Статті в журналах з теми "Wildlife conservation Victoria"

WITH the passing of John Seebeck on 8 September 2003, Victoria lost a true champion of nature conservation. Born on 28 September 1939, John grew up in Northcote, Melbourne, and attended local State schools. He joined the fledgling Wildlife Research Section of the Fisheries and Game Department in 1960 as a technical assistant. The following year, John received a Government studentship allowing him to study part-time for a B.Sc. at The University of Melbourne. On returning to full-time employment, John worked assiduously with Keith Dempster, Robert Warneke and others to build the Wildlife Research Section into a springboard for better conservation in Victoria.

Lake Victoria is the second-largest freshwater lake in the world, with an eco-system critical to 25-30 million inhabitants of Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Rwanda, and Burundi who live in the lake basin. The lake provides several ecosystem services from inland waterway transport, fisheries to hydropower and supports many different industries such as tourism, trade, and wildlife. However, Lake Victorias ecosystem management has been highly extractive; hence its water resources are either inefficiently or overused. This is because the value of this resource is either unknown or underestimated. The main purpose of the research was to contribute to Lake Victorias conservation efforts by providing the best techniques that can be used to assess the value of this resource and develop appropriate policies for the sustainable management of the lake. The study reviewed relevant literature on the economic assessment methods of environmental resources in the context of water management. Search engines such as Google Scholar, Web of Science, and ScienceDirect were used for it. The study suggests methods for economic valuation of Lake Victoria water ecosystem for each service. The proposed techniques can be used for assessing the value and benefits of conservation and restoration of Lake Victoria ecosystem.

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 Data on the habitat occurrences and rates of detection were gleaned from 133 published and unpublished fauna surveys conducted from 1968 to 2003 in Gippsland; northern Victoria; the Melbourne area and south-western region.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

Studying the human dimensions of wildlife management issues is now considered to be an essential component of wildlife research. This study examined the Living with Possums policy in Victoria, Australia, in terms of the policy?s success in educating the community and ensuring community compliance. Postal surveys and telephone interviews were conducted across three samples from Greater Melbourne. These samples included people who had experiences with possums on their property (n = 340), veterinary clinics (n = 45) and the general public (n = 103). Significant levels of non-compliance were uncovered, highlighting the need for a renewed public education campaign to take place along with a continued interest in this issue from government agencies and councils. The study also revealed discrepancies between the policy and public preferences for possum management, suggesting that a shift in the recommended management technique may be warranted.

Modern zoos are increasingly taking a leading role in emergency management and wildlife recovery. In the face of climate change and the predicted increase in frequency and magnitude of catastrophic events, zoos provide specialised expertise to assist wildlife welfare and endangered species recovery. In the 2019–2020 Australian bushfire season, now called Australia’s Black Summer, a state government-directed response was developed, assembling specialised individuals and organisations from government, non-government organisations, research institutions, and others. Here, we detail the role of Zoos Victoria staff in wildlife triage and welfare, threatened species evacuation and recovery, media and communications, and fundraising during and after the fires. We share strategies for future resilience, readiness, and the ability to mobilise quickly in catastrophic events. The development of triage protocols, emergency response kits, emergency enclosures, and expanded and new captive breeding programs is underway, as are programs for care of staff mental health and nature-based community healing for people directly affected by the fires. We hope this account of our response to one of the greatest recent threats to Australia’s biodiversity, and steps to prepare for the future will assist other zoos and wildlife organisations around the world in preparations to help wildlife before, during, and after catastrophic events.

Abstract. Human-Elephant Conflict (HEC) is a global concern that requires geospatial data collection, analysis and geovisualization for decision support and mitigation. Bull African elephants, (Loxodonata africana), are often responsible for breaking fences, raiding crops and causing economic hardship in local communities in Botswana, Zimbabwe and Zambia. Methods for monitoring and understanding elephant movements are needed to mitigate conflict, find ways for coexistence and secure the future of Africa’s elephant populations. Researchers from academia and conservation organizations are partnering with decision makers and scientists of the Zimbabwe Department of National Park and Wild Life Management (PWMA) to track the movement of 15 bull elephants in the general area of Victoria Falls to analyse spatio-temporal patterns of elephant behaviour related to climatic factors, habitat conditions and changing land uses. Spatial decision support for local famers, resource managers and planners will assist in avoiding agricultural expansion and urban development that coincides with elephant corridors and access to water resources.

An optimization model is developed to identify timing and placement strategies for the installation of nest boxes and the harvesting of timber to meet joint timber–wildlife objectives. Optimal management regimes are determined on the basis of their impacts on the local abundance of a threatened species and net present value (NPV) and are identified for a range of NPV levels to identify production possibility frontiers for abundance and NPV. We apply the model to a case study focusing on an area of commercially productive mountain ash (Eucalyptus regnans F. Muell.) forest in the Central Highlands region of Victoria, Australia. The species to be conserved is Leadbeater's possum (Gymnobelideus leadbeateri McCoy), which is locally limited by a scarcity of nesting hollows. The modeling is exploratory but indicates that nest boxes may offer a promising population recovery tool if consideration is taken of their placement and areal extent through time.

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

DAVID Lindenmayer and Jerry Franklin are the two most influential forest conservation biologists of the past decade and will probably remain so for the coming decade. Each has contributed significantly to forest research, management, biodiversity conservation and policy. Lindenmayer is an Australian based at the Australian National University in Canberra who has worked mainly in the temperate eucalypt forests of Victoria and southeastern New South Wales. Most of his research is wildlife oriented, with an emphasis on arboreal marsupials and the impacts of forest management on forest vertebrates. Franklin is an American at the University of Washington, Seattle in the Pacific Northwest. His research is more botanically oriented, with an emphasis on the impacts of forest management on forest structures (e.g., large trees and logs) and processes. Of the two, Franklin has had the greatest involvement in the political, economic and social processes driving the modern change in forestry practices and attitudes. Together they form a formidable team to present a summary and an analysis of how temperate forests globally can and should be managed. Their goal is not just to enhance biodiversity and other ecological values, but to ensure the long-term sustainability of forest ecosystems. Only when forests are managed sustainably to protect biodiversity can forest managers guarantee the many social and economic benefits derived from the world’s forests, including wood production.

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

With the rising popularity of social media, conservation organisations and zoos need to understand its impact on public perceptions of the animals they house and their role in conservation. In addition, many zoos offer close-encounter experiences, and visitors frequently share images from these experiences online. This study measured the effects that viewing such encounter images had on public perceptions of both the zoo and the animals they saw. One of sixteen images was randomly presented to participants in two samples: one of Zoo Community followers and members of Zoos Victoria (n = 963), and a representative sample of the Australian public (n = 1619). Each image featured one of four animals (Eclectus parrot, Kangaroo Island kangaroo, Monteith’s leaf insect, Centralian carpet python) and one of four human positions (human and animal touching, human and animal ~30 cm apart, human and animal ~1 m apart, animal alone). Results indicated that viewing different animals and the different human positions within these human–animal encounter images can affect public perceptions of zoo animals. In particular, the closer the proximity of a human to an animal in an image, the more likely respondents were to think that the animal was not displaying a natural behaviour and the more likely it was for General Public respondents to think that the animal would make a good pet. These findings can be used by zoos, wildlife tourism, and media organisations to ensure that they are sending clear, positive, and intended messages about zoo facilities and animals, as well as providing insights into animal encounter images in wider settings.

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

Abstract ContextDetermining population size or density is often fundamental for wildlife conservation. For nocturnal species, indices are commonly used in place of abundance estimates, with spotlighting indices (e.g. sighting rate per km) being prevalent. Distance sampling is a collection of techniques that provide estimates of wildlife abundance from line-transect data, by correcting raw counts for imperfect detection. These methods have rarely been used to assess the abundance of nocturnal arboreal mammals. AimsTo develop and evaluate a method for estimating the abundance and density of nocturnal arboreal mammals using double-observer distance sampling, and to apply the approach to a survey of the southern greater glider (Petauroides volans) in the Strathbogie Ranges, Victoria, Australia. MethodsTwo observers, 15–20 min apart, surveyed 25 randomly located 500 m transects, and recorded greater gliders using spotlights and binoculars. Densities and abundances were derived from the line-transect data by using mark–recapture distance sampling (MRDS) models and were compared with conventional distance sampling analysis (CDS). Key resultsUsing the double-observer approach, we estimated an overall density of 0.96 gliders ha−1 (95% CI 0.60–1.50), giving a population estimate of 24 575 greater gliders across the Strathbogie Ranges (25 865 ha, 95% CI 15 620–38 661). The corresponding estimates for the study area derived using CDS applied to either both observers’ observations or to the first observer’s observations only, were 87% and 53% respectively, of the MRDS estimate. The analysis confirmed that the probability of detection of gliders along the transect line was less than one, justifying the use of the double-observer method to obtain accurate estimates of abundance. ConclusionsThe low detectability of greater gliders means that uncorrected spotlight counts will underestimate abundance, as will CDS. The double-observer method corrects for the negative bias associated with raw counts, enabling more accurate estimation of abundance for survey, monitoring and management purposes. ImplicationsWe recommend that double-observer distance sampling is adopted as a standard technique for estimating the abundance of greater gliders. The double-observer method potentially has wider relevance for assessing population size of other arboreal mammals, providing the assumptions of the approach can be met.

The presence of numerous publications on populations is explained by the exceptional value of this branch of knowledge for understanding of the structural and functional organization of wildlife, natural resource exploitation, management and conservation of them for future generations. A short list of scientific directions in the study of the role and place of a population shows that in the scientific literature there are no studies of rare plant species populations, development of theoretical principles and methodology of their study. The experienced team of the Botany Department of Sumy National Agrarian University has started this work. Not regard to the objective of comparison and disclosure of several publications on this topic, you must immediately emphasize its originality, depth of knowledge of the problem, innovation, and the importance and need for conservation of biological diversity of vegetation, which is often in a state of crisis and requires urgent measures to save it. The book was published by the editorship of the well-known biogeocenologist and ecologist, Doctor of Biological Sciences, Professor, Honored Scientist of Ukraine Julian A. Zlobin together with well-known scientists in the filed of ecology and biogeocenology of Yu. A. Zlobin scientific school Victoria G. Sklar and Anna A. Klimenko. Structurally, the monograph consists of thirteen chapters, conclusion, bibliography and applications. A special place is occupied by the section "Methodological blocks", which is a kind of satellite for each section and which equip the reader with modern methodological approaches to complex problems solution of the population structure of the plant world. Here the authors examine the current level of rare species research organization, complexity and pivotal scientific idea, which is an organizing and centripetal force of varied complex research. There are four scenarios, which aim the saving, restoration, protection and rational use of the planet's vegetation. The book summarizes the collective work for one of the most important problems of modern biological science - conservation of rare plant species. Helpful tips for the organization of similar research in scientific institutions, biogeocenological stations by well-organized scientifically based plan at the level of the modern achievements of environmental science are given. In general, we believe that the reviewed scientific work of Yu. A. Zlobin, V. G. Sklar, A. A. Klimenko "Populations of rare species of plants, theoretical principles and methods of the study" is a major contribution to the scientific literature on ecological populations of rare species, their functions, complex relationship in vegetation cover. It will undoubtedly find a positive response in the wide circles of geobotanists, ecologists, biogeocenologists in our country and abroad.

These days when animal conservation is in the foremost of our dealings with wildlife it seems almost inconceivable that in past times hunters were more concerned with the size of hunting trophies than the rich variety of animals that they represented. Collections of such trophies were considered the hallmark of a gentleman and the expeditions to acquire them the epitome of the Victorian masculine lifestyle. This is the story of one such collection.

The recent review by Jones (2009) presents a strong argument that Victoria’s wild dog population cannot reliably be categorised into dingoes (Canis lupus dingo), feral dogs (C. l. familiaris) and hybrids. This presents a problem in the light of the dingo’s recent listing as a threatened species in that state. Wildlife managers must come to grips with questions regarding the relative conservation value of ‘dingoes’ with varying degrees of domestic dog ancestry. This will require improved knowledge of the ecological function of wild dogs, as well as extensive research into public attitudes towards the animals.

In 2019, a wild-born dingo pup named Wandi was taken from the Victorian high country to the Australian Dingo Foundation to become a part of their breeding program. Wandi was chosen because he was identified as a ‘rare’ ‘alpine’ dingo. At the point at which Wandi was handed over to the ADF, he became a captive dingo and will likely never be released. Wandi is one of thousands of dingoes who are bred and sold each year by the dingo breeding industry in Australia – both for zoos and wildlife parks to exhibit, and as privately owned ‘pets’. None of these dingoes can ever be released. Dingo captivity is often justified by dingo breeders as a necessary part of ‘essential’ conservation to combat the possible ‘extinction’ of the dingo. In this article, I question this assumption and demonstrate how it perpetuates and energises historically constructed distinctions between dingo ‘types’ (such as ‘alpine’ and ‘pure’). Here, I mobilise Thom van Dooren’s concept of ‘violent-care’ to better understand the contradictory ways in which dingoes experience life and captivity in Australia: ‘rare’ but a ‘pest’, charismatic and newsworthy but also imprisoned, evincing popular sentiments of affection and forced into captive breeding. I work with these contradictions every day as the founder of Sydney Fox and Dingo Rescue (SFDR). As dingo advocates, we have a responsibility to examine the violence dingoes experience as a result of captivity and the ‘logics’ and discourse that drive that violence, as van Dooren writes: ‘[w]hen the ‘logics’ that structure violence (or care for that matter) go unexamined, they become both invisible and commonsensical’ (van Dooren, ‘A Day with Crows’ 3).

Birdlimes are adhesive entangling compounds that passively capture birds by binding them to a substrate and rendering flight feathers useless. We investigated birdlime use among indigenous Chin hunters during a wildlife survey of Natma Taung National Park (NTNP) in western Myanmar (May-June 2011). We found that birdlime is prepared from the sap of various banyan trees (Ficus spp.) collected during the annual dry season (December-May). Birdlime is prepared by boiling sap to remove water, and the finished product is a readily malleable and extremely adhesive compound known locally as nghet phan te kaw (“bird glue”). Hunters employ four principal strategies when using birdlime: 1) limed sticks are placed at waterholes and springs; 2) limed sticks are placed in fruiting trees or nocturnal roost sites; 3) limed sticks are positioned at prominent vantage points and hunters mimic vocalizations to attract birds; 4) small insects (possibly termites) are affixed to a limed pole and serve as bait to attract birds. Large numbers (>200) of birds can reportedly be captured during a single day by hunters using birdlime. At least 186 (63.9%) of 291 species of birds occurring in Natma Taung National Park are thought to be vulnerable to this non-selective hunting strategy. The endangered white-browed nuthatch (Sitta victoriae Rippon Sittidae), a poorly-studied endemic species restricted to high elevation Oak-Rhododendron forest in NTNP, is vulnerable to birdliming, although the impact of hunting on populations remains unclear. We recommend that future investigations determine the sustainability of the Chin bird harvest by relating hunter off-take to recruitment and survivorship of nuthatches. If conservation action is deemed prudent, management plans should be developed in close collaboration with local Chin communities.

There is increasing awareness of environmental issues in Australia (Victorian Government 1986, 1987). However, public participation in many such issues is typically limited to comment and submission on government policy, management plans and a range of other environmental statements. It is rare for the public to be involved in the scientific research upon which many environmental policies are based.Recent surveys for the rare and endangered Leadbeater's Possum, Gymnobelideus leadbeateri have been an exception to this trend (Lindenmayer et al. 1990a, 1990b, 1990c). These studies have used a new wildlife survey technique termed stagwatching (Lindenmayer, 1989; Lindenmayer & Press, 1989) involves observing and counting animals emerging from nest and den sites in very large living or dead trees with hollows (“stags”) at, or close to, dusk. Animals are observed and recognised in silhouette. Because many Australian animals regularly move between nest sites, stagwatching is dependent on simultaneously watching all stags in a known area (= 3 ha in this study) (Smith et al. 1989). This makes stagwatching extremely labour intensive and its success is dependent on substantial participation by the public. Our experience of this public support suggests that stagwatching has considerable value for use in public and environmental education to increase the awareness of methods of study and understanding of forest biology and conservation. The values of stagwatching in environmental education are identified in this paper, and a case study of the use of stagwatching in surveys for Leadbeater's Possum is also presented. The methods used to organise the stagwatching program are documented so they may be adopted and modified for teaching a range of topics about Australian forests.

Populations of arboreal marsupials, small ground-dwelling mammals, reptiles and amphibians were assessed in forest before and after logging. Different levels of canopy retention were specified to estimate the effect of varying intensities of logging on these fauna. The logging treatments imposed were; unlogged, and the retention of approximately 72%, 58% and 30% of the original canopy cover. This corresponded to 62%, 52% and 21 % retention of the original tree basal area on each logged area. The objectives of the study were to determine the sensitivity of species to logging, both in terms of the intensity of the initial impact and in terms of the time to recovery following disturbance, and to develop methods for managing areas within wood production forests where special wildlife values have been identified. A total of 53 species was recorded in the 500 ha study area, only 18 (34.0%) of which were abundant enough for assessments to be made about the effects of logging. The arboreal marsupials, in particular the Greater Glider Petauroides volans, were among the species more sensitive to logging disturbance. The small, ground-dwelling mammals and the reptiles that were sampled adequately in this study appeared to be relatively unaffected by logging or they recovered quickly (most within eight years, and probably all within 10?15 years) following logging. Despite a large survey effort, insufficient data were available to assess the effects of logging on most species of frogs, although two species may have been advantaged. The species requiring management consideration include those that declined as a result of logging, but which had not recovered within eight years (the Greater Glider, the Yellow-bellied Glider Petaurus australis, the Sugar Glider P. breviceps, and the skink Niveoscincus coventryi), the species that declined in both logged and unlogged areas (the frogs Pseudophryne bibronii, Limnodynastes peronii, Geocrinia victoriana and Heleioporus australiacus), and the species for which the data were too sparse to make any assessments. It is unclear when the species most disadvantaged by integrated logging, that is, the large gliding possums, will recolonize the logged areas. The persistence of these gliders was attributed to the retention of unlogged forest within and adjacent to logged areas. This highlights the role of riparian reserves ("wildlife corridors") and filter strips in retaining residual populations of the Greater Glider and the Yellow-bellied Glider until the logged areas are suitable for recolonization, and the importance of determining the effective size for these unlogged reserves. The data were not sufficient to determine conclusively whether reduced logging intensity at the levels applied was a better option than standard logging practices for managing populations of gliding possums in these forests. The results of this study, which was conducted in a forested landscape that was multi-aged but predominantly unlogged, may not be comparable to intensively-managed forests in which there is a lower proportion of unlogged forest and where multiple logging events have occurred.

As a species, humans depend heavily on their visual sense, make decisions as much from their hearts as from their heads (emotion-and value-based decisions versus analytical, logic- and knowledge-based decisions), and dislike environmental and other change. Societies in early stages of development have generally revered old people for their wisdom and experience, whereas many societies at more advanced stages of development have adopted a culture of youth. Attitudes toward forests have shown a similar trend. Respect for large and old trees was a feature of some early societies, whereas societies in and after the industrial revolution became more interested in younger, faster growing trees for technical and utilitarian reasons. However, as human population growth caused the area of unmanaged forest, old forest, and forests of large trees to decline, reverence has revived for large, old trees and for old forests. This trend has not been matched by a renewed respect for scientific knowledge about forests and for wisdom about forests based on long experience. Reflecting the pervasive effects of the culture of youth, issues in forestry, including the issue of old forests, are being judged largely on an aesthetic basis, on human emotional response to snapshot visual aspects, and on a dislike for change—the Peter Pan syndrome. "Old-growth" forest, whatever it is, has been deified as a symbol of the mythical "balance of nature," a concept discredited by ecologists as a Victorian anachronism. There are important spiritual, aesthetic, wildlife, and environmental values associated with old forests, and the area of such forests is declining. There are many valid reasons (social, scientific, and environmental) for sustaining significant and representative areas of such forests. However, conservation of such forests and ensuring a future supply of the values they provide will not be achieved unless the reverential respect for such forests is matched by another meaning of respect: understanding such forests and basing our relationship with them on that understanding. This paper challenges forest managers and forest scientists to gain a significant understanding of "old growth" to provide a logical, knowledge-based, and experience-based foundation for the identification, inventory, conservation, and management of this forest ecosystem condition, and to assert this understanding as a counterbalance to the necessary, but insufficient, value-based attitude toward old forests that arises largely from visual snapshots and the emotions they arouse. Key words: old growth, biodiversity, sustainability, stability, succession, stand dynamics, respect for nature

This study examined wildlife use versus local community gain in Protected Areas of Victoria Falls – Zimbabwe. Specifically, the study explored the reciprocity of conservation and wildlife tourism in Victoria Falls to determine the cost-benefit of Human Wild Coexistence within conservation goals and local communities’ welfare paradigms. To fulfil the key objective, the study gathered data from 365 local residents, which was supplemented with interviews from key resource persons. The study found that host communities in PAs are substantially still marginalised, and this exclusionary approach has resulted in increased local residents’ negative attitudes towards conservation tourism, making them (locals) to view tourism as insignificant in their local economy mainstreams. Nonetheless, conservation tourism has the potential to develop sustainably in PAs if there are transparency, accountability and renewed cooperation among all the tourism stakeholders who are involved in the decision-making processes. Concepts that provide new directions for public policy for inclusive participation, environmental justice and sustainability are highly contested in the study.

ABSTRACT Identifying threats and their regional occurrence across a species’ range is increasingly valuable for prioritising threat-specific interventions and achieving effective conservation outcomes. We surveyed registered wildlife rehabilitators to identify (i) threats faced by the koala across Victoria and (ii) their perceptions on koala population trends and potential threat mitigation actions. Wildlife rehabilitators identified habitat loss, fragmentation, and degradation as the biggest threat to koalas, while vehicle collisions, heatwaves and wildfire were also identified as key threats. Accordingly, reducing the clearing of native vegetation was considered the most effective threat mitigation action, while creating of wildlife corridors, planting of more food trees, and educating communities living in koala occupied areas were also considered appropriate mitigation strategies. Finally, 89% of wildlife rehabilitators believed that koala numbers are declining in their region.

ABSTRACT Koalas moving across open ground risk dog attacks and collisions with vehicles when crossings roads. Historical records from a resident survey, two regional wildlife carers and a state government department wildlife shelter returns database for Victoria, Australia, were examined to determine the importance of certain admission types. Koala Vehicle Collisions (KVCs) and dog attacks were important contributors to the overall intake of injured koalas. However, KVCs were the most numerous recorded cause of koalas entering a wildlife shelter, and the most frequently assigned cause of death. There were relatively high rates of admission into care, and of death, for male koalas. Furthermore, almost twice as many individuals were admitted during the breeding season; sex ratio was not a differentiating characteristic of road-kills between breeding and non-breeding seasons, or by individual months. Comprehensive, accurate and detailed data gathering are essential for effective evaluation of the success of rehabilitation and release, as well as post release survival rates. This, together with population studies would determine whether admission rates reflect the sex ratio of local populations, and whether the high number of injured or killed females has an impact on their viability. Analyses of wildlife carer databases have great potential for decision making in koala conservation.

Humans have treated the earth harshly. Degradation of extant ecosystems leaves little chance that they might function as they have in the past. Putting back the pieces and restoring what once existed is no longer possible even with re-wildling—an effect analogous to the Humpty Dumpty parable. However, we do have conservation successes after concerted efforts related to habitat protection, species and ecosystem restoration, and planning. While the changes to Earth's biosphere are grave, necessitating immediate and exhaustive action, our Humpty Dumpty world reassembles with progressive conservation victories at all regional scales from local to global which should lead to a modicum of optimism rather than despair. We suggest that to be truly effective our work as academic scientists must be more than publishing in scholarly journals. At the least, this should include changes in how success is measured in science and how university tenure is awarded.

Kangatarianism is the rather inelegant word coined in the first decade of the twenty-first century to describe an omnivorous diet in which the only meat consumed is that of the kangaroo. First published in the media in 2010 (Barone; Zukerman), the term circulated in Australian environmental and academic circles including the Global Animal conference at the University of Wollongong in July 2011 where I first heard it from members of the Think Tank for Kangaroos (THINKK) group. By June 2017, it had gained enough attention to be named the Oxford English Dictionary’s Australian word of the month (following on from May’s “smashed avo,” another Australian food innovation), but it took the Nine Network reality television series Love Island Australia to raise kangatarian to trending status on social media (Oxford UP). During the first episode, aired in late May 2018, Justin, a concreter and fashion model from Melbourne, declared himself to have previously been a kangatarian as he chatted with fellow contestant, Millie. Vet nurse and animal lover Millie appeared to be shocked by his revelation but was tentatively accepting when Justin explained what kangatarian meant, and justified his choice on the grounds that kangaroo are not farmed. In the social media response, it was clear that eating only the meat of kangaroos as an ethical choice was an entirely new concept to many viewers, with one tweet stating “Kangatarian isn’t a thing”, while others variously labelled the diet brutal, intriguing, or quintessentially Australian (see #kangatarian on Twitter).There is a well developed literature around the arguments for and against eating kangaroo, and why settler Australians tend to be so reluctant to do so (see for example, Probyn; Cawthorn and Hoffman). Here, I will concentrate on the role that ethics play in this food choice by examining how the adoption of kangatarianism can be understood as a bargain struck to help to manage grief in the Anthropocene, and the limitations of that bargain. As Lesley Head has argued, we are living in a time of loss and of grieving, when much that has been taken for granted is becoming unstable, and “we must imagine that drastic changes to everyday life are in the offing” (313). Applying the classic (and contested) model of five stages of grief, first proposed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book On Death and Dying in 1969, much of the population of the western world seems to be now experiencing denial, her first stage of loss, while those in the most vulnerable environments have moved on to anger with developed countries for destructive actions in the past and inaction in the present. The next stages (or states) of grieving—bargaining, depression, and acceptance—are likely to be manifested, although not in any predictable sequence, as the grief over current and future losses continues (Haslam).The great expansion of food restrictive diets in the Anthropocene can be interpreted as part of this bargaining state of grieving as individuals attempt to respond to the imperative to reduce their environmental impact but also to limit the degree of change to their own diet required to do so. Meat has long been identified as a key component of an individual’s environmental footprint. From Frances Moore Lappé’s 1971 Diet for a Small Planet through the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organisation’s 2006 report Livestock’s Long Shadow to the 2019 report of the EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems, the advice has been consistent: meat consumption should be minimised in, if not eradicated from, the human diet. The EAT–Lancet Commission Report quantified this to less than 28 grams (just under one ounce) of beef, lamb or pork per day (12, 25). For many this would be keenly felt, in terms of how meals are constructed, the sensory experiences associated with eating meat and perceptions of well-being but meat is offered up as a sacrifice to bring about the return of the beloved healthy planet.Rather than accept the advice to cut out meat entirely, those seeking to bargain with the Anthropocene also find other options. This has given rise to a suite of foodways based around restricting meat intake in volume or type. Reducing the amount of commercially produced beef, lamb and pork eaten is one approach, while substituting a meat the production of which has a smaller environmental footprint, most commonly chicken or fish, is another. For those willing to make deeper changes, the meat of free living animals, especially those which are killed accidentally on the roads or for deliberately for environmental management purposes, is another option. Further along this spectrum are the novel protein sources suggested in the Lancet report, including insects, blue-green algae and laboratory-cultured meats.Kangatarianism is another form of this bargain, and is backed by at least half a century of advocacy. The Australian Conservation Foundation made calls to reduce the numbers of other livestock and begin a sustainable harvest of kangaroo for food in 1970 when the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption was still illegal across the country (Conservation of Kangaroos). The idea was repeated by biologist Gordon Grigg in the late 1980s (Jackson and Vernes 173), and again in the Garnaut Climate Change Review in 2008 (547–48). Kangaroo meat is high in protein and iron, low in fat, and high in healthy polyunsaturated fatty acids and conjugated linoleic acid, and, as these authors showed, has a smaller environmental footprint than beef, lamb, or pork. Kangaroo require less water than cattle, sheep or pigs, and no land is cleared to grow feed for them or give them space to graze. Their paws cause less erosion and compaction of soil than do the hooves of common livestock. They eat less fodder than ruminants and their digestive processes result in lower emissions of the powerful greenhouse gas methane and less solid waste.As Justin of Love Island was aware, kangaroo are not farmed in the sense of being deliberately bred, fed, confined, or treated with hormones, drugs or chemicals, which also adds to their lighter impact on the environment. However, some pastoralists argue that because they cannot prevent kangaroos from accessing the food, water, shelter, and protection from predators they provide for their livestock, they do effectively farm them, although they receive no income from sales of kangaroo meat. This type of light touch farming of kangaroos has a very long history in Australia going back to the continent’s first peopling some 60,000 years ago. Kangaroos were so important to Aboriginal people that a wide range of environments were manipulated to produce their favoured habitats of open grasslands edged by sheltering trees. As Bill Gammage demonstrated, fire was used as a tool to preserve and extend grassy areas, to encourage regrowth which would attract kangaroos and to drive the animals from one patch to another or towards hunters waiting with spears (passim, for example, 58, 72, 76, 93). Gammage and Bruce Pascoe agree that this was a form of animal husbandry in which the kangaroos were drawn to the areas prepared for them for the young grass or, more forcefully, physically directed using nets, brush fences or stone walls. Burnt ground served to contain the animals in place of fencing, and regular harvesting kept numbers from rising to levels which would place pressure on other species (Gammage 79, 281–86; Pascoe 42–43). Contemporary advocates of eating kangaroo have promoted the idea that they should be deliberately co-produced with other livestock instead of being killed to preserve feed and water for sheep and cattle (Ellicott; Wilson 39). Substituting kangaroo for the meat of more environmentally damaging animals would facilitate a reduction in the numbers of cattle and sheep, lessening the harm they do.Most proponents have assumed that their audience is current meat eaters who would substitute kangaroo for the meat of other more environmentally costly animals, but kangatarianism can also emerge from vegetarianism. Wendy Zukerman, who wrote about kangaroo hunting for New Scientist in 2010, was motivated to conduct the research because she was considering becoming an early adopter of kangatarianism as the least environmentally taxing way to counter the longterm anaemia she had developed as a vegetarian. In 2018, George Wilson, honorary professor in the Australian National University’s Fenner School of Environment and Society called for vegetarians to become kangatarians as a means of boosting overall consumption of kangaroo for environmental and economic benefits to rural Australia (39).Given these persuasive environmental arguments, it might be expected that many people would have perceived eating kangaroo instead of other meat as a favourable bargain and taken up the call to become kangatarian. Certainly, there has been widespread interest in trying kangaroo meat. In 1997, only five years after the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption had been legalised in most states (South Australia did so in 1980), 51% of 500 people surveyed in five capital cities said they had tried kangaroo. However, it had not become a meat of choice with very few found to eat it more than three times a year (Des Purtell and Associates iv). Just over a decade later, a study by Ampt and Owen found an increase to 58% of 1599 Australians surveyed across the country who had tried kangaroo but just 4.7% eating it at least monthly (14). Bryce Appleby, in his study of kangaroo consumption in the home based on interviews with 28 residents of Wollongong in 2010, specifically noted the absence of kangatarians—then a very new concept. A study of 261 Sydney university students in 2014 found that half had tried kangaroo meat and 10% continued to eat it with any regularity. Only two respondents identified themselves as kangatarian (Grant 14–15). Kangaroo meat advocate Michael Archer declared in 2017 that “there’s an awful lot of very, very smart vegetarians [who] have opted for semi vegetarianism and they’re calling themselves ‘kangatarians’, as they’re quite happy to eat kangaroo meat”, but unless there had been a significant change in a few years, the surveys did not bear out his assertion (154).The ethical calculations around eating kangaroo are complicated by factors beyond the strictly environmental. One Tweeter advised Justin: “‘I’m a kangatarian’ isn’t a pickup line, mate”, and certainly the reception of his declaration could have been very cool, especially as it was delivered to a self declared animal warrior (N’Tash Aha). All of the studies of beliefs and practices around the eating of kangaroo have noted a significant minority of Australians who would not consider eating kangaroo based on issues of animal welfare and animal rights. The 1997 study found that 11% were opposed to the idea of eating kangaroo, while in Grant’s 2014 study, 15% were ethically opposed to eating kangaroo meat (Des Purtell and Associates iv; Grant 14–15). Animal ethics complicate the bargains calculated principally on environmental grounds.These ethical concerns work across several registers. One is around the flesh and blood kangaroo as a charismatic native animal unique to Australia and which Australians have an obligation to respect and nurture. Sheep, cattle and pigs have been subject to longterm propaganda campaigns which entrench the idea that they are unattractive and unintelligent, and veil their transition to meat behind euphemistic language and abattoir walls, making it easier to eat them. Kangaroos are still seen as resourceful and graceful animals, and no linguistic tricks shield consumers from the knowledge that it is a roo on their plate. A proposal in 2009 to market a “coat of arms” emu and kangaroo-flavoured potato chip brought complaints to the Advertising Standards Bureau that this was disrespectful to these native animals, although the flavours were to be simulated and the product vegetarian (Black). Coexisting with this high regard to kangaroos is its antithesis. That is, a valuation of them informed by their designation as a pest in the pastoral industry, and the use of the carcasses of those killed to feed dogs and other companion animals. Appleby identified a visceral, disgust response to the idea of eating kangaroo in many of his informants, including both vegetarians who would not consider eating kangaroo because of their commitment to a plant-based diet, and at least one omnivore who would prefer to give up all meat rather than eat kangaroo. While diametrically opposed, the end point of both positions is that kangaroo meat should not be eaten.A second animal ethics stance relates to the imagined kangaroo, a cultural construct which for most urban Australians is much more present in their lives and likely to shape their actions than the living animals. It is behind the rejection of eating an animal which holds such an iconic place in Australian culture: to the dexter on the 1912 national coat of arms; hopping through the Hundred Acre Wood as Kanga and Roo in A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh children’s books from the 1920s and the Disney movies later made from them; as a boy’s best friend as Skippy the Bush Kangaroo in a fondly remembered 1970s television series; and high in the sky on QANTAS planes. The anthropomorphising of kangaroos permitted the spectacle of the boxing kangaroo from the late nineteenth century. By framing natural kangaroo behaviours as boxing, these exhibitions encouraged an ambiguous understanding of kangaroos as human-like, moving them further from the category of food (Golder and Kirkby). Australian government bodies used this idea of the kangaroo to support food exports to Britain, with kangaroos as cooks or diners rather than ingredients. The Kangaroo Kookery Book of 1932 (see fig. 1 below) portrayed kangaroos as a nuclear family in a suburban kitchen and another official campaign supporting sales of Australian produce in Britain in the 1950s featured a Disney-inspired kangaroo eating apples and chops washed down with wine (“Kangaroo to Be ‘Food Salesman’”). This imagining of kangaroos as human-like has persisted, leading to the opinion expressed in a 2008 focus group, that consuming kangaroo amounted to “‘eating an icon’ … Although they are pests they are still human nature … these are native animals, people and I believe that is a form of cannibalism!” (Ampt and Owen 26). Figure 1: Rather than promoting the eating of kangaroos, the portrayal of kangaroos as a modern suburban family in the Kangaroo Kookery Book (1932) made it unthinkable. (Source: Kangaroo Kookery Book, Director of Australian Trade Publicity, Australia House, London, 1932.)The third layer of ethical objection on the ground of animal welfare is more specific, being directed to the method of killing the kangaroos which become food. Kangaroos are perhaps the only native animals for which state governments set quotas for commercial harvest, on the grounds that they compete with livestock for pasturage and water. In most jurisdictions, commercially harvested kangaroo carcasses can be processed for human consumption, and they are the ones which ultimately appear in supermarket display cases.Kangaroos are killed by professional shooters at night using swivelling spotlights mounted on their vehicles to locate and daze the animals. While clean head shots are the ideal and regulations state that animals should be killed when at rest and without causing “undue agonal struggle”, this is not always achieved and some animals do suffer prolonged deaths (NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption). By regulation, the young of any female kangaroo must be killed along with her. While averting a slow death by neglect, this is considered cruel and wasteful. The hunt has drawn international criticism, including from Greenpeace which organised campaigns against the sale of kangaroo meat in Europe in the 1980s, and Viva! which was successful in securing the withdrawal of kangaroo from sale in British supermarkets (“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised”). These arguments circulate and influence opinion within Australia.A final animal ethics issue is that what is actually behind the push for greater use of kangaroo meat is not concern for the environment or animal welfare but the quest to turn a profit from these animals. The Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia, formed in 1970 to represent those who dealt in the marsupials’ meat, fur and skins, has been a vocal advocate of eating kangaroo and a sponsor of market research into how it can be made more appealing to the market. The Association argued in 1971 that commercial harvest was part of the intelligent conservation of the kangaroo. They sought minimum size regulations to prevent overharvesting and protect their livelihoods (“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation”). The Association’s current website makes the claim that wild harvested “Australian kangaroo meat is among the healthiest, tastiest and most sustainable red meats in the world” (Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia). That this is intended to initiate a new and less controlled branch of the meat industry for the benefit of hunters and processors, rather than foster a shift from sheep or cattle to kangaroos which might serve farmers and the environment, is the opinion of Dr. Louise Boronyak, of the Centre for Compassionate Conservation at the University of Technology Sydney (Boyle 19).Concerns such as these have meant that kangaroo is most consumed where it is least familiar, with most of the meat for human consumption recovered from culled animals being exported to Europe and Asia. Russia has been the largest export market. There, kangaroo meat is made less strange by blending it with other meats and traditional spices to make processed meats, avoiding objections to its appearance and uncertainty around preparation. With only a low profile as a novelty animal in Russia, there are fewer sentimental concerns about consuming kangaroo, although the additional food miles undermine its environmental credentials. The variable acceptability of kangaroo in more distant markets speaks to the role of culture in determining how patterns of eating are formed and can be shifted, or, as Elspeth Probyn phrased it “how natural entities are transformed into commodities within a context of globalisation and local communities”, underlining the impossibility of any straightforward ethics of eating kangaroo (33, 35).Kangatarianism is a neologism which makes the eating of kangaroo meat something it has not been in the past, a voluntary restriction based on environmental ethics. These environmental benefits are well founded and eating kangaroo can be understood as an Anthropocenic bargain struck to allow the continuation of the consumption of red meat while reducing one’s environmental footprint. Although superficially attractive, the numbers entering into this bargain remain small because environmental ethics cannot be disentangled from animal ethics. The anthropomorphising of the kangaroo and its use as a national symbol coexist with its categorisation as a pest and use of its meat as food for companion animals. Both understandings of kangaroos made their meat uneatable for many Australians. Paired with concerns over how kangaroos are killed and the commercialisation of a native species, kangaroo meat has a very mixed reception despite decades of advocacy for eating its meat in favour of that of more harmed and more harmful introduced species. Given these constraints, kangatarianism is unlikely to become widespread and indeed it should be viewed as at best a temporary exigency. As the climate warms and rainfall becomes more erratic, even animals which have evolved to suit Australian conditions will come under increasing pressure, and humans will need to reach Kübler-Ross’ final state of grief: acceptance. In this case, this would mean acceptance that our needs cannot be placed ahead of those of other animals.ReferencesAmpt, Peter, and Kate Owen. Consumer Attitudes to Kangaroo Meat Products. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 2008.Appleby, Bryce. “Skippy the ‘Green’ Kangaroo: Identifying Resistances to Eating Kangaroo in the Home in a Context of Climate Change.” BSc Hons, U of Wollongong, 2010 <http://ro.uow.edu.au/thsci/103>.Archer, Michael. “Zoology on the Table: Plenary Session 4.” Australian Zoologist 39, 1 (2017): 154–60.“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation.” The Beverley Times 26 Feb. 1971: 3. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article202738733>.Barone, Tayissa. “Kangatarians Jump the Divide.” Sydney Morning Herald 9 Feb. 2010. 13 Apr. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/kangatarians-jump-the-divide-20100209-gdtvd8.html>.Black, Rosemary. “Some Australians Angry over Idea for Kangaroo and Emu-Flavored Potato Chips.” New York Daily News 4 Dec. 2009. 5 Feb. 2019 <https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/eats/australians-angry-idea-kangaroo-emu-flavored-potato-chips-article-1.431865>.Boyle, Rhianna. “Eating Skippy.” Big Issue Australia 578 11-24 Jan. 2019: 16–19.Cawthorn, Donna-Mareè, and Louwrens C. Hoffman. “Controversial Cuisine: A Global Account of the Demand, Supply and Acceptance of ‘Unconventional’ and ‘Exotic’ Meats.” Meat Science 120 (2016): 26–7.Conservation of Kangaroos. Melbourne: Australian Conservation Foundation, 1970.Des Purtell and Associates. Improving Consumer Perceptions of Kangaroo Products: A Survey and Report. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 1997.Ellicott, John. “Little Pay Incentive for Shooters to Join Kangaroo Meat Industry.” The Land 15 Mar. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.theland.com.au/story/5285265/top-roo-shooter-says-harvesting-is-a-low-paid-job/>.Garnaut, Ross. Garnaut Climate Change Review. 2008. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.garnautreview.org.au/index.htm>.Gammage, Bill. The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2012.Golder, Hilary, and Diane Kirkby. “Mrs. Mayne and Her Boxing Kangaroo: A Married Woman Tests Her Property Rights in Colonial New South Wales.” Law and History Review 21.3 (2003): 585–605.Grant, Elisabeth. “Sustainable Kangaroo Harvesting: Perceptions and Consumption of Kangaroo Meat among University Students in New South Wales.” Independent Study Project (ISP). U of NSW, 2014. <https://digitalcollections.sit.edu/isp_collection/1755>.Haslam, Nick. “The Five Stages of Grief Don’t Come in Fixed Steps – Everyone Feels Differently.” The Conversation 22 Oct. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://theconversation.com/the-five-stages-of-grief-dont-come-in-fixed-steps-everyone-feels-differently-96111>.Head, Lesley. “The Anthropoceans.” Geographical Research 53.3 (2015): 313–20.Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia. Kangaroo Meat. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.kangarooindustry.com/products/meat/>.“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised.” The Canberra Times 13 Sep. 1984: 14. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article136915919>.“Kangaroo to Be Food ‘Salesman.’” Newcastle Morning Herald and Miners’ Advocate, 2 Dec. 1954. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134089767>.Kübler-Ross, Elisabeth. On Death and Dying: What the Dying Have to Teach Doctors, Nurses, Clergy, and their own Families. New York: Touchstone, 1997.Jackson, Stephen, and Karl Vernes. Kangaroo: Portrait of an Extraordinary Marsupial. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010.Lappé, Frances Moore. Diet for a Small Planet. New York: Ballantine Books, 1971.N’Tash Aha (@Nsvasey). “‘I’m a Kangatarian’ isn’t a Pickup Line, Mate. #LoveIslandAU.” Twitter post. 27 May 2018. 5 Apr. 2019 <https://twitter.com/Nsvasey/status/1000697124122644480>.“NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption.” Government Gazette of the State of New South Wales 24 Mar. 1993. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page14638033>.Oxford University Press, Australia and New Zealand. Word of the Month. June 2017. <https://www.oup.com.au/dictionaries/word-of-the-month>.Pascoe, Bruce. Dark Emu, Black Seeds: Agriculture or Accident? Broome: Magabala Books, 2014.Probyn, Elspeth. “Eating Roo: Of Things That Become Food.” New Formations 74.1 (2011): 33–45.Steinfeld, Henning, Pierre Gerber, Tom Wassenaar, Vicent Castel, Mauricio Rosales, and Cees d Haan. Livestock’s Long Shadow: Environmental Issues and Options. Rome: Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations, 2006.Trust Nature. Essence of Kangaroo Capsules. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://ncpro.com.au/products/all-products/item/88139-essence-of-kangaroo-35000>.Victoria Department of Environment, Land, Water and Planning. Kangaroo Pet Food Trial. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.wildlife.vic.gov.au/managing-wildlife/wildlife-management-and-control-authorisations/kangaroo-pet-food-trial>.Willett, Walter, et al. “Food in the Anthropocene: The EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems.” The Lancet 16 Jan. 2019. 26 Feb. 2019 <https://www.thelancet.com/commissions/EAT>.Wilson, George. “Kangaroos Can Be an Asset Rather than a Pest.” Australasian Science 39.1 (2018): 39.Zukerman, Wendy. “Eating Skippy: The Future of Kangaroo Meat.” New Scientist 208.2781 (2010): 42–5.

IntroductionRegional identity is a constant construction, in which landscape, human activity and cultural imaginary build a narrative of place. For the Tasmanian Midlands, the interactions between history, ecology and agriculture both define place and present problems in how to recognise, communicate and balance these interactions. In this sense, regionality is defined not so much as a relation of margin to centre, but as a specific accretion of environmental and cultural histories. According weight to more-than-human perspectives, a region can be seen as a constellation of plant, animal and human interactions and demands, where creative art and design can make space and give voice to the dynamics of exchange between the landscape and its inhabitants. Consideration of three recent art and design projects based in the Midlands reveal the potential for cross-disciplinary research, embedded in both environment and community, to create distinctive and specific forms of connectivity that articulate a regional identify.The Tasmanian Midlands have been identified as a biodiversity hotspot (Australian Government), with a long history of Aboriginal cultural management disrupted by colonial invasion. Recent archaeological work in the Midlands, including the Kerry Lodge Archaeology and Art Project, has focused on the use of convict labour during the nineteenth century in opening up the Midlands for settler agriculture and transport. Now, the Midlands are placed under increasing pressure by changing agricultural practices such as large-scale irrigation. At the same time as this intensification of agricultural activity, significant progress has been made in protecting, preserving and restoring endemic ecologies. This progress has come through non-government conservation organisations, especially Greening Australia and their program Tasmanian Island Ark, and private landowners placing land under conservation covenants. These pressures and conservation activities give rise to research opportunities in the biological sciences, but also pose challenges in communicating the value of conservation and research outcomes to a wider public. The Species Hotel project, beginning in 2016, engaged with the aims of restoration ecology through speculative design while The Marathon Project, a multi-year curatorial art project based on a single property that contains both conservation and commercially farmed zones.This article questions the role of regionality in these three interconnected projects—Kerry Lodge, Species Hotel, and Marathon—sited in the Tasmanian Midlands: the three projects share a concern with the specificities of the region through engagement with specifics sites and their histories and ecologies, while also acknowledging the forces that shape these sites as far more mobile and global in scope. It also considers the interdisciplinary nature of these projects, in the crossover of art and design with ecological, archaeological and agricultural practices of measuring and intervening in the land, where communication and interpretation may be in tension with functionality. These projects suggest ways of working that connect the ecological and the cultural spheres; importantly, they see rural locations as sites of knowledge production; they test the value of small-scale and ephemeral interventions to explore the place of art and design as intervention within colonised landscape.Regions are also defined by overlapping circles of control, interest, and authority. We test the claim that these projects, which operate through cross-disciplinary collaboration and network with a range of stakeholders and community groups, successfully benefit the region in which they are placed. We are particularly interested in the challenges of working across institutions which both claim and enact connections to the region without being centred there. These projects are initiatives resulting from, or in collaboration with, University of Tasmania, an institution that has taken a recent turn towards explicitly identifying as place-based yet the placement of the Midlands as the gap between campuses risks attenuating the institution’s claim to be of this place. Paul Carter, in his discussion of a regional, site-specific collaboration in Alice Springs, flags how processes of creative place-making—operating through mythopoetic and story-based strategies—requires a concrete rather than imagined community that actively engages a plurality of voices on the ground. We identify similar concerns in these art and design projects and argue that iterative and long-term creative projects enable a deeper grappling with the complexities of shared regional place-making. The Midlands is aptly named: as a region, it is defined by its geographical constraints and relationships to urban centres. Heading south from the northern city of Launceston, travellers on the Midland Highway see scores of farming properties networking continuously for around 175 kilometres south to the outskirts of Brighton, the last major township before the Tasmanian capital city of Hobart. The town of Ross straddles latitude 42 degrees south—a line that has historically divided Tasmania into the divisions of North and South. The region is characterised by extensive agricultural usage and small remnant patches of relatively open dry sclerophyll forest and lowland grassland enabled by its lower attitude and relatively flatter terrain. The Midlands sit between the mountainous central highlands of the Great Western Tiers and the Eastern Tiers, a continuous range of dolerite hills lying south of Ben Lomond that slope coastward to the Tasman Sea. This area stretches far beyond the view of the main highway, reaching east in the Deddington and Fingal valleys. Campbell Town is the primary stopping point for travellers, superseding the bypassed towns, which have faced problems with lowering population and resulting loss of facilities.Image 1: Southern Midland Landscape, Ross, Tasmania, 2018. Image Credit: Patrick Sutczak.Predominantly under private ownership, the Tasmanian Midlands are a contested and fractured landscape existing in a state of ecological tension that has occurred with the dominance of western agriculture. For over 200 years, farmers have continually shaped the land and carved it up into small fragments for different agricultural agendas, and this has resulted in significant endemic species decline (Mitchell et al.). The open vegetation was the product of cultural management of land by Tasmanian Aboriginal communities (Gammage), attractive to settlers during their distribution of land grants prior to the 1830s and a focus for settler violence. As documented cartographically in the Centre for 21st Century Humanities’ Colonial Frontier Massacres in Central and Eastern Australia 1788–1930, the period 1820–1835, and particularly during the Black War, saw the Midlands as central to the violent dispossession of Aboriginal landowners. Clements argues that the culture of violence during this period also reflected the brutalisation that the penal system imposed upon its subjects. The cultivation of agricultural land throughout the Midlands was enabled by the provision of unfree convict labour (Dillon). Many of the properties granted and established during the colonial period have been held in multi-generational family ownership through to the present.Within this patchwork of private ownership, the tension between visibility and privacy of the Midlands pastures and farmlands challenges the capacity for people to understand what role the Midlands plays in the greater Tasmanian ecology. Although half of Tasmania’s land areas are protected as national parks and reserves, the Midlands remains largely unprotected due to private ownership. When measured against Tasmania’s wilderness values and reputation, the dry pasturelands of the Midland region fail to capture an equivalent level of visual and experiential imagination. Jamie Kirkpatrick describes misconceptions of the Midlands when he writes of “[f]latness, dead and dying eucalypts, gorse, brown pastures, salt—environmental devastation […]—these are the common impression of those who first travel between Spring Hill and Launceston on the Midland Highway” (45). However, Kirkpatrick also emphasises the unique intimate and intricate qualities of this landscape, and its underlying resilience. In the face of the loss of paddock trees and remnants to irrigation, change in species due to pasture enrichment and introduction of new plant species, conservation initiatives that not only protect but also restore habitat are vital. The Tasmanian Midlands, then, are pastoral landscapes whose seeming monotonous continuity glosses over the radical changes experienced in the processes of colonisation and intensification of agriculture.Underlying the Present: Archaeology and Landscape in the Kerry Lodge ProjectThe major marker of the Midlands is the highway that bisects it. Running from Hobart to Launceston, the construction of a “great macadamised highway” (Department of Main Roads 10) between 1820–1850, and its ongoing maintenance, was a significant colonial project. The macadam technique, a nineteenth century innovation in road building which involved the laying of small pieces of stone to create a surface that was relatively water and frost resistant, required considerable but unskilled labour. The construction of the bridge at Kerry Lodge, in 1834–35, was simultaneous with significant bridge buildings at other major water crossings on the highway, (Department of Main Roads 16) and, as the first water crossing south of Launceston, was a pinch-point through which travel of prisoners could be monitored and controlled. Following the completion of the bridge, the site was used to house up to 60 male convicts in a road gang undergoing secondary punishment (1835–44) and then in a labour camp and hiring depot until 1847. At the time of the La Trobe report (1847), the buildings were noted as being in bad condition (Brand 142–43). After the station was disbanded, the use of the buildings reverted to the landowners for use in accommodation and agricultural storage.Archaeological research at Kerry Lodge, directed by Eleanor Casella, investigated the spatial and disciplinary structures of smaller probation and hiring depots and the living and working conditions of supervisory staff. Across three seasons (2015, 2016, 2018), the emerging themes of discipline and control and as well as labour were borne out by excavations across the site, focusing on remnants of buildings close to the bridge. This first season also piloted the co-presence of a curatorial art project, which grew across the season to include eleven practitioners in visual art, theatre and poetry, and three exhibition outcomes. As a crucial process for the curatorial art project, creative practitioners spent time on site as participants and observers, which enabled the development of responses that interrogated the research processes of archaeological fieldwork as well as making connections to the wider historical and cultural context of the site. Immersed in the mundane tasks of archaeological fieldwork, the practitioners involved became simultaneously focused on repetitive actions while contemplating the deep time contained within earth. This experience then informed the development of creative works interrogating embodied processes as a language of site.The outcome from the first fieldwork season was earthspoke, an exhibition shown at Sawtooth, an artist-run initiative in Launceston in 2015, and later re-installed in Franklin House, a National Trust property in the southern suburbs of Launceston.Images 2 and 3: earthspoke, 2015, Installation View at Sawtooth ARI (top) and Franklin House (bottom). Image Credits: Melanie de Ruyter.This recontextualisation of the work, from contemporary ARI (artist run initiative) gallery to National Trust property enabled the project to reach different audiences but also raised questions about the emphases that these exhibition contexts placed on the work. Within the white cube space of the contemporary gallery, connections to site became more abstracted while the educational and heritage functions of the National Trust property added further context and unintended connotations to the art works.Image 4: Strata, 2017, Installation View. Image Credit: Karen Hall.The two subsequent exhibitions, Lines of Site (2016) and Strata (2017), continued to test the relationship between site and gallery, through works that rematerialised the absences on site and connected embodied experiences of convict and archaeological labour. The most recent iteration of the project, Strata, part of the Ten Days on the Island art festival in 2017, involved installing works at the site, marking with their presence the traces, fragments and voids that had been reburied when the landscape returned to agricultural use following the excavations. Here, the interpretive function of the works directly addressed the layered histories of the landscape and underscored the scope of the human interventions and changes over time within the pastoral landscape. The interpretative role of the artworks formed part of a wider, multidisciplinary approach to research and communication within the project. University of Manchester archaeology staff and postgraduate students directed the excavations, using volunteers from the Launceston Historical Society. Staff from Launceston’s Queen Victorian Museum and Art Gallery brought their archival and collection-based expertise to the site rather than simply receiving stored finds as a repository, supporting immediate interpretation and contextualisation of objects. In 2018, participation from the University of Tasmania School of Education enabled a larger number of on-site educational activities than afforded by previous open days. These multi-disciplinary and multi-organisational networks, drawn together provisionally in a shared time and place, provided rich opportunities for dialogue. However, the challenges of sustaining these exchanges have meant ongoing collaborations have become more sporadic, reflecting different institutional priorities and competing demands on participants. Even within long-term projects, continued engagement with stakeholders can be a challenge: while enabling an emerging and concrete sense of community, the time span gives greater vulnerability to external pressures. Making Home: Ecological Restoration and Community Engagement in the Species Hotel ProjectImages 5 and 6: Selected Species Hotels, Ross, Tasmania, 2018. Image Credits: Patrick Sutczak. The Species Hotels stand sentinel over a river of saplings, providing shelter for animal communities within close range of a small town. At the township of Ross in the Southern Midlands, work was initiated by restoration ecologists to address the lack of substantial animal shelter belts on a number of major properties in the area. The Tasmania Island Ark is a major Greening Australia restoration ecology initiative, connecting 6000 hectares of habitat across the Midlands. Linking larger forest areas in the Eastern Tiers and Central Highlands as well as isolated patches of remnant native vegetation, the Ark project is vital to the ongoing survival of local plant and animal species under pressure from human interventions and climate change. With fragmentation of bush and native grasslands in the Midland landscape resulting in vast open plains, the ability for animals to adapt to pasturelands without shelter has resulted in significant decline as animals such as the critically endangered Eastern Barred Bandicoot struggle to feed, move, and avoid predators (Cranney). In 2014 mass plantings of native vegetation were undertaken along 16km of the serpentine Macquarie River as part of two habitat corridors designed to bring connectivity back to the region. While the plantings were being established a public art project was conceived that would merge design with practical application to assist animals in the area, and draw community and public attention to the work that was being done in re-establishing native forests. The Species Hotel project, which began in 2016, emerged from a collaboration between Greening Australia and the University of Tasmania’s School of Architecture and Design, the School of Land and Food, the Tasmanian College of the Arts and the ARC Centre for Forest Value, with funding from the Ian Potter Foundation. The initial focus of the project was the development of interventions in the landscape that could address the specific habitat needs of the insect, small mammal, and bird species that are under threat. First-year Architecture students were invited to design a series of structures with the brief that they would act as ‘Species Hotels’, and once created would be installed among the plantings as structures that could be inhabited or act as protection. After installation, the privately-owned land would be reconfigured so to allow public access and observation of the hotels, by residents and visitors alike. Early in the project’s development, a concern was raised during a Ross community communication and consultation event that the surrounding landscape and its vistas would be dramatically altered with the re-introduced forest. While momentary and resolved, a subtle yet obvious tension surfaced that questioned the re-writing of an established community’s visual landscape literacy by non-residents. Compact and picturesque, the architectural, historical and cultural qualities of Ross and its location were not only admired by residents, but established a regional identity. During the six-week intensive project, the community reach was expanded beyond the institution and involved over 100 people including landowners, artists, scientists and school children from the region (Wright), attempting to address and channel the concerns of residents about the changing landscape. The multiple timescales of this iterative project—from intensive moments of collaboration between stakeholders to the more-than-human time of tree growth—open spaces for regional identity to shift as both as place and community. Part of the design brief was the use of fully biodegradable materials: the Species Hotels are not expected to last forever. The actual installation of the Species Hotelson site took longer than planned due to weather conditions, but once on site they were weathering in, showing signs of insect and bird habitation. This animal activity created an opportunity for ongoing engagement. Further activities generated from the initial iteration of Species Hotel were the Species Hotel Day in 2017, held at the Ross Community Hall where presentations by scientists and designers provided feedback to the local community and presented opportunities for further design engagement in the production of ephemeral ‘species seed pies’ placed out in and around Ross. Architecture and Design students have gone on to develop more examples of ‘ecological furniture’ with a current focus on insect housing as well as extrapolating from the installation of the Species Hotels to generate a VR visualisation of the surrounding landscape, game design and participatory movement work that was presented as part of the Junction Arts Festival program in Launceston, 2017. The intersections of technologies and activities amplified the lived in and living qualities of the Species Hotels, not only adding to the connectivity of social and environmental actions on site and beyond, but also making a statement about the shared ownership this project enabled.Working Property: Collaboration and Dialogues in The Marathon Project The potential of iterative projects that engage with environmental concerns amid questions of access, stewardship and dialogue is also demonstrated in The Marathon Project, a collaborative art project that took place between 2015 and 2017. Situated in the Northern Midland region of Deddington alongside the banks of the Nile River the property of Marathon became the focal point for a small group of artists, ecologists and theorists to converge and engage with a pastoral landscape over time that was unfamiliar to many of them. Through a series of weekend camps and day trips, the participants were able to explore and follow their own creative and investigative agendas. The project was conceived by the landowners who share a passion for the history of the area, their land, and ideas of custodianship and ecological responsibility. The intentions of the project initially were to inspire creative work alongside access, engagement and dialogue about land, agriculture and Deddington itself. As a very small town on the Northern Midland fringe, Deddington is located toward the Eastern Tiers at the foothills of the Ben Lomond mountain ranges. Historically, Deddington is best known as the location of renowned 19th century landscape painter John Glover’s residence, Patterdale. After Glover’s death in 1849, the property steadily fell into disrepair and a recent private restoration effort of the home, studio and grounds has seen renewed interest in the cultural significance of the region. With that in mind, and with Marathon a neighbouring property, participants in the project were able to experience the area and research its past and present as a part of a network of working properties, but also encouraging conversation around the region as a contested and documented place of settlement and subsequent violence toward the Aboriginal people. Marathon is a working property, yet also a vital and fragile ecosystem. Marathon consists of 1430 hectares, of which around 300 lowland hectares are currently used for sheep grazing. The paddocks retain their productivity, function and potential to return to native grassland, while thickets of gorse are plentiful, an example of an invasive species difficult to control. The rest of the property comprises eucalypt woodlands and native grasslands that have been protected under a conservation covenant by the landowners since 2003. The Marathon creek and the Nile River mark the boundary between the functional paddocks and the uncultivated hills and are actively managed in the interface between native and introduced species of flora and fauna. This covenant aimed to preserve these landscapes, linking in with a wider pattern of organisations and landowners attempting to address significant ecological degradation and isolation of remnant bushland patches through restoration ecology. Measured against the visibility of Tasmania’s wilderness identity on the national and global stage, many of the ecological concerns affecting the Midlands go largely unnoticed. The Marathon Project was as much a project about visibility and communication as it was about art and landscape. Over the three years and with its 17 participants, The Marathon Project yielded three major exhibitions along with numerous public presentations and research outputs. The length of the project and the autonomy and perspectives of its participants allowed for connections to be formed, conversations initiated, and greater exposure to the productivity and sustainability complexities playing out on rural Midland properties. Like Kerry Lodge, the 2015 first year exhibition took place at Sawtooth ARI. The exhibition was a testing ground for artists, and a platform for audiences, to witness the cross-disciplinary outputs of work inspired by a single sheep grazing farm. The interest generated led to the rethinking of the 2016 exhibition and the need to broaden the scope of what the landowners and participants were trying to achieve. Image 7: Panel Discussion at Open Weekend, 2016. Image Credit: Ron Malor.In November 2016, The Marathon Project hosted an Open Weekend on the property encouraging audiences to visit, meet the artists, the landowners, and other invited guests from a number of restoration, conservation, and rehabilitation organisations. Titled Encounter, the event and accompanying exhibition displayed in the shearing shed, provided an opportunity for a rhizomatic effect with the public which was designed to inform and disseminate historical and contemporary perspectives of land and agriculture, access, ownership, visitation and interpretation. Concluding with a final exhibition in 2017 at the University of Tasmania’s Academy Gallery, The Marathon Project had built enough momentum to shape and inform the practice of its participants, the knowledge and imagination of the public who engaged with it, and make visible the precarity of the cultural and rural Midland identity.Image 8. Installation View of The Marathon Project Exhibition, 2017. Image Credit: Patrick Sutczak.ConclusionThe Marathon Project, Species Hotel and the Kerry Lodge Archaeology and Art Project all demonstrate the potential of site-based projects to articulate and address concerns that arise from the environmental and cultural conditions and histories of a region. Beyond the Midland fence line is a complex environment that needed to be experienced to be understood. Returning creative work to site, and opening up these intensified experiences of place to a public forms a key stage in all these projects. Beyond a commitment to site-specific practice and valuing the affective and didactic potential of on-site installation, these returns grapple with issues of access, visibility and absence that characterise the Midlands. Paul Carter describes his role in the convening of a “concretely self-realising creative community” in an initiative to construct a meeting-place in Alice Springs, a community defined and united in “its capacity to imagine change as a negotiation between past, present and future” (17). Within that regional context, storytelling, as an encounter between histories and cultures, became crucial in assembling a community that could in turn materialise story into place. In these Midlands projects, a looser assembly of participants with shared interests seek to engage with the intersections of plant, human and animal activities that constitute and negotiate the changing environment. The projects enabled moments of connection, of access, and of intervention: always informed by the complexities of belonging within regional locations.These projects also suggest the need to recognise the granularity of regionalism: the need to be attentive to the relations of site to bioregion, of private land to small town to regional centre. The numerous partnerships that allow such interconnect projects to flourish can be seen as a strength of regional areas, where proximity and scale can draw together sets of related institutions, organisations and individuals. However, the tensions and gaps within these projects reveal differing priorities, senses of ownership and even regional belonging. Questions of who will live with these project outcomes, who will access them, and on what terms, reveal inequalities of power. Negotiations of this uneven and uneasy terrain require a more nuanced account of projects that do not rely on the geographical labelling of regions to paper over the complexities and fractures within the social environment.These projects also share a commitment to the intersection of the social and natural environment. They recognise the inextricable entanglement of human and more than human agencies in shaping the landscape, and material consequences of colonialism and agricultural intensification. Through iteration and duration, the projects mobilise processes that are responsive and reflective while being anchored to the materiality of site. Warwick Mules suggests that “regions are a mixture of data and earth, historically made through the accumulation and condensation of material and informational configurations”. Cross-disciplinary exchanges enable all three projects to actively participate in data production, not interpretation or illustration afterwards. Mules’ call for ‘accumulation’ and ‘configuration’ as productive regional modes speaks directly to the practice-led methodologies employed by these projects. The Kerry Lodge and Marathon projects collect, arrange and transform material taken from each site to provisionally construct a regional material language, extended further in the dual presentation of the projects as off-site exhibitions and as interventions returning to site. The Species Hotel project shares that dual identity, where materials are chosen for their ability over time, habitation and decay to become incorporated into the site yet, through other iterations of the project, become digital presences that nonetheless invite an embodied engagement.These projects centre the Midlands as fertile ground for the production of knowledge and experiences that are distinctive and place-based, arising from the unique qualities of this place, its history and its ongoing challenges. Art and design practice enables connectivity to plant, animal and human communities, utilising cross-disciplinary collaborations to bring together further accumulations of the region’s intertwined cultural and ecological landscape.ReferencesAustralian Government Department of the Environment and Energy. Biodiversity Conservation. Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia, 2018. 1 Apr. 2019 <http://www.environment.gov.au/biodiversity/conservation>.Brand, Ian. The Convict Probation System: Van Diemen’s Land 1839–1854. Sandy Bay: Blubber Head Press, 1990.Carter, Paul. “Common Patterns: Narratives of ‘Mere Coincidence’ and the Production of Regions.” Creative Communities: Regional Inclusion & the Arts. Eds. Janet McDonald and Robert Mason. Bristol: Intellect, 2015. 13–30.Centre for 21st Century Humanities. Colonial Frontier Massacres in Central and Eastern Australia 1788–1930. Newcastle: Centre for 21st Century Humanitie, n.d. 1 Apr. 2019 <https://c21ch.newcastle.edu.au/colonialmassacres/>.Clements, Nicholas. The Black War: Fear, Sex and Resistance in Tasmania. St Lucia: U of Queensland P, 2014. Cranney, Kate. Ecological Science in the Tasmanian Midlands. Melbourne: Bush Heritage Australia, 2016. 1 Apr. 2019 <https://www.bushheritage.org.au/blog/ecological-science-in-the-tasmanian-midlands>.Davidson N. “Tasmanian Northern Midlands Restoration Project.” EMR Summaries, Journal of Ecological Management & Restoration, 2016. 10 Apr. 2019 <https://site.emrprojectsummaries.org/2016/03/07/tasmanian-northern-midlands-restoration-project/>.Department of Main Roads, Tasmania. Convicts & Carriageways: Tasmanian Road Development until 1880. Hobart: Tasmanian Government Printer, 1988.Dillon, Margaret. “Convict Labour and Colonial Society in the Campbell Town Police District: 1820–1839.” PhD Thesis. U of Tasmania, 2008. <https://eprints.utas.edu.au/7777/>.Gammage, Bill. The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2012.Greening Australia. Building Species Hotels, 2016. 1 Apr. 2019 <https://www.greeningaustralia.org.au/projects/building-species-hotels/>.Kerry Lodge Archaeology and Art Project. Kerry Lodge Convict Site. 10 Mar. 2019 <http://kerrylodge.squarespace.com/>.Kirkpatrick, James. “Natural History.” Midlands Bushweb, The Nature of the Midlands. Ed. Jo Dean. Longford: Midlands Bushweb, 2003. 45–57.Mitchell, Michael, Michael Lockwood, Susan Moore, and Sarah Clement. “Building Systems-Based Scenario Narratives for Novel Biodiversity Futures in an Agricultural Landscape.” Landscape and Urban Planning 145 (2016): 45–56.Mules, Warwick. “The Edges of the Earth: Critical Regionalism as an Aesthetics of the Singular.” Transformations 12 (2005). 1 Mar. 2019 <http://transformationsjournal.org/journal/issue_12/article_03.shtml>.The Marathon Project. <http://themarathonproject.virb.com/home>.University of Tasmania. Strategic Directions, Nov. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.utas.edu.au/vc/strategic-direction>.Wright L. “University of Tasmania Students Design ‘Species Hotels’ for Tasmania’s Wildlife.” Architecture AU 24 Oct. 2016. 1 Apr. 2019 <https://architectureau.com/articles/university-of-tasmania-students-design-species-hotels-for-tasmanias-wildlife/>.

The Black Summer of 2019/2020 saw the forests of southeast Australia go up in flames. The fire season started early, in September 2019, and by March 2020 fires had burned over 12.6 million hectares (Werner and Lyons). The scale and severity of the fires was quickly confirmed by scientists to be “unprecedented globally” (Boer et al.) and attributable to climate change (Nolan et al.).The fires were also a media spectacle, generating months of apocalyptic front-page images and harrowing broadcast footage. Media coverage was particularly preoccupied by the cause of the fires. Media framing of disasters often seeks to attribute blame (Anderson et al.; Ewart and McLean) and, over the course of the fire period, blame for the fires was attributed to climate change in much media coverage. However, as the disaster unfolded, denialist discourses in some media outlets sought to veil this revelation by providing alternative explanations for the fires. Misinformation originating from social media also contributed to this obscuration.In this article, we investigate the extent to which media coverage of the 2019/2020 bushfires functioned both to precipitate a climate change epiphany and also to support refutation of the connection between catastrophic fires and the climate crisis.Environmental Communication and RevelationIn its biblical sense, revelation is both an ending and an opening: it is the apocalyptic end-time and also the “revealing” of this time through stories and images. Environmental communication has always been revelatory, in these dual senses of the word – it is a mode of communication that is tightly bound to crisis; that has long grappled with obfuscation and misinformation; and that disrupts power structures and notions of the status quo as it seeks to reveal what is hidden. Climate change in particular is associated in the popular imagination with apocalypse, and is also a reality that is constantly being “revealed”. Indeed, the narrative of climate change has been “animated by the revelations of science” (McNeish 1045) and presented to the public through “key moments of disclosure and revelation”, or “signal moments”, such as scientist James Hansen’s 1988 US Senate testimony on global warming (Hamblyn 224).Journalism is “at the frontline of environmental communication” (Parham 96) and environmental news, too, is often revelatory in nature – it exposes the problems inherent in the human relationship with the natural world, and it reveals the scientific evidence behind contentious issues such as climate change. Like other environmental communicators, environmental journalists seek to “break through the perceptual paralysis” (Nisbet 44) surrounding climate change, with the dual aim of better informing the public and instigating policy change. Yet leading environmental commentators continually call for “better media coverage” of the planetary crisis (Suzuki), as climate change is repeatedly bumped off the news agenda by stories and events deemed more newsworthy.News coverage of climate-related disasters is often revelatory both in tone and in cultural function. The disasters themselves and the news narratives which communicate them become processes that make visible what is hidden. Because environmental news is “event driven” (Hansen 95), disasters receive far more news coverage than ongoing problems and trends such as climate change itself, or more quietly devastating issues such as species extinction or climate migration. Disasters are also highly visual in nature. Trumbo (269) describes climate change as an issue that is urgent, global in scale, and yet “practically invisible”; in this sense, climate-related disasters become a means of visualising and realising what is otherwise a complex, difficult, abstract, and un-seeable concept.Unsurprisingly, natural disasters are often presented to the public through a film of apocalyptic rhetoric and imagery. Yet natural disasters can be also “revelatory” moments: instances of awakening in which suppressed truths come spectacularly and devastatingly to the surface. Matthewman (9–10) argues that “disasters afford us insights into social reality that ordinarily pass unnoticed. As such, they can be read as modes of disclosure, forms of communication”. Disasters, he continues, can reveal both “our new normal” and “our general existential condition”, bringing “the underbelly of progress into sharp relief”. Similarly, Lukes (1) states that disasters “lift veils”, revealing “what is hidden from view in normal times”. Yet for Lukes, “the revelation tells us nothing new, nothing that we did not already know”, and is instead a forced confronting of that which is known yet difficult to engage with. Lukes’ concern is the “revealing” of poverty and inequality in New Orleans following the impact of Hurricane Katrina, yet climate-related disasters can also make visible what McNeish terms “the dark side effects of industrial civilisation” (1047). The Australian bushfires of 2019/2020 can be read in these terms, primarily because they unveiled the connection between climate change and extreme events. Scorching millions of hectares, with a devastating impact on human and non-human communities, the fires revealed climate change as a physical reality, and—for Australians—as a local issue as well as a global one. As media coverage of the fires unfolded and smoke settled on half the country, the impact of climate change on individual lives, communities, landscapes, native animal and plant species, and well-established cultural practices (such as the summer camping holiday) could be fully and dramatically realised. Even for those Australians not immediately impacted, the effects were lived and felt: in our lungs, and on our skin, a physical revelation that the impacts of climate change are not limited to geographically distant people or as-yet-unborn future generations. For many of us, the summer of fire was a realisation that climate change can no longer be held at arm’s length.“Revelation” also involves a temporal collapse whereby the future is dragged into the present. A revelatory streak of this nature has always existed at the heart of environmental communication and can be traced back at least as far as the environmentalist Rachel Carson, whose 1962 book Silent Spring revealed a bleak, apocalyptic future devoid of wildlife and birdsong. In other words, environmental communication can inspire action for change by exposing the ways in which the comforts and securities of the present are built upon a refusal to engage with the future. This temporal rupture where the future meets the present is particularly characteristic of climate change narratives. It is not surprising, then, that media coverage of the 2019/2020 bushfires addressed not just the immediate loss and devastation but also dread of the future, and the understanding that summer will increasingly hold such threats. Bushfires, Climate Change and the MediaThe link between bushfire risk and climate change generated a flurry of coverage in the Australian media well before the fires started in the spring of 2019. In April that year, a coalition of 23 former fire and emergency services leaders warned that Australia was “unprepared for an escalating climate threat” (Cox). They requested a meeting with the new government, to be elected in May, and better funding for firefighting to face the coming bushfire season. When that meeting was granted, at the end of Australia’s hottest and driest year on record (Doyle) in November 2019, bushfires had already been burning for two months. As the fires burned, the emergency leaders expressed frustration that their warnings had been ignored, claiming they had been “gagged” because “you are not allowed to talk about climate change”. They cited climate change as the key reason why the fire season was lengthening and fires were harder to fight. "If it's not time now to speak about climate and what's driving these events”, they asked, “– when?" (McCubbing).The mediatised uncovering of a bushfire/climate change connection was not strictly a revelation. Recent fires in California, Russia, the Amazon, Greece, and Sweden have all been reported in the media as having been exacerbated by climate change. Australia, however, has long regarded itself as a “fire continent”: a place adapted to fire, whose landscapes invite fire and can recover from it. Bushfires had therefore been considered part of the Australian “normal”. But in the Australian spring of 2019, with fires having started earlier than ever and charring rainforests that did not usually burn, the fire chiefs’ warning of a climate change-induced catastrophic bushfire season seemed prescient. As the fires spread and merged, taking homes, lives, landscapes, and driving people towards the water, revelatory images emerged in the media. Pictures of fire refugees fleeing under dystopian crimson skies, masked against the smoke, were accompanied by headlines like “Apocalypse Now” (Fife-Yeomans) and “Escaping Hell” (The Independent). Reports used words like “terror”, “nightmare” (Smee), “mayhem”, and “Armageddon” (Davidson).In the Australian media, the fire/climate change connection quickly became politicised. The Deputy Prime Minister Michael McCormack interviewed by the ABC, responding to a comment by Greens leader Adam Bandt, said connecting bushfire and climate while the fires raged was “disgraceful” and “disgusting”. People needed help, he said, not “the ravings of some pure enlightened and woke capital city greenies” (Goloubeva and Haydar). Gladys Berejiklian the NSW Premier also described it as “inappropriate” (Baker) and “disappointing” (Fox and Higgins) to talk about climate change at this time. However Carol Sparks, Mayor of bushfire-ravaged Glen Innes in rural NSW, contradicted this stance, telling the ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) “Michael McCormack needs to read the science”. Climate change, she said, was “not a political thing” but “scientific fact” (Goloubeva and Haydar).As the fires merged and intensified, so did the media firestorm. Key Australian media became a sparring ground for issue definition, with media predictably split down ideological lines. Public broadcasters the ABC and SBS (Special Broadcasting Service), along with The Age, The Sydney Morning Herald and The Guardian Australia, predominantly framed the catastrophe as wrought by climate change. The Guardian, in an in-depth investigation of climate science and bushfire risk, stated that “despite the political smokescreen” the connection between the fires and global warming was “unequivocal” (Redfearn). The ABC characterised the fires as “a glimpse of the horrors of climate change’s crescendoing impact” (Rose). News outlets owned by Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp Australia, however, actively sought to play down the fires’ seriousness. On 2 January, as front pages of newspapers across the world revealed horrifying fiery images, Murdoch’s Australian ran an upbeat shot of New Year’s Day picnic races as its lead, relegating discussion of the fires to page 4 (Meade). More than simply obscuring the fires’ significance, News Corp media actively sought to convince readers that the fires were not out of the ordinary. For example, as the fires’ magnitude was becoming clear on the last day of 2019, The Australian ran a piece comparing the fires with previous conflagrations, claiming such conditions were “not unprecedented” and the fires were “nothing new” (Johnstone). News Corp’s Sky News also used this frame: “climate alarmists”, “catastrophise”, and “don’t want to look at history”, it stated in a segment comparing the event to past major bushfires (Kenny).As the fires continued into January and February 2020, the refutation of the climate change frame solidified around several themes. Conservative media continued to insist the fires were “normal” for Australia and attributed their severity to a lack of hazard reduction burning, which they blamed on “Greens policies” (Brown and Caisley). They also promoted the argument, espoused by Energy Minister Angus Taylor, that with only “1.3% of global emissions” Australia “could not have meaningful impact” on global warming through emissions reductions, and that top-down climate mitigation pressure from the UN was “doomed to fail” (Lloyd). Foreign media saw the fires in quite different terms. From the outside looking in, the Australian fires were clearly revealed as fuelled by global heating and exacerbated by the Australian government’s climate denialism. Australia was framed as a “notorious climate offender” (Shield) that was—as The New York Times put it—“committing climate suicide” (Flanagan) with its lack of coherent climate policy and its predilection for mining coal. Ouest-France ran a headline reading “High on carbon, rich Australia denies global warming” in which it called Scott Morrison’s position on climate change “incomprehensible” (Guibert). The LA Times called the Australian fires “a climate change warning to its leaders—and ours”, noting how “fossil fuel friendly Morrison” had “gleefully wielded a fist-sized chunk of coal on the floor of parliament in 2017” (Karlik). In the UK, the Independent online ran a front page spread of the fires’ vast smoke plume, with the headline “This is what a climate crisis looks like” (Independent Online), while Australian MP Craig Kelly was called “disgraceful” by an interviewer on Good Morning Britain for denying the fires’ link to climate change (Good Morning Britain).Both in Australia and internationally, deliberate misinformation spread by social media additionally shaped media discourse on the fires. The false revelation that the fires had predominantly been started by arson spread on Twitter under the hashtag #ArsonEmergency. While research has been quick to show that this hashtag was artificially promoted by bots (Weber et al.), this and misinformation like it was also shared and amplified by real Twitter users, and quickly spread into mainstream media in Australia—including Murdoch’s Australian (Ross and Reid)—and internationally. Such misinformation was used to shore up denialist discourses about the fires, and to obscure revelation of the fire/climate change connection. Blame Framing, Public Opinion and the Extent of the Climate Change RevelationAs studies of media coverage of environmental disasters show us, media seek to apportion blame. This blame framing is “accountability work”, undertaken to explain how and why a disaster occurred, with the aim of “scrutinizing the actions of crisis actors, and holding responsible authorities to account” (Anderson et al. 930). In moments of disaster and in their aftermath, “framing contests” (Benford and Snow) can emerge in which some actors, regarding the crisis as an opportunity for change, highlight the systemic issues that have led to the crisis. Other actors, experiencing the crisis as a threat to the status quo, try to attribute the blame to others, and deny the need for policy change. As the Black Summer unfolded, just such a contest took place in Australian media discourse. While Murdoch’s dominant News Corp media sought to protect the status quo, promote conservative politicians’ views, and divert attention from the climate crisis, other Australian and overseas media outlets revealed the fires’ link to climate change and intransigent emissions policy. However, cracks did begin to show in the News Corp stance on climate change during the fires: an internal whistleblower publicly resigned over the media company’s fires coverage, calling it a “misinformation campaign”, and James Murdoch also spoke out about being “disappointed with the ongoing denial of the role of climate change” in reporting the fires (ABC/Reuters).Although media reporting on the environment has long been at the forefront of shaping social understanding of environmental issues, and news maintains a central role in both revealing environmental threats and shaping environmental politics (Lester), during Australia’s Black Summer people were also learning about the fires from lived experience. Polls show that the fires affected 57% of Australians. Even those distant from the catastrophe were, for some time, breathing the most toxic air in the world. This personal experience of disaster revealed a bushfire season that was far outside the normal, and public opinion reflected this. A YouGov Australia Institute poll in January 2020 found that 79% of Australians were concerned about climate change—an increase of 5% from July 2019—and 67% believed climate change was making the bushfires worse (Australia Institute). However, a January 2020 Ipsos poll also found that polarisation along political lines on whether climate change was indeed occurring had increased since 2018, and was at its highest levels since 2014 (Crowe). This may reflect the kind of polarised media landscape that was evident during the fires. A thorough dissection in public discourse of Australia’s unprecedented fire season has been largely eclipsed by the vast coverage of the coronavirus pandemic that so quickly followed it. In May 2020, however, the fires were back in the media, when the Bushfires Royal Commission found that the Black Summer “played out exactly as scientists predicted it would” and that more seasons like it were now “locked in” because of carbon emissions (Hitch). It now remains to be seen whether the revelatory extent of the climate change blame frame that played out in media discourse on the fires will be sufficient to garner meaningful action and policy change—or whether denialist discourses will again obscure climate change revelation and seek to maintain the status quo. References Anderson, Deb, et al. "Fanning the Blame: Media Accountability, Climate and Crisis on the Australian ‘Fire Continent’." 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