THE LAST WILDERNESS
Indigenous rangers, scientists, conservationists and pastoralists are working together to ensure the Kimberley remains one of the world’s great wildlife havens.
Scientists, Indigenous groups and landholders join forces to save the Kimberley.
WE’RE BARELY A METRE off the ground when our helicopter lurches and drops from a cliff top into the valley below. Bluffs of ochre sandstone whoosh by the open passenger door. Ahead, a sweep of savannah grassland reaches to the horizon. We’re aloft on the edge of Bunuba country, whirring along the Fitzroy River as it twists down gorges and tree-flanked channels through the Wunaamin Miliwundi Ranges (formerly the King Leopold Ranges).
This is the famously huge Kimberley plateau, in northwestern Australia. There’s no simple way to gauge the breadth of a landscape of this scale. But taking to the skies is a good start. From a chopper, the plateau’s epic, fortress-like character is laid bare. Exposed is a potent mix of habitats, and it’s plain to see how this frontier is refuge for so many distinctive plants and animals. From up here another prospect looms – the daunting task of managing a place six times the size of Tasmania and in many parts just as rugged.
No surprise then that helicopters play a starring role. “They’re our workhorses,” says field ecologist Jamie Dunlop in a proper English accent through the chopper’s headset. “We use them to access survey sites that would be otherwise impossible to reach. They’re also essential to everything from fire management to our annual croc census.” Right on cue Jamie, a suburban Londoner who embraced the wilds of Australia to pursue a life in science, points out two freshwater crocodiles basking on the banks of the Fitzroy below. Jamie’s plied his trade as an ecologist across the country, but for him the Kimberley’s outsized charms have been hard to match.
It might look like these upper reaches of the Fitzroy on the conser vation proper t y Mornington Sanctuary are a timeless scene of primeval splendour. Yet they are among the most carefully curated landscapes in the Kimberley. Since 2001 Jamie’s employer, the Australian Wildlife Conservancy (AWC), has recast the fate of this former cattle property (see Held in Reserve, AG 94). Together with the later addition of neighbouring Marion Downs, it’s a 6000sq.km expanse now overseen with a single-minded goal: restoring the natural order to bolster the survival of native wildlife. Many of the benef iciaries are pocket-sized marsupials and native rodents, plus small birds such as the endangered Gouldian finch and purple-crowned fairy-wren – not the kind of creatures you spot from a chopper. Yet one of the AWC’s biggest initiatives to help them thrive is writ large across the landscape.
FROM ABOVE, MORNINGTON appears as a mix of russet-brown burnt areas interspersed with swathes of unburnt woodland and spinifex. This mottling is a legacy of the AWC’s EcoFire program, which aims to mimic a traditional Aboriginal approach to caring for country by using a patchwork of small burns early in the dry season. This helps secure areas of old-growth vegetation that are crucial for wildlife, as well as curbing the spread of large, devastating bushfires late in the season.
The gains from this strategy, for both conser vation and pastoralism, have prompted Mornington’s neighbours to join the fray. EcoFire is now used across 11 properties spanning 30,000sq.km, making it the nation’s largest privately operated fire management program.
As well as deploying fire crews on the
ground, the annual scheme sees more than 50,000 incendiaries dropped by helicopters to initiate targeted burns. Since 2007 this effort has more than halved the number of highly destructive hot, late-season bushfires on the AWC’s Kimberley properties.
Ongoing ecological checks help shape the pattern and schedule of these prescribed burns. Ecologists conduct a range of detailed fauna and plant surveys across more than 50 sites, to keep a finger on the biodiversity pulse. “The idea is to maintain our standard monitoring to watch the trends and detect any changes,” explains Dr Karen Young, one of Mornington’s wildlife ecologists.
It’s not just raging late-season fires that pose a conservation risk. Other core threats are the damage caused by large, introduced herbivores such as cattle, donkeys and horses, plus the toll on native animals captured by feral cats. Research reveals, Karen notes, that these stresses can interact to compound the damage. Cats, for example, can exploit high-intensity fire scars to maximise their hunting success. There are other challenges too – feral pigs, invasive weeds, cane toads and the upheavals of climate change are all fraying the region’s natural resilience.
Against this backdrop, Karen’s four-year stint at Mornington has been more than just a commitment to science: “Living and working in a remote place, you respond to the landscape and seasons – you know it on a personal level.” As reports continue to disclose a rising tally of environmental loss throughout northern Australia, the Kimberley’s status as a wildlife bastion grows stronger by the year. “When it comes to conservation in Australia, it’s the jewel in the crown,” Karen says. “The north-west is one of the last refuges for species like the golden bandicoot and northern quoll. This is the only part of mainland Australia that hasn’t had any mammal extinctions. But that doesn’t mean it’s safe; the region faces the same pressures that have caused species to decline elsewhere.”
As well as Mornington showcasing the AWC’s stewardship flair, the skills honed here are being shared across the region. The AWC collaborates with Indigenous groups, pastoralists and government agencies to help tend to a staggering 43,000sq.km of the Kimberley. And they’re not alone.
Environs Kimberley, Bush Heritage Australia, World Wildlife Fund and The Nature Conservancy are among other not-forprofit organisations supporting environmental efforts throughout the region. Yet research, generous benefaction and well-worded policy only go so far. To get the job done you need people on the ground and communities out bush. In this supremely
Many of the beneficiaries are pocket-sized marsupials and native rodents, plus small birds.
remote corner of the continent, the future ultimately rests with the power of locals who know their country best.
Downstream of Mornington Sanctuary, the Fitzroy River breaks free from the Wunaamin Miliwundi Ranges. Before swinging westward to King Sound, it traverses a landscape of open plains and ancient limestone ranges, including the dramatic Danggu Geikie Gorge. In late 2015 the Bunuba people’s 15-year fight ended when they finally secured Native Title over 6500sq.km of this expanse.
Conser vation gains aside, the most profound change wrought across the Kimberley during the past two decades has been the granting of Native Title claims over large tracts of traditional country. Working with government, the Kimberley Land Council and its partners have also helped many claimant groups secure Indigenous Protected Areas (IPAs). Together, at least seven major IPAs encompass 60 per cent of the entire region, including the outstanding biodiversity strongholds in the far north-west.
The formal recognition of Indigenous rights to manage country has renewed a push to work in the landscape, as a way to uphold tradition and build a future for communities. Among the Bunuba people, as with other groups, that momentum drove a long process of coming together to map out priorities. The Jalangurru Muwayi Bunuba Healthy Country Plan details tasks such as managing fire and wildlife, as well as responsibilities for protecting important cultural areas and values.
FOR YOUNG BUNUBA RANGERS based at Fitzroy Crossing, including Jonil Marr and Danielle Brooking, the work strengthens ties to landscape and also with elders and traditions. “I like going out on country, looking after country, protecting our sacred sites and our paintings and all that,” Jonil says. More than 100 Indigenous rangers – both men and women – now work across the Kimberley to restore traditional burning practices, safeguard culturally significant wildlife and manage threats such as weeds and feral species. Jobs with these programs are highly prized. “Lots of schoolkids really look up to being a ranger in the future,” Danielle says.
Conservation organisation Bush Heritage Australia and the Broome-based advocacy group Environs Kimberley (EK) have a long association working with this community and continue to help facilitate the Healthy Country Plan, which guides rangers in making decisions on country. As well as the township of Fitzroy Crossing, a busy stretch of the Great Northern Highway, major pastoral businesses nearby and some of the busiest parks in the region, the Bunuba people have a lot on their doorstep. Of major importance is maintaining the natural and cultural integrity of the Fitzroy River itself.
In big wet-season years this river is Australia’s most potent, with estimated flows of about 30,000 cubic metres per second, but in drought years it can barely flow. During recent decades a range of proposals to dam the river and exploit its flows have been mooted. The latest involves a large-scale irrigation scheme
to grow fodder crops for cattle on Fossil Downs, Liveringa and Nerrima, all pastoral properties owned by mining magnate Gina Rinehart.
EK was established in 1996 to support Bunuba and other traditional owners in their quest for permanent protections for the river. It claims a buffer zone is needed and that by securing 9 per cent of the catchment almost 90 per cent of the river’s channels and wetlands could be protected from the impacts of irrigation, dams and mining. Parallel with this campaign history, EK has been engaged in on-ground practical projects with Indigenous ranger groups for more than a decade. Program manager Dr Malcolm Lindsay stresses these are collaborative efforts from beginning to end. “We are research partners and also play a bit of a brokering role,” he says.
“We keep an eye on funding and if a gover n ment g rant comes up that f its with the needs of a ranger group then we can help with the application. In the end, though, they’re the ones making the decisions. The important thing is recognising the power of the established governance system.”
Although scarcely known to the outside world, the rugged north-west coast and hinterlands are among Australia’s most robust wildlife realms.
EK maintains strong ties to the Bunuba rangers and, closer to Broome, with the Yawuru community. To the south they work alongside rangers from the Karajarri Traditional Lands Association whose country extends from the upper reaches of Eighty Mile Beach inland into the Great Sandy Desert.
Since 2011 EK has also partnered with the Bardi Jawi and Nyul Nyul rangers to care for the endangered monsoon vine thickets dotting the coastal dunes of the Dampier Peninsula. Local communities share an intimate understanding of these rainforest pockets as nurturing spaces, offering food, water, timber and medicine, as well as being places of ceremony and law. Right across the Kimberley, opportunities to respect and sustain this kind of inheritance are at least as important as any ecological reckoning. “Here, cultural knowledge is integral to conservation,” Malcolm says. Head east from the Dampier Peninsula and these opportunities multiply spectacularly.
Although scarcely known to the outside world, the rugged north-west coast and hinterlands are among Australia’s most robust wildlife realms. Since 2011 Bush Heritage has maintained a pioneering partnership with the Wunambal Gaambera
people. Their “living home” is Uunguu, a 25,000sq.km arc of country from Kalumburu to Prince Regent NP and includes Punami Uunpuu (formerly Mitchell Falls). Bush Heritage assists Uunguu rangers with a range of projects including targeted fire management to protect significant rainforest pockets.
TO THE SOUTH LIES the equally imposing sea and land country of the Dambimangari community. It’s a “gobsmackingly beautiful” property supporting “an amazing suite of biodiversity,” says Peter McKay, the north-west regional operations manager of the AWC. In 2017 the AWC entered into a groundbreaking partnership in which the community receives a set fee plus AWC expertise in support of Dambimangari’s Healthy Country Plan. In return, the AWC is able to help shore up the future for a host of threatened species, such as the northern quoll, golden-backed tree-rat and Kimberley brush-tailed phascogale.
Based on this partnership success, the Wilinggin Aboriginal Corporation and the AWC recently agreed to a similar collaboration. Spanning the heartland of Kimberley plateau country, the Wilinggin IPA is one of the region’s largest and most complex. As well as supporting Wilinggin rangers with land management and wildlife projects, AWC’s assistance with ‘right way’ burning programs are pivotal for habitat health and harnessing income for Wilinggin communities from the sale of carbon credits.
Peter admits these are ambitious partnerships. Aside from logistical challenges, the AWC will need to embrace a new level of consultation with the diverse groups of Indigenous leadership who maintain authority over the plateau. But it’s a big picture worth conjuring. If you consider the area’s national parks and other protected natural locations such as the IPAs and AWC properties, Peter says, this would be one of the world’s largest conservation areas. “When you think about it like that it’s kind of inspiring stuff,” he says.
Coming together to share access to landscape, Indigenous knowledge and practical science offers the region a future that echoes the values of traditional owners. The Native Title holders here are uniquely placed to shape their own conservation economy. For that to sustain entire communities, many believe it has to broaden beyond a focus on wildlife and ecology. The goal is more jobs on country that strengthen language and culture. That means more Indigenous-led businesses, be they in agriculture, hospitality, art or tourism.
The Dampier Peninsula is like nowhere else in the Kimberley. Spanning nearly 10,000sq.km, it is a subtle sprawl of rolling savannah woodland, utterly different from the plateau’s craggy redoubts. The region’s signature is its vivid red Pindan soil, which defines the character of the place, from its unique plant
It’s a “gobsmackingly beautiful” property supporting “an amazing suite of biodiversity”.
communities to the startling shoreline cliffs glowing crimson at sundown.
The Bardi-Jawi people are custodians of the peninsula’s apex. They’re saltwater people with a Healthy Country Plan buoyed by an active team of local rangers. The peninsula is also a visitor hotspot, boasting the highest density of Indigenous-owned tourism in Australia. With an enticing array of beaches and campsites, bush resorts, whale watching, pearl farms and cultural t ou r s , the region attracts almost 40,000 visitors a year.
Most travellers arrive via Cape Leveque Road, the notoriously rough gutter of a track that barrels 200km north from Broome. A $65 million project to seal the remaining 90km of the road is due for completion by 2021. It is welcomed by many as a boost for tourism and securing safe, year-round access to the peninsula for locals.
Others are concerned that, if not properly managed, the estimated 40 per cent increase in visitation will come at a cost to the environment and local communities.
Cape Leveque, at the tip of the peninsula, is home to Kooljaman, a popular communityowned wilderness camp.
Bardi man Bundy Djalgarda has been guiding cultural tours into the bush here for a decade. “It’s a good office,” he says with a smile. “And I get to help people understand more about the land and how Aboriginal people relate to it, their stories and their connection.”
Many of his relatives and family are engaged in tourism or work as rangers: “It means you got work on country and can look after significant sites,”he says. “We also teach in schools – teaching songs and dance and ceremonies.”
To join Bundy on an afternoon stroll through Cape Leveque’s vine thickets is to enter a world where nature, language, family and seasons meld into one. He speaks swiftly in a quiet voice. Along the way he teases us with a sly question or two, an invitation to start reading the signs all around. A single flower, bird call or snake track in the sand kicks off another story, each with a link to ancestors or heralding a message out of nature’s calendar when the fishing’s good or fruit is ready for harvest. This session is yet another small reminder of what’s at stake in the Kimberley. Here there’s a font of knowledge – the gift of wisdom woven within a living ecology.
On the way back to camp, Bundy stops by a gubinge tree to show us its shrivelled fruit. This wasn’t about time-honoured lore but an omen, a warning of the present and our faltering climate. “If this tree could talk he’d tell us. He’d say things are different,” Bundy says, with a sweep of his hand across the horizon. “He’d tell us all this is changing.”