WELCOME TO THE PYROCENE

Climate change is coming for the places we love.

By CAM WALKER

After World War Two, a growing appreciation of the Australian landscape and an emerging conservation movement led millions of people to become involved in campaigns to protect our wild and special places. From the Little Desert campaign in Victoria in the late 1960s and the Franklin campaign in the ‘80s, to the efforts to protect the rainforests of the Wet Tropics and the wonderful landscapes of K’gari/Fraser Island, millions of hectares have been granted conservation status and protected for generations to come.

Wild Magazine, and its readers, have played a key role in securing many of these wins.

Once a campaign was won, however, we often thought the battle was over. There was an assumption that the relevant parks service would have sufficient funds to manage these new conservation reserves; sadly, that was far from the reality. But the direct threats—be they mining, logging, cattle grazing or other activities—were removed by the granting of protection status as a national park or World Heritage Area.

Several decades ago, I volunteered with an environment group that campaigned to protect wild ecosystems. In those days, I supported a ‘let burn’ policy for managing fire in wild landscapes. Leaving aside the problematic concept of wilderness (where First Nations people are liquid papered out of history, and land is declared to be ‘pristine wilderness’ rather than managed and co-created in conjunction with First Nations peoples) we argued that the Australian environment was adapted to fire, and that wildfire in large reserves would simply burn itself out as it hit natural buffers like old-growth forest. The argument went that we needed less human intervention in managing wild ecosystems, and that if humans withdrew from active management, the land would eventually pass back into equilibrium as it recovered from impacts like logging and mining.

Fast forward to now, and we find ourselves in a different world. Climate change is coming for the places we love and for which we worked so hard to protect. The impacts are everywhere and are easy to locate—drought, flood, storm events, heat waves, rising sea levels and so on. But I will just look at one: fire.

In a warmer world, fire seasons are already getting longer and more intense. Higher temperatures and extreme drought conditions driven by climate change increase the risk of the hot, dry weather that is likely to fuel wildfire.

As fire seasons also get longer in the northern hemisphere, this impacts on our ability to fight fire here. During the 2019/20 Black Summer, around 1,000 personnel came from North America to assist us in our firefighting efforts, and we continue to lease most of our large firefighting aircraft from the USA.

This is impacting how we fight fires in our wild and protected places. A stronger emphasis on aggressive ‘first strike’ tactics— which aim to contain small fires caused by lightning before they become blazes—is helping reduce the number of fires. Many states are spending more to employ additional firefighters. Large-scale interventions, like the ‘strategic firebreak’ program in Victoria, aim to slow the spread of fire in forested landscapes.

It is also impacting the way land managers look after forests and other ecosystems during and after fires. After large fires in the high country of Victoria in 2013, the Victorian Government established an aerial seeding program to try and ensure that alpine ash—which are often killed by wildfire and then require around twenty years between fires to be able to produce seed—did not collapse. This is a great program, however the scale of the 2019/20 fires showed how hard it will be to keep up with the need to re-seed areas facing the prospect of ecological collapse. It is estimated that at least 44,000ha of immature alpine ash forests in eastern Victoria are at risk of collapse (that is, conversion to non-native forest cover) because of the 2019/20 fires.

In Australia, the threats posed to special ecosystems—like the ancient vegetation in lutruwita/Tasmania that emerged when Australia was part of the Gondwana supercontinent—is leading to even greater intervention on the ground. For instance, during the 2020 fires, firefighters were deployed to a remote part of the Blue Mountains to defend the only known natural grove of the world-famous Wollemi pines. Fire crews were dropped into the area to operate an irrigation system set up to protect the trees, with helicopters also doing water drops on the fire’s edge to reduce any impact on the pines.

It is the same dilemma overseas. During recent fire seasons in North America, for instance, firefighters wrapped fire-resistant blankets around ancient trees as blazes raced through California’s world-famous Sequoia National Park. While sequoia trees are very fire resistant and have evolved to survive flames—the same as most eucalypts—the scale and frequency of fires is threatening these ancient trees, which only exist in localised areas. The US Forest Service also announced it’s taking emergency action to save the sequoias, through labour-intense efforts like removing smaller trees and vegetation around the large sequoias, and using prescribed fires—intentionally lit fires to burn away underbrush. This is intended to reduce the risks of high-severity wildfires.

Recently, prominent researchers in lutruwita/Tasmania argued that as wildfires increase in severity and frequency as a result of climate change, Australian authorities will need to adopt a landscape scale plan to protect old trees in the way that American land managers are doing. They note that fires in 2003, 2010, 2012, 2016 and 2019, mostly “ignited by lightning storms under drought conditions”, destroyed seventeen of the world’s largest eucalypts.

Meanwhile, in the Australian Alps, the situation for the mountain pygmy possum is so dire because of reduced snow cover, bushfires and the reduction of a major food source—the Bogong Moth—that there are now attempts to start new colonies outside the mountains. With populations at great threat in the wild, a breeding program has been set up in Lithgow in order to try and ‘future-proof’ the species. When the captive-bred possums have successfully adapted to the warmer temperatures in Lithgow, researchers will aim to create new wild populations of possums, outside of the threatened alpine environment.

In just a few decades, we have passed into a new era—the Pyrocene—where fire is a dominant force across most of the planet. This has been created through human-induced climate change. It has profound implications for the wild places that have been protected in conservation reserves. Unless we accept this, and shift significant resources to manage landscapes and limit the impact of fire, we risk losing the places we love.

We have a choice to change this trajectory, but we need to act now. We need to do everything possible to reduce Australia’s contribution to further global warming, to play our part in global efforts to maintain a safe climate for people and wild places.

We also need additional capacity to fight fires. Some ideas here include establishing a national remote-area firefighting team that can be deployed locally where fires threaten World Heritage conservation or other values. This was proposed by a senate inquiry after 2016’s terrible fires in Tasmania. More recently, the federal Minister for Emergency Services, Murray Watt, has discussed establishing a ‘semi-professional’ national firefighting team.

Many states already have volunteer remote area firefighting teams which work with career firefighters to defend our conservation estate. Victoria does not, and should set one up. We know these teams can deliver extra capacity to firefighting efforts at limited cost to the tax payer. Given that most people living in large cities can’t join local volunteer brigades, Victoria could decide to create a new form of remote-area team—one that recruits from urban-based communities.

Last year I was at a forum where Craig Hore (Ranger in Charge, Fire and Emergency Operations, North East District, Parks Victoria) talked about the impacts of climate change on mountain environments. As a ranger, he’s seen first-hand the changes that have happened in the Alps in recent decades. Since the fires of 2002/3, the mountains have been transformed. With ever more frequent fire and drier conditions, he doesn’t feel that we can go back to what the Alps used to be like. In his early days as a ranger, he could drive through older forests for hours; now, however, so much of the park has been so badly impacted by fires that he says, “I doubt we will ever see those old forests again.”

Like other mountain lovers, I spend as much time as I can up in the Alps. I love nothing better than a long walk above the treeline. But I find it harder and harder to accept the endless ‘ghost forests’ of dead trees and regrowth that cover the high plains where there used to be mature forests. Unless we act now, we will lose the remaining old forests.

CONTRIBUTOR: Cam works with environment group Friends of the Earth, and is an avid walker, backcountry skier and volunteer firefighter.

Going Solo

Yes, travelling in the bush with others has its advantages. So, too, does carrying PLBs and mobile phones. But for thousands of years we’ve done without being able to call for help, and dealing with difficulties on our own is a pathway to growth.

Words & Photography ANDY SZOLLOSI

Intro

There is a process that tends to occur in the lead up to a solo wilderness excursion. It all begins with the awakening of a strong desire to visit a place, to experience it first hand. It might be born out of a story we have heard, or a photograph we have seen. The result is a growing resolution to visit the place, regardless of the effort required to reach it. Some wild places are well guarded by fast-flowing rivers, thick forests and precipitous slopes. We may be resolved, but the place will ask us in no uncertain terms: Are you willing to pay the cost of passage?

I

The reason we end up going solo may be simple. We may fail to find another person who has the same desire to go to the place we have resolved to visit. This is not to say that other people won’t want to go there, but that we have simply not been able to find a suitable companion to undertake the journey with us. In this case, we may wait and hope a suitable person arises in the future who we can go with. Or, we can go solo.

There are benefits to going solo. We set our own routine, and can perfectly tailor the trip to suit our own needs. We can walk and stop whenever we like. We don’t have to wait for or keep up with anyone. We may discover that talking and singing to ourself is a perfectly acceptable form of entertainment. And without the distractions posed by our companions, we can be completely immersed in the landscape and be in tune with our inner world.

Going solo also provides the perfect opportunity to overcome our fear of being alone. For me, there is a difference between solitude and being alone. Being on our own doesn’t necessitate a feeling of loneliness. If we are able to connect with the landscape surrounding us, we will never have a dull moment on our trip. Sure, there will be moments where we wish for companionship, and the absence of people may strike us at certain times. But when we do return from our trip, we will be that much more grateful for the presence of people in our lives.

Ii

Don’t go into the bush alone.

This mantra exists for a reason. There is safety in numbers. When we are solo in the bush, there is no one to help us if something goes wrong. If we run out of toilet paper, we can’t borrow some from our walking buddy. If we let ourselves get too cold and are then unable to put a tent up in perilous conditions because our hands are too frozen to be useful, we may die of exposure.

It is said that a group size of four is a safe number. If there is an injury, one person can stay with the casualty, and the other two members can go and get some help. This way, no one is left on their own. Everyone remains with their buddy in case something goes wrong. This is a comforting idea, and it minimises the risks we are likely to encounter out in the bush. All things considered, it’s quite sensible to travel in small groups.

Iii

Another sensible idea is to take a communications device, like a mobile phone, or a PLB, or both, especially if we have decided to head out solo after all. It’s generally our loved ones who say to us: “Take something you can use to call for help, just in case things go wrong.” In fact, it’s quite difficult to argue these days against the idea of taking a communications device. After all, it could save your life, or someone else’s life. Furthermore, there is some substance to the ‘social responsibility’ argument as well. I’ve often been told to take a device, out of consideration for the people who love me, and out of consideration for my potential rescuers. If you don’t return from your trip to the wilderness, a rescue party is going to come looking for you, whether you wish for them to do this or not. And given a search will commence, you may as well make it easier for your rescuers to find you.

Iv

People tell me that their decision making is not altered by the presence of an emergency device. I do not believe them. Having a device with an SOS function alters the nature of the trip from the outset, and it alters our decision making, whether we are aware of this or not.

Having a safety line means we are more likely to attempt something dangerous than without a safety line. A trip we may not be willing to undertake suddenly becomes feasible if we know that we can call for help in case things get out of hand. We are more likely to attempt something that is on the border of our abilities. Having a communications device makes the trip safer overall; but having a device also increases the chance of needing a rescue.

V

When I go what I consider to be ‘solo’, I do not carry a PLB. Or a mobile phone. Or a GPS. Recently, I’ve been considering leaving my maps at home, too. When I say solo, I mean on my own, with no way of communicating with the outside world for the duration of the trip. This means that if something goes wrong, I won’t be able to call for help. In no way am I advocating that this is the correct procedure for going solo.

The idea of what it means to go solo evolves for each person individually. Although I tend not to take a device, I still leave my trip intention with my emergency contacts, so that is my safety line. In the future, I may very well write a letter and get it signed by a justice of the peace saying that if I do not return from my solo trips, I do not wish to be rescued, thus removing this last safety line. To me, this would be the ultimate form of going solo, because it implies taking full responsibility for my own safety and a complete acceptance of my actions and their consequences. On the other hand, I could also one day come full circle and realise that taking a PLB is the correct procedure for me after all. It’s healthy to remain open to the possibility of changing our mind. If you are unsure what to do, you could ask yourself this question: Will I regret this decision if something goes wrong?

Vi

People have lived in the Australian bush for at least 60,000 years. And it is only in the last twenty years that we have developed the belief that a satellite communications device is essential for a foray into the wild. Tasmanian Aboriginal people managed to survive the last ice age with a very simple tool kit. Their knowledge of their country and their skill set must have been extraordinary.

There is no denying it—our modern ways create a safer environment for people. But our way of life comes at great costs: the increasing destruction of the natural world, and a strong dependence on technology. People survived the last ice age in Tasmania with only stone tools. Today, most people are unwilling to go for a walk into a remote area without depending on satellite technology and the ability to call for help if need be. This holds significance to our discussion about going solo. Have we truly ‘gone solo’ if we have a way of calling for help when we run into trouble?

Vii

There is another mantra, and it’s one I live by: Prior Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance. These are the six Ps of outdoor leadership. They encourage self-reliance, and our taking responsibility for our own safety out in the bush. I identify my escape routes. I allow extra time for unforseen delays.

Being lost is a state of mind, not something that happens by accident. Being lost is a state where we have lost track of our surroundings and our orientation in them. But at the end of the day, if we can pitch our tent and make ourselves a cup of tea, then everything will be absolutely fine, even if we’re not quite sure exactly where the heck we are. In order to return from the wilderness, we must know our way home, and have a strong enough reason to return to it. That’s the key to coming back.

Outro

I find that the greatest trips have the greatest obstacles near the end. Achieving the objective of an adventurous trip is not a given. Each trip usually has a crux, or most difficult part, a natural bottleneck that forces us to act with skills we didn’t know we had. A worthwhile solo trip is one where we are required to perform something we have never performed before. And by doing so, we prove to ourselves that we are capable.

If we have done our solo trip right, we will come back feeling better than when we left. This might mean that we are as ragged as the seven whips of hell, but we are elated nevertheless, for we have grown in ways which we previously thought impossible.

CONTRIBUTOR: Andy Szollosi is a walking guide and photographer based in lutruwita/Tasmania. He sometimes has trouble finding willing friends to accompany him on his adventures into the wilderness. View more of his work at theiapictures.com/scribbleton-post

with Hilary McAllister, CEO of For Wild Places

Hilary McAllister is the CEO and Co-Founder of For Wild Places, a nonprofit organisation that harnesses the energy of Australia's trail running community. Wild’s Editor James McCormack asks Hilary about her involvement with FWP, and learns more about its mission and its goals.

WILD: You’re the CEO and Co-Founder of For Wild Places. Tell us a little about what FWP wants to achieve.

HM: Our mission is to make trail running a meaningful expression of environmental activism. We want to connect the community with actionable ways to protect our incredible biodiversity, culture and ecosystems.

WILD: What’s the genesis of the organisation?

HM: After takayna Trail 2020, event Co-Founder Simon Harris reached out to some participants who’d expressed interest in being more involved. We were in the early throws of COVID lockdowns, and had time on our hands; personally, I felt adrift and somewhat useless in the chaos. Together, we took on the task of creating a sustainable non-profit with a wonderful rag-tag crew of trail runners turned Board members! Fast forward almost three years and FWP has evolved a lot, and there’s still a long way to go.

WILD: You’ve got a camp this Autumn in the Victorian high country, too; can you talk about that?

HM: We’ve wanted to put on an FWP Camp for a while now, and it’s finally happening! This camp—which will welcome people of all fitness levels, at different stages of their sports activism journey—will be the first of many combining education, empowerment and the environment. We’ll learn about the high country landscape from Traditional Owners, ecologists and local environmental groups, and then explore different ways we can use our individual skills to be more active in protecting wild places.

WILD: Holding events seems to be a core focus of For Wild Places. Why did you take that approach?

HM: Nothing beats sharing unique experiences and in wild places. Personally, heading down to lutruwita for takayna Trail changed my life trajectory; an experience that can’t be replicated online. Events are, however, incredibly resource intensive and risky; we’re working on creating impact in other ways to create a range of other initiatives.

WILD: For Wild Places is known for the Pilliga Ultra. But at this year’s event, there’ll be a tweaked format involving greater local buy-in. Why make the change?

WILD: Was there a specific moment when you first felt you had to get involved?

HM: My ‘Ah-ha’ moment was after the 2019 election; I realised I had to be more active in confronting the climate crisis. My involvement with FWP has been a great way to put my skills to good use, and made me realise community and connection are key to facilitating change; going at it solo is lonely and leads to burnout.

WILD: Why has sports activism gained traction lately?

HM: In some ways it was inevitable—we’re a sporting nation, and as the catastrophic impacts of a changing climate become more visceral, it was only a matter of time before athletes became more outspoken. I also think activism is now seen as a worthy pursuit—Greta Thunberg is an inspiration, and gives many people, including myself, motivation to get out of our comfort zone and stand up for the places we care about.

WILD: Speaking of traction, can you talk about February's upcoming TRACTION (TRail ACTION) event?

HM: In early 2023, there’ll be several free TRACTION: Trail Action events happening across Victoria. Each event will invite trail users to volunteer and pick up rubbish, resurface, prune or weed trails and plant trees. We’re excited to be joined by community leaders to share their experiences and local issues with us. We hope to expand this initiative across the east coast later this year, so stay tuned!

HM: In the Pilliga Ultra's first year, we got to know the locals, and witnessed the frustrations they have with accessing funding to support grassroot initiatives. As a result, this year we want to channel the funds raised straight to the community, which includes the satellite towns on this enormous forest’s perimeter. WILD: Thus far, For Wild Places has focussed on harnessing the trail running community’s energy, but do you have plans to broaden your base?

HM: We started with trail runners because that’s who we know best. For now, we intend to stick with this audience because we feel we still have a long way to go to activate all trail runners, and to strengthen the connection between trail running and environmental activism. It’s also a rapidly growing sport, so the potential for impact is incredible. In saying that, a bunch of our members are trail users (hikers, bikers, etc) so our mission appeals to a wide range of outdoors people.

WILD: How can people help out, or learn more about FWP?

HM: Our weekly newsletter is jam packed with interviews, interesting articles and upcoming events. Social media is a good way to know what’s coming up, and if you’re super keen, becoming a member will ensure you’re the first in line to RSVP to events and hear about new initiatives. Becoming a member also supports the ongoing sustainability of our organisation; like many NFPs, we run off the smell of a sweaty tee-shirt! Learn more about For Wild Places at: forwildplaces.com