Sympathy for the devil [Book reviewed : "Tasmanian Devil: A Unique and Threatened Animal" by David Owen and David Pemberton]

Two representations have dominated public perceptions of the largest living marsupial carnivore, the Tasmanian devil. One is the voracious, hurricane-like innocent savage Taz of Looney Tunes cartoon fame. The other, familiar in nineteenth- and twentieth-century rural Tasmania, is the ferocious predator and scavenger that wantonly kills livestock — and perhaps even people, should they become immobilized in the wilderness at night. Devils can take prey nearly three times their size and eat more than a third of their body weight in a sitting. Even so, it is hard to imagine how this species, being only slightly larger than a fox terrier, could be so maligned in name and image...

Distances travelled by feral horses in ‘outback’ Australia

Reasons for performing study: The distance travelled by Australian feral horses in an unrestricted environment has not previously been determined. It is important to investigate horse movement in wilderness environments to establish baseline data against which the movement of domestically managed horses and wild equids can be compared. Objectives: To determine the travel dynamics of 2 groups of feral horses in unrestricted but different wilderness environments. Methods: Twelve feral horses living in 2 wilderness environments (2000 vs. 20,000 km2) in outback Australia were tracked for 6.5 consecutive days using custom designed, collar mounted global positioning systems (GPS). Collars were attached after darting and immobilising the horses. The collars were recovered after a minimum of 6.5 days by re-darting the horses. Average daily distance travelled was calculated. Range use and watering patterns of horses were analysed by viewing GPS tracks overlaid on satellite photographs of the study area. Results: Average distance travelled was 15.9 ± 1.9 km/day (range 8.1–28.3 km/day). Horses were recorded up to 55 km from their watering points and some horses walked for 12 h to water from feeding grounds. Mean watering frequency was 2.67 days (range 1–4 days). Central Australian horses watered less frequently and showed a different range use compared to horses from central Queensland. Central Australian horses walked for long distances in direct lines to patchy food sources whereas central Queensland horses were able to graze close to water sources and moved in a more or less circular pattern around the central water source. Conclusions: The distances travelled by feral horses were far greater than those previously observed for managed domestic horses and other species of equid. Feral horses are able to travel long distances and withstand long periods without water, allowing them to survive in semi-arid conditions.

Horror

The monstrous landscape and the revenge of nature are recurring motifs in Australian cinema. In the horror genre, the idea of the monstrous landscape emerges from, and builds upon, an established tradition in Australian cinema in which landscape functions not just as a setting for action, but also as a character in its own right. Rather than a picturesque wilderness or countryside, or a serene natural world untainted by civilisation – representations common in landscape cinema celebrating positive aspects of the Australian ‘outback’ – the monstrous landscape is a dangerous, malevolent and threatening force. Drawing upon themes also common in Australian Gothic narratives such as entrapment in a hostile environment, isolation and fear of the unknown (Turcotte, 1988, see also Jonathan Rayner’s essay in this volume), the monstrous landscape acts according to its own logic indecipherable to non-Indigenous Australians and is represented in terms of its alien-ness and inhuman horror.

Moved by spirit of Canadian nature

A travel article about a visit to Klemtu and the Great Bear Rainforest, British Columbia. A LOW-TIDE mark of rocks coated in orange seaweed borders the islands of the Great Bear Rainforest. Our seaplane stays low under the clouds. As we approach the village of Klemtu, turning into Finlayson Channel, the trees beneath us thicken against the shoreline like a concert crowd being pushed from behind. There's no gap between the dark, still sea and the front row of soaring conifers, seemingly no entry point into one of the last great wilderness areas.