park north-west of Sydney, is described and illustrated, and notes on affinities, distribution, ecology and conservation status provided.

The offshore Sydney Basin is unique frontier acreage because it is adjacent to Australia's largest gas and petroleum market on the east coast of New South Wales. Although the onshore Sydney Basin has been tested by more than 100 petroleum exploration wells, no wells have been drilled offshore.New South Wales Permit NSW/P10 has an area of 9419 km2 and extends over the offshore northern and central Sydney Basin which contains Upper Carboniferous to Middle Triassic lithiclastic and siliciclastic sedimentary rocks and volcanics. Maximum depth to magnetic basement in NSW/P10 is greater that 9 km in the southern Macquarie Syncline and south of the New England Fold Belt at the continental margin. Recent seismic reprocessing and aeromagnetic surveying have focused the exploration effort on northern NSW/P10 where thick (greater than 1600 m) Upper Permian section containing source and reservoir facies is predicted. Other areas in the permit are less prospective because of widespread intrasedimentary magnetic bodies or the absence by erosion of Upper Permian and Triassic section.The Sydney Basin is an exhumed basin that reached its maximum depth of burial in the Early Cretaceous prior to basinwide uplift of 1.5-3.5 km during the Tasman Sea rifting. The magnitude and timing of the exhumation can be demonstrated with fluid inclusion, magnetisation, fission track and vitrinite reflectance data. The presence of commercial quantities of oil or gas in Upper Permian reservoirs depends on trap integrity having been maintained during the epeirogeny, or the re-migration of hydrocarbon into new traps.

The Clarence-Moreton Basin covers an area of some 28 000 km2 in north-eastern New South Wales and south-eastern Queensland. The basin is relatively unexplored, with a well density in New South Wales of one per 1600 km2. Since 1980, Endeavour Resources and its co-venturers have pursued an active exploration programme which has resulted in the recognition of significant petroleum potential in the New South Wales portion of the basin.Previous studies indicated that the Upper Triassic to Lower Cretaceous Clarence-Moreton Basin sequence in general, lacked suitable reservoirs and had poor source- rock potential. While exinite rich, oil-prone source rocks were recognised in the Middle Jurassic Walloon Coal Measures, they were considered immature for oil generation. Moreover, during the 1960's the basin acquired a reputation as an area where seismic records were of poor quality.These ideas are now challenged following the results of a new round of exploration which commenced in the New South Wales portion of the basin in 1980. This exploration has involved the acquisition of over 1000 km of multifold seismic data, the reprocessing of some 200 km of existing single fold data, and the drilling of one wildcat well. Over twenty large structural leads have been identified, involving trapping mechanisms ranging from simple drape to antithetic and synthetic fault blocks associated with normal and reverse fault dependent and independent closures.The primary exploration targets in the Clarence- Moreton Basin sequence are Lower Jurassic sediments comprising a thick, porous and permeable sandstone unit in the Bundamba Group, and channel and point-bar sands in the Marburg Formation. Source rocks in these and the underlying Triassic coal measures are gas-prone and lie at maturity levels compatible with gas generation. In contrast, it was established from the results of Shannon 1 that the Walloon Coal Measures are mature for oil generation and this maturity regime is now considered to be applicable to most of the basin in New South Wales.A consideration of reservoir and source rock distribution, together with structural trends across the basin in Petroleum Exploration Licences 258 and 259, has led to the identification of three prospective fairways, two of which involve shallow oil plays. Exploration of these fairways is currently the focus of an ongoing programme of further seismic data acquisition and drilling.

The study area is within PEP 11, which is more than 200 km in length, covers an area over 8,200 km2 and lies immediately offshore of Sydney, Australia’s largest gas and petroleum market on the east coast of New South Wales. Permit water depths range from 40 m to 200 m. While the onshore Sydney Basin has received episodic interest in petroleum exploration drilling, no deep exploration wells have been drilled offshore.A reappraisal of available data indicates the presence of suitable oil- and wet gas-prone source rocks of the Late Permian coal measure succession and gas-prone source rocks of the middle to early Permian marine outer shelf mudstone successions within PEP 11. Reservoir quality is an issue within the onshore Permian succession and, while adequate reservoir quality exists in the lower Triassic succession, this interval is inferred to be absent over much of PEP 11. Quartz-rich arenites of the Late Permian basal Sydney Subgroup are inferred to be present in the western part of PEP 11 and these may form suitable reservoirs. Seismic mapping indicates the presence of suitable structures for hydrocarbon accumulation within the Permian succession of PEP 11, but evidence points to significant structuring post-dating peak hydrocarbon generation. Uplift and erosion of the order of 4 km (based on onshore vitrinite reflectance studies and offshore seismic truncation geometries) is inferred to have taken place over the NE portion of the study area within PEP 11. Published burial history modelling indicates hydrocarbon generation from the Late Permian coal measures commenced by or before the mid-Triassic and terminated during a mid-Cretaceous compressional uplift prior to the opening of the Tasman Sea.Structural plays identified in the western and southwestern portion of PEP 11 are well positioned to contain Late Permian clean, quartz-rich, fluvial to nearshore marine reservoir facies of the coal measures. These were sourced from the western Tasman Fold Belt. The reservoir facies are also well positioned to receive hydrocarbons expelled from adjacent coal and carbonaceous mudstone source rock facies, but must rely on early trap integrity or re-migrated hydrocarbons and, being relatively shallow, have a risk of biodegradation. Structural closures along the main offshore uplift appear to have been stripped of the Late Permian coal measure succession and must rely on mid-Permian to Early Permian petroleum systems for hydrocarbon generation and accumulation.

Approximately 40 per cent of the 52,000 km2 Sydney Basin lies in shallow waters (less than 200 m) off the central New South Wales coast. Containing more than 5,000 m of Permo-Triassic marine and non-marine sediments, and having been the subject of several previous exploration campaigns, no wells have been drilled in the offshore despite widespread numerous occurrences of oil and gas onshore.The Sydney Basin, together with the Bowen and Gunnedah basins, form a major longitudinal Permo-Triassic basinal complex stretching 2,500 km down the eastern margin of Australia. Whereas the onset of this basinal development may have been extensional, reinterpretation of seismic and other geophysical data highlight the potential role played in the early development of the Sydney Basin by easterly directed compression. A compressional style is to be contrasted with the dominantly extensional style interpreted by others for the adjacent onshore areas. The most conspicuous structural element in the offshore, the Offshore Uplift, is interpreted to represent the western overthrust edge of the Currarong Orogen. Accepting the Panthalassan margin geometry of Veevers and Powell (1994) it follows that the Offshore Uplift and restored Dampier Ridge would have constituted a 'greater Currarong Orogen'. A series of progressive westerly directed thrust fronts may have been established across the Panthalassan margin, including the uplifted western margin of the Currarong Orogen, which over-rode and created a thrust load onto the eastern margin of the Lachlan Fold Belt. Much of the Early Permian development of the Sydney Basin therefore could have resulted as a consequence of foreland loading. This is consistent with depositional trends including the overall westerly directed marine transgression which dominated the sedimentary record of the Early Permian. Alternatively, this marine transgression may represent the sag phase induced along a segment of the Bowen-Sydney rift system that had been offset by the Hunter River Transverse Zone from the Gunnedah Basin to a site coincident with the Offshore Syncline.Previous interpretations identified structural development of the Currarong Orogen as either a Cretaceous (Tasman Sea rift related) or Middle to Late Permian phenomena. Early Permian structural growth of the offshore Uplift has important implications for petroleum exploration. The major impediment to exploration appears to be the perception that the Sydney Basin lacks suitable reservoir targets and is gas-prone. Potential source and seal sequences occur extensively within both Early Permian marine shales and siltstones and Early and Late Permian coal measure sequences. The emerging uplift provided a major sediment provenance area and represented a barrier behind which restricted anoxic conditions flourished, conditions favouring the preservation of organic matter. Late Permian and Triassic sequences are absent across the crestal portions of the uplift. However, the emerging, sea-ward facing flank of the uplift would have been subject to marginal and shallow marine, wave-base, barrier and strand bar deposition during the Lower Permian, conditions known in the onshore to favour better reservoir development.Gas demand to the greater Sydney region is anticipated to exceed supply by the year 2000, and new gas markets are being eagerly sought in time for the expiration, in 2006, of the current contract under which gas is supplied to Sydney via the Moomba pipeline.Cretaceous, Tasman Sea rift related, structuring is subordinate to that of the earlier compressional and wrench related structuring. Several new structural targets have been added to the existing inventory of prospects and leads, including some now considered optiminally located with respect to source rock and reservoir development.

The age of M. novemaculeata from the Hawkesbury River and other streams in the Sydney Basin, New South Wales, was determined by using otoliths. Annuli were counted after simple sectioning of otoliths and intensification of the growth-check pattern by a two-stage burning technique. Age determinations were validated by the use of fish of known age; an error of + 1 year occurred in 17% of determinations. Ages of older fish (14+ to 18+ years) were not overestimated by more than 2-4 years, if at all. Progression of year-classes, and the annual nature of growth-check formation, further validated age determinations. Scale-reading seriously underestimated the age of bass. M. novemaculeata is a long-lived species. The oldest fish was 22+ years, and the mean age of the sample (n = 607) was 4.9 years. There are significant differences in longevity between the sexes; fewer males reach the older age-groups. About 10% of juvenlle fish deposited a growth-check in their otoliths during their upstream recruitment migration. The frequency of this 'migration check' was increased to 20% by capture and relocation of juveniles to isolated waters. A procedure was designed to identify migration checks in wild fish.

Population declines and range contractions among Australian frogs that commenced in the early 1980s continue in some species that were once widespread. The generality of this pattern has been difficult to discern, especially for those species that are encountered rarely because they have restricted periods of calling activity with poorly defined habitat preferences, and are not common. Several lines of evidence indicate that Litoria littlejohni is such a species. This frog was once known from mid-eastern New South Wales to eastern Victoria, and evidence from wildlife atlas databases and targeted searches indicate that it has declined in large portions of its former range, leaving several populations that are isolated, in some cases restricted in distribution, and of small size. We investigated the relationships among populations using mitochondrial ND4 nucleotide sequences and single nucleotide polymorphisms (SNPs) from the nuclear genome. We found that northern and southern populations form two highly divergent genetic groups whose distributions abut at the southern margin of the Sydney Basin Bioregion and these genetic groups also show divergence in morphology and male advertisement calls. Here we describe the populations to the south of the Sydney Basin Bioregion as a new species and provide information on its distribution and ecology. In light of the apparent isolation and small size of known populations of the new species and the consequent restriction of the range of L. littlejohni, we assessed the conservation status of both species.

Stomach contents of Australian bass, M. novemaculeata, sampled from the Hawkesbury River and Georges River in the Sydney Basin, New South Wales, between November 1977 and January 1982 were analysed by the occurrence and points methods. Stomach fullness was also recorded. A total of 143 aquatic and terrestrial animal taxa were present in the diet, and these were grouped into 19 food types for analysis. M. novemaculeata is a euryphagic carnivore. Season and habitat type had significant effects on composition of the diet. Insects were the most important food type, followed by fish and large crustaceans. A large proportion of the diet of bass was derived from allochthonous sources, mainly during summer, and especially in lotic habitats. Mean stomach fullness was highest in spring and lowest in winter. Young M. novernaculeata (TL 11-47 mm) from the Hawkesbury River estuary fed on far fewer prey taxa (mainly chironomids and copepods) than did adults. Dietary overlap occurs between M. novemaculeata and many other carnivorous freshwater vertebrates in the Sydney Basin. However, persistent competitive clashes are generally avoided, either by differences in microhabitat preference and feeding behaviour or by larger-scale habitat partitioning.

The Hunter Fault System or "Lineament" separates the Permian and Triassic of Sydney Basin in New South Wales from the relatively complicated region to the north and east with exposed Carboniferous and older rocks and an increasing amount of identified Permian. David in his inimitable fashion grasped the essentials in 1907. He noted that the fold movements began towards the end of the Upper Permian with an important phase between the Upper Coal Measures and the Narrabeen Series. He also noted the main north-south component. The interest kindled by David was reflected in the work of Browne, Carey, Osborne, Raggatt, and Voisey. These workers established that the Carboniferous was affected by tectonic movement prior to the Permian and that the main ("orogenic") folding of the Permian/Triassic began with deposition of the Muree Formation and continued during the Upper Permian with overthrusting at the end of the Permian followed by strong rotational stress. This entire episode was called the Hunter-Bowen Movement by Carey and Browne in 1938. They also noted that the area of the subsequently developed Sydney Basin supplied sediment in the Carboniferous to the north and east. Raggatt, in his unpublished thesis of 1938 had already concluded that increasing compression led to upthrusting and eventually to torsion. Much of this seems to have been lost sight of in recent work. Current work confirms that the Permian/Triassic folding began with the Muree and that prior to this in the Permian a northwest to southeast graben was present to the south and west of the Hunter structure. Prior to the Permian the area of the Sydney Basin supplied detritus in the Carboniferous north and east of the Hunter structure apparently indicating a long-lived structure or lineament on which a reversal of movement took place.

Quarrying for aggregate material at Hornsby in New South Wales (Australia) exposed a >100 m-deep cross-section of the volcanic neck of a Jurassic diatreme, which extruded through the Sydney Basin deposits. The cross-section reveals volcanic features at many scales. Globally, there are very few instances of such excellent 3D exposure. It is arguable that this exposure alone makes it a geosite of international value. However, evaluation of the Hornsby Diatreme using a geoheritage toolkit shows that it meets various geoheritage conservation criteria, being a reference site, and an historically and culturally important site, as well as hosting important archival material. It has significant features at various scales: at the macroscale, where dish beds are visible on all quarry walls, preserving the structure formed during volcanic accretion and later caldera collapse; at the mesoscale, where breccia and surge layers are visible, providing insight into how magma interacted with various host rock types; and at the microscale, where lapilli, chilled margins on host rock blocks, and carbon-rich xenoliths are visible in hand specimens. As such, the Hornsby Quarry hosts a world-class array of volcanic features and preserves an important period of volcanic and post-volcanic history within the Sydney Basin, fostering geoeducation and geotourism.

The commercial production of coal seam gas (CSG) in Australia commenced in 1996. Since then its production has grown up significantly, particularly in the last five years, to become an integral part of the upstream gas industry in eastern Australia. The major growth in both CSG reserves and production has been in the Bowen and Surat basins in Queensland. Active exploration and appraisal programs with the first pilot operations were established in the Galilee Basin in 2008; however, an important reserve base has been built up in New South Wales in the Clarence-Moreton, Gloucester, Gunnedah and Sydney basins. There has been modest CSG production from the Sydney Basin for some years with commercial production expected to commence in the other three basins by or during 2010. Exploration for CSG has been undertaken in Victoria and Tasmania while programs are being developed in South Australia focussing on the Arckaringa Basin. Elsewhere in Australia planning is being undertaken for CSG exploration programs for the Pedirka Basin in the Northern Territory and the Perth Basin in Western Australia. CSG was being supplied into the eastern Australian natural gas market at 31 December 2008 at a rate of approximately 458 TJ per day (167 PJ per year). Queensland is currently producing 96.7% of this total. Approximately 88% of the natural gas used in Queensland is CSG. Currently, CSG accounts for nearly 25% of the eastern Australian natural gas market, estimated at 670 PJ per year. The production of CSG is now a mature activity that has achieved commercial acceptability, especially for coal seam derived gas from the Bowen and Surat basins. The recent proposals by a number of local CSG producers—in joint venture arrangements with major international groups—to produce liquefied natural gas (LNG) from CSG along with a number of merger and acquisition proposals, is testimony to the growing economic and commercial significance of the CSG sector. Should all of the proposed CSG based LNG projects eventuate, LNG output would be approximately 40 million tones per year. This will require raw CSG production to increase to approximately 2,600 PJ per year, resulting in a four fold increase from the present natural gas consumption in eastern Australia. The proved and probable (2P) reserves of CSG in eastern Australia at 31 December 2008 were 17,011 PJ or 60.2% of the total independently audited 2P natural gas reserves of 28,252 PJ. The Bowen and Surat basins with 16,120 PJ have the largest onshore gas reserves eastern Australia. In New South Wales, the 2P CSG reserves at the end of 2008 were 892 PJ, though this is expected to increase significantly over the next 12 months. Major upstream natural gas producers such as Origin Energy Limited and Santos Limited both hold over 50% of their Australian 2P gas reserves as CSG. The 1P reserves of CSG in eastern Australia at 31 December were reported as 4,197 PJ while the 3P reserves of CSG at the same date were 40,480 PJ. Most companies in the CSG sector are undertaking development work to upgrade their 3P reserves (and contingent resources) into the 2P category. The CSG resource in eastern Australia is very large. Companies with interests in CSG have reported in excess of 200,000 PJ as gas in place in the Bowen, Clarence-Moreton, Galilee, Gloucester, Gunnedah, Queensland Coastal, Surat and Sydney basins. The 2P reserves of CSG are expected to exceed 20,000 PJ by the end of 2009. A significant part of the expected large increase in 2P reserves of gas initially will be dedicated to the proposed LNG projects being considered for Gladstone. The major issues confronting the CSG industry and its rapid growth are concerned with land access, overlapping tenure (particularly in Queensland with underground coal gasification) the management and beneficial use of co-product formation water and gas production ramp up factors associated with the proposed LNG projects.

Large sedimentary basins with multiple aquifer systems like the Great Artesian Basin and the Beetaloo Sub-Basin are associated with large time and spatial scales for regional groundwater flow and mixing effects from inter-aquifer exchange. This makes them difficult to study using traditional hydrogeological investigation techniques. In continental onshore Australia, such sedimentary aquifer systems can also be important freshwater resources. These resources have become increasingly stressed because of growing demand and use of groundwater by multiple industries (e.g. stock, irrigation, mining, oil and gas). The social licence to operate for extractive oil and gas industries increasingly requires robust and reliable scientific evidence on the degree to which the target formations are vertically and laterally hydraulically separated from the aquifers supplying fresh water for stock and agricultural use. The complexity of such groundwater interactions can only be interpreted by applying multiple lines of evidence including environmental isotopes, hydrochemistry, hydrogeological and geophysical observations. We present an overview of multi-tracer studies from coal seam gas areas (Queensland and New South Wales) or areas targeted for shale gas development (Northern Territory). The focus was to investigate recharge to surficial karst and deep confined aquifer systems before industrial extraction on time scales of decades up to one million years and aquifer inter-connectivity at the formation scale. A systematic and consistent methodology is applied for the different case study areas aimed at building robust conceptual hydrogeological models that inform groundwater management and groundwater modelling. The tracer studies provided (i) in all areas increased confidence around recharge estimates, (ii) evidence for a dual-porosity flow system in the Hutton Sandstone (Queensland) and (iii) new insights into the connectivity, or lack thereof, of flow systems.

The study compares the effects of biosolids compost (BC) and inorganic fertiliser (IF) on the nutrient status of a clay loam at Rydalmere in Western Sydney, and an earthy sand at Somersby, 85 km north of Sydney. The soils represent the textural range used for vegetable production in the Sydney Basin of New South Wales. The soils had been under permanent sod (Rydalmere) or native vegetation (Somersby) for at 40 years prior to the experiment. There were 3 treatments during February 1994: IF, fallow (F), and BC. The same plots were treated again during September 1994 to give the combinations: IF followed by IF (IF + IF); F by BC (F + BC); BC by BC (BC + BC). The 4 replicates of each treatment were randomised in blocks. Treatments were incorporated into raised beds to a depth of 15 cm and vegetables were planted in March and again in October 1994. The total amounts of C and N initially present in the soil in the beds (0-15 cm) at Rydalmere were at least 3 times greater than at Somersby and the ratio was greater for S, P, Ca, Mg, K, and Na. By April 1995, the quantities of the 8 monitored nutrients had decreased at both sites for the IF + IF treatment; increased at Somersby, but not at Rydalmere for F + BC; and increased at both sites for the BC + BC treatment. The changes caused by the BC + BC treatment were greater in relative terms at Somersby, because of the initial difference in fertility between the 2 soils. For example, the C and N content increased by an approximate factor of 2 at Somersby, and by greater factors for the other elements. BC + BC was also the only treatment to increase other indices of fertility, such as effective cation exchange capacity (ECEC) and Bray-P, in the surface 15 cm. The treatments did not affect pH in the soil profile (0-50 cm) and increases in EC were ephemeral. The nutrient composition of the 20-30 cm zone was affected at both sites. By the end of the experiment the concentration of C, N, P, Ca, and Bray-P increased and Mg decreased. For C and N between-treatment differences were small, indicating that the observed effects were mostly caused by leaching of the products of mineralisation of soil organic matter. Treatment effects were larger for P, Ca, Mg, and Bray-P, and the final concentrations for the F + BC and BC + BC treatments exceeded those for the IF + IF treatment. At Somersby, both BC treatments increased ECEC, consistent with the importance of leaching as a process of nutrient loss at this site. Consequently, intensive vegetable cropping may pose serious environmental risks particularly on sandy sites.

Abstract Recurrent dust storms represent a significant concern in Australia because of their related hazards and damages since particulate matter (PM) has harmful impacts on the environmental, health and economic sectors. The particulate matter may be released from natural sources and human activities. The major part of natural particulate matter is emitted into the air by wind erosion processes from desert and semi-desert areas at the world scale. A huge dust storm crossed over several areas of New South Wales (NSW), Australia, including the Sydney region on 21–22 November 2018 and decreased the horizontal visibility to less than 1 km for 22 h. This study examined the synoptic weather conditions, and assessed the air quality and identified the source and transport trajectory of the dust storm over Sydney using ground and satellite remote sensing data. PM10 (< 10 μm) concentrations were obtained from selected air quality monitoring sites operated by the Environmental Protection Agency in NSW. The highest hourly concentration of PM10 (578.7 μg/m3) was recorded at Singleton in the Hunter Valley, while concentrations in Sydney ranged from 480 to 385 μg/m3, well above the standard air quality level in Australia (50 μg/m3 per 24 h). The HYSPLIT back trajectories of air parcels suggest that the potential sources of the dust episode originated from the Lake Eyre Basin and northeast South Australia, the Mundi Mundi plains west of Broken Hill, Cobar and the grazing lands and the red sandplains in northwestern NSW. It then travelled towards the east coast. These long-range airflows transported suspended dust particles, raising air quality to hazardous levels (elevated PM10 levels) over most areas of NSW. The results from the HYSPLIT model for dust movement are confirmed by MODIS satellite images. Many areas of NSW experienced this intense dust storm due to northwest wind generated by the low-pressure systems and cold fronts over South Australia and many parts of western NSW as it moved eastward.

New U-Pb isotopic analyses of detrital zircon grains from Namurian and Westphalian sandstones in the central and south parts of the Pennine Basin are combined with published analyses from the same region, to assess existing views on the nature and location of the source areas that supplied the clastic sediment. The study confirms that most sandstones were derived from distant areas to the north, west and south, and that a local source, in the Wales-Brabant High, also supplied sediment at times. The northern sources are thought to lie mainly in Laurentia (East Greenland), with some input from Baltica (Norway). Most sandstones entering from the west are thought to have been supplied from areas of Avalonian basement, with some components recycled from sediments that were themselves derived from the Caledonian belt that lay to the north. An exception is the Clifton Rock: its source is thought to lie entirely in the Irish Caledonides or in southern Scotland. Sandstones supplied from the south contain significant numbers of late Devonian and Carboniferous grains, indicating the inclusion of material eroded from the active Variscan orogenic belt in Europe. Northern provenance prevailed during Namurian and early Langsettian times, then alternated with western supply until the late Langsettian. Western input then dominated through most of Duckmantian times, until superseded in the late Duckmantian by supply from the Variscan orogen. The Woolley Edge Rock, now shown to be an isolated member of the northern group, entered the area just before the earliest sandstone of Variscan origin.Supplementary material:https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.c.5174702

IntroductionMusicians and critics regard Australian jazz as vibrant and creative (Shand; Chessher; Rechniewski). From its tentative beginnings in the early twentieth century (Whiteoak), jazz has become a major aspect of Australia’s music and performance. Due to the large distances separating cities and towns, its development has been influenced by geographical isolation (Nikolsky; Chessher; Clare; Johnson; Stevens; McGuiness). While major cities have been the central hubs, it is increasingly acknowledged that regional centres also provide avenues for jazz performance (Curtis).This article discusses findings relating to transient musical populations shaped by geographical conditions, venue issues that are peculiar to the Northern region, and finally the challenges of cultural and parochial mindsets that North Queensland jazz musicians encounter in performance.Cairns and MackayCairns and Mackay are regional centres on the coast of Queensland, Australia. Cairns – population 156,901 in 2016 (ABS) – is a world famous tourist destination situated on the doorstep of the Great Barrier Reef (Thorp). Mackay – population 114,969 in 2016 (ABS) – is a lesser-known community with an economy largely underpinned by the sugar cane and coal mining industries (Rolfe et al. 138). Both communities lie North of the capital city Brisbane – Mackay in the heart of Central Queensland, and Cairns as the unofficial capital of Far North Queensland. Mackay and Cairns were selected for this study, not on representational grounds, but because they provide an opportunity to learn through case studies. Stake notes that “potential for learning is a different and sometimes superior criterion to representativeness,” adding, “that may mean taking the one most accessible or the one we can spend the most time with (451).”Musically, both regional centres have a number of venues that promote live music, however, only Cairns has a dedicated jazz club, the Cairns Jazz Club (CJC). Each has a community convention centre that brings high-calibre touring musicians to the region, including jazz musicians.Mackay is home to the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music (CQCM) a part of the Central Queensland University that has offered conservatoire-style degree programs in jazz, contemporary music and theatre for over twenty-five years. Cairns does not have any providers of tertiary jazz qualifications.MethodologySemi-structured in-depth interviews were conducted with twenty-two significant individuals associated with the jazz communities in Mackay and Cairns over a twelve-month period from 2015 to 2016. Twelve of the interviewees were living in Cairns at the time, and ten were living in Mackay. The selection of interviewees was influenced by personal knowledge of key individuals, historical records located at the CQCM, and from a study by (Mitchell), who identified important figures in the Cairns jazz scene. The study participants included members of professional jazz ensembles, dedicated jazz audience members and jazz educators. None of the participants who were interviewed relied solely on the performance of jazz as their main occupation. All of the musicians combined teaching duties with music-making in several genres including rock, jazz, Latin and funk, as well as work in the recording and producing of recorded music. Combining the performance of jazz and commercial musical styles is a common and often crucial part of being a musician in a regional centre due to the low demand for any one specific genre (Luckman et al. 630). The interview data that was gathered during the study’s data collection phase was analysed for themes using the grounded theory research method (Charmaz). The following sections will discuss three areas of findings relating to some of the unique North Queensland influences that have impacted the development and sustainability of the two regional jazz communities.Transient Musical PopulationsThe prospect of living in North Queensland is an alluring proposition for many people. According to the participants in this study, the combination of work and a tropical lifestyle attracts people from all over the country to Cairns and Mackay, but this influx is matched by a high population turnover. Many musicians who move into the region soon move away again. High population turnover is a characteristic of several Northern regional centres such as the city of Darwin (Luckman, Gibson and Lea 12). The high growth and high population turnover in Cairns, in particular, was one of the highest in the country between 2006 and 2011 (ABS). The study participants in both regions believed that the transient nature of the local population is detrimental to the development and sustainability of the jazz communities. One participant described the situation in Cairns this way: “The tropics sort of lure them up there, tease them with all of the beauty and nature, and then spit them out when they realise it’s not what they imagined (interviewee 1, 24 Aug. 2016).” Looking more broadly to other coastal regional areas of Australia, there is evidence of the counter-urban flow of professionals and artists seeking out a region’s “natural and cultural environment” (Gibson 339). On the far North coast of New South Wales, Gibson examined how the climate, natural surroundings and cultural charms attracted city dwellers to that region (337). Similarly, most of the participants in this study mentioned lifestyle choices such as raising a family and living in the tropics as reasons to move to Cairns or Mackay. The prospect of working in the tourism and hospitality industry was found to be another common reason for musicians to move to Cairns in particular. In contrast to some studies (Salazar; Conradson and Latham) where it was found that the middle- to upper-classes formed the majority of lifestyle migrants, the migrating musicians identified by this study were mostly low-income earners seeking a combination of music work and other types of employment outside the music industry. There have been studies that have explored and critically reviewed the theoretical frameworks behind lifestyle migration (Benson and Osbaldiston) including the examination of issues and the motivation to ‘lifestyle migrate’. What is interesting in this current study is the focus of discussion on the post-migration effects. Study participants believe that most of the musicians who move into their region leave soon afterwards because of their disillusionment with the local music industry. Despite the lure of musical jobs through the tourism and hospitality industry, local musicians in Cairns tend to believe there is less work than imagined. Pub rock duos and DJs have taken most of the performance opportunities, which makes it hard for new musicians to compete.The study also reveals that Cairns jazz musicians consider it more difficult to find and collaborate with quality newcomers. This may be attributed to the smaller jazz communities’ demand for players of specific instruments. One participant explained, “There’s another bass player that just moved here, but he only plays by ear, so when people want to play charts and new songs, he can’t do it so it's hard finding the right guys up here at times (interviewee 2, 23 Aug. 2016).” Cairns and Mackay participants agreed that the difficulty of finding and retaining quality musicians in the region impacted on the ability of certain groups to be sustainable. One participant added, “It’s such a small pool of musicians, at the moment, I've got a new project ready to go and I've got two percussionists, but I need a bass player, but there is no bass player that I'm willing to work with (interviewee 3, 24 Aug. 2016).” The same participant has been fortunate over the years, performing with a different local group whose members have permanently stayed in the Cairns region, however, forging new musical pathways and new groups seemed challenging due to the lack of musical skills in some of the potential musicians.In Mackay, the study revealed a smaller influx of new musicians to the region, and study participants experienced the same difficulties forming groups and retaining members as their Cairns counterparts. One participant, who found it difficult to run a Big Band as well as a smaller jazz ensemble because of the transient population, claimed that many local musicians were lured to metropolitan centres for university or work.Study participants in both Northern centres appeared to have developed a tolerance and adaptability for their regional challenges. While this article does not aim to suggest a solution to the issues they described, one interesting finding that emerged in both Cairns and Mackay was the musicians’ ability to minimise some of the effects of the transient population. Some musicians found that it was more manageable to sustain a band by forming smaller groups such as duos, trios and quartets. An example was observed in Mackay, where one participant’s Big Band was a standard seventeen-piece group. The loss of players was a constant source of anxiety for the performers. Changing to a smaller ensemble produced a sense of sustainability that satisfied the group. In Cairns, one participant found that if the core musicians in the group (bass, drums and vocals) were permanent local residents, they could manage to use musicians passing through the region, which had minimal impact on the running of the group. For example, the Latin band will have different horn players sit in from time to time. When those performers leave, the impact on the group is minimal because the rhythm section is comprised of long-term Cairns residents.Venue Conditions Heat UpAt the Cape York Hotel in Cairns, musicians and audience members claimed that it was uncomfortable to perform or attend Sunday afternoon jazz gigs during the Cairns summer due to the high temperatures and non air-conditioned venues. This impact of the physical environment on the service process in a venue was first modelled and coined the ‘Servicescape’ by Bitner (57). The framework, which includes physical dimensions like temperature, noise, space/function and signage, has also been further investigated in other literature (Minor et al.; Kubacki; Turley and Fugate). This model is relevant to this study because it clearly affects the musician’s ability to perform music in the Northern climate and attract audiences. One of the regular musicians at the Cape York Hotel commented: So you’re thinking, ‘Well, I’m starting to create something here, people are starting to show up’, but then you see it just dwindling away and then you get two or three weeks of hideously hot weather, and then like last Sunday, by the time I went on in the first set, my shirt was sticking to me like tissue paper… I set up a gig, a three-hour gig with my trio, and if it’s air conditioned you’re likely to get people but if it’s like the Cape York, which is not air conditioned, and you’re out in the beer garden with a tin roof over the top with big fans, it’s hideous‘. (Interviewee 4, 24 Aug. 2016)The availability of venues that offer live jazz is limited in both regions. The issue was twofold: firstly, the limited availability of a larger venue to cater for the ensembles was deemed problematic; and secondly, the venue manager needed to pay for the services of the club, which contributed to its running costs. In Cairns, the Cape York Hotel has provided the local CJC with an outdoor beer garden as a venue for their regular Sunday performances since 2015. The president of the CJC commented on the struggle for the club to find a suitable venue for their musicians and patrons. The club has had residencies in multiple venues over the last thirty years with varying success. It appears that the club has had to endure these conditions in order to provide their musicians and audiences an outlet for jazz performance. This dedication to their art form and sense of resilience appears to be a regular theme for these Northern jazz musicians.Minor et al. (7) recommended that live music organisers needed to consider offering different physical environments for different events (7). For example, a venue that caters for a swing band might include a dance floor for potential dancers or if a venue catered for a sit down jazz show, the venue might like to choose the best acoustic environment to best support the sound of the ensemble. The research showed that customers have different reasons for attending events, and in relation to the Cape York Hotel, the majority of the customers were the CJC members who simply wanted to enjoy their jazz club performances in an air conditioned environment with optimal acoustics as the priority. Although not ideal, the majority of the CJC members still attended during the summer months and endured the high temperatures due to a lack of venue suitability.Parochial MindsetsOne of the challenging issues faced by many of the participants in both regions was the perceived cultural divide between jazz aficionados and general patrons at many venues. While larger centres in Australia have enjoyed an international reputation as creative hubs for jazz such as Melbourne and Sydney (Shand), the majority of participants in this study believed that a significant portion of the general public is quite parochial in their views on various musical styles including jazz. Coined the ‘bogan factor’, one participant explained, “I call it the bogan factor. Do you think that's an academic term? It is now” (interviewee 5, 17 Feb. 2016). They also commented on dominant cultural choices of residents in these regions: “It's North Queensland, it's a sport orientated, 4WD dominated place. Culturally they are the main things that people are attracted to” (interviewee 5, 17 Feb. 2016). These cultural preferences appear to affect the performance opportunities for the participants in Cairns and Mackay.Waitt and Gibson explored how the Wollongong region was chosen as an area for investigation to see if city size mattered for creativity and creativity-led regeneration (1224). With the ‘Creative Class’ framework in mind (Florida), the researchers found that Wollongong’s primarily blue-collar industrial identity was a complex mixture of cultural pursuits including the arts, sport and working class ideals (Waitt and Gibson 1241). This finding is consistent with the comments of study participants from Cairns and Mackay who believed that the identities of their regions were strongly influenced by sport and industries like mining and farming. One Mackay participant added, “I think our culture, in itself, would need to change to turn more people to jazz. I can’t see that happening. That’s Australia. You’re fighting against 200 years of sport” (interviewee 6, 12 Feb. 2016). Performing in Mackay or Cairns in venues that attract various demographics can make it difficult for musicians playing jazz. A Cairns participant added, “As Ingrid James once told me, ‘It's North Queensland, you’ve got an audience of tradesman, they don't get it’. It's silly to think it's going to ever change” (interviewee 7, 26 Aug. 2016). One Mackay participant believed that the lack of appreciation for jazz in regional areas was largely due to a lack of exposure to the art form. Most people grow up listening to other styles of music in their households.Another participant made the point that regardless of the region’s cultural and leisure-time preferences, if a jazz band is playing in a football club, you must expect it to be unpopular. Many of the research participants emphasised that playing in a suitable venue is paramount for developing a consistent and attentive audience. Choosing a venue that values and promotes the style of jazz music that the musicians are performing could help to attract more jazz fans and therefore build a sustainable jazz community.Refreshingly, this study revealed that musicians in both regions showed considerable resilience in dealing with the issue of parochial mindsets, and they have implemented methods to help educate their audiences. The audience plays a significant part in the development and future of a jazz community (Becker; Martin). For the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music in Mackay, part of the ethos of the institution is to provide music performance and educational opportunities to the region. One of the lecturers who made a significant contribution to the design of the ensemble program had a clear vision to combine jazz and popular music styles in order to connect with a regional audience. He explained, “The popular music strand of the jazz program and what we called the commercial ensembles was very much birthed out of that concept of creating a connection with the community and making us more accessible in the shortest amount of time, which then enabled us to expose people to jazz” (interviewee 8, 20 Mar. 2016).In a similar vein, several Cairns musicians commented on how they engaged with their audiences through education. Some musicians attempted to converse with the patrons on the comparative elements of jazz and non-jazz styles, which helped to instil some appreciation in patrons with little jazz knowledge. One participant cited that although not all patrons were interested in an education at a pub, some became regular attendees and showed greater appreciation for the different jazz styles. These findings align with other studies (Radbourne and Arthurs; Kubacki; Kubacki et al.), who found that audiences tend to return to arts organizations or events more regularly if they feel connected to the experience (Kubacki et al. 409).ConclusionThe Cairns and Mackay jazz musicians who were interviewed in this study revealed some innovative approaches for sustaining their art form in North Queensland. The participants discussed creative solutions for minimising the influence of a transient musician population as well as overcoming some of the parochial mindsets in the community through education. The North Queensland summer months proved to be a struggle for musicians and audience members alike in Cairns in particular, but resilience and commitment to the music and the social network of jazz performers seemed to override this obstacle. Although this article presents just a subset of the findings from a study of the development and sustainability of the jazz communities in Mackay and Cairns, it opens the way for further investigation into the unique issues faced. Deeper understanding of these issues could contribute to the ongoing development and sustainability of jazz communities in regional Australia.ReferencesAustralian Bureau of Statistics. "Mackay (Statistical Area 2), Cairns (R) (Statistical Local Area), Census 2016." Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics.———. "Perspectives on Regional Australia: Population Growth and Turnover in Local Government Areas (Lgas), 2006-2011." Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics.Becker, H. Art Worlds. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1982.Benson, Michaela, and Nick Osbaldiston. "Toward a Critical Sociology of Lifestyle Migration: Reconceptualizing Migration and the Search for a Better Way of Life." The Sociological Review 64.3 (2016): 407-23.Bitner, Mary Jo. "Servicescapes: The Impact of Physical Surroundings on Customers and Employees." The Journal of Marketing (1992): 57-71. Charmaz, K. Constructing Grounded Theory. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks, California: Sage, 2014. Chessher, A. "Australian Jazz Musician-Educators: An Exploration of Experts' Approaches to Teaching Jazz." Sydney: University of Sydney, 2009. Clare, J. Bodgie Dada and the Cult of Cool: Jazz in Australia since the 1940s. Sydney: University of New South Wales Press, 1995. Conradson, David, and Alan Latham. "Transnational Urbanism: Attending to Everyday Practices and Mobilities." Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 31.2 (2005): 227-33. Curtis, Rebecca Anne. "Australia's Capital of Jazz? The (Re)creation of Place, Music and Community at the Wangaratta Jazz Festival." Australian Geographer 41.1 (2010): 101-16. Florida, Richard. The Rise of the Creative Class: And How It’s Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. Melbourne, Victoria: Pluto Press Australia, 2003. Gibson, Chris. "Migration, Music and Social Relations on the NSW Far North Coast." Transformations 2 (2002): 1-15. ———. "Rural Transformation and Cultural Industries: Popular Music on the New South Wales Far North Coast." Australian Geographical Studies 40.3 (2002): 337-56. Johnson, Bruce. The Inaudible Music: Jazz, Gender and Australian Modernity. Strawberry Hills, NSW: Currency Press, 2000. Kubacki, Krzysztof. "Jazz Musicians: Creating Service Experience in Live Performance." International Journal of Contemporary Hospitality Management 20.4 (2008): 401- 13. ———, et al. "Comparing Nightclub Customers’ Preferences in Existing and Emerging Markets." International Journal of Hospitality Management 26.4 (2007): 957-73. Luckman, S., et al. "Life in a Northern (Australian) Town: Darwin's Mercurial Music Scene." Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 22.5 (2008): 623-37. ———, Chris Gibson, and Tess Lea. "Mosquitoes in the Mix: How Transferable Is Creative City Thinking?" Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 30.1 (2009): 70-85. Martin, Peter J. "The Jazz Community as an Art World: A Sociological Perspective." Jazz Research Journal 2.1 (2005): 5-13. McGuiness, Lucian. "A Case for Ethnographic Enquiry in Australian Jazz." Sydney: University of Sydney, 2010.Minor, Michael S., et al. "Rock On! An Elementary Model of Customer Satisfaction with Musical Performances." Journal of Services Marketing 18.1 (2004): 7-18. Mitchell, A. "Jazz on the Far North Queensland Resort Circuit: A Musician's Perspective." Proceedings of the History & Future of Jazz in the Asia-Pacific Region. Eds. P. Hayward and G. Hodges. Vol. 1. Hamilton Island, Australia: Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, 2004. Nikolsky, T. "The Development of the Australian Jazz Real Book." Melbourne: RMIT University, 2012. Radbourne, Jennifer, and Andy Arthurs. "Adapting Musicology for Commercial Outcomes." 9th International Conference on Arts and Cultural Management (AIMAC 2007), 2007.Rechniewski, Peter. The Permanent Underground: Australian Contemporary Jazz in the New Millennium. Platform Papers 16. Redfern, NSW: Currency House, 2008. Rolfe, John, et al. "Lessons from the Social and Economic Impacts of the Mining Boom in the Bowen Basin 2004-2006." Australasian Journal of Regional Studies 13.2 (2007): 134-53. Salazar, Noel B. "Migrating Imaginaries of a Better Life … until Paradise Finds You." Understanding Lifestyle Migration. Springer, 2014. 119-38. Shand, J. Jazz: The Australian Accent. Sydney: UNSW Press, 2009.Stake, Robert E. "Qualitative Case Studies." The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research. Eds. Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln. 3rd ed. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2005. 443-66. Stevens, Timothy. "The Red Onion Jazz Band at the 1963 Australian Jazz Convention." Musicology Australia 24.1 (2001): 35-61. Thorp, Justine. "Tourism in Cairns: Image and Product." Journal of Australian Studies 31.91 (2007): 107-13. Turley, L., and D. Fugate. "The Multidimensional Nature of Service Facilities." Journal of Services Marketing 6.3 (1992): 37-45. Waitt, G., and C. Gibson. "Creative Small Cities: Rethinking the Creative Economy in Place." Urban Studies 46.5-6 (2009): 1223-46. Whiteoak, J. "'Jazzing’ and Australia's First Jazz Band." Popular Music 13.3 (1994): 279-95.

Unconventional energy sources have become increasingly important to the global energy mix. These include coal seam gas, shale gas and shale oil. The unconventional gas industry was pioneered in the United States and embraced following the first oil shock in 1973 (Rogers). As has been the case with many global resources (Hiscock), many of the same companies that worked in the USA carried their experience in this industry to early Australian explorations. Recently the USA has secured significant energy security with the development of unconventional energy deposits such as the Marcellus shale gas and the Bakken shale oil (Dobb; McGraw). But this has not come without environmental impact, including contamination to underground water supply (Osborn, Vengosh, Warner, Jackson) and potential greenhouse gas contributions (Howarth, Santoro, Ingraffea; McKenna). The environmental impact of unconventional gas extraction has raised serious public concern about the introduction and growth of the industry in Australia. In coal rich Australia coal seam gas is currently the major source of unconventional gas. Large gas deposits have been found in prime agricultural land along eastern Australia, such as the Liverpool Plains in New South Wales and the Darling Downs in Queensland. Competing land-uses and a series of environmental incidents from the coal seam gas industry have warranted major protest from a coalition of environmentalists and farmers (Berry; McLeish). Conflict between energy companies wanting development and environmentalists warning precaution is an easy script to cast for frontline media coverage. But historical perspectives are often missing in these contemporary debates. While coal mining and natural gas have often received “boosting” historical coverage (Diamond; Wilkinson), and although historical themes of “development” and “rushes” remain predominant when observing the span of the industry (AGA; Blainey), the history of unconventional gas, particularly the history of its environmental impact, has been little studied. Few people are aware, for example, that the first shale gas exploratory well was completed in late 2010 in the Cooper Basin in Central Australia (Molan) and is considered as a “new” frontier in Australian unconventional gas. Moreover many people are unaware that the first coal seam gas wells were completed in 1976 in Queensland. The first four wells offer an important moment for reflection in light of the industry’s recent move into Central Australia. By locating and analysing the first four coal seam gas wells, this essay identifies the roots of the unconventional gas industry in Australia and explores the early environmental impact of these wells. By analysing exploration reports that have been placed online by the Queensland Department of Natural Resources and Mines through the lens of environmental history, the dominant developmental narrative of this industry can also be scrutinised. These narratives often place more significance on economic and national benefits while displacing the environmental and social impacts of the industry (Connor, Higginbotham, Freeman, Albrecht; Duus; McEachern; Trigger). This essay therefore seeks to bring an environmental insight into early unconventional gas mining in Australia. As the author, I am concerned that nearly four decades on and it seems that no one has heeded the warning gleaned from these early wells and early exploration reports, as gas exploration in Australia continues under little scrutiny. Arrival The first four unconventional gas wells in Australia appear at the beginning of the industry world-wide (Schraufnagel, McBane, and Kuuskraa; McClanahan). The wells were explored by Houston Oils and Minerals—a company that entered the Australian mining scene by sharing a mining prospect with International Australian Energy Company (Wiltshire). The International Australian Energy Company was owned by Black Giant Oil Company in the US, which in turn was owned by International Royalty and Oil Company also based in the US. The Texan oilman Robert Kanton held a sixteen percent share in the latter. Kanton had an idea that the Mimosa Syncline in the south-eastern Bowen Basin was a gas trap waiting to be exploited. To test the theory he needed capital. Kanton presented the idea to Houston Oil and Minerals which had the financial backing to take the risk. Shotover No. 1 was drilled by Houston Oil and Minerals thirty miles south-east of the coal mining town of Blackwater. By late August 1975 it was drilled to 2,717 metres, discovered to have little gas, spudded, and, after a spend of $610,000, abandoned. The data from the Shotover well showed that the porosity of the rocks in the area was not a trap, and the Mimosa Syncline was therefore downgraded as a possible hydrocarbon location. There was, however, a small amount of gas found in the coal seams (Benbow 16). The well had passed through the huge coal seams of both the Bowen and Surat basins—important basins for the future of both the coal and gas industries. Mining Concepts In 1975, while Houston Oil and Minerals was drilling the Shotover well, US Steel and the US Bureau of Mines used hydraulic fracture, a technique already used in the petroleum industry, to drill vertical surface wells to drain gas from a coal seam (Methane Drainage Taskforce 102). They were able to remove gas from the coal seam before it was mined and sold enough to make a profit. With the well data from the Shotover well in Australia compiled, Houston returned to the US to research the possibility of harvesting methane in Australia. As the company saw it, methane drainage was “a novel exploitation concept” and the methane in the Bowen Basin was an “enormous hydrocarbon resource” (Wiltshire 7). The Shotover well passed through a section of the German Creek Coal measures and this became their next target. In September 1976 the Shotover well was re-opened and plugged at 1499 meters to become Australia’s first exploratory unconventional gas well. By the end of the month the rig was released and gas production tested. At one point an employee on the drilling operation observed a gas flame “the size of a 44 gal drum” (HOMA, “Shotover # 1” 9). But apart from the brief show, no gas flowed. And yet, Houston Oil and Minerals was not deterred, as they had already taken out other leases for further prospecting (Wiltshire 4). Only a week after the Shotover well had failed, Houston moved the methane search south-east to an area five miles north of the Moura township. Houston Oil and Minerals had researched the coal exploration seismic surveys of the area that were conducted in 1969, 1972, and 1973 to choose the location. Over the next two months in late 1976, two new wells—Kinma No.1 and Carra No.1—were drilled within a mile from each other and completed as gas wells. Houston Oil and Minerals also purchased the old oil exploration well Moura No. 1 from the Queensland Government and completed it as a suspended gas well. The company must have mined the Department of Mines archive to find Moura No.1, as the previous exploration report from 1969 noted methane given off from the coal seams (Sell). By December 1976 Houston Oil and Minerals had three gas wells in the vicinity of each other and by early 1977 testing had occurred. The results were disappointing with minimal gas flow at Kinma and Carra, but Moura showed a little more promise. Here, the drillers were able to convert their Fairbanks-Morse engine driving the pump from an engine run on LPG to one run on methane produced from the well (Porter, “Moura # 1”). Drink This? Although there was not much gas to find in the test production phase, there was a lot of water. The exploration reports produced by the company are incomplete (indeed no report was available for the Shotover well), but the information available shows that a large amount of water was extracted before gas started to flow (Porter, “Carra # 1”; Porter, “Moura # 1”; Porter, “Kinma # 1”). As Porter’s reports outline, prior to gas flowing, the water produced at Carra, Kinma and Moura totalled 37,600 litres, 11,900 and 2,900 respectively. It should be noted that the method used to test the amount of water was not continuous and these amounts were not the full amount of water produced; also, upon gas coming to the surface some of the wells continued to produce water. In short, before any gas flowed at the first unconventional gas wells in Australia at least 50,000 litres of water were taken from underground. Results show that the water was not ready to drink (Mathers, “Moura # 1”; Mathers, “Appendix 1”; HOMA, “Miscellaneous Pages” 21-24). The water had total dissolved solids (minerals) well over the average set by the authorities (WHO; Apps Laboratories; NHMRC; QDAFF). The well at Kinma recorded the highest levels, almost two and a half times the unacceptable standard. On average the water from the Moura well was of reasonable standard, possibly because some water was extracted from the well when it was originally sunk in 1969; but the water from Kinma and Carra was very poor quality, not good enough for crops, stock or to be let run into creeks. The biggest issue was the sodium concentration; all wells had very high salt levels. Kinma and Carra were four and two times the maximum standard respectively. In short, there was a substantial amount of poor quality water produced from drilling and testing the three wells. Fracking Australia Hydraulic fracturing is an artificial process that can encourage more gas to flow to the surface (McGraw; Fischetti; Senate). Prior to the testing phase at the Moura field, well data was sent to the Chemical Research and Development Department at Halliburton in Oklahoma, to examine the ability to fracture the coal and shale in the Australian wells. Halliburton was the founding father of hydraulic fracture. In Oklahoma on 17 March 1949, operating under an exclusive license from Standard Oil, this company conducted the first ever hydraulic fracture of an oil well (Montgomery and Smith). To come up with a program of hydraulic fracturing for the Australian field, Halliburton went back to the laboratory. They bonded together small slabs of coal and shale similar to Australian samples, drilled one-inch holes into the sample, then pressurised the holes and completed a “hydro-frac” in miniature. “These samples were difficult to prepare,” they wrote in their report to Houston Oil and Minerals (HOMA, “Miscellaneous Pages” 10). Their program for fracturing was informed by a field of science that had been evolving since the first hydraulic fracture but had rapidly progressed since the first oil shock. Halliburton’s laboratory test had confirmed that the model of Perkins and Kern developed for widths of hydraulic fracture—in an article that defined the field—should also apply to Australian coals (Perkins and Kern). By late January 1977 Halliburton had issued Houston Oil and Minerals with a program of hydraulic fracture to use on the central Queensland wells. On the final page of their report they warned: “There are many unknowns in a vertical fracture design procedure” (HOMA, “Miscellaneous Pages” 17). In July 1977, Moura No. 1 became the first coal seam gas well hydraulically fractured in Australia. The exploration report states: “During July 1977 the well was killed with 1% KCL solution and the tubing and packer were pulled from the well … and pumping commenced” (Porter 2-3). The use of the word “kill” is interesting—potassium chloride (KCl) is the third and final drug administered in the lethal injection of humans on death row in the USA. Potassium chloride was used to minimise the effect on parts of the coal seam that were water-sensitive and was the recommended solution prior to adding other chemicals (Montgomery and Smith 28); but a word such as “kill” also implies that the well and the larger environment were alive before fracking commenced (Giblett; Trigger). Pumping recommenced after the fracturing fluid was unloaded. Initially gas supply was very good. It increased from an average estimate of 7,000 cubic feet per day to 30,000, but this only lasted two days before coal and sand started flowing back up to the surface. In effect, the cleats were propped open but the coal did not close and hold onto them which meant coal particles and sand flowed back up the pipe with diminishing amounts of gas (Walters 12). Although there were some interesting results, the program was considered a failure. In April 1978, Houston Oil and Minerals finally abandoned the methane concept. Following the failure, they reflected on the possibilities for a coal seam gas industry given the gas prices in Queensland: “Methane drainage wells appear to offer no economic potential” (Wooldridge 2). At the wells they let the tubing drop into the hole, put a fifteen foot cement plug at the top of the hole, covered it with a steel plate and by their own description restored the area to its “original state” (Wiltshire 8). Houston Oil and Minerals now turned to “conventional targets” which included coal exploration (Wiltshire 7). A Thousand Memories The first four wells show some of the critical environmental issues that were present from the outset of the industry in Australia. The process of hydraulic fracture was not just a failure, but conducted on a science that had never been tested in Australia, was ponderous at best, and by Halliburton’s own admission had “many unknowns”. There was also the role of large multinationals providing “experience” (Briody; Hiscock) and conducting these tests while having limited knowledge of the Australian landscape. Before any gas came to the surface, a large amount of water was produced that was loaded with a mixture of salt and other heavy minerals. The source of water for both the mud drilling of Carra and Kinma, as well as the hydraulic fracture job on Moura, was extracted from Kianga Creek three miles from the site (HOMA, “Carra # 1” 5; HOMA, “Kinma # 1” 5; Porter, “Moura # 1”). No location was listed for the disposal of the water from the wells, including the hydraulic fracture liquid. Considering the poor quality of water, if the water was disposed on site or let drain into a creek, this would have had significant environmental impact. Nobody has yet answered the question of where all this water went. The environmental issues of water extraction, saline water and hydraulic fracture were present at the first four wells. At the first four wells environmental concern was not a priority. The complexity of inter-company relations, as witnessed at the Shotover well, shows there was little time. The re-use of old wells, such as the Moura well, also shows that economic priorities were more important. Even if environmental information was considered important at the time, no one would have had access to it because, as handwritten notes on some of the reports show, many of the reports were “confidential” (Sell). Even though coal mines commenced filing Environmental Impact Statements in the early 1970s, there is no such documentation for gas exploration conducted by Houston Oil and Minerals. A lack of broader awareness for the surrounding environment, from floral and faunal health to the impact on habitat quality, can be gleaned when reading across all the exploration reports. Nearly four decades on and we now have thousands of wells throughout the world. Yet, the challenges of unconventional gas still persist. The implications of the environmental history of the first four wells in Australia for contemporary unconventional gas exploration and development in this country and beyond are significant. Many environmental issues were present from the beginning of the coal seam gas industry in Australia. Owning up to this history would place policy makers and regulators in a position to strengthen current regulation. The industry continues to face the same challenges today as it did at the start of development—including water extraction, hydraulic fracturing and problems associated with drilling through underground aquifers. Looking more broadly at the unconventional gas industry, shale gas has appeared as the next target for energy resources in Australia. Reflecting on the first exploratory shale gas wells drilled in Central Australia, the chief executive of the company responsible for the shale gas wells noted their deliberate decision to locate their activities in semi-desert country away from “an area of prime agricultural land” and conflict with environmentalists (quoted in Molan). Moreover, the journalist Paul Cleary recently complained about the coal seam gas industry polluting Australia’s food-bowl but concluded that the “next frontier” should be in “remote” Central Australia with shale gas (Cleary 195). It appears that preference is to move the industry to the arid centre of Australia, to the ecologically and culturally unique Lake Eyre Basin region (Robin and Smith). 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Brisbane: Queensland Department of Resources and Mines. 21 Feb. 2012 ‹https://qdexguest.deedi.qld.gov.au/portal/site/qdex/search?REPORT_ID=6190&COLLECTION_ID=999›. ———. “Moura # 1: Testing Report: Methane Drainage of the Baralaba Coal Measures: A.T.P. 226P, Central Queensland, Australia.” Oct. 1977. Queensland Digital Exploration Reports. Company Report 6190_15. Brisbane: Queensland Department of Resources and Mines. 21 Feb. 2012 ‹https://qdexguest.deedi.qld.gov.au/portal/site/qdex/search?REPORT_ID=6190&COLLECTION_ID=999›. QDAFF (Queensland Department of Agriculture, Fisheries and Forestry). “Interpreting Water Analysis for Crop and Pasture.” 1 Aug. 2012. 1 May 2013 ‹http://www.daff.qld.gov.au/ 26_4347.htm›. Robin, Libby, and Mike Smith. “Prologue.” Desert Channels: The Impulse To Conserve. Eds. Libby Robin, Chris Dickman and Mandy Martin. Collingwood: CSIRO Publishing, 2010. XIII-XVII. Rogers, Rudy E. Coalbed Methane: Principles and Practice. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hill, 1994. 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The Leichhardt Highway is a six hundred-kilometre stretch of sealed inland road that joins the Australian Queensland border town of Goondiwindi with the Capricorn Highway, just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Named after the young Prussian naturalist Ludwig Leichhardt, part of this roadway follows the route his party took as they crossed northern Australia from Morton Bay (Brisbane) to Port Essington (near Darwin). Ignoring the usual colonial practice of honouring the powerful and aristocratic, Leichhardt named the noteworthy features along this route after his supporters and fellow expeditioners. Many of these names are still in use and a series of public monuments have also been erected in the intervening century and a half to commemorate this journey. Unlike Leichhardt, who survived his epic trip, some contemporary travellers who navigate the remote roadway named in his honour do not arrive at their final destinations. Memorials to these violently interrupted lives line the highway, many enigmatically located in places where there is no obvious explanation for the lethal violence that occurred there. This examination profiles the memorials along Leichhardt’s highway as Gothic practice, in order to illuminate some of the uncanny paradoxes around public memorials, as well as the loaded emotional terrain such commemorative practices may inhabit. All humans know that death awaits them (Morell). Yet, despite this, and the unprecedented torrent of images of death and dying saturating news, television, and social media (Duwe; Sumiala; Bisceglio), Gorer’s mid-century ideas about the denial of death and Becker’s 1973 Pulitzer prize-winning description of the purpose of human civilization as a defence against this knowledge remains current in the contemporary trope that individuals (at least in the West) deny their mortality. Contributing to this enigmatic situation is how many deny the realities of aging and bodily decay—the promise of the “life extension” industries (Hall)—and are shielded from death by hospitals, palliative care providers, and the multimillion dollar funeral industry (Kiernan). Drawing on Piatti-Farnell’s concept of popular culture artefacts as “haunted/haunting” texts, the below describes how memorials to the dead can powerfully reconnect those who experience them with death’s reality, by providing an “encrypted passageway through which the dead re-join the living in a responsive cycle of exchange and experience” (Piatti-Farnell). While certainly very different to the “sublime” iconic Gothic structure, the Gothic ruin that Summers argued could be seen as “a sacred relic, a memorial, a symbol of infinite sadness, of tenderest sensibility and regret” (407), these memorials do function in both this way as melancholy/regret-inducing relics as well as in Piatti-Farnell’s sense of bringing the dead into everyday consciousness. Such memorialising activity also evokes one of Spooner’s features of the Gothic, by acknowledging “the legacies of the past and its burdens on the present” (8).Ludwig Leichhardt and His HighwayWhen Leichhardt returned to Sydney in 1846 from his 18-month journey across northern Australia, he was greeted with surprise and then acclaim. Having mounted his expedition without any backing from influential figures in the colony, his party was presumed lost only weeks after its departure. Yet, once Leichhardt and almost all his expedition returned, he was hailed “Prince of Explorers” (Erdos). When awarding him a significant purse raised by public subscription, then Speaker of the Legislative Council voiced what he believed would be the explorer’s lasting memorial —the public memory of his achievement: “the undying glory of having your name enrolled amongst those of the great men whose genius and enterprise have impelled them to seek for fame in the prosecution of geographical science” (ctd. Leichhardt 539). Despite this acclaim, Leichhardt was a controversial figure in his day; his future prestige not enhanced by his Prussian/Germanic background or his disappearance two years later attempting to cross the continent. What troubled the colonial political class, however, was his transgressive act of naming features along his route after commoners rather than the colony’s aristocrats. Today, the Leichhardt Highway closely follows Leichhardt’s 1844-45 route for some 130 kilometres from Miles, north through Wandoan to Taroom. In the first weeks of his journey, Leichhardt named 16 features in this area: 6 of the more major of these after the men in his party—including the Aboriginal man ‘Charley’ and boy John Murphy—4 more after the tradesmen and other non-aristocratic sponsors of his venture, and the remainder either in memory of the journey’s quotidian events or natural features there found. What we now accept as traditional memorialising practice could in this case be termed as Gothic, in that it upset the rational, normal order of its day, and by honouring humble shopkeepers, blacksmiths and Indigenous individuals, revealed the “disturbance and ambivalence” (Botting 4) that underlay colonial class relations (Macintyre). On 1 December 1844, Leichhardt also memorialised his own past, referencing the Gothic in naming a watercourse The Creek of the Ruined Castles due to the “high sandstone rocks, fissured and broken like pillars and walls and the high gates of the ruined castles of Germany” (57). Leichhardt also disturbed and disfigured the nature he so admired, famously carving his initials deep into trees along his route—a number of which still exist, including the so-called Leichhardt Tree, a large coolibah in Taroom’s main street. Leichhardt also wrote his own memorial, keeping detailed records of his experiences—both good and more regretful—in the form of field books, notebooks and letters, with his major volume about this expedition published in London in 1847. Leichhardt’s journey has since been memorialised in various ways along the route. The Leichhardt Tree has been further defaced with numerous plaques nailed into its ancient bark, and the town’s federal government-funded Bicentennial project raised a formal memorial—a large sandstone slab laid with three bronze plaques—in the newly-named Ludwig Leichhardt Park. Leichhardt’s name also adorns many sites both along, and outside, the routes of his expeditions. While these fittingly include natural features such as the Leichhardt River in north-west Queensland (named in 1856 by Augustus Gregory who crossed it by searching for traces of the explorer’s ill-fated 1848 expedition), there are also many businesses across Queensland and the Northern Territory less appropriately carrying his name. More somber monuments to Leichhardt’s legacy also resulted from this journey. The first of these was the white settlement that followed his declaration that the countryside he moved through was well endowed with fertile soils. With squatters and settlers moving in and land taken up before Leichhardt had even arrived back in Sydney, the local Yeeman people were displaced, mistreated and completely eradicated within a decade (Elder). Mid-twentieth century, Patrick White’s literary reincarnation, Voss of the eponymous novel, and paintings by Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker have enshrined in popular memory not only the difficult (and often described as Gothic) nature of the landscape through which Leichhardt travelled (Adams; Mollinson, and Bonham), but also the distinctive and contrary blend of intelligence, spiritual mysticism, recklessness, and stoicism Leichhardt brought to his task. Roadside Memorials Today, the Leichhardt Highway is also lined with a series of roadside shrines to those who have died much more recently. While, like centotaphs, tombstones, and cemeteries, these memorialise the dead, they differ in usually marking the exact location that death occurred. In 43 BC, Cicero articulated the idea of the dead living in memory, “The life of the dead consists in the recollection cherished of them by the living” (93), yet Nelson is one of very few contemporary writers to link roadside memorials to elements of Gothic sensibility. Such constructions can, however, be described as Gothic, in that they make the roadway unfamiliar by inscribing onto it the memory of corporeal trauma and, in the process, re-creating their locations as vivid sites of pain and suffering. These are also enigmatic sites. Traffic levels are generally low along the flat or gently undulating terrain and many of these memorials are located in locations where there is no obvious explanation for the violence that occurred there. They are loci of contradictions, in that they are both more private than other memorials, in being designed, and often made and erected, by family and friends of the deceased, and yet more public, visible to all who pass by (Campbell). Cemeteries are set apart from their surroundings; the roadside memorial is, in contrast, usually in open view along a thoroughfare. In further contrast to cemeteries, which contain many relatively standardised gravesites, individual roadside memorials encapsulate and express not only the vivid grief of family and friends but also—when they include vehicle wreckage or personal artefacts from the fatal incident—provide concrete evidence of the trauma that occurred. While the majority of individuals interned in cemeteries are long dead, roadside memorials mark relatively contemporary deaths, some so recent that there may still be tyre marks, debris and bloodstains marking the scene. In 2008, when I was regularly travelling this roadway, I documented, and researched, the six then extant memorial sites that marked the locations of ten fatalities from 1999 to 2006. (These were all still in place in mid-2014.) The fatal incidents are very diverse. While half involved trucks and/or road trains, at least three were single vehicle incidents, and the deceased ranged from 13 to 84 years of age. Excell argues that scholarship on roadside memorials should focus on “addressing the diversity of the material culture” (‘Contemporary Deathscapes’) and, in these terms, the Leichhardt Highway memorials vary from simple crosses to complex installations. All include crosses (mostly, but not exclusively, white), and almost all are inscribed with the name and birth/death dates of the deceased. Most include flowers or other plants (sometimes fresh but more often plastic), but sometimes also a range of relics from the crash and/or personal artefacts. These are, thus, unsettling sights, not least in the striking contrast they provide with the highway and surrounding road reserve. The specific location is a key component of their ability to re-sensitise viewers to the dangers of the route they are travelling. The first memorial travelling northwards, for instance, is situated at the very point at which the highway begins, some 18 kilometres from Goondiwindi. Two small white crosses decorated with plastic flowers are set poignantly close together. The inscriptions can also function as a means of mobilising connection with these dead strangers—a way of building Secomb’s “haunted community”, whereby community in the post-colonial age can only be built once past “murderous death” (131) is acknowledged. This memorial is inscribed with “Cec Hann 06 / A Good Bloke / A Good hoarseman [sic]” and “Pat Hann / A Good Woman” to tragically commemorate the deaths of an 84-year-old man and his 79-year-old wife from South Australia who died in the early afternoon of 5 June 2006 when their Ford Falcon, towing a caravan, pulled onto the highway and was hit by a prime mover pulling two trailers (Queensland Police, ‘Double Fatality’; Jones, and McColl). Further north along the highway are two memorials marking the most inexplicable of road deaths: the single vehicle fatality (Connolly, Cullen, and McTigue). Darren Ammenhauser, aged 29, is remembered with a single white cross with flowers and plaque attached to a post, inscribed hopefully, “Darren Ammenhauser 1971-2000 At Rest.” Further again, at Billa Billa Creek, a beautifully crafted metal cross attached to a fence is inscribed with the text, “Kenneth J. Forrester / RIP Jack / 21.10.25 – 27.4.05” marking the death of the 79-year-old driver whose vehicle veered off the highway to collide with a culvert on the creek. It was reported that the vehicle rolled over several times before coming to rest on its wheels and that Forrester was dead when the police arrived (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Traffic Incident’). More complex memorials recollect both single and multiple deaths. One, set on both sides of the road, maps the physical trajectory of the fatal smash. This memorial comprises white crosses on both sides of road, attached to a tree on one side, and a number of ancillary sites including damaged tyres with crosses placed inside them on both sides of the road. Simple inscriptions relay the inability of such words to express real grief: “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed” and “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed / Forever in our hearts.” The oldest and most complex memorial on the route, commemorating the death of four individuals on 18 June 1999, is also situated on both sides of the road, marking the collision of two vehicles travelling in opposite directions. One memorial to a 62-year-old man comprises a cross with flowers, personal and automotive relics, and a plaque set inside a wooden fence and simply inscribed “John Henry Keenan / 23-11-1936–18-06-1999”. The second memorial contains three white crosses set side-by-side, together with flowers and relics, and reveals that members of three generations of the same family died at this location: “Raymond Campbell ‘Butch’ / 26-3-67–18-6-99” (32 years of age), “Lorraine Margaret Campbell ‘Lloydie’ / 29-11-46–18-6-99” (53 years), and “Raymond Jon Campbell RJ / 28-1-86–18-6-99” (13 years). The final memorial on this stretch of highway is dedicated to Jason John Zupp of Toowoomba who died two weeks before Christmas 2005. This consists of a white cross, decorated with flowers and inscribed: “Jason John Zupp / Loved & missed by all”—a phrase echoed in his newspaper obituary. The police media statement noted that, “at 11.24pm a prime mover carrying four empty trailers [stacked two high] has rolled on the Leichhardt Highway 17km north of Taroom” (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Truck Accident’). The roadside memorial was placed alongside a ditch on a straight stretch of road where the body was found. The coroner’s report adds the following chilling information: “Mr Zupp was thrown out of the cabin and his body was found near the cabin. There is no evidence whatsoever that he had applied the brakes or in any way tried to prevent the crash … Jason was not wearing his seatbelt” (Cornack 5, 6). Cornack also remarked the truck was over length, the brakes had not been properly adjusted, and the trip that Zupp had undertaken could not been lawfully completed according to fatigue management regulations then in place (8). Although poignant and highly visible due to these memorials, these deaths form a small part of Australia’s road toll, and underscore our ambivalent relationship with the automobile, where road death is accepted as a necessary side-effect of the freedom of movement the technology offers (Ladd). These memorials thus animate highways as Gothic landscapes due to the “multifaceted” (Haider 56) nature of the fear, terror and horror their acknowledgement can bring. Since 1981, there have been, for instance, between some 1,600 and 3,300 road deaths each year in Australia and, while there is evidence of a long term downward trend, the number of deaths per annum has not changed markedly since 1991 (DITRDLG 1, 2), and has risen in some years since then. The U.S.A. marked its millionth road death in 1951 (Ladd) along the way to over 3,000,000 during the 20th century (Advocates). These deaths are far reaching, with U.K. research suggesting that each death there leaves an average of 6 people significantly affected, and that there are some 10 to 20 per cent of mourners who experience more complicated grief and longer term negative affects during this difficult time (‘Pathways Through Grief’). As the placing of roadside memorials has become a common occurrence the world over (Klaassens, Groote, and Vanclay; Grider; Cohen), these are now considered, in MacConville’s opinion, not only “an appropriate, but also an expected response to tragedy”. Hockey and Draper have explored the therapeutic value of the maintenance of “‘continuing bonds’ between the living and the dead” (3). This is, however, only one explanation for the reasons that individuals erect roadside memorials with research suggesting roadside memorials perform two main purposes in their linking of the past with the present—as not only sites of grieving and remembrance, but also of warning (Hartig, and Dunn; Everett; Excell, Roadside Memorials; MacConville). Clark adds that by “localis[ing] and personalis[ing] the road dead,” roadside memorials raise the profile of road trauma by connecting the emotionless statistics of road death directly to individual tragedy. They, thus, transform the highway into not only into a site of past horror, but one in which pain and terror could still happen, and happen at any moment. Despite their increasing commonality and their recognition as cultural artefacts, these memorials thus occupy “an uncomfortable place” both in terms of public policy and for some individuals (Lowe). While in some states of the U.S.A. and in Ireland the erection of such memorials is facilitated by local authorities as components of road safety campaigns, in the U.K. there appears to be “a growing official opposition to the erection of memorials” (MacConville). Criticism has focused on the dangers (of distraction and obstruction) these structures pose to passing traffic and pedestrians, while others protest their erection on aesthetic grounds and even claim memorials can lower property values (Everett). While many ascertain a sense of hope and purpose in the physical act of creating such shrines (see, for instance, Grider; Davies), they form an uncanny presence along the highway and can provide dangerous psychological territory for the viewer (Brien). Alongside the townships, tourist sites, motels, and petrol stations vying to attract customers, they stain the roadway with the unmistakable sign that a violent death has happened—bringing death, and the dead, to the fore as a component of these journeys, and destabilising prominent cultural narratives of technological progress and safety (Richter, Barach, Ben-Michael, and Berman).Conclusion This investigation has followed Goddu who proposes that a Gothic text “registers its culture’s contradictions” (3) and, in profiling these memorials as “intimately connected to the culture that produces them” (Goddu 3) has proposed memorials as Gothic artefacts that can both disturb and reveal. Roadside memorials are, indeed, so loaded with emotional content that their close contemplation can be traumatising (Brien), yet they are inescapable while navigating the roadway. Part of their power resides in their ability to re-animate those persons killed in these violent in the minds of those viewing these memorials. In this way, these individuals are reincarnated as ghostly presences along the highway, forming channels via which the traveller can not only make human contact with the dead, but also come to recognise and ponder their own sense of mortality. While roadside memorials are thus like civic war memorials in bringing untimely death to the forefront of public view, roadside memorials provide a much more raw expression of the chaotic, anarchic and traumatic moment that separates the world of the living from that of the dead. While traditional memorials—such as those dedicated by, and to, Leichhardt—moreover, pay homage to the vitality of the lives of those they commemorate, roadside memorials not only acknowledge the alarming circumstances of unexpected death but also stand testament to the power of the paradox of the incontrovertibility of sudden death versus our lack of ability to postpone it. In this way, further research into these and other examples of Gothic memorialising practice has much to offer various areas of cultural study in Australia.ReferencesAdams, Brian. Sidney Nolan: Such Is Life. Hawthorn, Vic.: Hutchinson, 1987. Advocates for Highway and Auto Safety. “Motor Vehicle Traffic Fatalities & Fatality Rate: 1899-2003.” 2004. Becker, Ernest. The Denial of Death. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1973. Bisceglio, Paul. “How Social Media Is Changing the Way We Approach Death.” The Atlantic 20 Aug. 2013. Botting, Fred. Gothic: The New Critical Idiom. 2nd edition. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. 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