Journal articles on the topic 'Wildfires – New South Wales – Blue Mountains'

Acacia meiantha Tindale & Herscovitch, a rare new species of Acacia sect. Phyllodineae, locally common at Clarence, Blue Mountains and in Mullions Range State Forest, on the Central Tablelands, New South Wales, is described and illustrated together with a distribution map. Its putative relationships to the polymorphic Acacia linifolia (Vent.) Willd. as well as to A. boormanii Maiden are discussed in detail. A key is also provided to A. meiantha and its allies.

The range of the greater glider (Petauroides volans) is predicted to contract with climate change. Following indications of a decline in the Blue Mountains, we collated records and undertook surveys in 2015–16 to assess whether a decline has occurred and whether the decline is associated with climate change or other factors. We were unable to relocate greater gliders at 35% of our study sites, even though all were in known former locations. The species is now rare at lower elevations but remains relatively common at higher elevations: about seven times more abundant above 500 m than below. Historical data suggest that in 1986–96 it occurred in similar abundance across all elevations, 80–1060 m. Nine habitat variables accounted for 84% of the variation in greater glider density between our study sites, with significant independent contributions from elevation (37%) and time since fire (23%). We found no evidence that greater gliders have been impacted by increasing numbers of owls or cockatoos or that either the fire regime or rainfall has changed in the last 20 years. The most likely cause of the decline is the direct and indirect effects of a marked increase in temperature in the Blue Mountains. Similar declines are likely throughout the distribution of the species with increasing climate change.

A new species of Styphelieae collected from the Blue Mountains region of New South Wales is described. Cladistic analyses of morphological and molecular data show that the species has a strong affinity with the genus Pentachondra. The genus is redefined to accommodate the following features of the new species: a drupaceous fruit with 6–11 locules in which the mesocarp splits to release the separate pyrenes at maturity and a more complex inflorescence.

We investigated bird habitat relationships in extensive eucalypt forest in the Blue Mountains, New South Wales, in 1986–87, assessing the importance of fire regime variables compared with other habitat variables. Our study sites encompassed a wide range of postfire ages, fire frequencies and fire severity, but we found no major bird community differences corresponding to differences in fire regime. The more common forest bird species appeared well adapted to fire regime variation in the 1980s. Tree canopy height was a far greater influence, with more species and more birds in taller forests (interpreted as a result of higher soil fertility leading to higher productivity of bird foods and greater structural complexity in taller forests). Other trends were fewer birds where there was a rainforest understorey under the eucalypts (reflecting the general scarcity of rainforest birds in the Blue Mountains), and more birds where nectar-rich flowers were more abundant (reflecting the abundance of nectarivorous birds in the Blue Mountains, especially over winter). The climate has changed since the 1980s and fires threaten to become much more severe, extensive and frequent. How these changes will impact on forest birds, and what management responses are required, is a critical area for further study.

Urban edge effects can have an adverse impact on native flora and fauna in the adjoining bushland. We surveyed edge effects at sites in the Blue Mountains where the urban area is separated from bushland by a perimeter road. Common edge effects included weed invasion, physical disturbance of the vegetation and soil, incidental rubbish, dumped rubbish, dumped plant material, tree felling/lopping/ringbarking and visits from domestic dogs. Uncommon edge effects included recent hazard reduction burns, bushrock collection, and poor tree health (dieback not associated with fires). The maximum extent of obvious edge effects (all types combined) varied between sites, from 9 m to 60 m from the edge of the road. At most sites (77%), edge effects were restricted to distances of 40 m or less into the bushland, but a significant number of sites (23%) had more extensive edge effects. Sites with extensive weed invasion were associated with older housing, suggesting that weed invasion will increase over time at sites adjacent to younger housing. Weed invasion frequently extended further than 60 m into the bushland along drainage lines and tracks, especially the former, but these were not included in the measurements. Edge effects were more extensive on flatter topography than downslope of housing, apparently because the former is subject to more intensive use by local residents. The actions of local residents have a major influence on edge effects, and are responsible for much of the variability observed between sites. The findings of this study are consistent with previous studies of edge effects around Sydney and elsewhere. Based on the results of the study, we recommend that a buffer of native vegetation at least 60 m wide should be retained around significant flora and fauna habitats to protect them from edge effects. Additional management actions are required to control vegetation degradation along drainage lines.

Eastern Australia has experienced a significant magnitude rainfall event of extended duration in the first 7 months of 2022. Across the east coast of New South Wales (NSW) a series of troughs and East Coast Lows occurred during a La Nina weather cycle bringing above average rainfall to the region. As this first half of 2022 La Nina event was drawing to a close the Indian Ocean Dipole entered a negative phase which coincided with another intense East Coast Low in early July 2022 impacting the Illawarra region of NSW. These events caused widespread flooding and significant landslide damage to road and rail infrastructure across the state networks and local government infrastructure across NSW. During this extended wet period in the first 7 months of 2022 more than 200 landslides have been recorded across the Illawarra, Southern Highlands and Blue Mountains regions of NSW whilst many more have occurred across the north coast region. This paper presents a brief and albeit preliminary summary of the rainfall and provides a series of photographs with very brief descriptions of some of these landslide events within southeastern NSW. The intent of the paper is to provide early guidance to AGS members of the nature and form of landslides that have occurred across the Illawarra region. This paper does not discuss the dual fatality resulting from the Wentworth Falls area rockfall of the 5th April.

Morphological and single-nucleotide polymorphism data support splitting Pultenaea glabra Benth. into eight species, including one in Victoria, and seven in eastern and northern New South Wales. Six species are newly described, five of which are, like P. glabra, narrow-range endemics within the Greater Blue Mountains World Heritage Area and adjacent sandstone landforms of the Great Dividing Range. The recognition of six new species from what was broadly P. glabra has implications for conservation management, including for P. glabra itself, which has a smaller distribution and more precise habitat requirements than previously thought. One of the new species, P. percussa, is known by a single 1971 gathering only. The occurrence of several narrow-range Blue Mountains endemic Pultenaea species may be explained by the combination of edaphic diversity and topographic complexity, which could act in concert to promote divergences among small, allopatric populations. Hybrids between P. glabra and P. flexilis Sm. are documented for the first time; however, limited evidence for introgression between the two species was observed. The following new taxa are described: Pultenaea aculeata M.A.M.Renner, P.H.Weston & S.Clarke, Pultenaea percussa M.A.M.Renner & P.H.Weston, Pultenaea furcata M.A.M.Renner & R.L.Barrett, Pultenaea mutabilis M.A.M.Renner & P.H.Weston, Pultenaea mutabilis var. angusta M.A.M.Renner, P.H.Weston, & S.Clarke, Pultenaea praecipua M.A.M.Renner & P.H.Weston, Pultenaea praecipua subsp. temperata M.A.M.Renner & R.L.Barrett, and Pultenaea tenebrosa M.A.M.Renner, P.H.Weston & S.Clarke. Lectotypes are designated for Pultenaea villosa var. glabrescens Benth. and Pultenaea weindorferi Reader.

A simulation system was developed to explore how fuel treatments placed in topologically random and optimal spatial patterns affect the growth and behaviour of large fires when implemented at different rates over the course of five decades. The system consisted of a forest and fuel dynamics simulation module (Forest Vegetation Simulator, FVS), logic for deriving fuel model dynamics from FVS output, a spatial fuel treatment optimisation program, and a spatial fire growth and behaviour model to evaluate the performance of the treatments in modifying large fire growth. Simulations were performed for three study areas: Sanders County in western Montana, the Stanislaus National Forest in California, and the Blue Mountains in south-eastern Washington. For different spatial treatment strategies, the results illustrated that the rate of fuel treatment (percentage of land area treated per decade) competes against the rates of fuel recovery to determine how fuel treatments contribute to multidecade cumulative impacts on the response variables. Using fuel treatment prescriptions that simulate thinning and prescribed burning, fuel treatment arrangements that are optimal in disrupting the growth of large fires require at least 1 to 2% of the landscape to be treated each year. Randomly arranged units with the same treatment prescriptions require about twice that rate to produce the same fire growth reduction. The results also show that the topological fuel treatment optimisation tends to balance maintenance of previous units with treatment of new units. For example, with 2% landscape treatment annually, fewer than 5% of the units received three or more treatments in five decades with most being treated only once or twice and ~35% remaining untreated after five decades.

The Australian endemic humicolous and hygropetric water beetle genus Tympanogaster Perkins, 1979, is revised, based on the study of 7,280 specimens. The genus is redescribed, and redescriptions are provided for T. cornuta (Janssens), T. costata (Deane), T. deanei Perkins, T. macrognatha (Lea), T. novicia (Blackburn), T. obcordata (Deane), T. schizolabra (Deane), and T. subcostata (Deane). Lectotypes are designated for Ochthebius labratus Deane, 1933, and Ochthebius macrognathus Lea, 1926. Ochthebius labratus Deane, 1933, is synonymized with Ochthebius novicius Blackburn, 1896. Three new subgenera are described: Hygrotympanogaster new subgenus (type species Tympanogaster (Hygrotympanogaster) maureenae new species; Topotympanogaster new subgenus (type species Tympanogaster (Topotympanogaster) crista new species; and Plesiotympanogaster new genus (type species Tympanogaster (Plesiotympanogaster) thayerae new species. Seventy-six new species are described, and keys to the subgenera, species groups, and species are given. High resolution digital images of all primary types are presented (online version in color), and geographic distributions are mapped. Male genitalia, representative spermathecae and representative mouthparts are illustrated. Scanning electron micrographs of external morphological characters of adults and larvae are presented. Selected morphological features of the other members of the subtribe Meropathina, Meropathus Enderlein and Tympallopatrum Perkins, are illustrated and compared with those of Tympanogaster. Species of Tympanogaster are typically found in the relict rainforest patches in eastern Australia. Most species have very limited distributions, and relict rainforest patches often have more than one endemic species. The only species currently known from the arid center of Australia, T. novicia, has the widest distribution pattern, ranging into eastern rainforest patches. There is a fairly close correspondence between subgenera and microhabitat preferences. Members of Tympanogaster (s. str.) live in the splash zone, usually on stream boulders, or on bedrock stream margins. The majority of T. (Hygrotympanogaster) species live in the hygropetric zone at the margins of waterfalls, or on steep rockfaces where water is continually trickling; a few rare species have been collected from moss in Nothofagus rainforests. Species of T. (Plesiotympanogaster) have been found in both hygropetric microhabitats and in streamside moss. The exact microhabitats of T. (Topotympanogaster) are unknown, but the morphology of most species suggests non-aquatic habits; most specimens have been collected in humicolous microhabitats, by sifting rainforest debris, or were taken in flight intercept traps. Larvae of hygropetric species are often collected with adults. These larvae have tube-like, dorsally positioned, mesothoracic spiracles that allow the larvae to breathe while under a thin film of water. The key morphological differences between larvae of Tympanogaster (s. str.) and those of Tympanogaster (Hygrotympanogaster) are illustrated. New species of Tympanogaster are: T. (s. str.) aldinga (New South Wales, Dorrigo National Park, Rosewood Creek), T. (s. str.) amaroo (New South Wales, Back Creek, downstream of Moffatt Falls), T. (s. str.) ambigua (Queensland, Cairns), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) arcuata (New South Wales, Kara Creek, 13 km NEbyE of Jindabyne), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) atroargenta (Victoria, Possum Hollow falls, West branch Tarwin River, 5.6 km SSW Allambee), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) barronensis (Queensland, Barron Falls, Kuranda), T. (s. str.) bluensis (New South Wales, Blue Mountains), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) bondi (New South Wales, Bondi Heights), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) bryosa (New South Wales, New England National Park), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) buffalo (Victoria, Mount Buffalo National Park), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) canobolas (New South Wales, Mount Canobolas Park), T. (s. str.) cardwellensis (Queensland, Cardwell Range, Goddard Creek), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) cascadensis (New South Wales, Cascades Campsite, on Tuross River), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) clandestina (Victoria, Grampians National Park, Golton Gorge, 7.0 km W Dadswells Bridge), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) clypeata (Victoria, Grampians National Park, Golton Gorge, 7.0 km W Dadswells Bridge), T. (s. str.) cooloogatta (New South Wales, New England National Park, Five Day Creek), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) coopacambra (Victoria, Beehive Falls, ~2 km E of Cann Valley Highway on 'WB Line'), T. (Topotympanogaster) crista (Queensland, Mount Cleveland summit), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) cudgee (New South Wales, New England National Park, 0.8 km S of Pk. Gate), T. (s. str.) cunninghamensis (Queensland, Main Range National Park, Cunningham's Gap, Gap Creek), T. (s. str.) darlingtoni (New South Wales, Barrington Tops), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) decepta (Victoria, Mount Buffalo National Park), T. (s. str.) dingabledinga (New South Wales, Dorrigo National Park, Rosewood Creek, upstream from Coachwood Falls), T. (s. str.) dorrigoensis (New South Wales, Dorrigo National Park, Rosewood Creek, upstream from Coachwood Falls), T. (Topotympanogaster) dorsa (Queensland, Windin Falls, NW Mount Bartle-Frere), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) duobifida (Victoria, 0.25 km E Binns, Hill Junction, adjacent to Jeeralang West Road, 4.0 km S Jeerelang), T. (s. str.) eungella (Queensland, Finch Hatton Gorge), T. (Topotympanogaster) finniganensis (Queensland, Mount Finnigan summit), T. (s. str.) foveova (New South Wales, Border Ranges National Park, Brindle Creek), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) grampians (Victoria, Grampians National Park, Epacris Falls, 2.5 km WNW Halls Gap), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) gushi (New South Wales, Mount Canobolas Park), T. (s. str.) hypipamee (Queensland, Mount Hypipamee National Park, Barron River headwaters below Dinner Falls), T. (s. str.) illawarra (New South Wales, Macquarie Rivulet Falls, near Wollongong), T. (Topotympanogaster) intricata (Queensland, Mossman Bluff Track, 5–10 km W Mossman), T. (s. str.) jaechi (Queensland, Running Creek, along road between Mount Chinghee National Park and Border Ranges National Park), T. (Topotympanogaster) juga (Queensland, Mount Lewis summit), T. kuranda (Queensland, Barron Falls, Kuranda), T. (s. str.) lamingtonensis (Queensland, Lamington National Park, Lightening Creek), T. (s. str.) magarra (New South Wales, Border Ranges National Park, Brindle Creek), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) maureenae (New South Wales, Back Creek, Moffatt Falls, ca. 5 km W New England National Park boundary), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) megamorpha (Victoria, Possum Hollow falls, W br. Tarwin River, 5.6 km SSW Allambee), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) merrijig (Victoria, Merrijig), T. (s. str.) millaamillaa (Queensland, Millaa Millaa), T. modulatrix (Victoria, Talbot Creek at Thomson Valley Road, 4.25 km WSW Beardmore), T. (Topotympanogaster) monteithi (Queensland, Mount Bartle Frere), T. moondarra (New South Wales, Border Ranges National Park, Brindle Creek), T. (s. str.) mysteriosa (Queensland), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) nargun (Victoria, Deadcock Den, on Den of Nargun Creek, Mitchell River National Park), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) newtoni (Victoria, Mount Buffalo National Park), T. (s. str.) ovipennis (New South Wales, Dorrigo National Park, Rosewood Creek, upstream from Coachwood Falls), T. (s. str.) pagetae (New South Wales, Back Creek, downstream of Moffatt Falls), T. (Topotympanogaster) parallela (Queensland, Mossman Bluff Track, 5–10 km W Mossman), T. (s. str.) perpendicula (Queensland, Mossman Bluff Track, 5–10 km W Mossman), T. plana (Queensland, Cape Tribulation), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) porchi (Victoria, Tarra-Bulga National Park, Tarra Valley Road, 1.5 km SE Tarra Falls), T. (s. str.) precariosa (New South Wales, Leycester Creek, 4 km. S of Border Ranges National Park), T. (s. str.) protecta (New South Wales, Leycester Creek, 4 km. S of Border Ranges National Park), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) punctata (Victoria, Mount Buffalo National Park, Eurobin Creek), T. (s. str.) ravenshoensis (Queensland, Ravenshoe State Forest, Charmillan Creek, 12 km SE Ravenshoe), T. (s. str.) robinae (New South Wales, Back Creek, downstream of Moffatt Falls), T. (s. str.) serrata (Queensland, Natural Bridge National Park, Cave Creek), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) spicerensis (Queensland, Spicer’s Peak summit), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) storeyi (Queensland, Windsor Tableland), T. (Topotympanogaster) summa (Queensland, Mount Elliott summit), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) tabula (New South Wales, Mount Canobolas Park), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) tallawarra (New South Wales, Dorrigo National Park, Rosewood Creek, Cedar Falls), T. (s. str.) tenax (New South Wales, Salisbury), T. (Plesiotympanogaster) thayerae (Tasmania, Liffey Forest Reserve at Liffey River), T. (s. str.) tora (Queensland, Palmerston National Park), T. trilineata (New South Wales, Sydney), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) truncata (Queensland, Tambourine Mountain), T. (s. str.) volata (Queensland, Palmerston National Park, Learmouth Creek, ca. 14 km SE Millaa Millaa), T. (Hygrotympanogaster) wahroonga (New South Wales, Wahroonga), T. (s. str.) wattsi (New South Wales, Blicks River near Dundurrabin), T. (s. str.) weiri (New South Wales, Allyn River, Chichester State Forest), T. (s. str.) wooloomgabba (New South Wales, New England National Park, Five Day Creek).

The large-eared pied bat (Chalinolobus dwyeri) is listed as vulnerable at both state and federal level, yet little is published on its foraging ecology. Research was conducted to examine its foraging range and habitat (foraging and roosting) preferences. Seven individuals (five female and two male) were radio-tracked in the Blue Mountains, New South Wales, on two separate occasions over a total of nine tracking nights. Females had larger foraging areas than males, but both showed high fidelity to preferred foraging areas. Females roosted separately from males, showing less roost fidelity and roosting at a greater distance from the foraging area. Both males and females roosted in west-facing cliff faces without large caverns. The preferred foraging area included: a sharp grassland–forest border in a western-facing valley, a creek or moist drainage gully with wet vegetation types and day roosts within 700m. At the fine scale, bats foraged along forest edges at mid-to-upper-canopy height and on the outer canopy of individual trees within the forest. Our data suggest that the presence and distance of such habitat requirements should be considered when assessing land management and conservation activities.

Introduction: This study examines triquetral fracture data from six hospital centres between 2009 and 2018. The study focuses on elements of triquetral fracture management within these six centres, outlining common fracture patterns, the short-term and long-term outcomes and the common mechanisms of injury. To the authors’ knowledge, this is the largest cohort of triquetral fractures studied to date and outlines investigation recommendations for improved identification of these fractures. Methods: Data was obtained by reviewing the charts of patients presenting to emergency departments within the Nepean and Blue Mountains local health district of New South Wales, Australia. (Nepean Hospital ethics approval no: NBM18/805) Results: Triquetral fractures can be hard to identify with radiography and can be commonly mistaken as lunate fractures.12 Our results indicate that 18.9 per cent of patients required CT imaging to correctly diagnose triquetral fracture. Conclusion: Where there are ongoing symptoms and a high clinical suspicion of a triquetral fracture, CT may be indicated and, in future practice, may be justified as a first line imaging modality. This study also demonstrates that short arm-wrist immobilsing casts are an effective option for managing triquetral fractures.

Climate change is a key issue in sustainable tourism, both in terms of the greenhouse gas emissions generated by the tourism sector and the potential impacts of climate change on tourism-dependent regions. Low-carbon tourism is an emerging paradigm based around emissions reduction by tourism businesses, as well as broader values of adaptation, transition and behavioral change. This article presents the results of a low-carbon tourism case study in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales, Australia, where the Low-Carbon Living Program has successfully designed and implemented a low-carbon rating and certification scheme. This scheme covers emissions related to energy, waste and water and is based on regionally-specific data. The program has also succeeded in its aim of using the tourism industry as a catalyst for broader community action, having been expanded to schools and retailers in the case study region. A transferable regional model has been developed that is being adapted for use in new regions under a modular and decentralised program structure. However, questions remain around the impact of the program on participants’ carbon footprints and customer levels over time, as well as the suitability of a common scorecard system to diverse participant types.

Smoke aerosol dispersion and transport have a significant impact on air quality levels and can be examined by environmental monitoring and modelling techniques. The purpose of this study is to determine the characteristics of the smoke aerosols and the level of air quality during November and December 2019 under the influence of extensive bushfires in the Sydney area, New South Wales (NSW), Australia. To achieve this goal, air quality and meteorological data were analysed in combination with remote sensing satellite measurements. Meteorological and air quality data were obtained from the Bureau of Meteorology (BOM) and Environmental Protection Agency monitoring sites in NSW. In Richmond the daily maximum average hourly concentration of particulate matter (PM10) was 848.9 μg/m3 at 07:00 UTC on 26 November 2019 and 785 μg/m3 at 07:00 UTC on 12 December 2019. On 10 December 2019, the highest PM10 recorded in the Sydney region was 961.5 μg/m3 in St Marys at 01:00 UTC, while the highest PM2.5 concentration was 714.6 μg/m3 in Oakdale in southwest Sydney at 18:00 UTC. These values all decreased again to the standard level (<50 μg/m3) in a few days. The potential sources of smoke aerosols originated from bushfires to the northwest of Sydney (Blue Mountains) as well as from southwest and northwest NSW. The smoke plumes were revealed by the combined AOD values from Aqua and Terra sensors on the MODIS satellite. In each case, the smoke travelled towards the east coast of Australia and out over the Pacific Ocean. The NAAPS model displays the existence of smoke at ground level, while the CALIPSO satellite data showed that the plumes extended 14 km up into the stratosphere layer. Backward trajectories obtained from the HYSPLIT model agree well with the movement of smoke plumes observed in the MODIS satellite images.

Background: Christmas Eye Disease (CED), also known as the “Albury-Wodonga syndrome” or “Harvester's Keratitis”, is a seasonal acute corneal ulceration syndrome, which is geographically limited to Australia, specifically in the south-west region of New South Wales (NSW) and north-east region of Victoria. The mechanism of injury is unknown, but the secretions from native beetles of the genus Orthoperus have been implicated. There remains a dearth of literature on CED, particularly with atypical disease presentations. We present the first reported case of CED in the upper Blue Mountains Region, presenting atypically with mild pain and foreign body sensation. We also aim to explore the possible entomological precipitants of the disease. Case Presentation: A 77-year-old man with a 1-day history of a mildly painful red eye was found to have acute corneal ulceration. He experienced mild discomfort in his right eye while asleep and woke the following morning with persistent blur, foreign body sensation, and photophobia. He had no history of ocular trauma or chemical exposure. He reported going for daily bushwalks in the upper Blue Mountains region but did not recall any exposure to environmental or entomological precipitants. Clinical Findings and Outcomes: Slit-lamp examination revealed a substantial corneal epithelial loss in the right eye with fluorescein staining, revealing a characteristic ‘green splash’ over 90% of the cornea. Other clinical findings included marked corneal edema, moderate conjunctival injection, mild palpebral swelling, and mild papillae. No anterior uveitis was observed, and the posterior segment examination was normal. There was a considerable reduction in his right visual acuity from baseline. He was empirically treated with 1% tropicamide ocular drops, 1% chloramphenicol ointment, and lubricant ocular drops. The bacterial and viral conjunctival swabs were unremarkable. Clinical progression was self-limiting, and complete resolution of the ulcer was achieved after one month. Conclusion: CED is a clinical diagnosis, and medical practitioners should be aware of atypical features, such as the absence of debilitating pain. Additionally, our case demonstrates that the geographic distribution of CED appears to be far more extensive than previously thought, thereby raising the possibility of disease manifestation in regions not commonly associated with it. Entomological precipitants of this condition remain circumstantial and warrant further validation.

Morphological and single-nucleotide polymorphism data support splitting <i>Pultenaea glabra</i> Benth. into eight species, including one in Victoria, and seven in eastern and northern New South Wales. Six species are newly described, five of which are, like <i>P. glabra</i>, narrow-range endemics within the Greater Blue Mountains World Heritage Area and adjacent sandstone landforms of the Great Dividing Range. The recognition of six new species from what was broadly <i>P. glabra</i> has implications for conservation management, including for <i>P. glabra</i> itself, which has a smaller distribution and more precise habitat requirements than previously thought. One of the new species, <i>P. percussa</i>, is known by a single 1971 gathering only. The occurrence of several narrow-range Blue Mountains endemic <i>Pultenaea</i> species may be explained by the combination of edaphic diversity and topographic complexity, which could act in concert to promote divergences among small, allopatric populations. Hybrids between <i>P. glabra</i> and <i>P. flexilis</i> Sm. are documented for the first time; however, limited evidence for introgression between the two species was observed. The following new taxa are described: <i>Pultenaea aculeata</i> M.A.M.Renner, P.H.Weston & S.Clarke, <i>Pultenaea percussa</i> M.A.M.Renner & P.H.Weston, <i>Pultenaea furcata</i> M.A.M.Renner & R.L.Barrett, <i>Pultenaea mutabilis</i> M.A.M.Renner & P.H.Weston, <i>Pultenaea mutabilis</i> var. <i>angusta</i> M.A.M.Renner, P.H.Weston, & S.Clarke, <i>Pultenaea praecipua</i> M.A.M.Renner & P.H.Weston, <i>Pultenaea praecipua</i> subsp. <i>temperata</i> M.A.M.Renner & R.L.Barrett, and <i>Pultenaea tenebrosa</i> M.A.M.Renner, P.H.Weston & S.Clarke. Lectotypes are designated for <i>Pultenaea villosa</i> var. <i>glabrescens</i> Benth. and <i>Pultenaea weindorferi</i> Reader.

Abstract. Bushfires are an intrinsic part of the New South Wales’ (NSW) environment in Australia, especially in the Blue Mountains region (11400km2), that is dominated by fire prone vegetation that includes heathland. Many of the Australian native plants in this region are fire-prone and combustible, and many species even require fire to regenerate. The classification of the lateral and vertical distribution of living vegetation is necessary to manage the complexity of bushfires. Currently, interpretation of aerial and satellite images is the prevalent method for the classification of vegetation in NSW. The result does not represent important vegetation structural attributes, such as vegetation height, subcanopy height, and destiny. This paper presents an automated method for the three-dimensional modelling of heathland and important heathland parameters, such as heath shrub height and continuity, and sparse tree and mallee height and density in support of bushfire behaviour modelling. For this study airborne lidar point clouds with a density of 120 points per square meter are used. For the processing and modelling the study is divided into a point cloud processing phase and a voxel-based modelling phase. The point cloud processing phase consists of the normalisation of the height and extraction of the above ground vegetation, while the voxel phase consists of seeded region growing for segmentation, and K-means clustering for the classification of the vegetation into three different canopy layers: a) heath shrubs, b) sparse trees and mallee, c) tall trees.

Background Outbreaks of infectious diseases pose great risks, including hospitalization and death, to public health. Therefore, improving the management of outbreaks is important for preventing widespread infection and mitigating associated risks. Mobile health technology provides new capabilities that can help better capture, monitor, and manage infectious diseases, including the ability to quickly identify potential outbreaks. Objective This study aims to develop a new infectious disease surveillance (IDS) system comprising a mobile app for accurate data capturing and dashboard for better health care planning and decision making. Methods We developed the IDS system using a 2-pronged approach: a literature review on available and similar disease surveillance systems to understand the fundamental requirements and face-to-face interviews to collect specific user requirements from the local public health unit team at the Nepean Hospital, Nepean Blue Mountains Local Health District, New South Wales, Australia. Results We identified 3 fundamental requirements when designing an electronic IDS system, which are the ability to capture and report outbreak data accurately, completely, and in a timely fashion. We then developed our IDS system based on the workflow, scope, and specific requirements of the public health unit team. We also produced detailed design and requirement guidelines. In our system, the outbreak data are captured and sent from anywhere using a mobile device or a desktop PC (web interface). The data are processed using a client-server architecture and, therefore, can be analyzed in real time. Our dashboard is designed to provide a daily, weekly, monthly, and historical summary of outbreak information, which can be potentially used to develop a future intervention plan. Specific information about certain outbreaks can also be visualized interactively to understand the unique characteristics of emerging infectious diseases. Conclusions We demonstrated the design and development of our IDS system. We suggest that the use of a mobile app and dashboard will simplify the overall data collection, reporting, and analysis processes, thereby improving the public health responses and providing accurate registration of outbreak information. Accurate data reporting and collection are a major step forward in creating a better intervention plan for future outbreaks of infectious diseases.

Context. Mammal populations around the world are increasingly threatened with population fragmentation because of loss of habitat or barriers to gene flow. The investigation of koala populations in the Sydney region not only provides valuable information about this vulnerable species, but also serves as a model for other species that have suffered major rapid declines in population size, and are now recovering in fragmented habitat. The peri-urban study region allows investigation of the impact of landscape features such as major roads and housing developments on koala gene flow. Aims. Animals originating from four geographic sampling areas around Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, were examined to determine population structure and gene flow and to identify barriers to gene flow and management units. Methods. The present study examined 12 microsatellite loci and used Bayesian assignment methods and genic frequency analysis methods to identify demographically separate populations and barriers to gene flow between those populations. Key results. Three discrete populations were resolved, with all displaying moderate to high levels of genetic differentiation among them (θ = 0.141–0.224). The allelic richness and heterozygosity of the Blue Mountains population (A = 6.46, HO = 0.66) is comparable to the highest diversity found in any koala population previously investigated. However, considerably lower genetic diversity was found in the Campbelltown population (A = 3.17, HO = 0.49), which also displayed evidence of a recent population bottleneck (effective population size estimated at 16–21). Conclusions. Animals separated by a military reserve were identified as one population, suggesting that the reserve maintains gene flow within this population. By contrast, strong differentiation of two geographically close populations separated by several potential barriers to gene flow suggested these land-use features pose barriers to gene flow. Implications. Implications of these findings for management of koala populations in the Greater Sydney region are discussed. In particular, the need to carefully consider the future of a military reserve is highlighted, along with possible solutions to allow gene flow across the proposed barrier regions. Because these are demographically separate populations, specific management plans tailored to the needs of each population will need to be formulated.

ABSTRACT Australia’s 2019–20 mega-fires burnt 79% of the Greater Blue Mountains World Heritage Area, prompting an urgent need for rapid on-ground post-fire assessments of flora and fauna to aid in post-fire recovery. This project aimed to determine spatial patterns in populations and assemblages of vertebrates, vertebrate temporal activity, and the diet of the invasive Red Fox Vulpes vulpes, across burnt and unburnt sites. Using remote camera traps we surveyed 12 unburnt and 10 burnt sites approximately 12 months after the fires. We detected 41 species (11 mammals, 28 birds and 2 reptiles), with different species composition, but similar vertebrate species richness across both unburnt and burnt sites. The relative abundance of the Eastern Grey Kangaroo Macropus giganteus, Common Wombat Vombatus ursinus and Australian Magpie Gymnorhina tibicen was higher in burnt sites, while small mammals (&lt; 500 g) had higher relative abundance at unburnt sites. There was no difference in the relative abundance of the Superb Lyrebird Menura novaehollandiae across burnt and unburnt sites, and although 11 species of bird were only detected at unburnt sites, the numbers were too low for reliable estimates of differences. Red Fox scat analysis (n=23) revealed that invertebrates and plant material were the dominant prey items in both burnt and unburnt sites, but medium-sized mammals increased in Red Fox diets in burnt sites, and reptiles were consumed disproportionately more by Red Foxes in burnt compared to unburnt sites. Although the short-term nature of this study and low scat sample size limited detailed insights, our rapid survey was an effective tool to gain preliminary data on species responses to the 2019–20 megafires in the Blue Mountains and contribute to a baseline for understanding species recovery.

ABSTRACT We have investigated the impact of the unprecedented drought, heatwaves and fires of 2019–20 on a threatened arboreal marsupial, the Greater Glider (Petauroides volans), in the Greater Blue Mountains World Heritage Area, an area of over one million hectares. The study involved multiple post-fire surveys in 2020 and 2021 of 16 transects (eight burnt and eight unburnt) for which we had pre-2019 data on Greater Glider numbers. We were unable to find any gliders on two transects burnt at high to extreme severity (100% of eucalypt foliage killed in the canopy and understorey) but Greater Gliders were still present on all six transects burnt at low to moderate severity (44–77% of eucalypt foliage killed), although in significantly lower numbers (mean decline of 43% per transect). Greater Gliders feed on eucalypt leaves and their post-fire survival appears to be dependent on the presence of eucalypt trees with abundant unburnt foliage, which were absent from the more severely burnt transects. Even 17 months after the fires, Greater Gliders were still dependent on these trees, which constituted 36% of trees on low-moderate burnt transects but 77% of trees in which gliders were seen. Gliders were seen feeding on post-fire epicormic regrowth but generally avoided trees with mainly epicormic foliage, possibly because they provided insufficient protection from predators. Greater Gliders were also seriously impacted by the preceding drought and heatwaves, with patchy but significant declines on the eight unburnt transects (mean decline of 34% per transect). We measured the likely impact of the fires on Greater Glider habitat across the World Heritage Area by determining fire severity at a total of 773 precisely located points at which the species had been recorded. An extraordinary 84% of their known sites had been burnt, with 34% burnt at high-extreme severity, 50% burnt at low-moderate severity and only 16% unburnt. Combining these figures with the Greater Glider declines recorded on our transects, we estimate that the Greater Glider population of the World Heritage Area has been reduced by 61% by the extreme events of 2019–20. This is a broad extrapolation from a limited number of sites but it indicates the massive scale of the likely impacts.

Abstract While Ramadan in Western societies has been studied extensively in relation to health issues, no research to date has explored its representation through social scientific lenses. This article uses the Greater Western Sydney region in New South Wales, Australia, as a case study. This agglomeration of suburbs from the outer western suburbs of Sydney to the Blue Mountains has the highest proportion of Muslims in the country. To understand the representation of Islam in this region, this paper first analyses the articles in its major and local newspapers to then contrast them to the way the Ramadan festival is represented by mosques on their websites. This research discovers that Ramadan in Sydney newspapers tends to be reported in a secular fashion with a stronger focus on its public and economic activities. The focus of a large proportion of these articles on the way it attracts business demonstrates that it is a well-accepted event in Australia. In contrast, the pictures provided in Muslim sites in Sydney are more religious than the newspaper depiction and show a contrast with regard to ethnicity and gender. While the newspaper pictures are from the public sphere and tend to be multicultural across various Muslim ethnicities and do not show gender segregation, the online pictures from Muslim organisation show a strong gender segregation and represent the local ethic community they serve. While the representations in the public sphere are neo-liberal post-secularism and multiculturalism, those from these organisations are curating religiously important rather than business orientated moments in their community.

Hidden away at the ends of streets, behind suburban parks and community assets, there remain remnants of the coastal wallum heathlands that once stretched from Caloundra to Noosa, in Queensland, Australia. From late July to September, these areas explode with colour, a springtime wonderland of white wedding bush, delicate ground orchids, the pastels and brilliance of pink boronias, purple irises, and the diverse profusion of yellow bush peas. These gifts of nature are still relatively unknown and unappreciated, with most locals, and Australians at large, having little knowledge of the remarkable nature of the wallum, the nutrient-poor sandy soil that can be almost as acidic as battery acid, but which sustains a finely tuned ecosystem that, once cleared, cannot be regrown. These heathlands and woodlands, previously commonplace beyond the beach dunes of the coastal region, are now only found in a number of national parks and reserves, and suburban remnants.Image 1: The author wildflowering and making art (Photo: Judy Barrass)I too was one of those who had no idea of the joys of the wallum and heathland wildflowers, but it was the creative works of Kathleen McArthur and Judith Wright that helped initiate my education, my own wanderings, wildflowering, and love. Learning country has been a multi-faceted experience, extended and tested as walking becomes an embodied encounter, bodies and landscapes entwined (Lund), an imaginative reimagining, creative act and source of inspiration, a form of pilgrimage (Morrison), forging an intimate relationship (Somerville).Image 2: Women wildflowering next to Rainbow Beach (Photo: Susan Davis)Wandering—the experience shares some similar characteristics to walking, but may have less of a sense of direction and destination. It may become an experience that is relational, contemplative, connected to place. Wandering may be transitory but with impact that resonates across years. Such is the case of wandering for McArthur and Wright; the experience became deeply relational but also led to a destabilisation of values, where the walking body became “entangled in monumental historical and social structures” (Heddon and Turner). They called their walking and wandering “wildflowering”. Somerville said of the term: “Wildflowering was a word they created to describe their passion for Australian wildflower and their love of the places where they found them” (Somerville 2). However, wildflowering was also very much about the experience of wandering within nature, of the “art of seeing”, of learning and communing, but also of “doing”.Image 3: Kathleen McArthur and Judith Wright “wildflowering” north of Lake Currimundi. (Photo: Alex Jelinek, courtesy Alexandra Moreno)McArthur defined and described going wildflowering as meaningdifferent things to different people. There are those who, with magnifying glass before their eyes, looking every inch the scientist, count stamens, measure hairs, pigeon-hole all the definitive features neatly in order and scoff at common names. Others bring with them an artistic inclination, noting the colours and shapes and shadows in the intimate and in the general landscape. Then there are those precious few who find poetry in a Helmut Orchid “leaning its ear to the ground”; see “the trigger-flower striking the bee”; find secrets in Sun Orchids; see Irises as “lilac butterflies” and a fox in a Yellow Doubletail…There are as many different ways to approach the “art of seeing” as there are people who think and feel and one way is as worthy as any other to make of it an enjoyably sensuous experience… (McArthur, Australian Wildflowers 52-53)Wildflowering thus extends far beyond the scientific collector and cataloguer of nature; it is about walking and wandering within nature and interacting with it; it is a richly layered experience, an “art”, “a sensuous experience”, “an artistic inclination” where perception may be framed by the poetic.Their wildflowering drove McArthur and Wright to embark on monumental struggles. They became the voice for the voiceless lifeforms within the environment—they typed letters, organised meetings, lobbied politicians, and led community groups. In fact, they often had to leave behind the environments and places that brought them joy to use the tools of culture to protest and protect—to ensure we might be able to appreciate them today. Importantly, both their creativity and the activism were fuelled by the same wellspring: walking, wandering, and wildflowering.Women Wandering and WildfloweringWhen McArthur and Wright met in the early 1950s, they shared some similarities in terms of relatively privileged social backgrounds, their year of birth (1915), and a love of nature. They both had houses named after native plants (“Calanthe” for Wright’s house at Tambourine, “Midyim” for McArthur’s house at Caloundra), and were focussed on their creative endeavours—Wright with her poetry, McArthur with her wildflower painting and writing. Wright was by then well established as a highly regarded literary figure on the Australian scene. Her book of poetry The Moving Image (1946) had been well received, and later publications further consolidated her substance and presence on the national literary landscape. McArthur had been raised as the middle daughter of a prominent Queensland family; her father was Daniel Evans, of Evans Deakin Industries, and her mother “Kit” was a daughter of one of the pastoral Durack clan. Kathleen had married and given birth to three children, but by the 1950s was exploring new futures and identities, having divorced her husband and made a home for her family at Caloundra on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. She had time and space in her life to devote to her own pursuits and some financial means provided through her inheritance to finance such endeavours.Wright and McArthur met in 1951 after McArthur sent Wright a children’s book for Judith and Jack McKinney’s daughter Meredith. The book was by McArthur’s cousins, Mary Durack (of Kings in Grass Castles fame) and Elizabeth Durack. Wright subsequently invited McArthur to visit her at Tambourine and from that visit their friendship quickly blossomed. While both women were to become known as high-profile nature lovers and conservationists, Wright acknowledges that it was McArthur who helped “train her eye” and cultivated her appreciation of the wildflowers of south-east Queensland:There are times in one’s past which remain warm and vivid, and can be taken out and looked at, so to speak, with renewed pleasure. Such, for me, were my first meetings in the early 1950s with Kathleen McArthur, and our continuing friendship. They brought me joys of discovery, new knowledge, and shared appreciation. Those “wild-flowering days” at Tamborine Mountain, Caloundra, Noosa or Lake Cootharaba, when I was able to wander with her, helped train my own eye a little to her ways of seeing and her devotion to the flowers of the coast, the mountains, and the wallum plains and swamps. (Wright quoted in McArthur, Australian Wildflowers 7)It was through this wandering and wildflowering that their friendship was forged, their knowledge of the plants and landscape grew and their passion was ignited. These acts of wandering were ones where feelings and the senses were engaged and celebrated. McArthur was to document her experiences of these environments through her wildflower paintings, cards, prints, weekly articles in the local newspapers, and books featuring Queensland and Australian Wildflowers (McArthur, Queensland Wildflowers; Living; Bush; Australian Wildflowers). Wright wrote a range of poems featuring landscapes and flora from the coastal experiences and doubtless influenced by their wildflowering experiences. These included, for example, Judith Wright’s poems “Wildflower Plain”, “Wonga Vine”, “Nameless Flower”, and “Sandy Swamp” (Collected Works).Through these acts of wildflowering, walking, and wandering, McArthur and Wright were drawn into activism and became what I call “wild/flower” women: women who cared for country, who formed a deep connection and intimate relationship with nature, with the more-than-human world; women who saw themselves not separate from nature but part of the great cycles of life, growth, death, and renewal; women whose relationship to the country, to the wildflowers and other living things was expressed through drawing, painting, poetry, stories, and performances—but that love driving them also to actions—actions to nurture and protect those wildflowers, places, and living things. This intimate relationship with nature was such that it inspired them to become “wild”, at times branded difficult, prompted to speak out, and step up to assume high profile roles on the public stage—and all because of their love of the small, humble, and often unseen.Wandering into Activism A direct link between “wildflowering” and activism can be identified in key experiences from 1953. That was the year McArthur devoted to “wildflowering”, visiting locations across the Sunshine Coast and South-East Queensland, documenting all that was flowering at different times of the year (McArthur, Living 15). She kept a monthly journal and also engaged in extensive drawing and painting. She was joined by Wright and her family for some of these trips, including one that would become a “monumental” expedition. They explored the area around Noosa and happened to climb to the top of Mt Tinbeerwah. Unlike many of the other volcanic plugs of the Sunshine Coast that would not be an easy climb for a family with young children, Tinbeerwah is a small volcanic peak, close to the road that runs between Cooroy and Tewantin, and one that is a relatively easy walk. From the car park, the trail takes you over volcanic lava flows, a pathway appearing, disappearing, winding through native grasses, modest height trees and to the edge of a dramatic cliff (one now popular with abseilers and adventurers). The final stretch brings you out above the trees to stunning 360-degree views, other volcanic peaks, a string of lakes and waterways, the patchwork greens of farmlands, distant blue oceans, and an expanse of bushland curving north for miles. Both women wrote about the experience and its subsequent significance: When Meredith was four years old, Kathleen McArthur, who was a great wildflower enthusiast and had become a good friend, invited us to join her on a wildflower expedition to the sand-plains north of Noosa. There the Noosa River spread itself out into sand-bottomed lakes between which the river meandered so slowly that everywhere the sky was serenely mirrored in it, trees hung low over it, birds haunted them.Kathleen took her little car, we took our converted van, and drove up the narrow unsealed road beyond Noosa. Once through the dunes—where the low bush-cover was white with wedding-bush and yellow with guinea-flower vines—the plains began, with many and mingled colours and scents. It was spring, and it welcomed us joyfully. (Wright, Half 279-280)McArthur also wrote about this event and its importance, as they both realised that this was territory that was worth protecting for posterity: ‘it was obvious that this was great wildflower country in addition to having a fascinating system of sand mass with related river and lakes. It would make a unique national park’ (McArthur, Living 53). After this experience, Kathleen and Judith began initial inquiries to find out about how to progress ideas for forming a national park (McArthur, Living). Brady affirms that it was Kathleen who first “broached the idea of agitating to have the area around Cooloola declared a National Park” (Brady 182), and it was Judith who then made inquiries in Brisbane on their way back to Mount Tambourine:Judith took the idea to Romeo Lahey of the National Parks Association who told her it was not threatened in any way whereas there were important areas of rainforest that were, and his association gave priority to those. If he had but known, it was threatened. The minerals sands prospectors were about to arrive, if not already in there. (McArthur, Living 53)These initial investigations were put on hold as the pair pursued their “private lives” and raised their children (McArthur, Living), but reignited throughout the 1960s. In 1962, McArthur and Wright were to become founding members of the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland (along with David Fleay and Brian Clouston), and Cooloola was to become one of one of their major campaigns (McArthur, Living 32). This came to the fore when they discovered there were multiple sand mining leases pending across the Cooloola region. It was at McArthur’s suggestion that a national postcard campaign was launched in 1969, with their organisation sending over 100,000 postcards across Australia to then be sent back to Joh Bjelke Peterson, the notoriously pro-development, conservative Queensland Premier. This is acknowledged as Australia’s first postcard campaign and was reported in national newspapers; The Australian called the Caloundra branch of WPSQ one of the “most militant cells” in Australia (25 May 1970). This was likely because of the extent of the WPSQ communications across media channels and persistence in taking on high profile critics, including the mining companies.It was to be another five years of campaigning before the national park was declared in 1975 (then named Cooloola National Park, now part of the Great Sandy). Wright was to then leave Queensland to live on a property near Braidwood (on the Southern Tablelands of New South Wales) and in a different political climate. However, McArthur stayed in Caloundra, maintaining her deep commitment to place and country, keeping on walking and wandering, painting, and writing. She campaigned to protect beach dunes, lobbied to have Pumicestone Passage added to the national heritage register (McArthur, Pumicestone), and fought to prevent the creation of canal estates on the Pumicestone passage. Following the pattern of previous campaigns, she engaged in detailed research, drawing on expertise nationally and internationally, and writing many submissions, newspaper columns, and letters.McArthur also advocated for the plants, the places, and forms of knowing that she loved, calling for “clear thinking and deep feeling” that would enable people to see, value, and care as she did, notably saying:Because our flowers have never settled into our consciousness they are not seen. People can drive through square miles of colourful, massed display of bloom and simply not see it. It is only when the mind opens that the flowers bloom. (McArthur, Bush 2)Her belief was that once you walked the country and could “see”, become familiar with, and fall in love with the wildflowers and their environment, you could not then stand by and see what you love destroyed. Her conservation activities and activism arose and was fed through her wildflowering and the deep knowledge and connections that were formed.Wildflowering and Wanderings of My OwnSo, what we can learn from McArthur and Wright, from our wild/flower women, their wanderings, and wildflowering?Over the past few years, I have walked the wallum country that they loved, recited their poetry, shared their work with others, walked with women in the present accompanied by resonances of the past. I have shared these experiences with friends, artists, and nature lovers. While wandering with one group of women one day, we discovered that a patch of wallum behind Sunshine Beach was due to be cleared for an aged care development. It is full of casuarina food trees visited by the endangered Glossy Black Cockatoos, but it is also full of old wallum banksias, a tree I have come to love, influenced in part by writing and art by McArthur, and my experiences of “wildflowering”.Banksia aemula—the wallum banksia—stands tall, often one of the tallest trees of our coastal heathlands and after which the wallum was named. A range of sources, including McArthur herself, identify the source of the tree’s name as an Aboriginal word:It is an Aboriginal word some say applied to all species of Banksia, and others say to Banksia aemula. The wallum, being up to the present practically useless for commercial purposes provides our best wildflower shows… (McArthur, Queensland Wildflowers 2)Gnarled, textured bark—soft grey and warm red browns, in parts almost fur—the flower heads, when young, feed the small birds and honeyeaters; the bees collect nectar to make honey. And the older heads—remnants on the ground left by glorious black cockatoos, whose beaks, the perfect pliers, crack pods open to recover the hidden seeds. In summer, as the new flowers burst open, every stage of the flower stem cycle is on show. The trees often stand together like familiar friends gossiping, providing shelter; they are protective, nurturing. Banksia aemula is a tree that, according to Thomas Petrie’s reminiscence of “early” Queensland, was significant to Aboriginal women, and might be “owned” by certain women:but certain men and women owned different fruit or flower-trees and shrubs. For instance, a man could own a bon-yi (Auaurcaria Bidwilli) tree, and a woman a minti (Banksia aemula)… (Petrie, Reminiscences 148)Banksia, wallum, women… the connection has existed for millennia. Women walking country, talking, observing, collecting, communing—and this tree was special to them as it has become for me. Who knows how old those trees are in that patch of forest and who may have been their custodians.Do I care about this? Yes, I do. How did I come to care? Through walking, through “wildflowering”, through stories, art, and experience. My connections have been forged by nature and culture, seeing McArthur’s art and reading Wright’s words, through walking the country with women, learning to know, and sharing a wildflowering culture. But knowing isn’t enough: wandering and wondering, has led to something more because now I care; now we must act. Along with some of the women I walked with, we have investigated council records; written to, and called, politicians and the developer; formed a Facebook group; met with various experts; and proposed alternatives. However, our efforts have not met with success as the history of the development application and approval was old and complex. Through wandering and “wildflowering”, we have had the opportunity to both lose ourselves and find ourselves, to escape, to learn, to discover. However, such acts are not necessarily aimless or lacking direction. As connections are forged, care and concern grows, and acts can shift from the humble and mundane, into the intentional and deliberate. The art of seeing and poetic perceptions may even transform into ecological action, with ramifications that can be both significant monumental. Such may be the power of “wildflowering”.ReferencesBrady, Veronica. South of My Days: A Biography of Judith Wright. Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1998.Heddon, Deirdre and Cathy Turner. “Walking Women: Shifting the Tales and Scales of Mobility.” Contemporary Theatre Review 22.2 (2012): 224–236.Lund, Katrín. “Landscapes and Narratives: Compositions and the Walking Body.” Landscape Research 37.2 (2012): 225–237.McArthur, Kathleen. Queensland Wildflowers: A Selection. Brisbane: Jacaranda Press, 1959.———. The Bush in Bloom: A Wildflower Artist’s Year in Paintings and Words. Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1982.———. Pumicestone Passage: A Living Waterway. Caloundra: Kathleen McArthur, 1978.———. Looking at Australian Wildflowers. Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1986.———. Living on the Coast. Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1989.Morrison, Susan Signe. “Walking as Memorial Ritual: Pilgrimage to the Past.” M/C Journal 21.4 (2018). 12 Aug. 2019 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1437>.Petrie, Constance Campbell, and Tom Petrie. Tom Petrie’s Reminiscences of Early Queensland. 4th ed. Brisbane: University of Queensland Press, 1992. Somerville, Margaret. Wildflowering: The Life and Places of Kathleen McArthur. Brisbane: University of Queensland Press, 2004.Wright, Judith. Collected Poems: 1942 to 1985. Sydney: Harper Collins, 2016.———. Half a Lifetime. Melbourne: Text Publishing, 1999.

This paper will discuss the way in which the creative component of my thesis Hannah’s Place uses a style of neo-historical fiction to find ‘good’ narratives in (once) ‘bad’ women, keeping with the theme, here paraphrased as: The work of any researcher in the humanities is to…challenge what is simply thought of as bad or good, to complicate essentialist categories and question passively accepted thinking. As a way of expanding this statement, I would like to begin by considering the following quote from Barthes on the nature of research. I believe he identifies the type of research that I have been involved with as a PhD candidate producing a ‘creative’ thesis in the field of Communications. What is a piece of research? To find out, we would need to have some idea of what a ‘result’ is. What is it that one finds? What is it one wants to find? What is missing? In what axiomatic field will the fact isolated, the meaning brought out, the statistical discovery be placed? No doubt it depends each time on the particular science approached, but from the moment a piece of research concerns the text (and the text extends very much further than the literary work) the research itself becomes text, production: to it, any ‘result’ is literally im-pertinent. Research is then the name which prudently, under the constraint of certain social conditions, we give to the activity of writing: research here moves on the side of writing, is an adventure of the signifier. (Barthes 198) My thesis sits within the theoretical framework of postmodern literature as a new form of the genre that has been termed ‘historical fiction’. Although the novel breaks away from and challenges the concept of the traditional ‘saga’ style of narrative, or ‘grand narrative’ within historical fiction, it is no less concerned with events of the past and the idea of past experience. It departs from traditional historical fiction in that it foregrounds not only an imagined fictional past world created when the novel is read, but also the actual archival documents, the pieces of text from the past from which traditional history is made, and which here have been used to create that world–‘sparking points’ for the fictional narrative. These archival documents are used within the work as intertextual elements that frame, and, in turn, are framed by the transworld characters’ homodiegetic narrations. The term ‘transworld character’ has been attributed to Umberto Eco and refers to any real world personages found within a fictional text. Eco defines it as the ‘identity of a given individual through worlds (transworld identity)…where the possible world is a possible state of affairs expressed by a set of relevant propositions [either true or untrue which] outlines a set of possible individuals along with their properties’ (219). Umberto Eco also considers that a problem of transworld identity is ‘to single out something as persistent through alternative states of affairs’ (230). In Postmodernist Fiction, Brian McHale also puts forward a number of definitions for ‘transworld identity’. For my purposes, I take it to mean both that defined by Eco but also the literary device, as defined by McHale, of ‘borrowing a character from another text’ (57). It is McHale who elaborates on the concept as it relates to historical fiction when he states: All historical novels, even the most traditional, typically involve some violation of ontological boundaries. For instance they often claim ‘transworld identity’ between characters in their projected worlds and real-world historical figures (16-17). Interestingly for the type of fiction that I am attempting to write, McHale also takes the idea into another area when he discusses the ontological levels of the historical dimension that transworld identities may undergo. Entities can change their ontological status in the course of history, in effect migrating from one ontological realm or level to another. For instance, real world entities and happenings can undergo ‘mythification’, moving from the profane realm to the realm of the sacred (36). For transworld identities, such as those within my novel, this may mean a change in status between the past, where they were stereotyped and categorised as ‘bad’ in contemporary newspapers (my intertext elements), to something in the present approaching ‘good’, or at least a more rounded female identity within a fictional world. The introduced textual elements which I foreground in my novel are those things most often hidden from view within the mimetic and hermeneutic worlds of traditional historical fiction. The sources re-textualised within my novel are both ‘real’ items from our past, and representations and interpretations of past events. The female transworld characters’ stories in this novel are imaginative re-interpretations. Therefore, both the fictional stories, as well as their sources, are textual interpretations of prior events. In this way, the novel plays with the idea of historical ‘fact’ and historical ‘fiction’. It blurs their boundaries. It gives textual equality to each in order to bring a form of textual agency to those marginalised groups defined by PF Bradley as the ‘host of jarring witnesses, [of history] a chaos of disjoined and discrepant narrations’ (Bradley in Holton 11): In the past in Australia these were lower class women, Aboriginals, the Irish, the illiterate, and poor agricultural immigrants whose labour was excess to Britain’s needs. Hannah’s Place – A Brief Synopsis Six individual women’s stories, embedded in or ‘framed’ by a fictional topographic artist’s journal, recount ‘real’ events from Australia’s colonial past. The journal is set in 1845; a few years after convict transportation to Australia’s eastern states ceased, and the year of the first art exhibition held in the colony. That same year, Leichhardt’s expedition arrived at Port Essington in Australia’s far north, after 12 months inland exploration, while in the far south the immigrant ship Cataraqui was wrecked one day short of arrival at Melbourne’s Port Phillip with the drowning of all but one of the 369 immigrants and 38 of the 46 sailors on board. Each chapter title takes the form of the title of a topographic sketch as a way of placing the text ‘visually’ within the artist’s journal narrative. The six women’s stories are: New South Wales at Last (Woman on a Boat): A woman arrives with a sick toddler to tent accommodation for poor immigrants in Sydney, after a three month sea voyage and the shipboard birth, death, and burial at sea of her baby daughter. Yarramundi Homestead, as Seen from the East: An ill-treated Irish servant girl on a squatter’s run awaits the arrival of her fiancée, travelling on board the immigrant ship Cataraqui. In the Vale of Hartley: In the Blue Mountains, an emancipist sawyer who previously murdered three people, violently beats to death his lover, Caroline Collitts, the seventeen-year-old sister of Maria, his fifteen-year-old wife. She Being Dead Yet Speaketh: In Goulburn, Annie Brownlow, a pretty 24-year-old mother of three is executed by a convict executioner for the accidental ‘murder’, while drunk, of her adulterous husband. The Eldest Daughter: The isolated wife of a small settler gives birth, assisted by Lottie, her eldest daughter, and Merrung, an Aboriginal midwife. On Wednesday Last, at Mr Ley’s Coach and Horses Hotel: In Bathurst, a vagrant alcoholic, Hannah Simpson, dies on the floor of a dodgy boarding house after a night and a day of falling into fits and ranting about her lifetime of 30 years migration. Historiographic Metafiction Has been defined by Linda Hutcheon as ‘Fiction which keeps distinct its formal auto-representation from its historical context and in so doing problematises the very possibility of historical knowledge… There is no reconciliation, no dialectic…just unresolved contradiction’ (106). Unresolved contradiction is one of the themes that surfaces in my novel because of the juxtaposition of archival documents (past text ‘facts’) alongside fictional narrative. Historiographic metafiction can usefully be employed as a means of challenging prior patriarchal narratives written about marginalised women. It allows the freedom to create a space for a new understanding of silenced women’s lives. My novel seeks to illuminate and problematise the previously ‘seamless’ genre of hical fiction by the use of (narrative) techniques such as: collage and juxtaposition, intertextuality, framing, embedded narrative, linked stories, and footnote intertext of archival material. Juxtaposition of the fiction against elements from prior non-fiction texts, clearly enunciated as being those same actual historical sources upon which the fiction is based, reinforces this novel as a work of fiction. Yet this strategy also reminds us that the historical narrative created is provisional, residing within the fictional text and in the gaps between the fictional text and the non-fictional intertext. At the same time, the clear narrativity, the suspenseful and sensationalised text of the archival non-fiction, brings them into question because of their place alongside the fiction. A reading of the novel questions the truthfulness or degree of reliability of past textual ‘facts’ as accurate records of real women’s life events. It does this by the use of a parallel narrative, which articulates characters whose moments of ‘breaking frame’ challenge those same past texts. Their ‘fiction’ as characters is reinforced by their existence as ‘objects’ of narration within the archival texts. Both the archival texts and the fiction can be seen as ‘unreliable’. The novel uses ex-centric transworld characters and embedded intertextual ‘fragments’ to create a covert self-reflexivity. It also confuses and disrupts narrative temporality and linearity of plot in two ways. It juxtaposes ‘real’ (intertextual element) dates alongside conflicting or unknown periods of time from the fictional narrative; and, within the artist’s journal, it has a minimal use of expected temporal ‘signposts’. These ‘signposts’ of year dates, months, or days of the week are those things that would be most expected in an authentic travel narrative. In this way, the women’s stories subvert the idea, inherent in previous forms of ‘historical’ fiction, of a single point of view or ‘take’ on history that one or two main characters may hold. The use of intertext results in a continued restating of multiple, conflicting (gender, race, and class) points of view. Ultimately no one ‘correct’ reading of the past gains in supremacy over any other. This narrative construct rearticulates the idea that the past, as does the present, comprises different points of view, not all of which conform to the ‘correct’ view created by the political, social and economic ‘factors’ dominant at the time those events happen. For colonial Australia, this single point of view gave us the myth of heroic (white male) pioneers and positioned women such as some of those within my fiction as ‘bad’. The fictional text challenges that of the male ‘gaze’, which constructed these women as ‘objects’. Examples of this from the newspaper articles are: A younger sister of Caroline Collit, married John Walsh, the convict at present under sentence of death in Bathurst gaol, and, it appears, continued to live with him up till the time of her sister’s murder; but she, as well as her sister Caroline, since the trial, have been ascertained to have borne very loose characters, which is fully established by the fact, that both before and after Walsh had married the younger sister, Caroline cohabited with him and had in fact been for a considerable time living with him, under the same roof with her sister, and in a state of separation from her own husband (Collit). Sydney Morning Herald, April 27, 1842, The Mount Victoria Murder. About twelve months after her marriage, her mother who was a notorious drunkard hanged herself in her own house… Sydney Morning Herald, April 27, 1842, The Mount Victoria Murder. And when we further reflect that the perpetrator of that deed of blood was a woman our horror is, if possible, much augmented. Yes! A woman and one who ought to have been in as much as the means were assuredly in the power of her family-an ornament to her sex and station. She has been cut off in the midst of her days by the hands of the common executioner. And to add to our distress at this sad event she to whose tragic end I am referring was a wife and a mother. It was her hand which struck the blow that rendered her children orphans and brought her to an ignominious end… The Goulburn Herald, October 20, 1855, Funeral sermon on Mary Ann Brownlow. His wife had been drinking and created an altercation on account of his having sold [her] lease; she asked him to drink, but he refused, when she replied “You can go and drink with your fancywoman”. She came after him as he was going away and stabbed him…..she did it from jealousy, although he had never given her any cause for jealousy. The Goulburn Herald, Saturday, September 15, 1855, Tuesday, September 11, Wilful Murder. She was always most obedient and quiet in her conduct, and her melancholy winning manners soon procured her the sympathy of all who came in contact with her. She became deeply impressed with the sinfulness of her previous life… The Goulburn Herald, October 13, 1855, Execution of Mary Ann Brownlow. [Police] had known the deceased who was a confirmed drunkard and an abandoned woman without any home or place of abode; did not believe she had any proper means of support…The Bathurst Times, November 1871. It is the oppositional and strong narrative ‘voice’ that elicits sympathies for and with the women’s situations. The fictional narratives were written to challenge unsympathetic pre-existing narratives found within the archival intertexts. This male ‘voice’ was one that narrated and positioned women such that they adhered to pre-existing notions of morality; what it meant to be a ‘good’ woman (like Mary Ann Brownlow, reformed in gaol but still sentenced to death) or a ‘bad’ woman (Mary Ann again as the murdering drunken vengeful wife, stabbing her husband in a jealous rage). ‘Reading between the lines’ of history in this way, creating fictional stories and juxtaposing them against the non-fiction prior articulations of those same events, is an opportunity to make use of narrative structure in order to destabilise established constructs of our colonial past. For example, the trope of Australia’s colonial settler women as exampled in the notion of Anne Summers of colonial women as either God’s police or damned whores. ‘A Particularly rigid dualistic notion of women’s function in colonial society was embodied in two stereotypes….that women are either good [God’s police] or evil [Damned whores]’ (67). With this dualism in mind, it is also useful here to consider the assumption made by Veeser in laying the ground work for New Historicism, that ‘no discourse imaginative or archival, gives access to unchanging truths or expresses unalterable human nature’ (2). In a discussion of the ideas of Brian McHale, Middleton and Woods acknowledge McHale’s point of view that readers do recognise the degree to which all knowledge of the past is a construction. They make the claim that ‘the postmodern novelist answers that sense of dislocation and loss…by wrapping ruins of earlier textualities around the narrative’ (66). This to my mind is a call for the type of intertextuality that I have attempted in my thesis. The senses of dislocation and loss found when we attempt to narrativise history are embodied in the structure of the creative component of my thesis. Yet it could also be argued that the cultural complexity of colonial Australia, with women as the subjugated ‘other’ of a disempowered voice has only been constructed by and from within the present. The ‘real’ women from whose lives these stories are imagined could not have perceived their lives within the frames (class, gender, post coloniality) that we now understand in the same way that we as educated westerners cannot totally perceive a tribal culture’s view of the cosmos as a real ‘fact’. However, a fictional re-articulation of historical ‘facts’, using a framework of postmodern neo-historical fiction, allows archival documents to be understood as the traces of women to whom those documented facts once referred. The archival record becomes once again a thing that describes a world of women. It is within these archival micro-histories of illiterate lower-class women that we find shards of our hidden past. By fictionally imagining a possible narrative of their lives we, as the author/reader nexus which creates the image of who these transworld characters were, allow for things that existed in the past as possibility. The fictionalised stories, based on fragments of ‘facts’ from the past, are a way of invoking what could have once existed. In this way the stories partake of the Bernstein and Morson concept of ‘sideshadowing’. Sideshadowing admits, in addition to actualities and impossibilities, a middle realm of real possibilities that could have happened even if they did not. Things could have been different from the way they were, there are real alternatives to the present we know, and the future admits of various possibilities… sideshadowing deepens our sense of the openness of time. It has profound implications for our understanding of history and of our own lives (Morson 6). The possibilities that sideshadowing their lives invokes in these stories ‘alters the way that we think about earlier events and the narrative models used to describe them’ (Morson 7). We alter our view of the women, as initially described in the archival record, because we now perceive the narrative through which these events and therefore ‘lives’ of the women were written, as merely ‘one possibility’ of many that may have occurred. Sideshadowing alternate possibilities gives us a way out of that patriarchal hegemony into a more multi-dimensional and non-linear view of female lives in 19th Century Australia. Sideshadowing allows for the ‘non-closure’ within female narratives that these fragments of women’s lives represent. It is this which is at the core of the novel—an historiographic metafictional challenging by the fictional ‘voices’ of female transworld characters. In this work, they narrate from a female perspective the might-have-been alternative of that previously considered as an historical, legitimate account of the past. Barthes and Bakhtin Readers of this type of historiographic metafiction have the freedom to recreate an historical fictional world. By virtue of the use of self-reflexivity and intertext they participate in a fictional world constructed by themselves from the author(s) of the text(s) and the intertext, and the original women’s voices used as quotations by the intertext’s (male) author. This world is based upon their construction of a past created from the author’s research, the author’s subjectivity (from within and by disciplinary discourse), by the author(s) choice of ‘signifiers’ and the meanings that these choices create within the reader’s subjectivity (itself formed out of their individual cultural and social milieu). This idea echoes Barthes concept of the ‘death of the author’, such that: As soon as a fact is narrated no longer with a view to acting directly on reality but intransitively, that is to say, finally outside of any function other than that of the very practice of the symbol itself; this disconnection occurs, the voice loses its origin, the author enters into his own death, writing begins. (142) When entering into the world created by this style of historical fiction the reader also enters into a world of previous ‘texts’ (or intertexts) and the multitude of voices inherent in them. This is the Bakhtinian concept of heteroglossia, that ‘every utterance contains within it the trace of other utterances, both in the past and in the future’ (263). The narrative formed thus becomes one of multiple ‘truths’ and therefore multiple histories. Once written as ‘bad’, the women are now perceived as ‘good’ characters and the ‘bad’ events that occurred around them and to them make up ‘good’ elements of plot, structure, characterisation and voice for a fictionalised version of a past possibility. Bad women make good reading. Conclusion This type of narrative structure allows for the limits of the silenced ‘voice’ of the past, and therefore an understanding of marginalised groups within hegemonic grand narratives, to be approached. It seems to me no surprise that neo-historical fiction is used more when the subjects written about are members of marginalised groups. Silenced voices need to be heard. Because these women left no written account of their experiences, and because we can never experience the society within which their identities were formed, we will never know their ‘identity’ as they experienced it. Fictional self-narrated stories of transworld characters allows for a transformation of the women away from an identity created by the moralising, stereotyped descriptions in the newspapers towards a more fully developed sense of female identity. Third-hand male accounts written for the (then) newspaper readers consumption (and for us as occupiers of the ‘future’) are a construct of one possible identity only. They do not reflect the women’s reality. Adding another fictional ‘identity’ through an imagined self-narrated account deconstructs that limited ‘identity’ formed through the male ‘gaze’. It does so because of the ability of fiction to allow the reader to create a fictional world which can be experienced imaginatively and from within their own subjectivity. Rather than something passively recorded, literature offers history as a permanent reactivation of the past in a critique of the present, and at the level of content offers a textual anamnesis for the hitherto ignored, unacknowledged or repressed pasts marginalised by the dominant histories. (Middleton and Woods 77) References Bakhtin, Mikhail. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Trans. Michael Holquist. Ed. Caryl Emerson. Austin: U of Texas P, 1981. Barthes, Roland, and Stephen Heath, eds. Image, Music, Text. New York: Hill and Wang, 1977. Eco, Umberto. The Role of the Reader: Explorations in the Semiotics of Texts. Bloomington and London: Indiana UP, 1979. Holton, Robert. Jarring Witnesses: Modern Fiction and the Representation of History. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1994. Hutcheon, Linda. A Poetics of Postmodernism: History, Theory, Fiction. New York: Routledge, 1988. McHale, Brian. Postmodernist Fiction. New York and London: Methuen, 1987. Middleton, Peter, and Tim Woods. Literatures of Memory: History, Time and Space in Postwar Writing. Manchester and New York: Manchester UP, 2000. Morson, Gary Saul. Narrative and Freedom: The Shadows of Time. New Haven: Yale UP, 1994. Summers, Anne. Damned Whores and God’s Police. Ringwood Vic: Penguin Books, 1994. Veeser, H. Aram. The New Historicism. London: Routledge, 1989. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Lowes, Elanna Herbert. "Transgressive Women, Transworld Women: The Once ‘Bad’ Can Make ‘Good’ Narratives." M/C Journal 8.1 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/04-herbertlowes.php>. APA Style Lowes, E. (Feb. 2005) "Transgressive Women, Transworld Women: The Once ‘Bad’ Can Make ‘Good’ Narratives," M/C Journal, 8(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/04-herbertlowes.php>.