First impressions are often formed in a gaze. With a sweep of the eye you see it, you feel it and cannot turn away. I have spent more than 30 years working as a conservation scientist here in Lutruwita/Tasmania. I have walked this island’s coasts and listened to the land, but rarely have I seen a landscape so compelling as the Takayna/Tarkine wilderness area on the island’s north-west coast.
Covering nearly 5000sq.km, this epic landscape of mighty rivers and ancient forests is rich with species found nowhere else.
To know this place, I must walk the land, touch the earth and listen. For Takayna will not be defined by any one thing but the sum of the whole and this is the journey that will take me there.
Dancing on air
The power of Takayna is the lift of the seabirds circling and diving above raging seas. It’s the freedom to wander hidden bays, heart pounding with each treasure revealed between grains of sand. It’s feeling the gusting wind at Sandy Cape Beach as hooded plovers pick along the strandline, a shallow scrape, a speckled egg, their tiny legs in constant motion. Takayna’s wild coast spans more than 80km from end to end. It’s remote, dynamic and constantly changing as the waves carry new life on every incoming tide.
The sound of Takayna captures my heart as it circles and turns, rises and falls. As I face it, it’s behind me, always drawing me closer to the magic. On the breeze, I hear the laughter and chatter of Palawa, their stories so rich and vital.
I feel great sadness and loss in the drift of their voices, carried for thousands of years across dunes, hut sites and middens.
It’s the excitement of orange-bellied parrots feeding in the saltmarsh, rare during their autumn migration, and diminutive emu-wrens swaying atop banksias before disappearing into cover. Above, the hover and glide of majestic eagles capture my attention as I constantly check their silhouettes and trace their wingspans.
At dusk I’m drawn to the sedgeland plains as a magical symphony commences, on and on with spirits soaring, answering and calling, answering and calling. Takayna is a haven for elusive ground parrots, fossicking for seeds on the sedgeland floor.
I’ve sat here and listened for hours in the past, but every performance is like nothing before.
Azure kingfishers dart along the riverbanks, blue-winged parrots rise from grassland, and pink robins weave their tiny nests from spiderwebs and lichen. Birds of every glorious colour and description dance so beautifully in motion. On air and breeze, from ground to sky, in front, behind, day and night, I hear Takayna’s birdsong.
Water is life
Takayna’s lifeblood is water. Water so plentiful yet so precious is fed by frequent heavy rains to create an endless cycle of ebb and flow. Every landscape, every life form is nourished by a vast arterial network that sustains and protects. Mighty rivers such as the Arthur, Frankland and Pieman, are the powerhouses that drive the engine. Tributaries such as the Donaldson and Huskisson, flow for kilometres across undisturbed lands and as they twist and turn into smaller rivers and creeks, they create deep, tranquil pools shaded by vegetation. Here in the backwaters where stillness begins, Takayna’s secret life force, lutaralipina (the giant freshwater crayfish) finds a safe haven.
I first met lutaralipina expert Todd Walsh in 1998 on the Black River, on Tasmania’s north-west coast. Todd was in the river surveying for crayfish and I was on the bank pulling out fishing lines baited with rotting flesh. When Todd held up a giant crayfish defiantly waving its enormous claws, I stood in utter amazement, never having seen this incredible creature so close before.
Locals will tell you that back in the day, big crayfish were common and during the season, you could legally take up to 12 a day. No-one cared whether they were lobsters or crayfish; conversations were more about how to cook them and what sauce to serve at the table. But by the late 1980s, big crayfish were no longer common; in fact, they were heading for extinction. Even after the species was declared threatened on legislation in 1995, it took authorities a further three years to close the fishery.
Thirty years on, with a national recovery program underway, this magnificent creature is widely celebrated as a global icon. Lutaralipina is the largest freshwater invertebrate in the world, and a powerful reminder that what lives below is every bit as fragile as what lives above.
Only in Takayna do lutaralipina acquire their characteristic blue-grey colouration; perhaps it’s due to the water’s coldness or mineral composition, or maybe because ancient creatures isolated on islands for millennia often evolve into the largest, oldest or most unusual of their kind. Whatever the reason, conversations about lutaralipina today are about size, how long they live and how fast they grow. Todd’s data shows males and females grow at about the same rate, though males breed at nine and females by 14 years of age. Females only breed every second year because they carry the fertilised eggs under their tails through winter to hatch the following season. Males weighing about 6kg, with a 26cm carapace length, are at least 35 years old, but because their growth rate begins to slow after this, animals any larger could be 50 to 60 years or older.
I recently reconnected with Todd’s warrior efforts to save the crayfish. Todd has led the conservation battle for decades and his research is now revealing the secrets of lutaralipina ecology. I asked him why Takayna was so important for them. “It’s their refuge, their survival,” he said. “Elsewhere, their distributions are small, fragmented and under constant pressure. It’s the vastness of Takayna that protects them.”
I’ve heard this sentiment before. The fact is, vastness offers little protection when development moves in and sediment and logging debris wash down into crayfish habitat. But for now, size buys time to prevent the need for crisis management and Takayna’s nearly 5000sq.km of remote, rugged terrain is the sanctuary we need for lutaralipina’s survival. Hold on tight to this landscape – every forest, every tree, every bend in the river. Keep it safe, let them flourish, let Takayna be their salvation.
Winds of change
Often, it’s local people who speak loudest for nature when they see firsthand the consequences of changes around them. Marrawah farmer Geoff King began championing the Tasmanian devil in the 1990s by setting up a viewing platform on his property, King’s Run. Geoff loved the devils’ roguish spirit and wanted to show others how incredibly special it was. During each nightly performance, their thick-set bodies would come loping and rocking, their cheeky black faces screaming and coughing, and everyone would watch in amazement as the devils ripped and crunched a wallaby carcass, while fending off rivals.
By the early 2000s, when the tragic facial tumour disease had decimated Tasmanian devil populations across the east, it was the remoteness of the west that slowed its spread. Geoff had warned that building more roads in Takayna would lead to road kill, but sadly he couldn’t foresee it would also help spread the cancer. Fragmenting land and the development that follows destroys nature at every corner, and while Takayna’s size is its strength, constant nibbling at the edges soon produces festering sores.
Takayna is surrounded by a network of already protected reserves, uniting to form an immense, impenetrable whole. Ecologically, this is when size really does matter, by maintaining core strength to buffer the impacts of a rapidly changing world. Endangered Tasmanian devils still abound in Takayna: I saw signs of them everywhere. And even though the cancer has now spread to the north-west coast, it’s pure joy to know devils are still running free, crunching bones, screaming and howling – vibrant and exciting, just as Tasmanian devils should always be.
Ancient stories
Travelling through Takayna, I feel a consciousness stirring deep within me. Here is an old spirit, a slow breath, a place of mysteries steeped in time that winds can only whisper. More than 1900sq.km of Takayna’s heartland is cloaked in ancient rainforest that steadies the Earth with a beautiful calm. Magnificent trees, such as myrtle beech, are bathed in filtered light, their sprawling roots giving rise to towering trunks cascading with ferns and bracket fungi.
A tapestry of beautifully woven mosses, lichens and leafy liverworts is spread across the forest floor, cushioning my every step with the finest patterns of intricate detail. Fungi of every shape and formation suddenly appear – corals, discs and puffballs, as well as brilliant orange flame fungi and delicate striped Mycena wearing translucent shiny caps. Takayna has a staggering diversity of rainforest fungi; for example, nearly 200 species were recorded by scientists at Philosopher Falls, near Waratah, in just one day.
Rustling here, rustling there, darkling beetles go about their business, rummaging through the litter. At night, burrowing crayfish surface from their chimneys to mate, fight and drop a claw. Here are all the small things that seldom gain our attention – so many exquisite life-forms revealing tiny shades of greatness. But there’s no superfluous beauty in the ecological realm; these life-forms are all essential to the rainforest ecosystem, breaking down organic matter and regulating humidity by retaining surface water.
Why do rainforests resonate so profoundly? Takayna’s rainforests date back millions of years, with a story that transcends our understanding of the modern world. Rainforest trees such as myrtle beech, leatherwood and celery-top pine are from an ancient lineage still also found in other countries. These trees all share similar traits in leaf shape, fruits and pollen – clues to when Australia, Antarctica, South America and New Zealand were once all connected. While this evolutionary story is expressed today in so many of our rainforest species, if we look more closely at the fossil record, it becomes abundantly clear. Tasmania’s fossil record for conifers is unparalleled anywhere in the world. At one geo-heritage site on Takayna’s Little Rapid River, a range of fossils can be found from an astonishing variety of plants that no modern vegetation community resembles today.
Here we trace a story dating back 200 million years to a period of endurance and climatic upheaval, when what is now Australia began to break away from the great southern continent of Gondwana. While it took millions of years to fracture this connection, Tasmania – as one of the last pinch points – retained more of the species we shared before the separation ended. Takayna’s ancient rainforests are an irreplaceable, timeless gift, luxurious beneath our feet, precious to the touch and overwhelming for the senses.
Weathering time
Takayna has always been shaped by people. For thousands of years, the Palawa so expertly used their skill and knowledge to sustain healthy land, but after Europeans arrived, no longer did we learn, listen or tread lightly.
During colonial times, Huon pines were keenly milled for their beautifully patterned grain and highly durable timber. Huon pine became the stuff of legend as piners scoured Tasmania’s west with their rollicking yarns, indomitable grit and endeavour. It was a time when few were aware of these trees’ incredible longevity and minuscule rate of growth, and within a century, some 90 per cent of Tasmania’s stands of Huon pine had been logged for construction and decoration.
Nowadays, Huon pines are virtually impossible to find and drones, programmed with the spectral fingerprint of the species, search rainforests for these rarest of needles in a haystack.
But in January 2022, while rafting on Takayna’s Wilson River, wilderness photographer Rob Blakers put up his drone and captured spectacular imagery of giant Huon pines towering well above the skyline. It was a “wow” moment for the rafting party – this is what dreams are made of. Along a section of the river’s edge stood a grove of Huon pines, secretly tucked away, kept safe by Takayna’s remoteness.
Gnarly, mossy, ancient trunks, soaring 25m to the heavens, stretched for more than 20km along the Wilson River, tributaries of Yellow Creek and in the catchment of the Harman River. After just a few had been measured, their diameters ranging from 1.5m to 2m, several trees in one small stand were estimated to be at least 2000 years old, with some probably even older.
Hold safe your Huon pine, Takayna, never yield, never bend, never waver. For these trees are among the oldest living organisms on Earth, with a majesty that resonates deep in nature’s core. Growing on the water’s edge with dignity and grace, their fabric speaks so profoundly of strength, resilience and endurance. Circles inscribed by the finest of lines tell of past epochs when, as tiny seedlings, they began a journey that would span millennia. Every drought, every flood, every climatic event is indelibly marked in their heartwood to read like a history book.
Takayna’s ancient trees, such as Huon pine and myrtle beech, stand as beacons of hope for humanity, to be honoured, respected and passed on as our legacy to each generation.
A gathering storm
Every year, researchers and BushBlitz volunteers take on the invaluable work of ecological monitoring at Takayna. Even in a three-day period so much can be discovered, such as finding 65 species of butterfly and moth – many suspected to be completely new to science – like those at Takayna Knoll.
As a scientist, it pains me to ponder why these critical inventories rely on volunteers and why monitoring was not put in place decades ago. Only now, piece by piece, is this ecological information building our knowledge, shedding light on new theories and moving us forward. Scientific data are the linchpin to conservation protection and its importance reminds me of a very salient lesson I learnt years ago: you must go and look. For two of Tasmania’s most endangered forest birds, this lesson is even more compelling.
The masked owl and swift parrot share two important traits. Both rely on old-growth trees for breeding and both make loud screeching calls. Now, with the aid of song meters (wildlife audio recording equipment) and computer algorithms, it’s time to speed up their protection.
Acoustic monitoring is revolutionising the study of birds, especially hard-to-find nocturnal species such as owls. Even when you don’t see birds, most can be identified by their call. I’ve honed this specialised skill over many years, but computer technology now does it automatically.
Masked owls have a piercing call that cuts through the night air and carries well above the tree line. After months of collecting sound data around McKimmie Creek, researchers have now developed algorithms that can not only automatically recognise masked owl calls but will soon be able to distinguish between the sexes and even the chattering of young birds.
This breakthrough work challenges the old narrative that Tasmanian masked owls prefer the dry forests of the east and gives hope Takayna’s forests can be their lifeline in the west. While more survey work is desperately needed, the simple solution is to keep these forests standing. If masked owls have access to big tree hollows for breeding, the rest they can manage without needing any further help from us.
Masked owls are mesmerising creatures. Cloaked in delicate chestnut down, their heart-shaped faces, with transfixing black eyes, will stare right through you. Crouching, swaying, watching, waiting, they move from tree to tree, rotating and scanning for the slightest movement or sound. A ruff (collar) of partly erectile feathers around the face acts as a parabola by redirecting light straight to the eyes and a comb-like fringe on the wing feathers muffles the flow of air so as they lift and swoop they barely make a sound. Nothing escapes their talons and all they leave behind is disgorged in a pellet tightly bound with bone and fur.
The calls of swift parrots are also easy to hear, but this species is harder to find. In the past decade, swift parrot numbers have plummeted to just a few hundred birds. I remember every summer I would see their flashes of brilliance as they frantically searched for blossoms, the aroma of nectar sending them racing in every direction. I would hear their constant chattering as they flitted from tree to tree, joyously twisting and turning, hanging upside down. Breeding only in Tasmania, swift parrots favour the blue and black gum forests of the east, but clearing has become relentless and with jobs and money at stake, those forests are a well-known battleground for this critically endangered parrot. We’ve long known that a small number of birds breed in the west, but these areas have seldom attracted much attention until now when every bird counts and the success of every breeding pair is vital.
Travelling through Takayna, my mind starts racing. When the eastern forests can no longer sustain enough parrots, could we build up their numbers in the west? Considering the extent of forest in Takayna, could this area become a conservation lifeline? But after a photographer captured swift parrots lingering near a recently logged coupe in Takayna and heard begging calls from a female, I fear it may already be too late to test this theory. I recently visited that logging site to witness the destruction – huge stumps were perfectly cut, felled trees left to rot, the ground churned over by heavy machinery. It was the same devastation I had seen my entire professional career, and no amount of forestry research or strategic planning will ever make it acceptable.
On the roadside as we were about to leave, in a small muddy puddle, Tasmanian froglets were calling. Their tiny voices were so loud and clear. Timber is not a question of price – it’s a matter of cost. These forests are not for sale, not now, not ever.
Safe havens
Safe havens are essential for all Tasmania’s wildlife, even the most common and widespread species. But for rare species and those undergoing rapid decline, the inherent urgency and risk make safe havens not only essential but critical. More than 100 threatened plant and animal species and 24 threatened vegetation communities depend on Takayna’s safety for their future survival.
This incredible tally includes 12 threatened bird species, four threatened mammals, including the eastern and spotted-tailed quoll and 16 freshwater species, mainly aquatic insects and snails that rely on Takayna’s clean river systems.
Threatened butterflies, such as the Marrawah skipper and Ptunarra brown, have limited capacity for dispersal and cling to tiny remnants. Striped marsh frogs and green and golden bell frogs are abundant in wetlands and sedgelands but in very limited locations. An amazing variety of threatened plant species occurs in Takayna, including buttercups, triggerplants and heaths. Some, such as the endangered pieman eyebright, are found around Mt Lindsay and Pieman Road, while others, such as the endangered New Holland daisy, occur in one little patch just south of Temma. I was unaware of the significance of Takayna as a lifeline for orchids, with 26 threatened orchid species found here. Nearly all are endemic to Tasmania and many, such as the Arthur River greenhood, dark-heart caladenia and western leek orchid, survive either entirely in Takayna or occur here in unusual outlier populations.
How do tiny spider-orchids with such delicate tapering filaments on thin, wiry stems, survive the onslaught of the Roaring Forties? Or the spectacular multi-layered blooms of golden moth orchids that grow to well over 20cm tall? Orchid ecologists will tell you these exquisite flowers are solely for reproduction, and after releasing tiny seeds or attracting just the right insect for pollination, they wither and disappear, having served their purpose.
Leaving just a small leafy rosette on the surface, orchids survive quite happily for years underground. They do this by enlisting service providers, such as mycorrhizal fungi, to help supply their daily requirements and reserve their energy for when it’s needed to look gorgeous above the ground.
Orchids can be tricky to find, but once you’ve got your eye in, they can magically appear, leaving you spellbound and always wanting more.
Radiating light
Few places call to me so loudly or resonate more deeply than Takayna’s wild grandeur, diverse in time and space. I feel its strength protecting many life forms, instilling hope and optimism in a rapidly changing world.
I hear the wondrous sounds of nature everywhere I turn, singing, calling, rising like poetry in motion. There is a powerful message here that cannot be ignored. Takayna will not endure or persist forever unless it is protected now. We must be bold, do more, speak loudly and hold Takayna safe, like a child to the heart. Takayna’s size is its strength, but its power is its precious gift of life that can take you on a journey far beyond your wildest imaginings.
Takayna/Tarkine
This extract comes from the stunning new book published by Australian Geographic, which celebrates the beauty and life-forms of Takayna – one of the last wild places on Earth.
