Jackson’s Track is a true life tale of a man who lived in the West Gippsland forests in Victoria, about 100 miles from Melbourne. His wife and the majority of his friends were first Australians, – aboriginal people.  He and his brother, like two of my own great grandfathers and many others at that time, had bought what was called ‘Crown Land’ and set about logging the trees and clearing the forests for farming.

I found myself thinking about my mother’s father and of the many yarns he told me when I was a child about the bush and the aboriginal people he had known from working on the roads, which he did for many years to supplement the income he got from farming. My grandfather told me that his aboriginal workmates were decent people and I remember noticing the sadness that came over his face when he spoke about them.  This book has helped me to more fully imagine  their lives and to understand more deeply my grandfather’s sadness around this subject.

Euphemia Mullett Hood - Daryl Tonkins wife with baby son, Russell

The aboriginal people of West Gippsland, where Daryl Tonkin’s story was lived out, were forest dwellers. I know the area quite well from childhood days and I’ve always treasured the tall forests of that area, although what’s there now is massively reduced from what Daryl Tonkin describes was there in his day:

“In early 1937 we found ourselves looking at mostly second-growth timber with only the odd giant blue gum looming through the thick bush now and again.  Before the old sawmills first started cutting trees out of this country in the 1880′s, the forest was fairly open as the trees were the original growth and never had big bush fires through them.  But after the mills had finished their work, the floor of the forest was thick with the heads of the fallen trees, and when the big fire of February 12, 1898 came through, it changed the bush as the hot fire germinated the seeds and a dense mass of saplings came up,making a second-growth forest so thick it was almost impossible to penetrate.”

So there it is again. A description of nature at work: 1) A fairly major catastrophe occurs in the form of a forest fire made more ferocious than usual by the forest harvesting practices of the European Australian’s.  2) Nature’s response is to throw in millions of saplings in order to repair the forest . 3) The process of renewal begins again.

One of the aspects of the close-to-nature approach to forestry that excites me is that nature knows no boundaries, and although the climate and latitude might be different, the steps nature takes are consistent everywhere.

"I thought about where the people could have roamed and camped and how the bush had changed. I wondered about their way of life and wished I knew what they knew. There were none of those people here now, just second growth timber and ruins of the old, original mills." Daryl Tonkin

In a previous post, I spoke of the time of the early settlers, and how Australia became  deforested, so you can imagine how interested I was to read this book Jackson’s Track. Here’s another quote from Daryl Tonkin that gives me a greater and more sympathetic understanding of how such a thing could happen: The trees were that big that, now, I think it would have been better if we had left it forest. Back then it seemed like it would never disappear. He said that once he  met Euphemia and began living with her people, he lost interest in his brother’s vision of clearing the land and becoming a farmer.  He says “I left off clearing the land forever. I became a bushman, a man of the forest. I loved the beauty of it. I was taking one tree at a time, working along the contours of the land, letting the creeks and big trees determine where I went and how I logged.” 

Over time the demand for timber grew and his beloved horse team was replaced by machines.”It was very quick, quicker than the horses, but I felt bad about it.  I knew that by turning my back on the horses I had let something change which could never be recovered. I guess what changed was a set of values.”

Eventually of course the big timbers were all used up. The aboriginal people who lived on Jackson’s Track and worked in the forest had been moved off the land by the Authorities and the ‘church people’.  His brother had died, and some of his closest work mates.  He lost heart. He sold off a lot of the forest land and kept just what he needed himself. His description of what happened after that makes grim reading.

In our day and age we know what happens when land is sold to developers.  But he and his generation hadn’t had that experience and as forest people, their imagination could do nothing to warn them for what was in store: “They were leaving nothing standing.  Not even any wind breaks.  They didn’t seem to know what they were doing. They pushed down and dragged away all the trees along the creeks. Everyone knows a creek needs its trees. As the season turned warmer the unfiltered sun dried everything to dust. The earth cracked underneath our feet and grit ground in our teeth, our skin blistered and hardened. The birds disappeared.  I had never dreamed it would go like this. I thought there would always be bush. We were in the middle of  something unnatural, in the middle of a place destroyed, in the middle of nothing……..”

Carolyn Landon, who took down this story from Daryl Tonkin and turned it into Jackson’s Track (Published by Penguin Group Australia, 1999) has done a great service not just in re-telling this fascinating story but also in helping us to understand the story of Australia’s forest history in a very readable and accessible form.

The huge stump of a tree from another time dwarfs the parkland trees in the Botanic Gardens, Brisbane.

 Even though my photographs from an earlier post show what looks like a fairly thickly treed area along the cycle path, the aerial view on this bill board below tells us how narrow and sketchy that foreshore strip really is.

Bill board showing a picture of how the foreshore became so developed, block by block. Thin strip of natural remnant forest serving as buffer zone.

The wider area at the bottom left is the caravan park, which has many tall blue gums and cypress pines, but no understory at all.  Further along, in the more dense area, is the restoration project where all ages and stages of forest growth are present.

The wider area at the bottom left is the caravan park, which has many tall blue gums and cypress pines, but not much shrub layer for protection from sea side storms and cyclones.

Before I left I cycled down to the other end of the cycle path, near where my parents lived when they first moved to the area.  Although some fairly major holiday apartments have been built overlooking the marina, the little beach where I used to swim has stayed the same.  I took some photos from the sea of the neat job nature has done at safeguarding the land from the sea:

Buffer zone of natural pioneer and climax trees knitting together to give shelter from the cyclonic storms.

Here’s a close up of what’s going on:

Tough grasses knitting into the sand, then she-oak, coastal cypress, coastal ash and blue gum forming a thick mosaic barrier against cyclonic storms

If we are to take lessons from hindsight, surely one of the most dramatic in our life time (so far!) was from the tsunami that hit Asian countries on the Indian Ocean in December 2004. Scientists stated that the impact of the waves could have been significantly lessoned if the swathes of native mangrove trees had not been removed from coastal areas. We’re talking thousands of lives here. But then, there’s always this feeling of ‘it can’t happen here’.

When I looked at some of the arial photographs taken, before and after, I couldn’t help thinking how similar the before shots looked to the Hervey Bay coastline. Sunny, holiday areas where fishing boats and pleasure yachts moored off long piers. Holiday resorts at the front and local housing and businesses behind.  

I suppose this post is like a plea to all people in local Councils, people in Governments and all those who can, – to let nature do it’s thing and to work to find a balance that will afford humans, wildlife, and nature an equal footing so that we all can benefit from each other. It’s a goal worth really going for, full out.

View of Woody and Fraser Islands from the beach at Hervey Bay, framed by beautiful coastal she-oak tree.

http://www.masternewmedia.org/images/before_after_tsunami_2004_500.jpg

There are four mature mango trees in the garden of the old weatherboard house that my father rebuilt.  My father passed away five years ago. The house and the trees remain. Mango trees are prolific in their production of the sweet, juicy fruit and when they are heavy with ripe fruit, the fruit bats would often be hidden in the dark leafy branches, eating the delicious fruit.  Often when we walked under the trees at night when the bats were feeding, one would fly out and give a squawk, frightening us as much as we would frighten them. 

Flying foxes, or fruit bats as they are known locally here in Queensland, have a mixed press. I see the bats as wild, free creatures. The nightly spectacle of thousands of them flying out at dusk in a massive colony like a mighty flock of huge birds is quite simply astonishing.  To see thousands of them hanging upside down in the trees in the heat of the afternoon sun is also a sight you’ll never forget.  How they stretch out their leathery wings and fan themselves cool.  The constant squabbling  that goes on as they move and flutter nimbly through the branches looking for the perfect position to settle in for a day of sleep. To see the little ones fastened onto their mother as she feeds, high up in the trees, is such an amazing sight. Once you hear a colony of fruit bats hanging out in a clump of trees, you  will recognize the sound immediately whenever you hear it again.             

The dark blobby mass on the lower branches of these Coastal Cypress Pine are thousands of sleeping bats.There are also a few hanging on the high branches on the top left.

Fruit bats are also highly valued by foresters and greens alike for what they do for the trees. No other creature is able to spread the seeds of the tall rain forest trees in northern Queensland as efficiently as the fruit bats. There are some excellent signs put up near where the colony spend their days by the Fraser Coast Regional Council in an attempt to encourage people to value the bats:

Fruit bats are highly selective feeders. They feed on fruiting rainforest trees and flowering eucalypts.

    

Fruit bats keep the forest healthy

 

Fruit bats can spread 60,000 rainforest tree seeds in one night

After a long and drawn out battle between local people from both sides, the precious little remaining habitat for the bats has been protected. For now.  The main objector to the bats was apparently the person who lives near the colony’s daytime residence, even though the bats were there long before the house was built. The bats are noisy and during the mating season they give off a strong odour.  Not a wise move to build a house right beside a bat colony.  But saving a tiny piece of forest where the bats sleep isn’t saving a habitat.  Unbelievably, there are now apartments being built on the adjoining block of land. 

New apartments being built right beside the bat colony.

 I find it hard coming out here to Hervey Bay. Often very hard. Scenes like the one above are so common. In fact rampant. If the people in the single, old house have a problem with the noise of the bats, won’t it be the same for the new residents in these new apartments being built? Who do you think will win the battle when there are a dozen or so families living beside the bats? – The human residents or the flying fox residents? I suppose the big difference is that the residents vote, – but the flying foxes propagate forests and keep the world heritage rain forest on nearby Fraser Island healthy. Which do you think is the most useful?

Until recently I didn’t understand quite how intricately linked the bats are with forest health.  One of the anti arguments is that the bats are killing the trees.  The bats do cause damage to the tree crowns where they sleep, over time.  Very often mature pioneering coastal cypress pine is the one to suffer.  And there it is again: The dense canopy of the pioneer forest is opened and the next succession of tree life begins on the forest floor. How is it that these flying foxes know the forests secrets and assist in the plan, and we just don’t get it. We are learning through the effects we are now experiencing of climate change that we depend on forests as much as these wild, free creatures. 

“Man did not weave the web of life – he is merely a strand in it.
Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.”

Chief Seattle, 1854.

While I haven’t explored the area that much, having only a bicycle to get around on, I have explored the foreshore trees by means of the wonderful bicycle track that runs for about 5 miles along the coastline.  These magnificent trees are the remnants of native woodland that once covered the entire area.

Magnificent Queensland Blue Gum growing along the foreshore at Hervey Bay

Over the years I’ve watched as the bicycle track has been built and extended; new playground areas developed; paved picnic areas; new toilet blocks; garden beds and other landscaping; resting seats; rubbish collection areas; and recently even fitness equipment.

The cycle path along the foreshore weaves its way through the trees

Many thousands of local people and visitors frequent the foreshore every year.  It’s always a hub of activity, especially near the main restaurant/shopping areas, and I’ve marveled at the way the trees and natural areas have been protected and how they have survived such constant crowds of people and pets. The trees are given priority as the main feature. I suppose in this climate that’s understandable. When it gets hot here, it gets REALLY hot.  Shade is vital for the people who come to enjoy the area.

Children playing in one of the enclosed play areas in the shade of a big fig tree on the foreshore.

However, twenty years ago, when I first started coming here, I was concerned that the majority of trees now stood on their own.  The shrub layer that no doubt included naturally regenerating young trees and the whole spectrum of native plants, had been removed and the trees were growing on bare lawn.  I know from experience that bare ground or lawn under trees spells their eventual decline and that the end result over time would be a very exposed foreshore. I noticed tree planting had been carried out in some places, but again, experience tells me that planted trees will not stand up to the kind of storms that the Hervey Bay area often gets.  Only naturally occurring trees have the track record to stand up to tropical storms and cyclones, as occur in these parts.

Native trees regenerating in the fenced Restoration Area

So to my foresters eye, by far the most impressive recent development has been the addition of a newly erected fence that has been beautifully signed “Restoration Area”.  I’ve watched each year since the fence went up with keen interest to see if the bare ground beneath the trees would show signs of forest regeneration. Sure enough, after only about three years, there are now thousands of small saplings starting to appear and the whole area within the fence is taking on the look of a lush, natural forest.

I was so excited this year to see what a success it has been that I contacted the Fraser Coast Regional Council and asked to meet whoever was in charge of this project of forest restoration. To my delight Coastal Management Officer Rod Buchanan and Community Environment Officer Chris McCarthy agreed to meet me on site. They were able to answer a lot of my questions and we had a really interesting conversation about the ingenuity of nature in perpetuating and caring for forests.  Chris visited Ireland a few years back and he did some voluntary work with Conservation Volunteers Northern Ireland. He told me that he had been quite startled to find out that Ireland’s native woodlands were down to 1.2%.

Rod Buchanan and Chris McCarthy standing in knee high Coastal Cypress Pine seedings

Meeting on site meant that I could find out what the different species were and also learn more about what nature was up to within these small strips of forest. There it all was to see, laid out for us to learn from. The very same forest dynamic can be observed here intropical Queensland as what I’ve seen throughout European close-to-nature forests. 1) A gap in the canopy. 2) In come the pioneer species, naturally regenerating. 3) Followed by sub-climax and climax species. 4) The cycle is repeated ad infinitum.

A carpet of Coastal Cypress Pine seedlings with one fast growing Queensland Blue Gum (Eucalyptus tereticornis) shooting up towards the light. .

I still get so excited to see this orderly system of regeneration and renewal occurring. The sheer brilliance of Nature compared to the clumsy attempt of the human being.  Simple yet complex.  Seemingly chaotic, yet utterly ordered and in sequence. How is it that we still get the whole thing so messed up when the example of how to do it is laid out by the expert for any eye to see?

Of course Chris and Rod also pointed out the drawbacks they’re having with this project that hadn’t occurred to me.  Mainly in the form of complaints from the public.  People see the fence and are worried that they won’t have full access to the beach.  Some think it’s a backward step letting all this ‘scrub and rubbish’ grow back in parts of the foreshore.  Some complain that it will harbour snakes and other native wildlife.  Others just think it looks neglected and that it is the Regional Council’s way of cutting back costs on mowing and landscaping.  Of course as these complaints come in to the Council Office,  it puts pressure on Rod and Chris and there is even talk that the project could be scrapped.

I had already written a letter about the success of the exclusion areas into the local papers complimenting the Regional Council on their farsighted approach to foreshore protection.  Don’t know what else I can do except give encouragement to the two lads to whom the project obviously means a great deal.

For twenty years I’ve been coming here to visit my parents, and each time I’ve witnessed destruction of trees and nature on a fairly massive scale.  This small fenced in area that excludes human activity and allows a tiny space for nature to do its thing is the only positive sign I’ve seen of hope for a more balanced approach.

I remember reading a few years ago in the local paper that Hervey Bay was the fastest growing area in Australia. Read that last line again so that it really sinks in. Can you even begin to imagine the impact that has had on nature, – on trees and wildlife?

Australian magpie, two butcher birds and a noisy minor. The wild birds are learning to adapt to a built up environment. They've suffered massive habitat loss in the last 20 years.

Given the chance, I know in time these fenced forest areas will more than prove their worth to the local houses and businesses along the foreshore for the shade and protection they offer. – And of course they are already becoming little mini-sancturaries for the local wildlife that has suffered such habitat loss throughout the area as Hervey Bay’s population has grown so rapidly in recent times.

Brightly coloured lorikeet. Their wild and raucous song fills the air at dusk as they flock into the foreshore trees to roost each evening.

I’m out in Australia for the month of March.   Travelling by train up to Northern Queensland I pass by miles of natural forest, or ‘bushland’.  I find myself thinking about my ancestors. One of my great grand fathers was a farmer and a sawmiller.  Another cleared the land by ‘ring-barking’ (figure it out for yourself) acres of land for farming. At the time that was how it was done. My great grandfather’s farm was a ‘model’ farm where settlers from all around came to learn how it was done. There were very many sawmillers throughout the country at the time of the early European settlers.

As usual trees are on my mind and train travel oils the cogs of my mind.  I let my imagination drift out into the landscape I’m passing through.  Imagine if our ancestors had asked themselves different questions when they moved into the forests of the world.  For example the questions that the early European ‘explorers’ of Australia obviously asked themselves were “How can we best get our hands on this magnificent timber and exploit these fantastic old forests for our own benefit?”  It is not speculation that these were the questions they asked themselves, – it is recorded in the very landscapes that I’m now moving through. You only have to open your eyes to see that this was the case.  The forest cover is now down two thirds and the vast majority of the forest trees are small.  Do the sums. I know, it’s not just Australia. For whatever reasons, so many developed countries, including Ireland, are equally deforested.

We have inherited these denuded landscapes.  We live amongst them and think it’s normal. We have also inherited the very questions that were asked by our ancestors and some of us approach forests in the same manner as people did 200 years and more ago. The slash and burn/clearfell approach.  We’re still asking questions of ‘what’s in it for us’, only now we can leave out the ‘magnificent’ and ‘fantastic old’ when it comes to the forests. What we grow now are just plantations.  Nothing magnificent or fantastic or old about them. To my mind that is.  It’s hard when you come up against the same old same old when you’ve seen another way and found other questions that lead to far better results. Mostly it’s just greens on one side and commercial forestry on the other. Dug in. Entrenched.

Typical Queensland 'bush' or forest, well picked over long ago for the best trees.

Perhaps the swing of the pendulum is the way of evolution.  In that I mean that at a time when the forests of the world have been clear felled to such an extent that the very climatic conditions  we need in order to live here are being disrupted, solutions are beginning to surface. Or at least more highly evolved questions are emerging.

What if our ancestors had asked questions like:

How can we safeguard these fantastic old forests while at the same time speed up the rate at which they produce this magnificent timber?

What is the sustainable harvest and what percent of what species can we harvest without negative effect on the ecosystems.  How often can we come back?

What number of big old trees per acre do we need to leave behind to maintain biodiversity of fauna and flora and to safeguard the forest?

What areas of these forests should we set aside as nature reserves, – learning places we can refer to if we go wrong?

How can we extract the felled timber without causing damage to young trees and forest soils?

What ways can we use this timber for maximum return and with minimum waste?

How can we find out how these fantastic old forests make such magnificent timber?   How can we replicate what they do?

So I’m sitting on this train bound for northern Queensland, thinking of these things and having immense waves of gratitude for those older forestry friends who started up Pro Silva. Only for them I would never have known to ask such questions as these in my own forestry work and to find some of the answers.  For example I used to think the only way to get broadleaved trees back was to plant them. I didn’t know that if questions like the above were applied to spruce plantations, for example, the result could, over time, be something nearly as wonderful as the old growth forests we have lost. I’ve been so immensely lucky to meet such foresters and to visit many forests with Pro Silva Ireland in some of the 27 countries that are now affiliated.  To see forests where these questions have been formulated and answered and are now being applied is truly inspiring.  Profitable, viable forests.  Sustainable in the true sense of the word.  And well,- magnificent, fantastic and old.

Close to Nature forest in Freudenstadt, Germany, with all age classes of trees present and many species.