Articoli di riviste sul tema "Landforms South Australia"

Abstract Morphometry and formation processes are key research problems in the study of aeolian sandy landforms. Based on morphometric parameters inferred from satellite images and the calculation of the drift potential (DP), we examined general characteristics of lunette dunes in the Tirari Desert, South Australia, along with their morphometry and formation processes to determine how this landform type initially formed and its relationship to surrounding linear dune distribution. Results show that the morphometric parameters of lunette dunes and connective lake systems exhibit moderate correlations. It suggests that the morphology of these dunes is controlled by the lakes. Spatially, the lunette dunes present regular arrangement, and the strike of their alignment are approximately in accordance with the linear dunes. The calculated DP implies that the lunette dunes developed under a low-wind-energy environment, which is a wind regime similar to that required for the formation of the surrounding linear dunes. Even though, the resultant DP demonstrates that the summer wind should be responsible for the growth of the lunette dunes. However, accompanied with the repeated drying of lakes and even its disappearance during the dune development process, it not only contributes to the development of lunette dunes but also promotes their transformation to linear dunes.

The invasion of northern Australia by the poisonous cane toad is well recognised, as is its devastating impacts on numerous local native species. However, there is little recognition that the toads are spreading into south-western Queensland. Utilising local knowledge, a limited survey was undertaken within the Cooper Creek catchment to locate the invasion front. Dispersal during 2010–11 floods has established cane toads as far south as Jundah. Integrating this information with landform mapping indicates that cane toad invasion can continue south-west down the Cooper Creek. Though arid, Cooper Creek’s geomorphology renders it partially independent of local climate, and permanent and semipermanent waterholes (including RAMSAR-listed wetlands) are found downstream from Windorah and into the Strzelecki Desert. Natural landforms provide potential daytime shelter and breeding sites, and additional suitable habitat created by human activity is also widespread. Even unsuccessful attempts at breeding may be detrimental to regional ecology, especially fish populations, at critical stages of their boom/bust cycle. We conclude that there is no reason why cane toads cannot penetrate further down the Cooper Creek, threatening wetlands in north-eastern South Australia. Published models of cane toad expansion, which conclude that north-eastern South Australia is too dry for cane toad populations to establish, are based on climatic parameters that significantly under-represent true habitat availability.

Abstract In Australia, the onset of human occupation (≥65 ka?) and dispersion across the continent are the subjects of intense debate and are critical to understanding global human migration routes. New-generation multi-collector mass spectrometers capable of high-precision 40Ar/39Ar dating of young (<500 ka) samples provide unprecedented opportunities to improve temporal constraints of archaeological events. In southeastern Australia, a novel approach to improving understanding of occupation involves dating key volcanic eruptions in the region, referenced to stone artifacts and Aboriginal oral traditions. The current study focuses on two monogenetic volcanoes in the Newer Volcanic Province of southeastern Australia: Budj Bim (previously Mount Eccles) and Tower Hill. Budj Bim and its surrounding lava landforms are of great cultural significance and feature prominently in the oral traditions of the Gunditjmara people. Tower Hill is of archaeological significance due to the occurrence of a stone tool beneath tephra. 40Ar/39Ar eruption ages of 36.9 ± 3.1 ka (95% confidence interval) and 36.8 ± 3.8 ka (2σ) were determined for the Budj Bim and Tower Hill volcanic complexes, respectively. The Tower Hill eruption age is a minimum age constraint for human presence in Victoria, consistent with published optically stimulated luminescence and 14C age constraints for the earliest known occupation sites in Tasmania, New South Wales, and South Australia. If aspects of oral traditions pertaining to Budj Bim or its surrounding lava landforms reflect volcanic activity, this could be interpreted as evidence for these being some of the oldest oral traditions in existence.

The Wagga Wagga 1 : 100 000 map sheet is on the Western Slopes of southern New South Wales. The regional topography changes from hills in the east and south-east to gently sloping rises and alluvial plains in the west. Aeolian clays (parna) form a consistent clay regolith regardless of the underlying geology in the gently sloping areas. In some alluvial plains and on some lower hill slopes, the surficial sediments contain a significant portion of reworked parna. In hilly areas, parna is poorly preserved except on some remnant ancient land surfaces, such as dissected plateaux and piedmont plains. The soil pattern in the area is well controlled by landform processes and history. On relatively steep hill slopes, locally derived materials from weathering of bedrock are usually the dominant components of the soils, and geology is the dominant factor controlling soil distribution. In contrast, the Murrumbidgee high floodplain is covered by uniform silty clay with deep clayey soils (brown/grey Dermosols). Before the mid-Holocene, the alluvium mainly comprised sands and gravels, which were reworked by wind forming sand sheets and sand mounds (source-bordering dunes) on which deep sandy soils (Rudosols) now occur. The sediments and soils on the alluvial plains of local streams vary according to their distance from the source area and the flooding frequency. Areas considered to be mantled by parna, uniform red clayey soils (haplic red Kandosols/Chromosols) occur. Although the distribution pattern of the soils is controlled by the landform evolution, the relationships between soil morphological properties and topography are not readily quantified. On the alluvial and gently sloping landforms, soil properties usually show little change even though slope gradient and slope length vary. Some soils, e.g. the Rudosols on the sand sheets, rarely show any topographic features which may indicate their presence. In limited areas, e.g. on steeper hills formed on metasedimentary rock, the soil properties vary with changes in topographic parameters (slope gradient and slope length).

Investigations of wildfire impact on water resources have escalated globally over the last decade owing to an awareness of climate-related vulnerabilities. Within Australia, research into post-wildfire erosion has focused on water supply catchments in the south-eastern region. Here, we examine post-wildfire erosion risk and its potential for water quality impacts in a catchment in south-western Australia. The catchment of the Harvey River, which drains from forested escarpments onto an agricultural coastal plain and into valuable coastal wetlands, was burnt by wildfire in 2016. The aims of this study were to determine erosion risk across contrasting landforms and variable fire severity, using the Revised Universal Soil Loss Equation (RUSLE), and to determine whether post-fire water quality impacts could be detected at permanent river monitoring stations located on the coastal plain. RUSLE outputs showed erosion hot-spots at intersections of steep terrain and high fire severity and that these areas were confined to forested headwaters and coastal dunes. Monthly water quality data showed conspicuous seasonal patterns, but that sampling frequency was temporally too coarse to pick up predicted event-related effects, particularly given that the pre-existing monitoring sites were distal to the predicted zone of contamination.

The range of grass, shrub and tree levels present in the Louth region of western New South Wales was determined in an area where woody weeds are considered to be rampant, and the prospects for change by burning were evaluated. Relationships between the three vegetation elements in each of four major landforms were determined by regression and reduction in the canopy cover of woody vegetation after one or two fires were simulated. Basal cover of grass was negatively related to canopy cover of woody vegetation, except in the Sandplains and Dunefields landform. The relationship here was curvilinear with maximum grass cover occurring at 10% canopy cover of the woody vegetation. Pastoralism was considered to become less efficient when the canopy cover of woody vegetation exceeded 5%; 44% of sites measured were below this threshold. The remaining sites could be divided into two groups; one which would fall below the threshold if burnt with a prescribed fire (21%) and the other which required two fires or an equivalent second treatment to reduce the cover below the threshold (35%). The survey confirmed the perception of pastoralists, administrators and scientists that shrub cover is unacceptably high for pastoralism throughout much of the region. Additionally the perennial grass cover was very low and this would increase the instability of forage supply to pastoral herbivores. The high spatial variability in the composition of vegetation indicates that graziers need to identify and treat areas where return on investment in rehabilitation will be highest and most certain.

Koala (Phascolarctos cinereus) populations in eastern Australia are threatened by land clearing for agricultural and urban development. At the same time, conservation efforts are hindered by a dearth of information about inland populations. Faecal deposits offer a source of information that is readily available and easily collected non-invasively. We detail a faecal pellet sampling protocol that was developed for use in a large rangeland biogeographic region. The method samples trees in belt transects, uses a thorough search at the tree base to quickly identify trees with koala pellets under them, then estimates the abundance of faecal pellets under those trees using 1-m2 quadrats. There was a strong linear relationship between these estimates and a complete enumeration of pellet abundance under the same trees. We evaluated the accuracy of our method in detecting trees where pellets were present by means of a misclassification index that was weighed more heavily for missed trees that had high numbers of pellets under them. This showed acceptable accuracy in all landforms except riverine, where some trees with large numbers of pellets were missed. Here, accuracy in detecting pellet presence was improved by sampling with quadrats, rather than basal searches. Finally, we developed a method to reliably age pellets and demonstrate how this protocol could be used with the faecal-standing-crop method to derive a regional estimate of absolute koala abundance.

Recent progress of dating techniques has greatly improved the age determination of various types of landslides. Since the turn of the 21st century, the number of dated landslides throughout the world has increased several fold and the introduction of modern dating methods (e.g. cosmic ray exposure dating) has enabled the dating of new landslide features and elements. Based on the analysis of >950 dated landslides (of which 734 have been dated since the year 2000), it is clear that the predominant traditional strategies have continued to rely on the radiocarbon method; however, there is a remarkable trend of using cosmic ray exposure techniques for dating both the accumulation (e.g. landslide boulders) and the depletion (e.g. landslide scarps) parts of landslides. Furthermore, an increasing number of slope failures is determined by a multi-dating approach, which enables the verification of particular dating methods. Although coherent regional landslide chronologies are still relatively scarce in comparison with extensive databases of fluvial, glacial and/or eolian landforms, they offer important insights into temporal landslide distribution, long-term landslide behavior and their relationships with paleoenvironmental changes. The most extensive data sets exist for the mountain areas of North America (Pacific Coast Ranges), South America (Andes), Europe (Alps, Scottish Highlands, Norway, Carpathians and Apennines), the Himalaya-Tibet orogeny and the Southern Alps of New Zealand. Dated landslides in the plate interiors are lacking, especially in South America, Africa and Australia. Despite the fact that some dating results are well correlated with major regional and continental-scale changes in the seismic activity, moisture abundance, glacier regimes and vegetation patterns, some of these results contradict previously established straightforward hypotheses. This indicates the rather complex chronological behavior of landslides, reflecting both intrinsic (e.g. gradual stress relaxation within a rock mass) and external factors, including high-magnitude earthquakes or heavy rainfalls.

This article provides a review of the study and geomorphology of Australia's fluvial systems by offering comment on the development, concerns and future of the subject. Trends in the history of fluvial landform studies in Australia are traced from the observations and comments of the early explorers and visiting scientists through to the emergence and growth of fluvial geomorphology as a study discipline. Subsequent development of the idea of a distinctive geomorphology of Australian fluvial systems that often contrast with Anglo-American observations is outlined and illustrated with particular reference to fluvial studies in south-east Australia. Key features of the Australian setting include low long-term denudation rates, the absence of extensive Quaternary glaciation and the predominance of low gradient fluvial systems over much of the continent. Some of the most important themes in contemporary Australian fluvial research are discussed and include long-term landscape evolution, thresholds and riverine response to secular trends in climate, Quaternary environmental change, arid-environment systems, bedrock channels and applied approaches to study. Consideration is also given to present deficiencies in research and to future priorities. Particular attention is focused on the need firstly to collect additional process data, secondly to shift the bias in research away from south-east Australia, and thirdly to develop links between fluvial process and alluvial stratigraphy/chronology. It is concluded that, given the variety of hydrogeomorphological environments in Australia and the diversity of approaches to study, ongoing research will provide further indications of the unusual nature of many of the continent's fluvial systems.

ABSTRACTThis study shows that the geogenic factors landform, lithology, and underlying mineral deposits (expressed by elevated metal concentrations in overlying soils) are key drivers of microbial community diversity in naturally metal-rich Australian soils with different land uses, i.e., agriculture versus natural bushland. One hundred sixty-eight soil samples were obtained from two metal-rich provinces in Australia, i.e., the Fifield Au-Pt field (New South Wales) and the Hillside Cu-Au-U rare-earth-element (REE) deposit (South Australia). Soils were analyzed using three-domain multiplex terminal-restriction-fragment-length-polymorphism (M-TRFLP) and PhyloChip microarrays. Geogenic factors were determined using field-mapping techniques and analyses of >50 geochemical parameters. At Fifield, microbial communities differed significantly with geogenic factors and equally with land use (P< 0.05). At Hillside, communities in surface soils (0.03- to 0.2-m depth) differed significantly with landform and land use (P< 0.05). Communities in deeper soils (>0.2 m) differed significantly with lithology and mineral deposit (P< 0.05). Across both sites, elevated metal contents in soils overlying mineral deposits were selective for a range of bacterial taxa, most importantlyAcidobacteria,Bacilli,Betaproteobacteria, andEpsilonproteobacteria. In conclusion, long-term geogenic factors can be just as important as land use in determining soil microbial community diversity.

Charles Albert Edward Fenner (1884?1955) was educated in Melbourne but spent the major part of his working life in South Australia, first as Superintendent of Technical Education and later as Director of Education, holding the latter post during the difficult years of the Second World War. He is best remembered for his role in the establishment of Geography as a university discipline and for his landform studies. He brought together earlier work on the tectonics of the Gulfs region of South Australia and introduced the term ?shatter belt' to describe the complex of horsts and sunken blocks. He noted evidence pointing to recent and continuing earth movements, and suggested that such earth movements were responsible for the westerly diversion of the River Murray at Chucka Bend. He also conceived a hypothesis of ?double planation' in explanation of the morphology of the Mt Lofty Ranges.

The geologically complex eastern Australian coastal margin supports the highest taxonomic diversity of freshwater fishes on the continent. However, mechanisms leading to coastal biogeographic patterns are poorly understood. A 399-bp fragment of the hypervariable mtDNA control region was sequenced from populations of eel-tailed catfish (Tandanus tandanus) to determine their phylogeographic structure and to relate this to proposed biogeographic mechanisms and landform evolution. Genetic structure in Tandanus is complex, with haplotypes clustering into three lineages: a phylogenetically distant, northern Queensland clade that is probably a new species; a mid-northern New South Wales clade corresponding to the recently discovered ‘Bellinger’ Tandanus cryptic species; and a third ‘derived’ clade T. tandanus. Phylogenetic analyses suggest that eastern Australian Tandanus originally invaded freshwaters from the coast where volcanic activity in the north and increasing aridity from the Paleocene reduced inter-fluvial connections, causing genetic divergence of northern Queensland and mid-northern New South Wales populations. The haplotypes represented by Murray–Darling drainage T. tandanus were the most derived, indicating that this species originally evolved on the coast and subsequently colonised the Murray–Darling basin. Tandanus in eastern Australia is phylogenetically structured and possibly comprises three species in this region; a pattern potentially shared by other eastern Australian freshwater fishes.

The continental margin of West Greenland is similar in many respects to other elevated, passive continental margins (EPCMs) around the world. These margins are characterised by extensive regions of low relief at elevations of 1–2 kilometres above sea level sloping gently inland, with a much steeper, oceanward decline, often termed a 'Great Escarpment', terminating at a coastal plain. Recent studies, based on integration of geological, geomorphological and thermochronological evidence, have shown that the high topography of West Greenland was formed by differential uplift and dissection of an Oligo-Miocene peneplain since the late Miocene, many millions of years after continental break-up between Greenland and North America. In contrast, many studies of other EPCMs have proposed a different style of development in which the high plateaux and the steep, oceanward decline are regarded as a direct result of rifting and continental separation. Some studies assume that the elevated regions have remained high since break-up, with the high topography continuously renewed by isostasy. Others identify the elevated plains as remnants of pre-rift landscapes. Key to understanding the development of the West Greenland margin is a new approach to the study of landforms, stratigraphic landscape analysis, in which the low-relief, high-elevation plateaux at EPCMs are interpreted as uplifted peneplains: low-relief surfaces of large extent, cutting across bedrock of different age and resistance, and originally graded to sea level. Identification of different generations of peneplain (re-exposed and epigene) from regional mapping, combined with geological constraints and thermochronology, allows definition of the evolution leading to the formation of the modern-day topography. This approach is founded particularly on results from the South Swedish Dome, which document former sea levels as base levels for the formation of peneplains. These results support the view that peneplains grade towards base level, and that in the absence of other options (e.g. widespread resistant lithologies), the most likely base level is sea level. This is particularly so at continental margins due to their proximity to the adjacent ocean. Studies in which EPCMs are interpreted as related to rifting or break-up commonly favour histories involving continuous denudation of margins following rifting, and interpretation of thermochronology data in terms of monotonic cooling histories. However, in several regions, including southern Africa, south-east Australia and eastern Brazil, geological constraints demonstrate that such scenarios are inappropriate, and an episodic development involving post-breakup subsidence and burial followed later by uplift and denudation is more realistic. Such development is also indicated by the presence in sedimentary basins adjacent to many EPCMs of major erosional unconformities within the post-breakup sedimentary section which correlate with onshore denudation episodes. The nature of the processes responsible is not yet understood, but it seems likely that plate-scale forces are required in order to explain the regional extent of the effects involved. New geodynamic models are required to explain the episodic development of EPCMs, accommodating post-breakup subsidence and burial as well as subsequent uplift and denudation, long after break-up which created the characteristic, modern-day EPCM landscapes.

Relatively few large-scale inventories of the world's wetlands exist because of the difficulties of spatial scale, associated cost and multiple objectives, often temporally confounded, that drive classification. The extent of wetlands across a large part of Australia (New South Wales, 80.6 million ha) was determined using satellite image analyses. These data allowed analyses of the distribution of wetlands, their conservation status and potential threats at different spatial scales; that is, State, coastal and inland, and catchment. Approximately 5.6% of New South Wales is wetland (4.5 million ha), mostly (96%) in inland river catchments. Broad classification allowed identification of the extent of wetland types: (i) floodplains (89%); (ii) freshwater lakes (6.6%); (iii) saline lakes (< 1%); (iv) estuarine wetlands (2.5%); and (v) coastal lagoons and lakes (1.5%). Conservation reserves protect only 3% of wetland area. The analyses identified the north-west as the key area for wetland conservation as most other catchments have lower wetland extent and more potential threatening processes. The first stage of a large-scale inventory is to determine the extent and location of wetlands, with immediate benefits for strategic conservation and management. Other objectives (e.g. classification, biotic composition, hydrology and threats) seldom have sufficient data available for large-scale inventories but can be completed later with resources.

There is considerable interest in integrating deep-rooted perennial plants into the dryland farming systems of southern Australia as soil, water supplies and biodiversity are continually threatened by salinity. In addition to wood products, trees could provide new products, such as bioenergy, environmental services, such as the sequestration of carbon, reductions in recharge to groundwater and biodiversity protection. Before marketing these services, it is necessary to determine the optimal distribution of trees across the landscape, in terms of land suitability, their productivity, and proximity to existing processing and transport infrastructure. Similarly, understanding how recharge varies across landscapes will allow the targeting of trees to areas where they are most needed for salinity control. Catchment scale (1:100 000) soil and landform datasets are now available across much of the agricultural area of Australia. While these data are at a scale inappropriate for management at the enterprise (farm) scale, they will allow broad planning for new plant-based industries, such as whether there is sufficient suitable land available before embarking on a new enterprise and the likely productivity of that land. In this paper, we outline an approach that combines existing soil and landform data with estimates of climate to produce estimates of likely wood yield, carbon sequestration and potential for recharge to groundwater. Using the 283 686 ha Collie catchment of south-western Australia as an example, this analysis indicated broad areas where land is suitable for forestry, where forestry is unlikely to succeed, or where it was not required because leakage to groundwater is negligible. It also provides broad estimates of wood production and carbon sequestration. The approach is applicable to the integration of deep-rooted perennial plants into farming systems in other regions confronted with multiple natural resource management issues.

In 2017, the New South Wales (NSW) Office of Environment and Heritage (OEH) initiated a state-wide mapping program, SeaBed NSW, which systematically acquires high-resolution (2–5 m cell size) multibeam echosounder (MBES) and marine LiDAR data along more than 2000 km of the subtropical-to-temperate southeast Australian continental shelf. This program considerably expands upon existing efforts by OEH to date, which have mapped approximately 15% of NSW waters with these technologies. The delivery of high volumes of new data, together with the vast repository of existing data, highlights the need for a standardised, automated approach to classify seabed data. Here we present a methodological approach with new procedures to semi-automate the classification of high-resolution bathymetry and intensity (backscatter and reflectivity) data into a suite of data products including classifications of seabed morphology (landforms) and composition (substrates, habitats, geomorphology). These methodologies are applied to two case study areas representing newer (Wollongong, NSW) and older (South Solitary Islands, NSW) MBES datasets to assess the transferability of classification techniques across input data of varied quality. The suite of seabed classifications produced by this study provide fundamental baseline data on seabed shape, complexity, and composition which will inform regional risk assessments and provide insights into biodiversity and geodiversity.

In Australia, salinity has the potential to affect up to 17million hectares of agricultural and pastoral land. For many degraded sites, biophysical hazards are often poorly understood and consequently poorly managed. Attempts to remediate areas affected by salinity have met with varying degrees of success. The New South Wales (NSW) Office of Environment and Heritage, NSW Department of Primary Industries, University of Canberra and Geoscience Australia have collaborated to develop a biophysical expert-based approach for the assessment and management of salinity within landscapes. The Hydrogeological Landscape (HGL) framework provides a structure for understanding how salinity manifests in the landscape, how differences in salinity are expressed across the landscape and how salinity may best be managed. The HGL framework merges the flow dynamics of the groundwater flow system with the landscape elements of the soil landscape or regolith landform approaches. This is the first approach to specifically address all three manifestations of salinity: land salinity, in-stream salt load and in-stream salt concentration. The HGL framework methodology recognises the interplay between surface and subsurface flow systems, as well as the capacity for water to interact with salt stores in the landscape, and identifies biophysical landscape characteristics (e.g. amount and type of vegetation cover, typical land use practice) that affect these interactions. The HGL framework is an expert system that integrates the spatial variability of landscape characteristics and salinity processes to produce a salinity hazard assessment for any given area.

Coastal floodplains are among the most modified landscapes in southeastern Australia. We used available vegetation survey data for coastal alluvium and other unconsolidated Quarternary sediments to construct a diagnosis of the major plant communities and document their flora. We used soil landscape maps and historical portion plans to gain an understanding of the distribution and environmental relationships of the communities. The flora of coastal floodplains includes more than 1 000 native vascular plant taxa and more than 200 introduced taxa. The introduced flora is likely to be considerably larger, given that sampling was biased toward the least disturbed sites. Six major plant communities were diagnosed including a rainforest found north from the Shoalhaven floodplain, a mixed forest of eucalypts and melaleucas found north from Jervis Bay, a casuarina forest (sometimes with melaleuca) found throughout the coast, one open eucalypt forest found principally south from the Hunter region, another open eucalypt forest found north of the Hunter region and a complex of treeless wetland assemblages scattered throughout the coast. The extent and spatial arrangement of these communities varies between floodplains, with landform, rainfall, water regime and soil properties including moisture, fertility and salinity thought to be important factors mediating their distribution patterns. All six assemblages are listed as Endangered Ecological Communities under Threatened Species legislation. The coastal floodplain communities continue to be threatened by land clearing and crop conversion, fragmentation, changes to water flows, flooding and drainage, input of polluted runoff, weed invasion, activation of acid sulphate soils, climate change and degradation through rubbish dumping and other physical disturbances.

Soil security identifies global challenges and a series of dimensions that are necessary requirements to meet those global challenges using sustainable land management. The soil security concept is applied to two contrasting soil landscape systems with varying climate, landform and soil types. Previous methodologies for assessing land and soil capability are combined within the soil security conceptual approach. The land and soil capability methodologies are used to assess how the soil condition changes in response to the stresses and forcing associated with land management and land and soil degradation processes. It is the soil capability that defines how the soil condition changes between the reference state of the soil condition, or the genoform, and the soil condition under land use, or the phenoform. The conclusion is that soil capability, which is one of the dimensions used to apply the soil security concept, is a complex dimension and has several aspects or further facets to be considered to achieve sustainable land management. It is apparent that in assessing soil capability, the following facets are relevant. I: The capacity of the soil to provide ecosystem services to meet the global challenges outlined for Soil Security. II: The stability of the soil condition to land degradation processes resulting from the effects of land management practices and the environmental stresses on the soil. III: The capacity to recover following degradation. Facets II and III can be considered the resilience. An important conclusion is that the soil capability cannot be assessed without taking into account features of the landscape including climate and landform. Two examples from south eastern Australia of the application of these facets of soil capability to on-ground situations are presented. The Cowra Trough Red Soils in the Australian wheat belt are a set of soils, primarily contributing to meeting the global challenge of food security. The major degradation processes threatening the stability of these soils are water erosion and soil acidification. The Kosciusko National Park in the Snowy Mountains region is primarily contributing to meeting the challenges of water security for the irrigation industry in the Murray Darling Basins and energy security through the production of hydroelectricity. The set of soil landscapes also contributes to biodiversity protection and human health and well-being. The major degradation processes threatening the stability of these soils and their capacity to meet the global challenges are water and wind erosion. A major limitation is the poor capacity of these soils to recover once degraded. Identifying the main ecosystem services provided by the two examples, together with the major risks of land degradation can clarify extension, economic and policy aspects of sustainable land management for the two sets of soil landscapes. For the Cowra Trough Red Soils, management of water erosion and soil acidification are essential for maintaining the contribution of the area to food security. For the Kosciusko National Park, the control of water and wind erosion are essential to maintain the contribution of the area to water and energy security.

Understanding fuel dynamics in fire-prone ecosystems is important because fuels play a central role in shaping fire hazard and behaviour. There is ongoing debate over whether fire hazard continually increases with time since fire in shrublands of Mediterranean-type climates, and studies of the temporal changes in fuel loads can contribute to this discussion. We used a chronosequence of fire ages to investigate fuel dynamics and recovery of vegetation structure in the Acacia-dominated shrublands of interior south-west Western Australia. We collected and measured fuels from vegetation with fire ages ranging from 6 to 80+ years and then fitted linear, negative exponential, quadratic and logarithmic models to explore temporal patterns of fuel accumulation. Components of fine (<1 cm) fuel (ground, aerial live, aerial dead) and total fine fuel levels were found to accumulate rapidly in the first few years following a fire and then gradually increase for many decades thereafter. On average, total fine fuel was ~10 t ha–1 at 10 years post fire, and ~20 t ha–1 after 40–60 years. Akaike’s Information Criterion did not confidently discriminate between linear models and those that plateau at a certain fire age. However, all models showed gradual accumulation of fuel between 10 and 60 years post fire. Dead fine fuel (both litter and aerial) was virtually absent from young shrubland (<10 years) but accumulated slowly with age and comprised around 40% of total fine fuel in long-unburnt stands (>50 years). Although there is some evidence of shrub senescence in very long-unburnt vegetation (>60 years), no corresponding decline in fuel levels was detected, suggesting lag effects or inter-fire recruitment to maintain vegetation structure and fuel levels. Fuel structure and quantity varied considerably across the landscape, even within areas of the same landform and time since fire. We found that some of this variation was attributable to soil depth but suggest that other environmental factors may also cause variation in vegetation and fuel characteristics.

Density distributions of red and western grey kangaroos in the South Australian pastoral zone were determined for the period 1978-86. The habitat associations of these kangaroos were analysed using the densities on half-degree blocks, and information on landform and soil type, land use and degradation, vegetation, and climate. Red kangaroos were found throughout the pastoral zone, the highest densities being in the north-east. Western grey kangaroos were restricted to the southern parts of the pastoral zone. Higher densities of red kangaroos were associated with pastoral land use, with brown calcareous and red duplex soils, and with areas dominated by low bluebush shrublands. They were not particularly closely associated with areas dominated by mulga. Habitat associations of red kangaroos were different in drought years compared to non-drought years. Changes in density distribution during drought appears to have been due to the patchiness of rainfall. The relative effect of the drought was greatest in the northern part of the pastoral zone. Outside this effect, recent rainfall was found to be of only secondary importance to the overall density distribution of red kangaroos. Climatic factors appeared to be the major determinants of the density distribution of western grey kangaroos. Low evaporation and relatively high rainfall characterised areas with high densities of western grey kangaroos. As was the case with red kangaroos, habitat heterogeneity appeared to be an important requirement of western grey kangaroos. Also, habitat associations were different in drought and non-drought years. Despite this, as was the case with red kangaroos, recent rainfall was only of secondary importance to the overall distribution of western grey kangaroos.

The identification and characterisation of æolian dust additions to Australian soil profiles has been attempted using a wide range of analytical techniques. Such techniques are often reliant on specialised equipment and operator expertise, but do not necessarily yield information on the spatial distribution of deposited dust across the landscape. An airborne geophysical technique which measures naturally occurring gamma-rays may now assist in the rapid assessment of dust accumulation sites at the catchment scale. This technique, known as gamma ray spectrometry or radiometrics, assesses the potassium (K), uranium (U), and thorium (Th) contents of the Earth's surface, and may potentially distinguish æolian sediments from the underlying rock or in situ developed soil profile by their differing K, U, and/or Th-bearing mineral suites. This paper summarises a study of this technique for identifying æolian dust in topsoils of the Hillston district in western New South Wales. Using airborne with follow-up ground-based radiometric data, a variable relationship was established between large K signatures and apparent topsoil dust accumulations, which were identified as containing appreciable feldspar and illite. The previously established correlation between topsoil clay content and eTh (equivalent Th) concentration was also observed in this region, indicating that the technique may allow for rapid identification of landform features with significant clay and silt enrichment, as often occurs with dust accession. Despite the ubiquity of æolian sediments in this region, the radiometric data were moderately effective in discriminating different dune systems and may therefore represent a useful initial technique for discerning likely areas of dust accumulation in this environment. However, in areas influenced by fluvial sediments, the radiometric signatures were not necessarily indicative of the topsoil dust content.

The antiquity of the Australian landscape has long been the subject of debate, with some studies inferring extraordinary longevity (>108 myr) for some subaerial landforms dating back to the early Paleozoic. A number of early Permian glacial erosion surfaces in the Fleurieu Peninsula, southeastern Australia, provide an opportunity to test the notion of long-term subaerial emergence, and thus tectonic and geomorphic stability, of parts of the Australian continent. Here we present results of apatite fission track analysis (AFTA) applied to a suite of samples collected from localities where glacial erosion features of early Permian age are developed. Our synthesis of AFTA results with geological data reveals four cooling episodes (C1-4), which are interpreted to represent distinct stages of exhumation. These episodes occurred during the Ediacaran to Ordovician (C1), mid-Carboniferous (C2), Permian to mid-Triassic (C3) and Eocene to Oligocene (C4).The interpretation of AFTA results indicates that the Neoproterozoic−Lower Paleozoic metasedimentary rocks and granitic intrusions upon which the glacial rock surfaces generally occur were exhumed to the surface by the latest Carboniferous−earliest Permian during episodes C2 and/or C3, possibly as a far-field response to the intraplate Alice Springs Orogeny. The resulting landscapes were sculpted by glacial erosive processes. Our interpretation of AFTA results suggests that the erosion surfaces and overlying Permian sedimentary rocks were subsequently heated to between c. 60 and 80°C, which we interpret as recording burial by a sedimentary cover comprising Permian and younger strata, roughly 1 km in thickness. This interpretation is consistent with existing thermochronological datasets from this region, and also with palynological and geochronological datasets from sediments in offshore Mesozoic−Cenozoic-age basins along the southern Australian margin that indicate substantial recycling of Permian−Cretaceous sediments. We propose that the exhumation which led to the contemporary exposure of the glacial erosion features began during the Eocene to Oligocene (episode C4), during the initial stages of intraplate deformation that has shaped the Mt Lofty and Flinders Ranges in South Australia. Our findings are consistent with several recent studies, which suggest that burial and exhumation have played a key role in the preservation and contemporary re-exposure of Gondwanan geomorphic features in the Australian landscape.

It is January 1930 and the restless Southern Ocean is heaving itself up against the frozen coast of Eastern Antarctica. For hundreds of kilometres, this coastline consists entirely of ice: although Antarctica is a continent, only 2% of its surface consists of exposed rock; the rest is buried under a vast frozen mantle. But there is rock in this coastal scene: silhouetted against the glaring white of the glacial shelf, a barren island humps up out of the water. Slowly and cautiously, the Discovery approaches the island through uncharted waters; the crew’s eyes strain in the frigid air as they scour the ocean’s surface for ship-puncturing bergs. The approach to the island is difficult, but Captain Davis maintains the Discovery on its course as the wind howls in the rigging. Finally, the ship can go no further; the men lower a boat into the tossing sea. They pull hard at the oars until the boat is abreast of the island, and then they ram the bow against its icy littoral. Now one of the key moments of this exploratory expedition—officially titled the British, Australian, and New Zealand Antarctic Research Expedition (BANZARE)—is about to occur: the expedition is about to succeed in its primary spatial mission. Douglas Mawson, the Australian leader of the expedition, puts his feet onto the island and ascends to its bleak summit. There, he and his crew assemble a mound of loose stones and insert into it the flagpole they’ve carried with them across the ocean. Mawson reads an official proclamation of territorial annexation (see Bush 118-19), the photographer Frank Hurley shoots the moment on film, and one of the men hauls the Union Jack up the pole. Until the Australian Flags Act of 1953, the Union Jack retained seniority over the Australian flag. BANZARE took place before the 1931 Statute of Westminster, which gave full political and foreign policy independence to Commonwealth countries, thus Mawson claimed Antarctic space on behalf of Britain. He did so with the understanding that Britain would subsequently grant Australia title to its own Antarctican space. Britain did so in 1933. In the freezing wind, the men take off their hats, give three cheers for the King, and sing “God Save the King.” They deposit a copy of the proclamation into a metal canister and affix this to the flagpole; for a moment they admire the view. But there is little time to savour the moment, or the feeling of solid ground under their cold feet: the ship is waiting and the wind is growing in force. The men row back to the Discovery; Mawson returns to his cabin and writes up the event. A crucial moment in Antarctica’s spatial history has occurred: on what Mawson has aptly named Proclamation Island, Antarctica has been produced as Australian space. But how, exactly, does this production of Antarctica as a spatial possession work? How does this moment initiate the transformation of six million square kilometres of Antarctica—42% of the continent—into Australian space? The answer to this question lies in three separate, but articulated cultural technologies: representation, the body of the explorer, and international territorial law. When it comes to thinking about ‘turf’, Antarctica may at first seem an odd subject of analysis. Physically, Antarctica is a turfless space, an entire continent devoid of grass, plants, land-based animals, or trees. Geopolitically, Antarctica remains the only continent on which no turf wars have been fought: British and Argentinian soldiers clashed over the occupation of a Peninsular base in the Hope Bay incident of 1952 (Dodds 56), but beyond this somewhat bathetic skirmish, Antarctican space has never been the object of physical conflict. Further, as Antarctica has no indigenous human population, its space remains free of the colonial turfs of dispossession, invasion, and loss. The Antarctic Treaty of 1961 formalised Antarctica’s geopolitically turfless status, stipulating that the continent was to be used for peaceful purposes only, and stating that Antarctica was an internationally shared space of harmony and scientific goodwill. So why address Antarctican spatiality here? Two motivations underpin this article’s anatomising of Australia’s Antarctican space. First, too often Antarctica is imagined as an entirely homogeneous space: a vast white plain dotted here and there along its shifting coast by identical scientific research stations inhabited by identical bearded men. Similarly, the complexities of Antarctica’s geopolitical and legal spaces are often overlooked in favour of a vision of the continent as a site of harmonious uniformity. While it is true that the bulk of Antarctican space is ice, the assumption that its cultural spatialities are identical is far from the case: this article is part of a larger endeavour to provide a ‘thick’ description of Antarctican spatialities, one which points to the heterogeneity of cultural geographies of the polar south. The Australian polar spatiality installed by Mawson differs radically from that of, for example, Chile; in a continent governed by international consensus, it is crucial that the specific cultural geographies and spatial histories of Treaty participants be clearly understood. Second, attending to complexities of Antarctican spatiality points up the intersecting cultural technologies involved in spatial production, cultural technologies so powerful that, in the case of Antarctica, they transformed nearly half of a distant continent into Australian sovereign space. This article focuses its critical attention on three core spatialising technologies, a trinary that echoes Henri Lefebvre’s influential tripartite model of spatiality: this article attends to Australian Antarctic representation, practise, and the law. At the turn of the twentieth century, Scott, Shackleton, and Amundsen trooped over the polar plateau, and Antarctic space became a setting for symbolic Edwardian performances of heroic imperial masculinity and ‘frontier’ hardiness. At the same time, a second, less symbolic, type of Antarctican spatiality began to evolve: for the first time, Antarctica became a potential territorial possession; it became the object of expansionist geopolitics. Based in part on Scott’s expeditions, Britain declared sovereignty over an undefined area of the continent in 1908, and France declared Antarctic space its own in 1924; by the late 1920s, what John Agnew and Stuart Corbridge refer to as the nation-state ontology—that is, the belief that land should and must be divided into state-owned units—had arrived in Antarctica. What the Adelaide Advertiser’s 8 April 1929 headline referred to as “A Scramble for Antarctica” had begun. The British Imperial Conference of 1926 concluded that the entire continent should become a possession of Britain and its dominions, New Zealand and Australia (Imperial). Thus, in 1929, BANZARE set sail into the brutal Southern Ocean. Although the expedition included various scientists, its primary mission was not to observe Antarctican space, but to take possession of it: as the expedition’s instructions from Australian Prime Minister Bruce stated, BANZARE’s mission was to produce Antarctica as Empire’s—and by extension, Australia’s—sovereign space (Jacka and Jacka 251). With the moment described in the first paragraph of this article, along with four other such moments, BANZARE succeeded; just how it did so is the focus of this work. It is by now axiomatic in spatial studies that the job of imperial explorers is not to locate landforms, but to produce a discursive space. “The early travellers,” as Paul Carter notes of Australian explorers, “invented places rather than found them” (51). Numerous analytical investigations attend to the discursive power of exploration: in Australia, Carter’s Road to Botany Bay, Simon Ryan’s Cartographic Eye, Ross Gibson’s Diminishing Paradise, and Brigid Hains’s The Ice and the Inland, to name a few, lay bare the textual strategies through which the imperial annexation of “new” spaces was legitimated and enabled. Discursive territoriality was certainly a core product of BANZARE: as this article’s opening paragraph demonstrates, one of the key missions of BANZARE was not simply to perform rituals of spatial possession, but to textualise them for popular and governmental consumption. Within ten months of the expedition’s return, Hurley’s film Southward Ho! With Mawson was touring Australia. BANZARE consisted of two separate trips to Antarctica; Southward Ho! documents the first of these, while Siege of the South documents the both the first and the second, 1930-1, mission. While there is not space here to provide a detailed textual analysis of the entire film, a focus on the “Proclamation Island moment” usefully points up some of the film’s central spatialising work. Hurley situated the Proclamation Island scene at the heart of the film; the scene was so important that Hurley wished he had been able to shoot two hours of footage of Mawson’s island performance (Ayres 194). This scene in the film opens with a long shot of the land and sea around the island; a soundtrack of howling wind not only documents the brutal conditions in which the expedition worked, but also emphasises the emptiness of Antarctican space prior to its “discovery” by Mawson: in this shot, the film visually confirms Antarctica’s status as an available terra nullius awaiting cooption into Australian understanding, and into Australian national space. The film then cuts to a close-up of Mawson raising the flag; the sound of the wind disappears as Mawson begins to read the proclamation of possession. It is as if Mawson’s proclamation of possession stills the protean chaos of unclaimed Antarctic space by inviting it into the spatial order of national territory: at this moment, Antarctica’s agency is symbolically subsumed by Mawson’s acquisitive words. As the scene ends, the camera once again pans over the surrounding sea and ice scape, visually confirming the impact of Mawson’s—and the film’s—performance: all this, the shot implies, is now made meaningful; all this is now understood, recorded, and, most importantly, all this is now ours. A textual analysis of this filmic moment might identify numerous other spatialising strategies at work: its conflation of Mawson’s and the viewer’s proprietary gazes (Ryan), its invocation of the sublime, or its legitimising conflation of the ‘purity’ of the whiteness of the landscape with the whiteness of its claimants (Dyer 21). However, the spatial productivity of this moment far exceeds the discursive. What is at times frustrating about discourse analyses of spatiality is that they too often fail to articulate representation to other, equally potent, cultural technologies of spatial production. John Wylie notes that “on the whole, accounts of early twentieth-century Antarctic exploration exhibit a particular tendency to position and interpret exploratory experience in terms of self-contained discursive ensembles” (170). Despite the undisputed power of textuality, discourse alone does not, and cannot, produce a spatial possession. “Discursive and representational practices,” as Jane Jacobs observes, “are in a mutually constitutive relationship with political and economic forces” (9); spatiality, in other words, is not simply a matter of texts. In order to understand fully the process of Antarctican spatial acquisition, it is necessary to depart from tales of exploration and ships and flags, and to focus on the less visceral spatiality of international territorial law. Or, more accurately, it is necessary to address the mutual imbrication of these two articulated spatialising “domains of practice” (Dixon). The emerging field of critical legal geography is founded on the premise that legal analyses of territoriality neglect the spatial dimension of their investigations; rather than seeing the law as a means of spatial production, they position space as a neutral, universally-legible entity which is neatly governed by the “external variable” of territorial law (Blomley 28). “In the hegemonic conception of the law,” Wesley Pue argues, “the entire world is transmuted into one vast isotropic surface” (568) upon which law acts. Nicholas Blomley asserts, however, that law is not a neutral organiser of space, but rather a cultural technology of spatial production. Territorial laws, in other words, make spaces, and don’t simply govern them. When Mawson planted the flag and read the proclamation, he was producing Antarctica as a legal space as well as a discursive one. Today’s international territorial laws derive directly from European imperialism: as European empires expanded, they required a spatial system that would protect their newly-annexed lands, and thus they developed a set of laws of territorial acquisition and possession. Undergirding these laws is the ontological premise that space is divisible into state-owned sovereign units. At international law, space can be acquired by its imperial claimants in one of three main ways: through conquest, cession (treaty), or through “the discovery of terra nullius” (see Triggs 2). Antarctica and Australia remain the globe’s only significant spaces to be transformed into possessions through the last of these methods. In the spatiality of the international law of discovery, explorers are not just government employees or symbolic representatives, but vessels of enormous legal force. According to international territorial law, sovereign title to “new” territory—land defined (by Europeans) as terra nullius, or land belonging to no one—can be established through the eyes, feet, codified ritual performances, and documents of explorers. That is, once an authorised explorer—Mawson carried documents from both the Australian Prime Minister and the British King that invested his body and his texts with the power to transform land into a possession—saw land, put his foot on it, planted a flag, read a proclamation, then documented these acts in words and maps, that land became a possession. These performative rituals and their documentation activate the legal spatiality of territorial acquisition; law here is revealed as a “bundle of practices” that produce space as a possession (Ford 202). What we witness when we attend to Mawson’s island performance, then, is not merely a discursive performance, but also the transformation of Antarctica into a legal space of possession. Similarly, the films and documents generated by the expedition are more than just a “sign system of human ambition” (Tang 190), they are evidence, valid at law, of territorial possession. They are key components of Australia’s legal currency of Antarctican spatial purchase. What is of central importance here is that Mawson’s BANZARE performance on Proclamation Island is a moment in which the dryly legal, the bluntly physical, and the densely textual clearly intersect in the creation of space as a possession. Australia did not take possession of forty-two percent of Antarctica after BANZARE by law, by exploration, or by representation alone. The Australian government built its Antarctic space with letters patent and legal documents. BANZARE produced Australia’s Antarctic possession through the physical and legal rituals of flag-planting, proclamation-reading, and exploration. BANZARE further contributed to Australia’s polar empire with maps, journals, photos and films, and cadastral lists of the region’s animals, minerals, magnetic fields, and winds. The law of “discovery of terra nullius” coalesced these spaces into a territory officially designated as Australian. It is crucial to recognise that the production of nearly half of Antarctica as Australian space was, and is not a matter of discourse, of physical performance, or of law alone. Rather, these three cultural technologies of spatial production are mutually imbricated; none can function without the others, nor is one reducible to an epiphenomenon of another. To focus on the discursive products of BANZARE without attending to the expedition’s legal work not only downplays the significance of Mawson’s spatialising achievement, but also blinds us to the role that law plays in the production of space. Attending to Mawson’s Proclamation Island moment points to the unique nature of Australia’s Antarctic spatiality: unlike the US, which constructs Antarctic spatiality as entirely non-sovereign; and unlike Chile, which bases its Antarctic sovereignty claim on Papal Bulls and acts of domestic colonisation, Australian Antarctic space is a spatiality of possession, founded on a bedrock of imperial exploration, representation, and law. Seventy-four years ago, the camera whirred as a man stuck a flagpole into the bleak summit rocks of a small Antarctic island: six million square kilometres of Antarctica became, and remain, Australian space. Works Cited Agnew, John, and Stuart Corbridge. Mastering Space: Hegemony, Territory and International Political Economy. London: Routledge, 1995. Ayres, Philip. Mawson: A Life. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 1999. Blomley, Nicholas. Law, Space, and the Geographies of Power. New York: Guilford, 1994. Bush, W. M. Antarctica and International Law: A Collection of Inter-State and National Documents. Vol. 2. London: Oceana, 1982. Carter, Paul. The Road to Botany Bay: An Essay in Spatial History. London: Faber, 1987. Dixon, Rob. Prosthetic Gods: Travel, Representation and Colonial Governance. Brisbane: UQP, 2001. Dodds, Klaus. Geopolitics in Antarctica: Views from the Southern Oceanic Rim. Chichester: Wiley, 1997. Dyer, Richard. White. London: Routledge, 1997. Ford, Richard. “Law’s Territory (A History of Jurisdiction).” The Legal Geographies Reader. Ed. Nicholas Blomley and Richard Ford. Oxford: Blackwell, 2001. 200-17. Gibson, Ross. The Diminishing Paradise: Changing Literary Perceptions of Australia. Sydney: Sirius, 1984. Hains, Brigid. The Ice and the Inland: Mawson, Flynn, and the Myth of the Frontier. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 2002. Imperial Conference, 1926. Summary of Proceedings. London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926. Jacka, Fred, and Eleanor Jacka, eds. Mawson’s Antarctic Diaries. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1988. Jacobs, Jane. Edge of Empire: Postcolonialism and the City. London: Routledge, 1996. Pue, Wesley. “Wrestling with Law: (Geographical) Specificity versus (Legal) Abstraction.” Urban Geography 11.6 (1990): 566-85. Ryan, Simon. The Cartographic Eye: How the Explorers Saw Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996. Tang, David. “Writing on Antarctica.” Room 5 1 (2000): 185-95. Triggs, Gillian. International Law and Australian Sovereignty in Antarctica. Sydney: Legal, 1986. Wylie, John. “Earthly Poles: The Antarctic Voyages of Scott and Amundsen.” Postcolonial Geographies. Ed Alison Blunt and Cheryl McEwan. London: Continuum, 2002. 169-83. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Collis, Christy. "Australia’s Antarctic Turf" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0403/02-feature-australia.php>. APA Style Collis, C. (2004, Mar17). Australia’s Antarctic Turf. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture,7,<http://www.media-culture.org.au/0403/02-feature australia.php>

Special Care Notice This article contains images of deceased people that might cause sadness or distress to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers. Introduction Like many cities, Perth was founded on wetlands that have been integral to its history and culture (Seddon 226–32). However, in order to promote a settlement agenda, early mapmakers sought to erase the city’s wetlands from cartographic depictions (Giblett, Cities). Since the colonial era, inner-Perth’s swamps and lakes have been drained, filled, significantly reduced in size, or otherwise reclaimed for urban expansion (Bekle). Not only have the swamps and lakes physically disappeared, the memories of their presence and influence on the city’s development over time are also largely forgotten. What was the site of Perth, specifically its wetlands, like before British settlement? In 2014, an interdisciplinary team at Edith Cowan University developed a digital visualisation process to re-imagine Perth prior to colonisation. This was based on early maps of the Swan River Colony and a range of archival information. The images depicted the city’s topography, hydrology, and vegetation and became the centerpiece of a physical exhibition entitled Re-imagining Perth’s Lost Wetlands and a virtual exhibition hosted by the Western Australian Museum. Alongside historic maps, paintings, photographs, and writings, the visual reconstruction of Perth aimed to foster appreciation of the pre-settlement environment—the homeland of the Whadjuck Nyoongar, or Bibbulmun, people (Carter and Nutter). The exhibition included the narrative of Fanny Balbuk, a Nyoongar woman who voiced her indignation over the “usurping of her beloved home ground” (Bates, The Passing 69) by flouting property lines and walking through private residences to reach places of cultural significance. Beginning with Balbuk’s story and the digital tracing of her walking route through colonial Perth, this article discusses the project in the context of contemporary pressures on the city’s extant wetlands. The re-imagining of Perth through historically, culturally, and geographically-grounded digital visualisation approaches can inspire the conservation of its wetlands heritage. Balbuk’s Walk through the City For many who grew up in Perth, Fanny Balbuk’s perambulations have achieved legendary status in the collective cultural imagination. In his memoir, David Whish-Wilson mentions Balbuk’s defiant walks and the lighting up of the city for astronaut John Glenn in 1962 as the two stories that had the most impact on his Perth childhood. From Gordon Stephenson House, Whish-Wilson visualises her journey in his mind’s eye, past Government House on St Georges Terrace (the main thoroughfare through the city centre), then north on Barrack Street towards the railway station, the site of Lake Kingsford where Balbuk once gathered bush tucker (4). He considers the footpaths “beneath the geometric frame of the modern city […] worn smooth over millennia that snake up through the sheoak and marri woodland and into the city’s heart” (Whish-Wilson 4). Balbuk’s story embodies the intertwined culture and nature of Perth—a city of wetlands. Born in 1840 on Heirisson Island, Balbuk (also known as Yooreel) (Figure 1) had ancestral bonds to the urban landscape. According to Daisy Bates, writing in the early 1900s, the Nyoongar term Matagarup, or “leg deep,” denotes the passage of shallow water near Heirisson Island where Balbuk would have forded the Swan River (“Oldest” 16). Yoonderup was recorded as the Nyoongar name for Heirisson Island (Bates, “Oldest” 16) and the birthplace of Balbuk’s mother (Bates, “Aboriginal”). In the suburb of Shenton Park near present-day Lake Jualbup, her father bequeathed to her a red ochre (or wilgi) pit that she guarded fervently throughout her life (Bates, “Aboriginal”).Figure 1. Group of Aboriginal Women at Perth, including Fanny Balbuk (far right) (c. 1900). Image Credit: State Library of Western Australia (Image Number: 44c). Balbuk’s grandparents were culturally linked to the site. At his favourite camp beside the freshwater spring near Kings Park on Mounts Bay Road, her grandfather witnessed the arrival of Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick Irwin, cousin of James Stirling (Bates, “Fanny”). In 1879, colonial entrepreneurs established the Swan Brewery at this significant locale (Welborn). Her grandmother’s gravesite later became Government House (Bates, “Fanny”) and she protested vociferously outside “the stone gates guarded by a sentry [that] enclosed her grandmother’s burial ground” (Bates, The Passing 70). Balbuk’s other grandmother was buried beneath Bishop’s Grove, the residence of the city’s first archibishop, now Terrace Hotel (Bates, “Aboriginal”). Historian Bob Reece observes that Balbuk was “the last full-descent woman of Kar’gatta (Karrakatta), the Bibbulmun name for the Mount Eliza [Kings Park] area of Perth” (134). According to accounts drawn from Bates, her home ground traversed the area between Heirisson Island and Perth’s north-western limits. In Kings Park, one of her relatives was buried near a large, hollow tree used by Nyoongar people like a cistern to capture water and which later became the site of the Queen Victoria Statue (Bates, “Aboriginal”). On the slopes of Mount Eliza, the highest point of Kings Park, at the western end of St Georges Terrace, she harvested plant foods, including zamia fruits (Macrozamia riedlei) (Bates, “Fanny”). Fanny Balbuk’s knowledge contributed to the native title claim lodged by Nyoongar people in 2006 as Bennell v. State of Western Australia—the first of its kind to acknowledge Aboriginal land rights in a capital city and part of the larger Single Nyoongar Claim (South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council et al.). Perth’s colonial administration perceived the city’s wetlands as impediments to progress and as insalubrious environments to be eradicated through reclamation practices. For Balbuk and other Nyoongar people, however, wetlands were “nourishing terrains” (Rose) that afforded sustenance seasonally and meaning perpetually (O’Connor, Quartermaine, and Bodney). Mary Graham, a Kombu-merri elder from Queensland, articulates the connection between land and culture, “because land is sacred and must be looked after, the relation between people and land becomes the template for society and social relations. Therefore all meaning comes from land.” Traditional, embodied reliance on Perth’s wetlands is evident in Bates’ documentation. For instance, Boojoormeup was a “big swamp full of all kinds of food, now turned into Palmerston and Lake streets” (Bates, “Aboriginal”). Considering her cultural values, Balbuk’s determination to maintain pathways through the increasingly colonial Perth environment is unsurprising (Figure 2). From Heirisson Island: a straight track had led to the place where once she had gathered jilgies [crayfish] and vegetable food with the women, in the swamp where Perth railway station now stands. Through fences and over them, Balbuk took the straight track to the end. When a house was built in the way, she broke its fence-palings with her digging stick and charged up the steps and through the rooms. (Bates, The Passing 70) One obstacle was Hooper’s Fence, which Balbuk broke repeatedly on her trips to areas between Kings Park and the railway station (Bates, “Hooper’s”). Her tenacious commitment to walking ancestral routes signifies the friction between settlement infrastructure and traditional Nyoongar livelihood during an era of rapid change. Figure 2. Determination of Fanny Balbuk’s Journey between Yoonderup (Heirisson Island) and Lake Kingsford, traversing what is now the central business district of Perth on the Swan River (2014). Image background prepared by Dimitri Fotev. Track interpolation by Jeff Murray. Project Background and Approach Inspired by Fanny Balbuk’s story, Re-imagining Perth’s Lost Wetlands began as an Australian response to the Mannahatta Project. Founded in 1999, that project used spatial analysis techniques and mapping software to visualise New York’s urbanised Manhattan Island—or Mannahatta as it was called by indigenous people—in the early 1600s (Sanderson). Based on research into the island’s original biogeography and the ecological practices of Native Americans, Mannahatta enabled the public to “peel back” the city’s strata, revealing the original composition of the New York site. The layers of visuals included rich details about the island’s landforms, water systems, and vegetation. Mannahatta compelled Rod Giblett, a cultural researcher at Edith Cowan University, to develop an analogous model for visualising Perth circa 1829. The idea attracted support from the City of Perth, Landgate, and the University. Using stories, artefacts, and maps, the team—comprising a cartographer, designer, three-dimensional modelling expert, and historical researchers—set out to generate visualisations of the landscape at the time of British colonisation. Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup approved culturally sensitive material and contributed his perspective on Aboriginal content to include in the exhibition. The initiative’s context remains pressing. In many ways, Perth has become a template for development in the metropolitan area (Weller). While not unusual for a capital, the rate of transformation is perhaps unexpected in a city less than 200 years old (Forster). There also remains a persistent view of existing wetlands as obstructions to progress that, once removed, are soon forgotten (Urban Bushland Council). Digital visualisation can contribute to appreciating environments prior to colonisation but also to re-imagining possibilities for future human interactions with land, water, and space. Despite the rapid pace of change, many Perth area residents have memories of wetlands lost during their lifetimes (for example, Giblett, Forrestdale). However, as the clearing and drainage of the inner city occurred early in settlement, recollections of urban wetlands exist exclusively in historical records. In 1935, a local correspondent using the name “Sandgroper” reminisced about swamps, connecting them to Perth’s colonial heritage: But the Swamps were very real in fact, and in name in the [eighteen-] Nineties, and the Perth of my youth cannot be visualised without them. They were, of course, drying up apace, but they were swamps for all that, and they linked us directly with the earliest days of the Colony when our great-grandparents had founded this City of Perth on a sort of hog's-back, of which Hay-street was the ridge, and from which a succession of streamlets ran down its southern slope to the river, while land locked to the north of it lay a series of lakes which have long since been filled to and built over so that the only evidence that they have ever existed lies in the original street plans of Perth prepared by Roe and Hillman in the early eighteen-thirties. A salient consequence of the loss of ecological memory is the tendency to repeat the miscues of the past, especially the blatant disregard for natural and cultural heritage, as suburbanisation engulfs the area. While the swamps of inner Perth remain only in the names of streets, existing wetlands in the metropolitan area are still being threatened, as the Roe Highway (Roe 8) Campaign demonstrates. To re-imagine Perth’s lost landscape, we used several colonial survey maps to plot the location of the original lakes and swamps. At this time, a series of interconnecting waterbodies, known as the Perth Great Lakes, spread across the north of the city (Bekle and Gentilli). This phase required the earliest cartographic sources (Figure 3) because, by 1855, city maps no longer depicted wetlands. We synthesised contextual information, such as well depths, geological and botanical maps, settlers’ accounts, Nyoongar oral histories, and colonial-era artists’ impressions, to produce renderings of Perth. This diverse collection of primary and secondary materials served as the basis for creating new images of the city. Team member Jeff Murray interpolated Balbuk’s route using historical mappings and accounts, topographical data, court records, and cartographic common sense. He determined that Balbuk would have camped on the high ground of the southern part of Lake Kingsford rather than the more inundated northern part (Figure 2). Furthermore, she would have followed a reasonably direct course north of St Georges Terrace (contrary to David Whish-Wilson’s imaginings) because she was barred from Government House for protesting. This easier route would have also avoided the springs and gullies that appear on early maps of Perth. Figure 3. Townsite of Perth in Western Australia by Colonial Draftsman A. Hillman and John Septimus Roe (1838). This map of Perth depicts the wetlands that existed overlaid by the geomentric grid of the new city. Image Credit: State Library of Western Australia (Image Number: BA1961/14). Additionally, we produced an animated display based on aerial photographs to show the historical extent of change. Prompted by the build up to World War II, the earliest aerial photography of Perth dates from the late 1930s (Dixon 148–54). As “Sandgroper” noted, by this time, most of the urban wetlands had been drained or substantially modified. The animation revealed considerable alterations to the formerly swampy Swan River shoreline. Most prominent was the transformation of the Matagarup shallows across the Swan River, originally consisting of small islands. Now traversed by a causeway, this area was transformed into a single island, Heirisson—the general site of Balbuk’s birth. The animation and accompanying materials (maps, images, and writings) enabled viewers to apprehend the changes in real time and to imagine what the city was once like. Re-imagining Perth’s Urban Heart The physical environment of inner Perth includes virtually no trace of its wetland origins. Consequently, we considered whether a representation of Perth, as it existed previously, could enhance public understanding of natural heritage and thereby increase its value. For this reason, interpretive materials were exhibited centrally at Perth Town Hall. Built partly by convicts between 1867 and 1870, the venue is close to the site of the 1829 Foundation of Perth, depicted in George Pitt Morrison’s painting. Balbuk’s grandfather “camped somewhere in the city of Perth, not far from the Town Hall” (Bates, “Fanny”). The building lies one block from the site of the railway station on the site of Lake Kingsford, the subsistence grounds of Balbuk and her forebears: The old swamp which is now the Perth railway yards had been a favourite jilgi ground; a spring near the Town Hall had been a camping place of Maiago […] and others of her fathers' folk; and all around and about city and suburbs she had gathered roots and fished for crayfish in the days gone by. (Bates, “Derelicts” 55) Beginning in 1848, the draining of Lake Kingsford reached completion during the construction of the Town Hall. While the swamps of the city were not appreciated by many residents, some organisations, such as the Perth Town Trust, vigorously opposed the reclamation of the lake, alluding to its hydrological role: That, the soil being sand, it is not to be supposed that Lake Kingsford has in itself any material effect on the wells of Perth; but that, from this same reason of the sandy soil, it would be impossible to keep the lake dry without, by so doing, withdrawing the water from at least the adjacent parts of the townsite to the same depth. (Independent Journal of Politics and News 3) At the time of our exhibition, the Lake Kingsford site was again being reworked to sink the railway line and build Yagan Square, a public space named after a colonial-era Nyoongar leader. The project required specialised construction techniques due to the high water table—the remnants of the lake. People travelling to the exhibition by train in October 2014 could have seen the lake reasserting itself in partly-filled depressions, flush with winter rain (Figure 4).Figure 4. Rise of the Repressed (2014). Water Rising in the former site of Lake Kingsford/Irwin during construction, corner of Roe and Fitzgerald Streets, Northbridge, WA. Image Credit: Nandi Chinna (2014). The exhibition was situated in the Town Hall’s enclosed undercroft designed for markets and more recently for shops. While some visited after peering curiously through the glass walls of the undercroft, others hailed from local and state government organisations. Guest comments applauded the alternative view of Perth we presented. The content invited the public to re-imagine Perth as a city of wetlands that were both environmentally and culturally important. A display panel described how the city’s infrastructure presented a hindrance for Balbuk as she attempted to negotiate the once-familiar route between Yoonderup and Lake Kingsford (Figure 2). Perth’s growth “restricted Balbuk’s wanderings; towns, trains, and farms came through her ‘line of march’; old landmarks were thus swept away, and year after year saw her less confident of the locality of one-time familiar spots” (Bates, “Fanny”). Conserving Wetlands: From Re-Claiming to Re-Valuing? Imagination, for philosopher Roger Scruton, involves “thinking of, and attending to, a present object (by thinking of it, or perceiving it, in terms of something absent)” (155). According to Scruton, the feelings aroused through imagination can prompt creative, transformative experiences. While environmental conservation tends to rely on data-driven empirical approaches, it appeals to imagination less commonly. We have found, however, that attending to the present object (the city) in terms of something absent (its wetlands) through evocative visual material can complement traditional conservation agendas focused on habitats and species. The actual extent of wetlands loss in the Swan Coastal Plain—the flat and sandy region extending from Jurien Bay south to Cape Naturaliste, including Perth—is contested. However, estimates suggest that 80 per cent of wetlands have been lost, with remaining habitats threatened by climate change, suburban development, agriculture, and industry (Department of Environment and Conservation). As with the swamps and lakes of the inner city, many regional wetlands were cleared, drained, or filled before they could be properly documented. Additionally, the seasonal fluctuations of swampy places have never been easily translatable to two-dimensional records. As Giblett notes, the creation of cartographic representations and the assignment of English names were attempts to fix the dynamic boundaries of wetlands, at least in the minds of settlers and administrators (Postmodern 72–73). Moreover, European colonists found the Western Australian landscape, including its wetlands, generally discomfiting. In a letter from 1833, metaphors failed George Fletcher Moore, the effusive colonial commentator, “I cannot compare these swamps to any marshes with which you are familiar” (220). The intermediate nature of wetlands—as neither land nor lake—is perhaps one reason for their cultural marginalisation (Giblett, Postmodern 39). The conviction that unsanitary, miasmic wetlands should be converted to more useful purposes largely prevailed (Giblett, Black 105–22). Felicity Morel-EdnieBrown’s research into land ownership records in colonial Perth demonstrated that town lots on swampland were often preferred. By layering records using geographic information systems (GIS), she revealed modifications to town plans to accommodate swampland frontages. The decline of wetlands in the region appears to have been driven initially by their exploitation for water and later for fertile soil. Northern market gardens supplied the needs of the early city. It is likely that the depletion of Nyoongar bush foods predated the flourishing of these gardens (Carter and Nutter). Engaging with the history of Perth’s swamps raises questions about the appreciation of wetlands today. In an era where numerous conservation strategies and alternatives have been developed (for example, Bobbink et al. 93–220), the exploitation of wetlands in service to population growth persists. On Perth’s north side, wetlands have long been subdued by controlling their water levels and landscaping their boundaries, as the suburban examples of Lake Monger and Hyde Park (formerly Third Swamp Reserve) reveal. Largely unmodified wetlands, such as Forrestdale Lake, exist south of Perth, but they too are in danger (Giblett, Black Swan). The Beeliar Wetlands near the suburb of Bibra Lake comprise an interconnected series of lakes and swamps that are vulnerable to a highway extension project first proposed in the 1950s. Just as the Perth Town Trust debated Lake Kingsford’s draining, local councils and the public are fiercely contesting the construction of the Roe Highway, which will bisect Beeliar Wetlands, destroying Roe Swamp (Chinna). The conservation value of wetlands still struggles to compete with traffic planning underpinned by a modernist ideology that associates cars and freeways with progress (Gregory). Outside of archives, the debate about Lake Kingsford is almost entirely forgotten and its physical presence has been erased. Despite the magnitude of loss, re-imagining the city’s swamplands, in the way that we have, calls attention to past indiscretions while invigorating future possibilities. We hope that the re-imagining of Perth’s wetlands stimulates public respect for ancestral tracks and songlines like Balbuk’s. Despite the accretions of settler history and colonial discourse, songlines endure as a fundamental cultural heritage. Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup states, “as people, if we can get out there on our songlines, even though there may be farms or roads overlaying them, fences, whatever it is that might impede us from travelling directly upon them, if we can get close proximity, we can still keep our culture alive. That is why it is so important for us to have our songlines.” Just as Fanny Balbuk plied her songlines between Yoonderup and Lake Kingsford, the traditional custodians of Beeliar and other wetlands around Perth walk the landscape as an act of resistance and solidarity, keeping the stories of place alive. Acknowledgments The authors wish to acknowledge Rod Giblett (ECU), Nandi Chinna (ECU), Susanna Iuliano (ECU), Jeff Murray (Kareff Consulting), Dimitri Fotev (City of Perth), and Brendan McAtee (Landgate) for their contributions to this project. The authors also acknowledge the traditional custodians of the lands upon which this paper was researched and written. References Bates, Daisy. “Fanny Balbuk-Yooreel: The Last Swan River (Female) Native.” The Western Mail 1 Jun. 1907: 45.———. “Oldest Perth: The Days before the White Men Won.” The Western Mail 25 Dec. 1909: 16–17.———. “Derelicts: The Passing of the Bibbulmun.” The Western Mail 25 Dec. 1924: 55–56. ———. “Aboriginal Perth.” The Western Mail 4 Jul. 1929: 70.———. “Hooper’s Fence: A Query.” The Western Mail 18 Apr. 1935: 9.———. The Passing of the Aborigines: A Lifetime Spent among the Natives of Australia. London: John Murray, 1966.Bekle, Hugo. “The Wetlands Lost: Drainage of the Perth Lake Systems.” Western Geographer 5.1–2 (1981): 21–41.Bekle, Hugo, and Joseph Gentilli. “History of the Perth Lakes.” Early Days 10.5 (1993): 442–60.Bobbink, Roland, Boudewijn Beltman, Jos Verhoeven, and Dennis Whigham, eds. Wetlands: Functioning, Biodiversity Conservation, and Restoration. Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 2006. Carter, Bevan, and Lynda Nutter. Nyungah Land: Records of Invasion and Theft of Aboriginal Land on the Swan River 1829–1850. Guildford: Swan Valley Nyungah Community, 2005.Chinna, Nandi. “Swamp.” Griffith Review 47 (2015). 29 Sep. 2015 ‹https://griffithreview.com/articles/swamp›.Department of Environment and Conservation. Geomorphic Wetlands Swan Coastal Plain Dataset. Perth: Department of Environment and Conservation, 2008.Dixon, Robert. Photography, Early Cinema, and Colonial Modernity: Frank Hurley’s Synchronized Lecture Entertainments. London: Anthem Press, 2011. Forster, Clive. Australian Cities: Continuity and Change. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2004.Giblett, Rod. Postmodern Wetlands: Culture, History, Ecology. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1996. ———. Forrestdale: People and Place. Bassendean: Access Press, 2006.———. Black Swan Lake: Life of a Wetland. Bristol: Intellect, 2013.———. Cities and Wetlands: The Return of the Repressed in Nature and Culture. London: Bloomsbury, 2016. Chapter 2.Graham, Mary. “Some Thoughts about the Philosophical Underpinnings of Aboriginal Worldviews.” Australian Humanities Review 45 (2008). 29 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.australianhumanitiesreview.org/archive/Issue-November-2008/graham.html›.Gregory, Jenny. “Remembering Mounts Bay: The Narrows Scheme and the Internationalization of Perth Planning.” Studies in Western Australian History 27 (2011): 145–66.Independent Journal of Politics and News. “Perth Town Trust.” The Perth Gazette and Independent Journal of Politics and News 8 Jul. 1848: 2–3.Moore, George Fletcher. Extracts from the Letters of George Fletcher Moore. Ed. Martin Doyle. London: Orr and Smith, 1834.Morel-EdnieBrown, Felicity. “Layered Landscape: The Swamps of Colonial Northbridge.” Social Science Computer Review 27 (2009): 390–419. Nannup, Noel. Songlines with Dr Noel Nannup. Dir. Faculty of Regional Professional Studies, Edith Cowan University (2015). 29 Sep. 2015 ‹https://vimeo.com/129198094›. (Quoted material transcribed from 3.08–3.39 of the video.) O’Connor, Rory, Gary Quartermaine, and Corrie Bodney. Report on an Investigation into Aboriginal Significance of Wetlands and Rivers in the Perth-Bunbury Region. Perth: Western Australian Water Resources Council, 1989.Reece, Bob. “‘Killing with Kindness’: Daisy Bates and New Norcia.” Aboriginal History 32 (2008): 128–45.Rose, Deborah Bird. Nourishing Terrains: Australian Aboriginal Views of Landscape and Wilderness. Canberra: Australian Heritage Commission, 1996.Sanderson, Eric. Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2009.Sandgroper. “Gilgies: The Swamps of Perth.” The West Australian 4 May 1935: 7.Scruton, Roger. Art and Imagination. London: Methuen, 1974.Seddon, George. Sense of Place: A Response to an Environment, the Swan Coastal Plain, Western Australia. Melbourne: Bloomings Books, 2004.South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council and John Host with Chris Owen. “It’s Still in My Heart, This is My Country:” The Single Noongar Claim History. Crawley: U of Western Australia P, 2009.Urban Bushland Council. “Bushland Issues.” 2015. 29 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.bushlandperth.org.au/bushland-issues›.Welborn, Suzanne. Swan: The History of a Brewery. Crawley: U of Western Australia P, 1987.Weller, Richard. Boomtown 2050: Scenarios for a Rapidly Growing City. Crawley: U of Western Australia P, 2009. Whish-Wilson, David. Perth. Sydney: NewSouth Publishing, 2013.

In 2013, the Capricornia Arts Mob (CAM), an Indigenous collective of artists situated in Rockhampton, central Queensland, Australia, successfully tendered for one of three public art projects that were grouped under the title Flood Markers (Roberts; Roberts and Mackay; Robinson and Mackay). Commissioned as part of the Queensland Government's Community Development and Engagement Initiative, Flood Markers aims to increase awareness of Rockhampton’s history, with particular focus on the Fitzroy River and the phenomena of flooding. Honouring Land Connections is CAM’s contribution to the project and consists of several “memory poles” that stand alongside the Fitzroy River in Toonooba Park. Rockhampton lies on Dharumbal Country with Toonooba being the Dharumbal name for the Fitzroy River and the inspiration for the work due to its cultural significance to the Aboriginal people of that region. The name Toonooba, as well as other images and icons including boomerangs, spears, nets, water lily, and frogs, amongst others, are carved, burnt, painted and embedded into the large ironbark poles. These stand with the river on one side and the colonial infrastructure of Rockhampton on the other (see fig. 1, 2 and 3).Figure 1 Figure 2Figure 3Within this article, we discuss Honouring Land Connections as having two main functions which contribute to its significance as Indigenous cultural expression and identity affirmation. Firstly, the memory poles (as well as the process of sourcing materials and producing the final product) are a manifestation of Country and a representation of its stories and lived memories. Honouring Land Connections provides a means for Aboriginal people to revel in Country and maintain connections to a vital component of their being as Indigenous. Secondly, by revealing Indigenous stories, experiences, and memories, Honouring Land Connections emphasises Indigenous voices and perspectives within a place dominated by Eurocentric outlooks and knowledges. Toonooba provides the backdrop on which the complexities of cultural and identity formation within settler-colonial spaces are highlighted whilst revelling in continuous Indigenous presence.Flood Markers as ArtArtists throughout the world have used flood markers as a means of visual expression through which to explore and reveal local histories, events, environments, and socio-cultural understandings of the relationships between persons, places, and the phenomena of flooding. Geertz describes art as a social text embedded within wider socio-cultural systems; providing insight into cultural, social, political, economic, gendered, religious, ethnic, environmental, and biographical contexts. Flood markers are not merely metric tools used for measuring the height of a river, but rather serve as culture artefacts or indexes (Gell Art and Agency; Gell "Technology of Enchantment") that are products and producers of socio-culture contexts and the memories and experiences embedded within them. Through different methods, mediums, and images, artists have created experiential and intellectual spaces where those who encounter their work are encouraged to engage their surroundings in thought provoking and often-new ways.In some cases, flood markers have brought attention to the “character and natural history” of a particular place, where artists such as Louise Lavarack have sought to provoke consciousness of the movement of water across flood plains (Lavarack). In other works, flood markers have served as memorials to individuals such as Gilbert White whose daughter honoured his life and research through installing a glass spire at Boulder Creek, Colorado in 2011 (White). Tragedies such as Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans in 2005 have also been commemorated through flood markers. Artist Christopher Saucedo carved 1,836 waves into a freestanding granite block; each wave representing a life lost (University of New Orleans). The weight of the granite symbolises the endurance and resilience of those who faced, and will continue to face, similar forces of nature. The Pillar of Courage erected in 2011 in Ipswich, Queensland, similarly contains the words “resilience, community, strength, heroes, caring and unity” with each word printed on six separate sections of the pillar, representing the six major floods that have hit the region (Chudleigh).Whilst these flood markers provide valuable insights into local histories, specific to each environmental and socio-cultural context, works such as the Pillar of Courage fail to address Indigenous relationships to Country. By framing flooding as a “natural disaster” to be overcome, rather than an expression of Country to be listened to and understood, Euro and human-centric perspectives are prioritised over Indigenous ways of knowing and being. Indigenous knowledges however encourages a reorientation of Eurocentric responses and relationships to Country, and in doing so challenge compartmentalised views of “nature” where flooding is separated from land and Country (Ingold Perception; Seton and Bradley; Singer). Honouring Land Connections symbolises the voice and eternal presence of Toonooba and counters presentations of flooding that depict it as historian Heather Goodall (36) once saw “as unusual events of disorder in which the river leaves its proper place with catastrophic results.”Country To understand flooding from Indigenous perspectives it is first necessary to discuss Country and apprehend what it means for Indigenous peoples. Country refers to the physical, cosmological, geographical, relational, and emotional setting upon which Indigenous identities and connections to place and kin are embedded. Far from a passive geographic location upon which interactions take place, Country is an active and responsive agent that shapes and contextualises social interactions between and amongst all living beings. Bob Morgan writes of how “Country is more than issues of land and geography; it is about spirituality and identity, knowing who we are and who we are connected to; and it helps us understand how all living things are connected.” Country is also an epistemological frame that is filled with knowledge that may be known and familiarised whilst being knowledge itself (Langton "Sacred"; Rose Dingo; Yunupingu).Central to understanding Country is the fact that it refers to a living being’s spiritual homeland which is the ontological place where relationships are formed and maintained (Yunupingu). As Country nurtures and provides the necessities for survival and prosperity, Indigenous people (but also non-Indigenous populations) have moral obligations to care for Country as kin (Rose Nourishing Terrains). Country is epistemic, relational, and ontological and refers to both physical locations as well as modes of “being” (Heidegger), meaning it is carried from place to place as an embodiment within a person’s consciousness. Sally Morgan (263) describes how “our country is alive, and no matter where we go, our country never leaves us.” Country therefore is fluid and mobile for it is ontologically inseparable to one’s personhood, reflected through phrases such as “I am country” (B. Morgan 204).Country is in continuous dialogue with its surroundings and provides the setting upon which human and non-human beings; topographical features such as mountains and rivers; ancestral beings and spirits such as the Rainbow Snake; and ecological phenomena such as winds, tides, and floods, interact and mutually inform each other’s existence (Rose Nourishing Terrains). For Aboriginal people, understanding Country requires “deep listening” (Atkinson; Ungunmerr), a responsive awareness that moves beyond monological and human-centric understandings of the world and calls for deeper understandings of the mutual and co-dependant relationships that exist within it. The awareness of such mutuality has been discussed through terms such as “kincentrism” (Salmón), “meshworks” (Ingold Lines), “webs of connection” (Hokari), “nesting” (Malpas), and “native science” (Cajete). Such concepts are ways of theorising “place” as relational, physical, and mental locations made up of numerous smaller interactions, each of which contribute to the identity and meaning of place. Whilst each individual agent or object retains its own autonomy, such autonomy is dependent on its wider relation to others, meaning that place is a location where “objectivity, subjectivity and inter-subjectivity converge” (Malpas 35) and where the very essence of place is revealed.Flooding as DialogueWhen positioned within Indigenous frameworks, flooding is both an agent and expression of Toonooba and Country. For the phenomenon to occur however, numerous elements come into play such as the fall of rain; the layout of the surrounding terrain; human interference through built weirs and dams; and the actions and intervention of ancestral beings and spirits. Furthermore, flooding has a direct impact on Country and all life within it. This is highlighted by Dharumbal Elder Uncle Billy Mann (Fitzroy Basin Association "Billy Mann") who speaks of the importance of flooding in bringing water to inland lagoons which provide food sources for Dharumbal people, especially at times when the water in Toonooba is low. Such lagoons remain important places for fishing, hunting, recreational activities, and cultural practices but are reliant on the flow of water caused by the flowing, and at times flooding river, which Uncle Mann describes as the “lifeblood” of Dharumbal people and Country (Fitzroy Basin Association "Billy Mann"). Through her research in the Murray-Darling region of New South Wales, Weir writes of how flooding sustains life though cycles that contribute to ecological balance, providing nourishment and food sources for all beings (see also Cullen and Cullen 98). Water’s movement across land provokes the movement of animals such as mice and lizards, providing food for snakes. Frogs emerge from dry clay plains, finding newly made waterholes. Small aquatic organisms flourish and provide food sources for birds. Golden and silver perch spawn, and receding waters promote germination and growth. Aboriginal artist Ron Hurley depicts a similar cycle in a screen-print titled Waterlily–Darambal Totem. In this work Hurley shows floodwaters washing away old water lily roots that have been cooked in ant bed ovens as part of Dharumbal ceremonies (UQ Anthropology Museum). The cooking of the water lily exposes new seeds, which rains carry to nearby creeks and lagoons. The seeds take root and provide food sources for the following year. Cooking water lily during Dharumbal ceremonies contributes to securing and maintaining a sustainable food source as well as being part of Dharumbal cultural practice. Culture, ecological management, and everyday activity are mutually connected, along with being revealed and revelled in. Aboriginal Elder and ranger Uncle Fred Conway explains how Country teaches Aboriginal people to live in balance with their surroundings (Fitzroy Basin Association "Fred Conway"). As Country is in constant communication, numerous signifiers can be observed on land and waterscapes, indicating the most productive and sustainable time to pursue certain actions, source particular foods, or move to particular locations. The best time for fishing in central Queensland for example is when Wattles are in bloom, indicating a time when fish are “fatter and sweeter” (Fitzroy Basin Association "Fred Conway"). In this case, the Wattle is 1) autonomous, having its own life cycle; 2) mutually dependant, coming into being because of seasonal weather patterns; and 3) an agent of Country that teaches those with awareness how to respond and benefit from its lessons.Dialogue with Country As Country is sentient and responsive, it is vital that a person remains contextually aware of their actions on and towards their surroundings. Indigenous peoples seek familiarity with Country but also ensure that they themselves are known and familiarised by it (Rose Dingo). In a practice likened to “baptism”, Langton ("Earth") describes how Aboriginal Elders in Cape York pour water over the head of newcomers as a way of introducing them to Country, and ensuring that Country knows those who walk upon it. These introductions are done out of respect for Country and are a way of protecting outsiders from the potentially harmful powers of ancestral beings. Toussaint et al. similarly note how during mortuary rites, parents of the deceased take water from rivers and spit it back into the land, symbolising the spirit’s return to Country.Dharumbal man Robin Hatfield demonstrates the importance of not interfering with the dialogue of Country through recalling being told as a child not to disturb Barraru or green frogs. Memmott (78) writes that frogs share a relationship with the rain and flooding caused by Munda-gadda, the Rainbow Snake. Uncle Dougie Hatfield explains the significance of Munda-gadda to his Country stating how “our Aboriginal culture tells us that all the waterways, lagoons, creeks, rivers etc. and many landforms were created by and still are protected by the Moonda-Ngutta, what white people call the Rainbow Snake” (Memmott 79).In the case of Robin Hatfield, to interfere with Barraru’s “business” is to threaten its dialogue with Munda-gadda and in turn the dialogue of Country in form of rain. In addition to disrupting the relational balance between the frog and Munda-gadda, such actions potentially have far-reaching social and cosmological consequences. The rain’s disruption affects the flood plains, which has direct consequences for local flora and transportation and germination of water lily seeds; fauna, affecting the spawning of fish and their movement into lagoons; and ancestral beings such as Munda-gadda who continue to reside within Toonooba.Honouring Land Connections provided artists with a means to enter their own dialogue with Country and explore, discuss, engage, negotiate, and affirm aspects of their indigeneity. The artists wanted the artwork to remain organic to demonstrate honour and respect for Dharumbal connections with Country (Roberts). This meant that materials were sourced from the surrounding Country and the poles placed in a wave-like pattern resembling Munda-gadda. Alongside the designs and symbols painted and carved into the poles, fish skins, birds, nests, and frogs are embalmed within cavities that are cut into the wood, acting as windows that allow viewers to witness components of Country that are often overlooked (see fig. 4). Country therefore is an equal participant within the artwork’s creation and continuing memories and stories. More than a representation of Country, Honouring Land Connections is a literal manifestation of it.Figure 4Opening Dialogue with Non-Indigenous AustraliaHonouring Land Connections is an artistic and cultural expression that revels in Indigenous understandings of place. The installation however remains positioned within a contested “hybrid” setting that is informed by both Indigenous and settler-colonial outlooks (Bhabha). The installation for example is separated from the other two artworks of Flood Markers that explore Rockhampton’s colonial and industrial history. Whilst these are positioned within a landscaped area, Honouring Land Connections is placed where the grass is dying, seating is lacking, and is situated next to a dilapidated coast guard building. It is a location that is as quickly left behind as it is encountered. Its separation from the other two works is further emphasised through its depiction in the project brief as a representation of Rockhampton’s pre-colonial history. Presenting it in such a way has the effect of bookending Aboriginal culture in relation to European settlement, suggesting that its themes belong to a time past rather than an immediate present. Almost as if it is a revelation in and of itself. Within settler-colonial settings, place is heavily politicised and often contested. In what can be seen as an ongoing form of colonialism, Eurocentric epistemologies and understandings of place continue to dominate public thought, rhetoric, and action in ways that legitimise White positionality whilst questioning and/or subjugating other ways of knowing, being, and doing (K. Martin; Moreton-Robinson; Wolfe). This turns places such as Toonooba into agonistic locations of contrasting and competing interests (Bradfield). For many Aboriginal peoples, the memories and emotions attached to a particular place can render it as either comfortable and culturally safe, or as unsafe, unsuitable, unwelcoming, and exclusionary (Fredericks). Honouring Land Connections is one way of publicly asserting and recognising Toonooba as a culturally safe, welcoming, and deeply meaningful place for Indigenous peoples. Whilst the themes explored in Honouring Land Connections are not overtly political, its presence on colonised/invaded land unsettles Eurocentric falsities and colonial amnesia (B. Martin) of an uncontested place and history in which Indigenous voices and knowledges are silenced. The artwork is a physical reminder that encourages awareness—particularly for non-Indigenous populations—of Indigenous voices that are continuously demanding recognition of Aboriginal place within Country. Similar to the boomerangs carved into the poles representing flooding as a natural expression of Country that will return (see fig. 5), Indigenous peoples continue to demand that the wider non-Indigenous population acknowledge, respect, and morally responded to Aboriginal cultures and knowledges.Figure 5Conclusion Far from a historic account of the past, the artists of CAM have created an artwork that promotes awareness of an immediate and emerging Indigenous presence on Country. It creates a space that is welcoming to Indigenous people, allowing them to engage with and affirm aspects of their living histories and cultural identities. Through sharing stories and providing “windows” into Aboriginal culture, Country, and lived experiences (which like the frogs of Toonooba are so often overlooked), the memory poles invite and welcome an open dialogue with non-Indigenous Australians where all may consider their shared presence and mutual dependence on each other and their surroundings.The memory poles are mediatory agents that stand on Country, revealing and bearing witness to the survival, resistance, tenacity, and continuity of Aboriginal peoples within the Rockhampton region and along Toonooba. Honouring Land Connections is not simply a means of reclaiming the river as an Indigenous space, for reclamation signifies something regained after it has been lost. What the memory poles signify is something eternally present, i.e. Toonooba is and forever will be embedded in Aboriginal Country in which we all, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, human and non-human, share. The memory poles serve as lasting reminders of whose Country Rockhampton is on and describes the life ways of that Country, including times of flood. Through celebrating and revelling in the presence of Country, the artists of CAM are revealing the deep connection they have to Country to the wider non-Indigenous community.ReferencesAtkinson, Judy. Trauma Trails, Recreating Song Lines: The Transgenerational Effects of Trauma in Indigenous Australia. Spinifex Press, 2002.Bhabha, Homi, K. The Location of Culture. Taylor and Francis, 2012.Bradfield, Abraham. "Decolonizing the Intercultural: A Call for Decolonizing Consciousness in Settler-Colonial Australia." Religions 10.8 (2019): 469.Cajete, Gregory. Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence. 1st ed. 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