Journal articles on the topic 'Aerial photography in forestryUnited States'

Aim. The aim of the proposed research is to substantiate the scientific and practical significance of calculating centers of states and regions territories , to conduct a historical review of centrographic research in Ukraine and in the world in the context of evolution of their methodology, to establish geodetic coordinates of the set of points lying on the line of the land state border and coastlines along the seas, and to determine the center of dead weight of the territory of Ukraine as the center of gravity of the broken polygon formed by state territory contours (geodesic center of Ukraine). Methods. In calculating the geodesic center of Ukraine, the authors used a method (in their own interpretation) of determining the center of gravity of the territory, proposed by Jean-Georges Affholder and tested by him in establishing the center of Europe. Results. The history of centrographic research is more than 250 years old, but only in the last-half century they have acquired a proper scientific character, becoming a solid geodesic base. The main milestones in the formation of the centrographic dimension in context of determining the centers of a number of leading world countries and the evolution of research methods are presented. It is established that it is necessary to distinguish the geometric, geographical and geodesic centers of territories, which differ in method of definition and level of accuracy stipulated by calculations requirements. Each of the recognized centers of the territory of Ukraine has its own significance and justification. Scientific novelty. A historical review of definition of the territories centers in the world and in Ukraine has been made. A method of calculating the center of territory gravity of Ukraine as the center of a broken landfill formed by its contours, including the land state border and coastline, is proposed. The concept of "geodesic center" has been introduced to denote the center of territory gravity, which describes a polygonal, including irregular, figure. The location and exact coordinates of the geodesic center of Ukraine, located in the Novoukrayinsky district of Kirovohrad region, has been established. Practical significance . Specifying the location of territories centers is important in terms of optimizing location of manufacturing facilities and infrastructure, as well as potential tourism facilities. The methods used in calculating territories centers of Ukraine can be used not only in conducting similar studies for administrative regions, but also in newly created districts, united territorial communities, etc.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> Libraries, museums and archives were the original big geospatial information repositories that to this day house thousands to millions of resources containing research-quality geographic information. However, these print resources (and their digital surrogates), are not easily incorporated into the contemporary research process because they are not structured data that is required of web-mapping and geographic information system tools. Fortunately, contemporary big data tools and methods can help with the large-scale conversion of historic resources into structured datasets for mapping and spatial analysis.</p><p>Single frame historic aerial photographs captured originally on film (hereafter “photographs”), are some of the most ubiquitous and information-rich geographic information resources housed in libraries, museums and archives. Photographs authentically encoded information about past places and time-periods without the thematic focus and cartographic generalization of historic print maps. As such, they contain important information in nearly every category of base mapping (i.e. transportation networks, populated places etc.), that is useful to a broad spectrum of research projects and other applications. Photographs are also some of the most frustrating historic resources to use due to their very large map-scale (i.e. small geographic area), lack of reference information and often unknown metadata (i.e. index map, flight altitude, direction etc.).</p><p>The capture of aerial photographs in the contiguous United States (U.S.) became common in the 1920s and was formalized in government programs to systematically photograph the nation at regular time intervals beginning in the 1930s. Many of these photography programs continued until the 1990s meaning that there are approximately 70 years of “data” available for the U.S. that is currently underutilized due to inaccessibility and the challenges of converting photographs to structured data. Large collections of photographs include government (e.g. the U.S. Department of Agriculture Aerial Photography Field Office “The Vault” – over 10 million photographs), educational (e.g. the University of California Santa Barbara Library – approximately 2.5 million photographs), and an unknown number non-governmental organizations (e.g. numerous regional planning commissions and watershed conservation groups). Collectively these photography resources constitute an untapped big geospatial data resource.</p><p>U.S. government photography programs such as the National Agricultural Imagery Program continued and expanded in the digital age (i.e. post early 2000s), so that not only is there opportunity to extend spatial analyses back in time, but also to create seamless datasets that integrate with current and expected future government aerial photography campaigns. What is more, satellite imagery sensors have improved to the point that there is now overlap between satellite imagery and aerial photography in terms of many of their technical specifications (i.e. spatial resolution etc.). The remote capture of land surface imagery is expanding rapidly and with it are new opportunities to explore long-term land-change analyses that require historical datasets.</p><p>Manual methods to process photographs are well-known, but are too labour intensive to apply to entire photography collections. Academic research on methods to increase the discoverability of photographs and convert them to geospatial data at large-scale has to date been limited (although see the work of W. Karel et al.). This presentation details a semi-automated workflow to process historic aerial photographs from U.S. government sources and compares the workflow and results to existing methods and datasets. In a pilot test area of 94 photographs in the U.S. state of Pennsylvania, the workflow was found to be nearly 100-times more efficient than commonly employed alternatives while achieving greater horizontal positional accuracy. Results compared favourably to contemporary digital aerial photography data products, suggesting that they are well-suited for integration with contemporary datasets. Finally, initial results of the workflow were incorporated into several existing online discovery and sharing platforms that will be highlighted in this presentation. Early online usage statistics as well as direct interaction with users demonstrates the broad interest and high-impact of photographs and their derived products (i.e. structured geospatial data).</p>

AbstractGiant reed is an invasive weed throughout the southern half of the United States, with the densest stands growing along the coastal rivers of southern California and the Rio Grande in Texas. The objective of this study was to use aerial photography to map giant reed infestations and to estimate infested areas along the Texas–Mexico portion of the Rio Grande. Aerial color-infrared photographs were taken along the Rio Grande between Brownsville and El Paso, TX, in June and July 2002. Based on the aerial photographs and ground surveys, the portion of the river from San Ygnacio to Lajitas, which has a river length of 898 km (558 mi), was found to be infested with giant reed. To estimate infested areas along both sides of the river, 65 (13.5%) of the 480 aerial photographs taken between Lajitas and San Ygnacio were randomly selected. The aerial photographs were digitized, rectified to Google Earth imagery, and then classified using maximum-likelihood classification techniques. The infested areas on both sides of the river, as well as water area and river length, from each photographic image were determined. Based on the estimates from the 65 aerial photos, the ratio of giant reed area to water area and the ratio of giant reed area to river length were calculated. The total giant reed area along the Rio Grande between Lajitas and San Ygnacio was estimated to be 5,981 ha (14,779 ac) with 3,714 ha or 62% on the U.S. side and 2,267 ha or 38% on the Mexican side. This study provides the first accurate estimates of giant reed infestations along the Texas–Mexico portion of the Rio Grande and will be useful for both land owners and government agencies for the estimation of water usage and economic loss and for the management and control of giant reed.

This study created digital terrain models (DTMs) from historical aerial images using Structure from Motion (SfM) for a variety of image dates, resolutions, and photo scales. Accuracy assessments were performed on the SfM DTMs, and they were compared to the United States Geological Survey’s three-dimensional digital elevation program (3DEP) light detection and ranging (LiDAR) DTMs to evaluate geomorphic change thresholds based on vertical accuracy assessments and elevation change methodologies. The results of this study document a relationship between historical aerial photo scales and predicted vertical accuracy of the resultant DTMs. The results may be used to assess geomorphic change thresholds over multi-decadal timescales depending on spatial scale, resolution, and accuracy requirements. This study shows that if elevation changes of approximately ±1 m are to be mapped, historical aerial photography collected at 1:20,000 scale or larger would be required for comparison to contemporary LiDAR derived DTMs.

Oblique airborne photogrammetry is rapidly maturing and being offered by service providers as a good alternative or replacement of the more traditional vertical imagery and for very different applications (Fig.1). EuroSDR, representing European National Mapping Agencies (NMAs) and research organizations of most EU states, is following the development of oblique aerial cameras since 2013, when an ongoing activity was created to continuously update its members on the developments in this technology. Nowadays most European NMAs still rely on the traditional workflow based on vertical photography but changes are slowly taking place also at production level. Some NMAs have already run some tests internally to understand the potential for their needs whereas other agencies are discussing on the future role of this technology and how to possibly adapt their production pipelines. At the same time, some research institutions and academia demonstrated the potentialities of oblique aerial datasets to generate textured 3D city models or large building block models. The paper provides an overview of tests, best practices and considerations coming from the R&D community and from three European NMAs concerning the use of oblique aerial imagery.

Abstract. Groundwater and surface water interactions within riparian corridors impact the distribution of phreatophytes that tap into groundwater stores. The changes in canopy area of phreatophytes over time is related to changes in depth to groundwater, distance from a stream or river, and hydrologic soil group. Remote sensing was used to determine the location of trees with pre-development and post-development aerial photography over the Ogallala Aquifer in the central plains of the United States. It was found that once the depth to groundwater becomes greater than about 3 m, tree populations decrease as depth to water increases. This subsequently limited the extent of phreatophytes to within 700 m of the river. It was also found that phreatophytes have a higher likelihood of growing on hydrologic soil groups with higher saturated hydraulic conductivity. Phreatophytes exist along portions of the Arkansas River corridor where significant decreases in groundwater occurred as long as alluvium exists to create perched conditions where trees survive dry periods. Significant decreases (more that 50%) in canopy cover exists along river segments where groundwater declined by more than 10 m, indicating areas with good hydraulic connectivity between surface water and groundwater. Thus, interpretation of changes in phreatophyte distribution using historical and recent aerial photography is important in delineating zones of enhanced recharge where aquifers might be effectively recharged through diversion of surface water runoff.

Low-cost methods to measure forest structure are needed to consistently and repeatedly inventory forest conditions over large areas. In this study we investigate low-cost pushbroom Digital Aerial Photography (DAP) to aid in the estimation of forest volume over large areas in Washington State (USA). We also examine the effects of plot location precision (low versus high) and Digital Terrain Model (DTM) resolution (1 m versus 10 m) on estimation performance. Estimation with DAP and post-stratification with high-precision plot locations and a 1 m DTM was 4 times as efficient (precision per number of plots) as estimation without remote sensing and 3 times as efficient when using low-precision plot locations and a 10 m DTM. These findings can contribute significantly to efforts to consistently estimate and map forest yield across entire states (or equivalent) or even nations. The broad-scale, high-resolution, and high-precision information provided by pushbroom DAP facilitates used by a wide variety of user types such a towns and cities, small private timber owners, fire prevention groups, Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs), counties, and state and federal organizations.

Over the last decade, police departments in the United States and elsewhere began to adopt geographic information systems (GIS) technology, recognizing the advantages of a system that enables the inspection of crime patterns and spatial filtering and querying, as well as more sophisticated analyses. If GIS is seen as a “primary” innovation in law enforcement, refinements in both visualization and geographic precision can be considered a secondary wave. In a case study in Baltimore County, Maryland, aerial photography and global positioning systems (GPS) were introduced and evaluated in an effort to develop an understanding of the possible benefits and limitations of the technologies. Incident street addresses geocoded in the usual manner were compared to coordinates obtained from a GPS instrument accurate to within a meter. Analysis suggests that locational errors were greater for some crime categories than for others.

Abstract. Groundwater and surface water interactions within riparian corridors impact the distribution of phreatophytes that tap into groundwater stores. The changes in canopy area of phreatophytes over time is related to changes in depth to groundwater, distance from a stream or river, and hydrologic soil group. Remote sensing was used to determine the location of trees with predevelopment and post-development aerial photography over the Ogallala Aquifer in the central plains of the United States. It was found that once the depth to groundwater becomes greater than about 3 m, tree populations decrease as depth to water increases. This subsequently limited the extent of phreatophytes to within 700 m of the river. It was also found that phreatophytes have a higher likelihood of growing on hydrologic soil groups with higher saturated hydraulic conductivity. Phreatophytes exist along portions of the Arkansas River corridor where significant decreases in groundwater occurred as long as alluvium exists to create perched conditions where trees survive dry periods. Significant decreases (more that 50%) in canopy cover exists along river segments where groundwater declined by more than 10 m, indicating areas with good hydraulic connectivity between surface water and groundwater. Thus, interpretation of changes in phreatophyte distribution using historical and recent aerial photophaphy is important in delineating zones of enhanced recharge where aquifers might be effectively recharged through diversion of surface water runoff.

Forests in the Southwestern United States are becoming increasingly susceptible to large wildfires. As a result, forest managers are conducting forest fuel reduction treatments for which spatial fuels and structure information are necessary. However, this information currently has coarse spatial resolution and variable accuracy. This study tested the feasibility of using unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) imagery to estimate forest canopy fuels and structure in a southwestern ponderosa pine stand. UAV-based multispectral images and Structure-from-Motion point clouds were used to estimate canopy cover, canopy height, tree density, canopy base height, and canopy bulk density. Estimates were validated with field data from 57 plots and aerial photography from the U.S. Department of Agriculture National Agriculture Imaging Program. Results indicate that UAV imagery can be used to accurately estimate forest canopy cover (correlation coefficient (R2) = 0.82, root mean square error (RMSE) = 8.9%). Tree density estimates correctly detected 74% of field-mapped trees with a 16% commission error rate. Individual tree height estimates were strongly correlated with field measurements (R2 = 0.71, RMSE = 1.83 m), whereas canopy base height estimates had a weaker correlation (R2 = 0.34, RMSE = 2.52 m). Estimates of canopy bulk density were not correlated to field measurements. UAV-derived inputs resulted in drastically different estimates of potential crown fire behavior when compared with coarse resolution LANDFIRE data. Methods from this study provide additional data to supplement, or potentially substitute, traditional estimates of canopy fuel.

This study improved on previous efforts to map longleaf pine (Pinus palustris) over large areas in the southeastern United States of America by developing new methods that integrate forest inventory data, aerial photography and Landsat 8 imagery to model forest characteristics. Spatial, statistical and machine learning algorithms were used to relate United States Forest Service Forest Inventory and Analysis (FIA) field plot data to relatively normalized Landsat 8 imagery based texture. Modeling algorithms employed include softmax neural networks and multiple hurdle models that combine softmax neural network predictions with linear regression models to estimate key forest characteristics across 2.3 million ha in Georgia, USA. Forest metrics include forest type, basal area and stand density. Results show strong relationships between Landsat 8 imagery based texture and field data (map accuracy > 0.80; square root basal area per ha residual standard errors < 1; natural log transformed trees per ha < 1.081). Model estimates depicting spatially explicit, fine resolution raster surfaces of forest characteristics for multiple coniferous and deciduous species across the study area were created and made available to the public in an online raster database. These products can be integrated with existing tabular, vector and raster databases already being used to guide longleaf pine conservation and restoration in the region.

Globally, forests are a crucial natural resource, and their sound management is critical for human and ecosystem health and well-being. Efforts to manage forests depend upon reliable data on the status of and trends in forest resources. When these data come from well-designed natural resource monitoring (NRM) systems, decision makers can make science-informed decisions. National forest inventories (NFIs) are a cornerstone of NRM systems, but require capacity and skills to implement. Efficiencies can be gained by incorporating auxiliary information derived from remote sensing (RS) into ground-based forest inventories. However, it can be difficult for countries embarking on NFI development to choose among the various RS integration options, and to develop a harmonized vision of how NFI and RS data can work together to meet monitoring needs. The NFI of the United States, which has been conducted by the USDA Forest Service’s (USFS) Forest Inventory and Analysis (FIA) program for nearly a century, uses RS technology extensively. Here we review the history of the use of RS in FIA, beginning with general background on NFI, FIA, and sampling statistics, followed by a description of the evolution of RS technology usage, beginning with paper aerial photography and ending with present day applications and future directions. The goal of this review is to offer FIA’s experience with NFI-RS integration as a case study for other countries wishing to improve the efficiency of their NFI programs.

Abstract. There is a major need for a complete and detailed global glacier inventory that is freely available in a digital format (vector outlines with attribute data) for all kinds of glaciological assessments, e.g. sea level rise, hydro-power, run-off and natural hazards. However, such an inventory is not yet available and the uncertainties due to the missing data for related calculations are large. While the existing World Glacier Inventory offers tabular data that were compiled from aerial photography and maps during the 1960s to 1970s for about 72'000 glaciers, current efforts are being exerted within the framework of the Global Land Ice Measurements from Space (GLIMS) initiative to compile vector outlines from satellite data and combine them with digital elevation models (DEMs). At this point, inventory data from about 100'000 of the estimated 160'000 glaciers are available in the GLIMS database. Due to the now free availability of satellite data from the United States Geological Survey's archive and near global DEMs with appropriate spatial resolution, a globally complete and detailed glacier inventory appears viable. This contribution provides an overview of past and ongoing activities related to the creation of glacier inventory data from satellite sensors, along with the methods employed and the challenges encountered in different parts of the world.

Multidecadal trends in areas burned with high severity shape ecological effects of fires, but most assessments are limited to ~30 years of satellite data. We analysed the proportion of area burned with high severity, the annual area burned with high severity, the probability areas burned with high severity and also the area reburned (all severities and high burn severity only) over 133 years across 346265ha within the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness (SBW) Area in Idaho, United States. We used burn severity class inferred from digitised aerial photography (1880–2000) and satellite imagery (1973–2012). Over this long record, the proportion burned with high severity did not increase, despite extensive area burned in recent decades. Much greater area burned with high severity during the Early (1880–1934) and Late (1975–2012) periods than during the Middle period (1935–1974), paralleling trends in area burned. Little area reburned with high severity, and fires in the Early period limited the extent of fires burning decades later in the Late period. Our results suggest that long-term data across large areas provides useful context on recent trends, and that projections for the extent and severity of future fires must consider prior fires and fire management.

A summary is presented of the results of questionnaires sent to mapping agencies in Oceania, covering Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific Island countries, to investigate the status of mapping in those countries. After World War II, the Australian Federal Government funded the initial small scale mapping of the whole country leading to increased percentages of map coverage of Australia. Mapping at larger scales is undertaken by the states and territories in Australia, including cadastral mapping. In New Zealand mapping is maintained by Land Information New Zealand (LINZ) at 1:50,000 scale and smaller with regular updating. The results of the questionnaires also demonstrate the extent of map coverage in six Pacific Islands, but there is little information available on the actual percent coverage. Overall there are estimated to be an increases in the percentages of coverage of most map scales in Oceania. However, there appear to be insufficient professionals in most Pacific Island countries to maintain the mapping programs. Given that many Pacific Island countries will be impacted by rising sea level in the future, better mapping of these countries is essential. The availability of modern technology especially satellite images, digital aerial photography and airborne lidar data should enable the Pacific Island countries to provide better map products in future, but this would depend on foreign aid on many occasions.

A summary is presented of the results of questionnaires sent to mapping agencies in Oceania, covering Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific Island countries, to investigate the status of mapping in those countries. After World War II, the Australian Federal Government funded the initial small scale mapping of the whole country leading to increased percentages of map coverage of Australia. Mapping at larger scales is undertaken by the states and territories in Australia, including cadastral mapping. In New Zealand mapping is maintained by Land Information New Zealand (LINZ) at 1:50,000 scale and smaller with regular updating. The results of the questionnaires also demonstrate the extent of map coverage in six Pacific Islands, but there is little information available on the actual percent coverage. Overall there are estimated to be an increases in the percentages of coverage of most map scales in Oceania. However, there appear to be insufficient professionals in most Pacific Island countries to maintain the mapping programs. Given that many Pacific Island countries will be impacted by rising sea level in the future, better mapping of these countries is essential. The availability of modern technology especially satellite images, digital aerial photography and airborne lidar data should enable the Pacific Island countries to provide better map products in future, but this would depend on foreign aid on many occasions.

The United States-Mexico international boundary from ElPaso, Texas to the Pacific Coast shows clear differences in plant communities that were homogeneous prior to being split by a continuous fence at the turn of the century. This study evaluates how disparate fire regimes in California (fire suppression) and northern Baja California (little or no fire control) have influenced succession in the chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum) chaparral communities spanning the international boundary between the border towns of Jacume and Tecate. Fire history was reconstructed using U.S. Forest Service fire maps and repeat aerial photography. Once plotted onto topographic maps and dated, the burns were divided into age-classes and sampled using 50 m point-quarter transects to develop successional chronosequences. Although fires are more frequent and smaller on the Mexican side of the border, our repeat photographs of the boundary monument markers together with field samples show that chaparral succession is similar across the international boundary in species composition, stem densities, and average mass shrub height. Chamise chaparral appears to be stable under disparate fire regimes because sprouting habits and latent seed pools permit efficient stand establishment under either short or long fire intervals. Chaparral recovery during the period examined here is unrelated to fire size because recolonization of burns by long-range seed dispersal is not a trait of the majority of the local shrub species and the shrubs either resprout. or germinate from soil seed reservoirs.

Providing long-term data about the evolution of railway networks in Europe may help us understand how European Union (EU) member states behave in the long-term, and how they can comply with present EU recommendations. This paper proposes a methodology for collecting data about railway stations, at the maximal extent of the French railway network, a century ago.The expected outcome is a geocoded dataset of French railway stations (gares), which: (a) links gares to each other, (b) links gares with French communes, the basic administrative level for statistical information. Present stations are well documented in public data, but thousands of past stations are sparsely recorded, not geocoded, and often ignored, except in volunteer geographic information (VGI), either collaboratively through Wikipedia or individually. VGI is very valuable in keeping track of that heritage, and remote sensing, including aerial photography is often the last chance to obtain precise locations. The approach is a series of steps: (1) meta-analysis of the public datasets, (2) three-steps fusion: measure-decision-combination, between public datasets, (3) computer-assisted geocoding for ‘gares’ where fusion fails, (4) integration of additional gares gathered from VGI, (5) automated quality control, indicating where quality is questionable. These five families of methods, form a comprehensive computer-assisted reconstruction process (CARP), which constitutes the core of this paper. The outcome is a reliable dataset—in geojson format under open license—encompassing (by January 2021) more than 10,700 items linked to about 7500 of the 35,500 communes of France: that is 60% more than recorded before. This work demonstrates: (a) it is possible to reconstruct transport data from the past, at a national scale; (b) the value of remote sensing and of VGI is considerable in completing public sources from an historical perspective; (c) data quality can be monitored all along the process and (d) the geocoded outcome is ready for a large variety of further studies with statistical data (demography, density, space coverage, CO2 simulation, environmental policies, etc.).

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> Grist mills are structures in which stone wheels are used to grind grain (e.g. corn, wheat) into a powder-like form for human consumption. Circular stone wheels provided the pressure to grind the grain and separate seed components. In most grist mills the energy for turning the heavy stones was derived from water power. The most visible part of some these mills was the externally mounted water wheel. However, other common configurations of the water ‘turbine’ internal to the structure were used (Figure 1). While grist mills existed in Europe at least as early as the 11th century such mills were not present in the United States until the last 1600s. No comprehensive census has been conducted for grist mills in the U.S. although an estimate of all water powered mills in eastern U.S. was 65,000 in 1840. Many of these water powered mills in the census estimate were for textile, sawmills, manufacturing, and other non-grain-grinding applications.</p><p>Most often, the mill site included a small impoundment for creating a reliable source of water during low-flow stream conditions. These ponds were created in the late 1700s and especially in the 1800s as a reliable water source for turning grist or saw mills. By the middle of the 20th century the grist mills had all but vanished. Except for a few historic relics and conversion to touristic sites, the mill infrastructure has disappeared on the landscape while the mill ponds typically remain, serving other purposes, such as fishing or hunting lakes, or merely aesthetic environments.</p><p>The local ecosystems around the mills sites have been artificially modified by the presence of these stream impoundments providing a new environment for fish, mammals, avian species, and of course, humans. While numerous positive ecosystem values may be observed from their continued presence, the risk of dam failure to both downstream systems and humans is substantial. In fact, such a catastrophic series of dam failures (51 in South Carolina) occurred in October of 2015 from a heavy rainfall event. In other instances the impoundments now store toxic sediment originating from sources farther upstream such as mining, military or industrial processes.</p><p>Where are these historic mill sites and mill ponds? No inventory of mills or their ponds exist in South Carolina (and only for a few northeastern states). In this research we developed a systematic approach for identifying and mapping historic mill sites and ponds using a geohistorical framework and applied to South Carolina. The approach relied on 1) numerous geospatial sources, and 2) an analytical model of confidence mapping for predicting sites. The developed approach resulted in a new database of definitive and likely historic mill sites and mill pond locations throughout South Carolina. The sources of geospatial information was largely cartographic in nature including the following:</p><ul><li>USGS Historic Topographic Map Series</li><li>Robert Mills 1820 atlas covering South Carolina</li><li>Historic aerial photography</li><li>National Hydrography Data (NHD)</li><li>National Wetlands Inventory (NWI)</li><li>National Inventory of Dams</li><li>SC Department of Health and Environmental Control for Regulated Dams</li><li>Toponyms from the Geographic Names Information System (GNIS)</li><li>U.S. Census TIGER street data</li></ul><p>The design for a predictive model (Figure 2) using diverse historic data with various scales and reliability is problematic. Most of the grist mills have disappeared from the landscape and do not exist in contemporary geospatial databases. Historic maps might include toponyms for the sites or ponds but their map projection, scale, and subsequent distortions in geometry are problematic. In addition, some of the sources for data are derived from a similar source and thus, are not statistically independent. The design of the analytical model for mapping confidence in mill site locations was calibrated and subsequently validated using several independent sources of information. Numerous field visits to known and suspected locations for mills sites were conducted throughout the physiographic regions of South Carolina.</p><p>The model of likelihood included factors for the reliability of the source, the mapping scale and spatial accuracy of the source, correlation with other sources, and likelihood of correspondence with grist mills.</p>

Abstract Sea-level rise is impacting the longest undeveloped stretch of coastline in the contiguous United States: The Florida Big Bend. Due to its low elevation and a higher-than-global-average local rate of sea-level rise, the region is losing coastal forest to encroaching marsh at an unprecedented rate. Previous research found a rate of forest-to-marsh conversion of up to 1.2 km2 year−1 during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but these studies evaluated small-scale changes, suffered from data gaps, or are substantially outdated. We replicated and updated these studies with Landsat satellite imagery covering the entire Big Bend region from 2003 to 2016 and corroborated results with in situ landscape photography and high-resolution aerial imagery. Our analysis of satellite and aerial images from 2003 to 2016 indicates a rate of approximately 10 km2 year−1 representing an increase of over 800%. Areas previously found to be unaffected by the decline are now in rapid retreat.

The article discusses the issues of promising directions for improving monitoring tools and methods (information transfer to the operator in real time, thanks to video surveillance, fires are searched, survey of the territory), fire extinguishing (the arrival of a fire drone at the place of call at specified coordinates; fire identification by means of observation and control ; starting the fire extinguishing module; position stabilization when supplying fire extinguishing agents.), processing of fields (remote monitoring and control of accurate data on the topography of fields with all information about the unused area within the field using surveillance cameras; precision farming – using a drone with a combination of multispectral sensors, software products allows you to determine the need for plants in nitrogen fertilizers and other micro- and macronutrients, watering the field, analyzing the quality of the performed sowing work and even planning the harvest.). Analyzed digital methods of monitoring the airfield infrastructure. The possibilities of using drones in wide systems of their application and revealing their advantages are considered. Possible problems and their possible solutions are identified. The listed distribution companies in Ukraine that import drones such as: «Smart Trading (DJI, Parrot)», «MTI (DJI, Swell pro)», «ERC (Power Egg)», «Drone UA (DJI, Parrot, Drone Deploy, Mica Sense, Pix4D, Wingtra )», «L-trade (Leica Geosystems)», «Fly Technology (DJI, Yuneec)», «Quadro copter or DJI-kiev.com (DJI )». The directions of further research are determined and the categories of normative regulation of the use of unmanned vehicles are determined (remotely piloted aircraft systems; unmanned autonomous systems; legal use of remotely piloted aircraft systems). Based on the analysis of trends in the use of unmanned aerial vehicles and the directions of their further development, the conclusions are given, which states that the use of unmanned aerial vehicles is promising for firefighting, monitoring and field treatment. Their implementation is developing rapidly and they occupy a worthy place in aerial photography processes.

About half way through Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s film Home (2009) the narrator describes the fall of the Rapa Nui, the indigenous people of the Easter Islands. The narrator posits that the Rapa Nui culture collapsed due to extensive environmental degradation brought about by large-scale deforestation. The Rapa Nui cut down their massive native forests to clear spaces for agriculture, to heat their dwellings, to build canoes and, most importantly, to move their enormous rock sculptures—the Moai. The disappearance of their forests led to island-wide soil erosion and the gradual disappearance of arable land. Caught in the vice of overpopulation but with rapidly dwindling basic resources and no trees to build canoes, they were trapped on the island and watched helplessly as their society fell into disarray. The sequence ends with the narrator’s biting remark: “The real mystery of the Easter Islands is not how its strange statues got there, we know now; it's why the Rapa Nui didn't react in time.” In their unrelenting desire for development, the Rapa Nui appear to have overlooked the role the environment plays in maintaining a society. The island’s Moai accompanying the sequence appear as memento mori, a lesson in the mortality of human cultures brought about by their own misguided and short-sighted practices. Arthus-Bertrand’s Home, a film composed almost entirely of aerial photographs, bears witness to present-day environmental degradation and climate change, constructing society as a fragile structure built upon and sustained by the environment. Home is a call to recognise how contemporary practices of post-industrial societies have come to shape the environment and how they may impact the habitability of Earth in the near future. Through reflexivity and a ritualised structure the text invites spectators to look at themselves in a new light and remake their self-image in the wake of global environmental risk by embracing new, alternative core practices based on balance and interconnectedness. Arthus-Bertrand frames climate change not as a burden, but as a moment of profound realisation of the potential for change and humans ability to create a desirable future through hope and our innate capacity for renewal. This article examines how Arthus-Bertrand’s ritualised construction of climate change aims to remake viewers’ perception of present-day environmental degradation and investigates Home’s place in contemporary climate change communication discourse. Climate change, in its capacity to affect us globally, is considered a world risk. The most recent peer-reviewed Synthesis Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change suggests that the concentration of atmospheric greenhouse gases has increased markedly since human industrialisation in the 18th century. Moreover, human activities, such as fossil fuel burning and agricultural practices, are “very likely” responsible for the resulting increase in temperature rise (IPPC 37). The increased global temperatures and the subsequent changing weather patterns have a direct and profound impact on the physical and biological systems of our planet, including shrinking glaciers, melting permafrost, coastal erosion, and changes in species distribution and reproduction patterns (Rosenzweig et al. 353). Studies of global security assert that these physiological changes are expected to increase the likelihood of humanitarian disasters, food and water supply shortages, and competition for resources thus resulting in a destabilisation of global safety (Boston et al. 1–2). Human behaviour and dominant practices of modernity are now on a path to materially impact the future habitability of our home, Earth. In contemporary post-industrial societies, however, climate change remains an elusive, intangible threat. Here, the Arctic-bound species forced to adapt to milder climates or the inhabitants of low-lying Pacific islands seeking refuge in mainland cities are removed from the everyday experience of the controlled and regulated environments of homes, offices, and shopping malls. Diverse research into the mediated and mediatised nature of the environment suggests that rather than from first-hand experiences and observations, the majority of our knowledge concerning the environment now comes from its representation in the mass media (Hamilton 4; Stamm et al. 220; Cox 2). Consequently the threat of climate change is communicated and constructed through the news media, entertainment and lifestyle programming, and various documentaries and fiction films. It is therefore the construction (the representation of the risk in various discourses) that shapes people’s perception and experience of the phenomenon, and ultimately influences behaviour and instigates social response (Beck 213). By drawing on and negotiating society’s dominant discourses, environmental mediation defines spectators’ perceptions of the human-nature relationship and subsequently their roles and responsibilities in the face of environmental risks. Maxwell Boykoff asserts that contemporary modern society’s mediatised representations of environmental degradation and climate change depict the phenomena as external to society’s primary social and economic concerns (449). Julia Corbett argues that this is partly because environmental protection and sustainable behaviour are often at odds with the dominant social paradigms of consumerism, economic growth, and materialism (175). Similarly, Rowan Howard-Williams suggests that most media texts, especially news, do not emphasise the link between social practices, such as consumerist behaviour, and their environmental consequences because they contradict dominant social paradigms (41). The demands contemporary post-industrial societies make on the environment to sustain economic growth, consumer culture, and citizens’ comfortable lives in air-conditioned homes and offices are often left unarticulated. While the media coverage of environmental risks may indeed have contributed to “critical misperceptions, misleading debates, and divergent understandings” (Boykoff 450) climate change possesses innate characteristics that amplify its perception in present-day post-industrial societies as a distant and impersonal threat. Climate change is characterised by temporal and spatial de-localisation. The gradual increase in global temperature and its physical and biological consequences are much less prominent than seasonal changes and hence difficult to observe on human time-scales. Moreover, while research points to the increased probability of extreme climatic events such as droughts, wild fires, and changes in weather patterns (IPCC 48), they take place over a wide range of geographical locations and no single event can be ultimately said to be the result of climate change (Maibach and Roser-Renouf 145). In addition to these observational obstacles, political partisanship, vested interests in the current status quo, and general resistance to profound change all play a part in keeping us one step removed from the phenomenon of climate change. The distant and impersonal nature of climate change coupled with the “uncertainty over consequences, diverse and multiple engaged interests, conflicting knowledge claims, and high stakes” (Lorenzoni et al. 65) often result in repression, rejection, and denial, removing the individual’s responsibility to act. Research suggests that, due to its unique observational obstacles in contemporary post-industrial societies, climate change is considered a psychologically distant event (Pawlik 559), one that is not personally salient due to the “perceived distance and remoteness [...] from one’s everyday experience” (O’Neill and Nicholson-Cole 370). In an examination of the barriers to behaviour change in the face of psychologically distant events, Robert Gifford argues that changing individuals’ perceptions of the issue-domain is one of the challenges of countering environmental inertia—the lack of initiative for environmentally sustainable social action (5). To challenge the status quo a radically different construction of the environment and the human-nature relationship is required to transform our perception of global environmental risks and ultimately result in environmentally consequential social action. Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s Home is a ritualised construction of contemporary environmental degradation and climate change which takes spectators on a rite of passage to a newfound understanding of the human-nature relationship. Transformation through re-imagining individuals’ roles, responsibilities, and practices is an intrinsic quality of rituals. A ritual charts a subjects path from one state of consciousness to the next, resulting in a meaningful change of attitudes (Deflem 8). Through a lifelong study of African rituals British cultural ethnographer Victor Turner refined his concept of rituals in a modern social context. Turner observed that rituals conform to a three-phased processural form (The Ritual Process 13–14). First, in the separation stage, the subjects are selected and removed from their fixed position in the social structure. Second, they enter an in-between and ambiguous liminal stage, characterised by a “partial or complete separation of the subject from everyday existence” (Deflem 8). Finally, imbued with a new perspective of the outside world borne out of the experience of reflexivity, liminality, and a cathartic cleansing, subjects are reintegrated into the social reality in a new, stable state. The three distinct stages make the ritual an emotionally charged, highly personal experience that “demarcates the passage from one phase to another in the individual’s life-cycle” (Turner, “Symbols” 488) and actively shapes human attitudes and behaviour. Adhering to the three-staged processural form of the ritual, Arthus-Bertrand guides spectators towards a newfound understanding of their roles and responsibilities in creating a desirable future. In the first stage—the separation—aerial photography of Home alienates viewers from their anthropocentric perspectives of the outside world. This establishes Earth as a body, and unearths spectators’ guilt and shame in relation to contemporary world risks. Aerial photography strips landscapes of their conventional qualities of horizon, scale, and human reference. As fine art photographer Emmet Gowin observes, “when one really sees an awesome, vast place, our sense of wholeness is reorganised [...] and the body seems always to diminish” (qtd. in Reynolds 4). Confronted with a seemingly infinite sublime landscape from above, the spectator’s “body diminishes” as they witness Earth’s body gradually taking shape. Home’s rushing rivers of Indonesia are akin to blood flowing through the veins and the Siberian permafrost seems like the texture of skin in extreme close-up. Arthus-Bertrand establishes a geocentric embodiment to force spectators to perceive and experience the environmental degradation brought about by the dominant social practices of contemporary post-industrial modernity. The film-maker visualises the maltreatment of the environment through suggested abuse of the Earth’s body. Images of industrial agricultural practices in the United States appear to leave scratches and scars on the landscape, and as a ship crosses the Arctic ice sheets of the Northwest Passage the boat glides like the surgeon’s knife cutting through the uppermost layer of the skin. But the deep blue water that’s revealed in the wake of the craft suggests a flesh and body now devoid of life, a suffering Earth in the wake of global climatic change. Arthus-Bertrand’s images become the sublime evidence of human intervention in the environment and the reflection of present-day industrialisation materially altering the face of Earth. The film-maker exploits spectators’ geocentric perspective and sensibility to prompt reflexivity, provide revelations about the self, and unearth the forgotten shame and guilt in having inadvertently caused excessive environmental degradation. Following the sequences establishing Earth as the body of the text Arthus-Bertrand returns spectators to their everyday “natural” environment—the city. Having witnessed and endured the pain and suffering of Earth, spectators now gaze at the skyscrapers standing bold and tall in the cityscape with disillusionment. The pinnacles of modern urban development become symbols of arrogance and exploitation: structures forced upon the landscape. Moreover, the images of contemporary cityscapes in Home serve as triggers for ritual reflexivity, allowing the spectator to “perceive the self [...] as a distanced ‘other’ and hence achieve a partial ‘self-transcendence’” (Beck, Comments 491). Arthus-Bertrand’s aerial photographs of Los Angeles, New York, and Tokyo fold these distinct urban environments into one uniform fusion of glass, metal, and concrete devoid of life. The uniformity of these cultural landscapes prompts spectators to add the missing element: the human. Suddenly, the homes and offices of desolate cityscapes are populated by none other than us, looking at ourselves from a unique vantage point. The geocentric sensibility the film-maker invoked with the images of the suffering Earth now prompt a revelation about the self as spectators see their everyday urban environments in a new light. Their homes and offices become blemishes on the face of the Earth: its inhabitants, including the spectators themselves, complicit in the excessive mistreatment of the planet. The second stage of the ritual allows Arthus-Bertrand to challenge dominant social paradigms of present day post-industrial societies and introduce new, alternative moral directives to govern our habits and attitudes. Following the separation, ritual subjects enter an in-between, threshold stage, one unencumbered by the spatial, temporal, and social boundaries of everyday existence. Turner posits that a subjects passage through this liminal stage is necessary to attain psychic maturation and successful transition to a new, stable state at the end of the ritual (The Ritual Process 97). While this “betwixt and between” (Turner, The Ritual Process 95) state may be a fleeting moment of transition, it makes for a “lived experience [that] transforms human beings cognitively, emotionally, and morally.” (Horvath et al. 3) Through a change of perceptions liminality paves the way toward meaningful social action. Home places spectators in a state of liminality to contrast geocentric and anthropocentric views. Arthus-Bertrand contrasts natural and human-made environments in terms of diversity. The narrator’s description of the “miracle of life” is followed by images of trees seemingly defying gravity, snow-covered summits among mountain ranges, and a whale in the ocean. Grandeur and variety appear to be inherent qualities of biodiversity on Earth, qualities contrasted with images of the endless, uniform rectangular greenhouses of Almeria, Spain. This contrast emphasises the loss of variety in human achievements and the monotony mass-production brings to the landscape. With the image of a fire burning atop a factory chimney, Arthus-Bertrand critiques the change of pace and distortion of time inherent in anthropocentric views, and specifically in contemporary modernity. Here, the flames appear to instantly eat away at resources that have taken millions of years to form, bringing anthropocentric and geocentric temporality into sharp contrast. A sequence showing a night time metropolis underscores this distinction. The glittering cityscape is lit by hundreds of lights in skyscrapers in an effort, it appears, to mimic and surpass daylight and thus upturn the natural rhythm of life. As the narrator remarks, in our present-day environments, “days are now the pale reflections of nights.” Arthus-Bertrand also uses ritual liminality to mark the present as a transitory, threshold moment in human civilisation. The film-maker contrasts the spectre of our past with possible visions of the future to mark the moment of now as a time when humanity is on the threshold of two distinct states of mind. The narrator’s descriptions of contemporary post-industrial society’s reliance on non-renewable resources and lack of environmentally sustainable agricultural practices condemn the past and warn viewers of the consequences of continuing such practices into the future. Exploring the liminal present Arthus-Bertrand proposes distinctive futurescapes for humankind. On the one hand, the narrator’s description of California’s “concentration camp style cattle farming” suggests that humankind will live in a future that feeds from the past, falling back on frames of horrors and past mistakes. On the other hand, the example of Costa Rica, a nation that abolished its military and dedicated the budget to environmental conservation, is recognition of our ability to re-imagine our future in the face of global risk. Home introduces myths to imbue liminality with the alternative dominant social paradigm of ecology. By calling upon deep-seated structures myths “touch the heart of society’s emotional, spiritual and intellectual consciousness” (Killingsworth and Palmer 176) and help us understand and come to terms with complex social, economic, and scientific phenomena. With the capacity to “pattern thought, beliefs and practices,” (Maier 166) myths are ideal tools in communicating ritual liminality and challenging contemporary post-industrial society’s dominant social paradigms. The opening sequence of Home, where the crescent Earth is slowly revealed in the darkness of space, is an allusion to creation: the genesis myth. Accompanied only by a gentle hum our home emerges in brilliant blue, white, and green-brown encompassing most of the screen. It is as if darkness and chaos disintegrated and order, life, and the elements were created right before our eyes. Akin to the Earthrise image taken by the astronauts of Apollo 8, Home’s opening sequence underscores the notion that our home is a unique spot in the blackness of space and is defined and circumscribed by the elements. With the opening sequence Arthus-Bertrand wishes to impart the message of interdependence and reliance on elements—core concepts of ecology. Balance, another key theme in ecology, is introduced with an allusion to the Icarus myth in a sequence depicting Dubai. The story of Icarus’s fall from the sky after flying too close to the sun is a symbolic retelling of hubris—a violent pride and arrogance punishable by nemesis—destruction, which ultimately restores balance by forcing the individual back within the limits transgressed (Littleton 712). In Arthus-Bertrand’s portrayal of Dubai, the camera slowly tilts upwards on the Burj Khalifa tower, the tallest human-made structure ever built. The construction works on the tower explicitly frame humans against the bright blue sky in their attempt to reach ever further, transgressing their limitations much like the ill-fated Icarus. Arthus-Bertrand warns that contemporary modernity does not strive for balance or moderation, and with climate change we may have brought our nemesis upon ourselves. By suggesting new dominant paradigms and providing a critique of current maxims, Home’s retelling of myths ultimately sees spectators through to the final stage of the ritual. The last phase in the rite of passage “celebrates and commemorates transcendent powers,” (Deflem 8) marking subjects’ rebirth to a new status and distinctive perception of the outside world. It is at this stage that Arthus-Bertrand resolves the emotional distress uncovered in the separation phase. The film-maker uses humanity’s innate capacity for creation and renewal as a cathartic cleansing aimed at reconciling spectators’ guilt and shame in having inadvertently exacerbated global environmental degradation. Arthus-Bertrand identifies renewable resources as the key to redeeming technology, human intervention in the landscape, and finally humanity itself. Until now, the film-maker pictured modernity and technology, evidenced in his portrayal of Dubai, as synonymous with excess and disrespect for the interconnectedness and balance of elements on Earth. The final sequence shows a very different face of technology. Here, we see a mechanical sea-snake generating electricity by riding the waves off the coast of Scotland and solar panels turning towards the sun in the Sahara desert. Technology’s redemption is evidenced in its ability to imitate nature—a move towards geocentric consciousness (a lesson learned from the ritual’s liminal stage). Moreover, these human-made structures, unlike the skyscrapers earlier in the film, appear a lot less invasive in the landscape and speak of moderation and union with nature. With the above examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity can shed the greed that drove it to dig deeper and deeper into the Earth to acquire non-renewable resources such as oil and coal, what the narrator describes as “treasures buried deep.” The incorporation of principles of ecology, such as balance and interconnectedness, into humanity’s behaviour ushers in reconciliation and ritual cleansing in Home. Following the description of the move toward renewable resources, the narrator reveals that “worldwide four children out of five attend school, never has learning been given to so many human beings” marking education, innovation, and creativity as the true inexhaustible resources on Earth. Lastly, the description of Antarctica in Home is the essence of Arthus-Bertrand’s argument for our innate capacity to create, not simply exploit and destroy. Here, the narrator describes the continent as possessing “immense natural resources that no country can claim for itself, a natural reserve devoted to peace and science, a treaty signed by 49 nations has made it a treasure shared by all humanity.” Innovation appears to fuel humankind’s transcendence to a state where it is capable of compassion, unification, sharing, and finally creating treasures. With these examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity has an innate capacity for creative energy that awaits authentic expression and can turn humankind from destroyer to creator. In recent years various risk communication texts have explicitly addressed climate change, endeavouring to instigate environmentally consequential social action. Home breaks discursive ground among them through its ritualistic construction which seeks to transform spectators’ perception, and in turn roles and responsibilities, in the face of global environmental risks. Unlike recent climate change media texts such as An Inconvenient Truth (2006), The 11th Hour (2007), The Age of Stupid (2009), Carbon Nation (2010) and Earth: The Operator’s Manual (2011), Home eludes simple genre classification. On the threshold of photography and film, documentary and fiction, Arthus-Bertrand’s work is best classified as an advocacy film promoting public debate and engagement with a universal concern—the state of the environment. The film’s website, available in multiple languages, contains educational material, resources to organise public screenings, and a link to GoodPlanet.info: a website dedicated to environmentalism, including legal tools and initiatives to take action. The film-maker’s approach to using Home as a basis for education and raising awareness corresponds to Antonio Lopez’s critique of contemporary mass-media communications of global risks. Lopez rebukes traditional forms of mediatised communication that place emphasis on the imparting of knowledge and instead calls for a participatory, discussion-driven, organic media approach, akin to a communion or a ritual (106). Moreover, while texts often place a great emphasis on the messenger, for instance Al Gore in An Inconvenient Truth, Leonardo DiCaprio in The 11th Hour, or geologist Dr. Richard Alley in Earth: The Operator’s Manual, Home’s messenger remains unseen—the narrator is only identified at the very end of the film among the credits. The film-maker’s decision to forego a central human character helps dissociate the message from the personality of the messenger which aids in establishing and maintaining the geocentric sensibility of the text. Finally, the ritual’s invocation and cathartic cleansing of emotional distress enables Home to at once acknowledge our environmentally destructive past habits and point to a hopeful, environmentally sustainable future. While The Age of Stupid mostly focuses on humanity’s present and past failures to respond to an imminent environmental catastrophe, Carbon Nation, with the tagline “A climate change solutions movie that doesn’t even care if you believe in climate change,” only explores the potential future business opportunities in turning towards renewable resources and environmentally sustainable practices. The three-phased processural form of the ritual allows for a balance of backward and forward-looking, establishing the possibility of change and renewal in the face of world risk. The ritual is a transformative experience. As Turner states, rituals “interrupt the flow of social life and force a group to take cognizance of its behaviour in relation to its own values, and even question at times the value of those values” (“Dramatic Ritual” 82). Home, a ritualised media text, is an invitation to look at our world, its dominant social paradigms, and the key element within that world—ourselves—with new eyes. It makes explicit contemporary post-industrial society’s dependence on the environment, highlights our impact on Earth, and reveals our complicity in bringing about a contemporary world risk. The ritual structure and the self-reflexivity allow Arthus-Bertrand to transform climate change into a personally salient issue. This bestows upon the spectator the responsibility to act and to reconcile the spectre of the past with the vision of the future.Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Dr. Angi Buettner whose support, guidance, and supervision has been invaluable in preparing this article. 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Special Care Notice This article contains images of deceased people that might cause sadness or distress to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers. Introduction Like many cities, Perth was founded on wetlands that have been integral to its history and culture (Seddon 226–32). However, in order to promote a settlement agenda, early mapmakers sought to erase the city’s wetlands from cartographic depictions (Giblett, Cities). Since the colonial era, inner-Perth’s swamps and lakes have been drained, filled, significantly reduced in size, or otherwise reclaimed for urban expansion (Bekle). Not only have the swamps and lakes physically disappeared, the memories of their presence and influence on the city’s development over time are also largely forgotten. What was the site of Perth, specifically its wetlands, like before British settlement? In 2014, an interdisciplinary team at Edith Cowan University developed a digital visualisation process to re-imagine Perth prior to colonisation. This was based on early maps of the Swan River Colony and a range of archival information. The images depicted the city’s topography, hydrology, and vegetation and became the centerpiece of a physical exhibition entitled Re-imagining Perth’s Lost Wetlands and a virtual exhibition hosted by the Western Australian Museum. Alongside historic maps, paintings, photographs, and writings, the visual reconstruction of Perth aimed to foster appreciation of the pre-settlement environment—the homeland of the Whadjuck Nyoongar, or Bibbulmun, people (Carter and Nutter). The exhibition included the narrative of Fanny Balbuk, a Nyoongar woman who voiced her indignation over the “usurping of her beloved home ground” (Bates, The Passing 69) by flouting property lines and walking through private residences to reach places of cultural significance. Beginning with Balbuk’s story and the digital tracing of her walking route through colonial Perth, this article discusses the project in the context of contemporary pressures on the city’s extant wetlands. The re-imagining of Perth through historically, culturally, and geographically-grounded digital visualisation approaches can inspire the conservation of its wetlands heritage. Balbuk’s Walk through the City For many who grew up in Perth, Fanny Balbuk’s perambulations have achieved legendary status in the collective cultural imagination. In his memoir, David Whish-Wilson mentions Balbuk’s defiant walks and the lighting up of the city for astronaut John Glenn in 1962 as the two stories that had the most impact on his Perth childhood. From Gordon Stephenson House, Whish-Wilson visualises her journey in his mind’s eye, past Government House on St Georges Terrace (the main thoroughfare through the city centre), then north on Barrack Street towards the railway station, the site of Lake Kingsford where Balbuk once gathered bush tucker (4). He considers the footpaths “beneath the geometric frame of the modern city […] worn smooth over millennia that snake up through the sheoak and marri woodland and into the city’s heart” (Whish-Wilson 4). Balbuk’s story embodies the intertwined culture and nature of Perth—a city of wetlands. Born in 1840 on Heirisson Island, Balbuk (also known as Yooreel) (Figure 1) had ancestral bonds to the urban landscape. According to Daisy Bates, writing in the early 1900s, the Nyoongar term Matagarup, or “leg deep,” denotes the passage of shallow water near Heirisson Island where Balbuk would have forded the Swan River (“Oldest” 16). Yoonderup was recorded as the Nyoongar name for Heirisson Island (Bates, “Oldest” 16) and the birthplace of Balbuk’s mother (Bates, “Aboriginal”). In the suburb of Shenton Park near present-day Lake Jualbup, her father bequeathed to her a red ochre (or wilgi) pit that she guarded fervently throughout her life (Bates, “Aboriginal”).Figure 1. Group of Aboriginal Women at Perth, including Fanny Balbuk (far right) (c. 1900). Image Credit: State Library of Western Australia (Image Number: 44c). Balbuk’s grandparents were culturally linked to the site. At his favourite camp beside the freshwater spring near Kings Park on Mounts Bay Road, her grandfather witnessed the arrival of Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick Irwin, cousin of James Stirling (Bates, “Fanny”). In 1879, colonial entrepreneurs established the Swan Brewery at this significant locale (Welborn). Her grandmother’s gravesite later became Government House (Bates, “Fanny”) and she protested vociferously outside “the stone gates guarded by a sentry [that] enclosed her grandmother’s burial ground” (Bates, The Passing 70). Balbuk’s other grandmother was buried beneath Bishop’s Grove, the residence of the city’s first archibishop, now Terrace Hotel (Bates, “Aboriginal”). Historian Bob Reece observes that Balbuk was “the last full-descent woman of Kar’gatta (Karrakatta), the Bibbulmun name for the Mount Eliza [Kings Park] area of Perth” (134). According to accounts drawn from Bates, her home ground traversed the area between Heirisson Island and Perth’s north-western limits. In Kings Park, one of her relatives was buried near a large, hollow tree used by Nyoongar people like a cistern to capture water and which later became the site of the Queen Victoria Statue (Bates, “Aboriginal”). On the slopes of Mount Eliza, the highest point of Kings Park, at the western end of St Georges Terrace, she harvested plant foods, including zamia fruits (Macrozamia riedlei) (Bates, “Fanny”). Fanny Balbuk’s knowledge contributed to the native title claim lodged by Nyoongar people in 2006 as Bennell v. State of Western Australia—the first of its kind to acknowledge Aboriginal land rights in a capital city and part of the larger Single Nyoongar Claim (South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council et al.). Perth’s colonial administration perceived the city’s wetlands as impediments to progress and as insalubrious environments to be eradicated through reclamation practices. For Balbuk and other Nyoongar people, however, wetlands were “nourishing terrains” (Rose) that afforded sustenance seasonally and meaning perpetually (O’Connor, Quartermaine, and Bodney). Mary Graham, a Kombu-merri elder from Queensland, articulates the connection between land and culture, “because land is sacred and must be looked after, the relation between people and land becomes the template for society and social relations. Therefore all meaning comes from land.” Traditional, embodied reliance on Perth’s wetlands is evident in Bates’ documentation. For instance, Boojoormeup was a “big swamp full of all kinds of food, now turned into Palmerston and Lake streets” (Bates, “Aboriginal”). Considering her cultural values, Balbuk’s determination to maintain pathways through the increasingly colonial Perth environment is unsurprising (Figure 2). From Heirisson Island: a straight track had led to the place where once she had gathered jilgies [crayfish] and vegetable food with the women, in the swamp where Perth railway station now stands. Through fences and over them, Balbuk took the straight track to the end. When a house was built in the way, she broke its fence-palings with her digging stick and charged up the steps and through the rooms. (Bates, The Passing 70) One obstacle was Hooper’s Fence, which Balbuk broke repeatedly on her trips to areas between Kings Park and the railway station (Bates, “Hooper’s”). Her tenacious commitment to walking ancestral routes signifies the friction between settlement infrastructure and traditional Nyoongar livelihood during an era of rapid change. Figure 2. Determination of Fanny Balbuk’s Journey between Yoonderup (Heirisson Island) and Lake Kingsford, traversing what is now the central business district of Perth on the Swan River (2014). Image background prepared by Dimitri Fotev. Track interpolation by Jeff Murray. Project Background and Approach Inspired by Fanny Balbuk’s story, Re-imagining Perth’s Lost Wetlands began as an Australian response to the Mannahatta Project. Founded in 1999, that project used spatial analysis techniques and mapping software to visualise New York’s urbanised Manhattan Island—or Mannahatta as it was called by indigenous people—in the early 1600s (Sanderson). Based on research into the island’s original biogeography and the ecological practices of Native Americans, Mannahatta enabled the public to “peel back” the city’s strata, revealing the original composition of the New York site. The layers of visuals included rich details about the island’s landforms, water systems, and vegetation. Mannahatta compelled Rod Giblett, a cultural researcher at Edith Cowan University, to develop an analogous model for visualising Perth circa 1829. The idea attracted support from the City of Perth, Landgate, and the University. Using stories, artefacts, and maps, the team—comprising a cartographer, designer, three-dimensional modelling expert, and historical researchers—set out to generate visualisations of the landscape at the time of British colonisation. Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup approved culturally sensitive material and contributed his perspective on Aboriginal content to include in the exhibition. The initiative’s context remains pressing. In many ways, Perth has become a template for development in the metropolitan area (Weller). While not unusual for a capital, the rate of transformation is perhaps unexpected in a city less than 200 years old (Forster). There also remains a persistent view of existing wetlands as obstructions to progress that, once removed, are soon forgotten (Urban Bushland Council). Digital visualisation can contribute to appreciating environments prior to colonisation but also to re-imagining possibilities for future human interactions with land, water, and space. Despite the rapid pace of change, many Perth area residents have memories of wetlands lost during their lifetimes (for example, Giblett, Forrestdale). However, as the clearing and drainage of the inner city occurred early in settlement, recollections of urban wetlands exist exclusively in historical records. In 1935, a local correspondent using the name “Sandgroper” reminisced about swamps, connecting them to Perth’s colonial heritage: But the Swamps were very real in fact, and in name in the [eighteen-] Nineties, and the Perth of my youth cannot be visualised without them. They were, of course, drying up apace, but they were swamps for all that, and they linked us directly with the earliest days of the Colony when our great-grandparents had founded this City of Perth on a sort of hog's-back, of which Hay-street was the ridge, and from which a succession of streamlets ran down its southern slope to the river, while land locked to the north of it lay a series of lakes which have long since been filled to and built over so that the only evidence that they have ever existed lies in the original street plans of Perth prepared by Roe and Hillman in the early eighteen-thirties. A salient consequence of the loss of ecological memory is the tendency to repeat the miscues of the past, especially the blatant disregard for natural and cultural heritage, as suburbanisation engulfs the area. While the swamps of inner Perth remain only in the names of streets, existing wetlands in the metropolitan area are still being threatened, as the Roe Highway (Roe 8) Campaign demonstrates. To re-imagine Perth’s lost landscape, we used several colonial survey maps to plot the location of the original lakes and swamps. At this time, a series of interconnecting waterbodies, known as the Perth Great Lakes, spread across the north of the city (Bekle and Gentilli). This phase required the earliest cartographic sources (Figure 3) because, by 1855, city maps no longer depicted wetlands. We synthesised contextual information, such as well depths, geological and botanical maps, settlers’ accounts, Nyoongar oral histories, and colonial-era artists’ impressions, to produce renderings of Perth. This diverse collection of primary and secondary materials served as the basis for creating new images of the city. Team member Jeff Murray interpolated Balbuk’s route using historical mappings and accounts, topographical data, court records, and cartographic common sense. He determined that Balbuk would have camped on the high ground of the southern part of Lake Kingsford rather than the more inundated northern part (Figure 2). Furthermore, she would have followed a reasonably direct course north of St Georges Terrace (contrary to David Whish-Wilson’s imaginings) because she was barred from Government House for protesting. This easier route would have also avoided the springs and gullies that appear on early maps of Perth. Figure 3. Townsite of Perth in Western Australia by Colonial Draftsman A. Hillman and John Septimus Roe (1838). This map of Perth depicts the wetlands that existed overlaid by the geomentric grid of the new city. Image Credit: State Library of Western Australia (Image Number: BA1961/14). Additionally, we produced an animated display based on aerial photographs to show the historical extent of change. Prompted by the build up to World War II, the earliest aerial photography of Perth dates from the late 1930s (Dixon 148–54). As “Sandgroper” noted, by this time, most of the urban wetlands had been drained or substantially modified. The animation revealed considerable alterations to the formerly swampy Swan River shoreline. Most prominent was the transformation of the Matagarup shallows across the Swan River, originally consisting of small islands. Now traversed by a causeway, this area was transformed into a single island, Heirisson—the general site of Balbuk’s birth. The animation and accompanying materials (maps, images, and writings) enabled viewers to apprehend the changes in real time and to imagine what the city was once like. Re-imagining Perth’s Urban Heart The physical environment of inner Perth includes virtually no trace of its wetland origins. Consequently, we considered whether a representation of Perth, as it existed previously, could enhance public understanding of natural heritage and thereby increase its value. For this reason, interpretive materials were exhibited centrally at Perth Town Hall. Built partly by convicts between 1867 and 1870, the venue is close to the site of the 1829 Foundation of Perth, depicted in George Pitt Morrison’s painting. Balbuk’s grandfather “camped somewhere in the city of Perth, not far from the Town Hall” (Bates, “Fanny”). The building lies one block from the site of the railway station on the site of Lake Kingsford, the subsistence grounds of Balbuk and her forebears: The old swamp which is now the Perth railway yards had been a favourite jilgi ground; a spring near the Town Hall had been a camping place of Maiago […] and others of her fathers' folk; and all around and about city and suburbs she had gathered roots and fished for crayfish in the days gone by. (Bates, “Derelicts” 55) Beginning in 1848, the draining of Lake Kingsford reached completion during the construction of the Town Hall. While the swamps of the city were not appreciated by many residents, some organisations, such as the Perth Town Trust, vigorously opposed the reclamation of the lake, alluding to its hydrological role: That, the soil being sand, it is not to be supposed that Lake Kingsford has in itself any material effect on the wells of Perth; but that, from this same reason of the sandy soil, it would be impossible to keep the lake dry without, by so doing, withdrawing the water from at least the adjacent parts of the townsite to the same depth. (Independent Journal of Politics and News 3) At the time of our exhibition, the Lake Kingsford site was again being reworked to sink the railway line and build Yagan Square, a public space named after a colonial-era Nyoongar leader. The project required specialised construction techniques due to the high water table—the remnants of the lake. People travelling to the exhibition by train in October 2014 could have seen the lake reasserting itself in partly-filled depressions, flush with winter rain (Figure 4).Figure 4. Rise of the Repressed (2014). Water Rising in the former site of Lake Kingsford/Irwin during construction, corner of Roe and Fitzgerald Streets, Northbridge, WA. Image Credit: Nandi Chinna (2014). The exhibition was situated in the Town Hall’s enclosed undercroft designed for markets and more recently for shops. While some visited after peering curiously through the glass walls of the undercroft, others hailed from local and state government organisations. Guest comments applauded the alternative view of Perth we presented. The content invited the public to re-imagine Perth as a city of wetlands that were both environmentally and culturally important. A display panel described how the city’s infrastructure presented a hindrance for Balbuk as she attempted to negotiate the once-familiar route between Yoonderup and Lake Kingsford (Figure 2). Perth’s growth “restricted Balbuk’s wanderings; towns, trains, and farms came through her ‘line of march’; old landmarks were thus swept away, and year after year saw her less confident of the locality of one-time familiar spots” (Bates, “Fanny”). Conserving Wetlands: From Re-Claiming to Re-Valuing? Imagination, for philosopher Roger Scruton, involves “thinking of, and attending to, a present object (by thinking of it, or perceiving it, in terms of something absent)” (155). According to Scruton, the feelings aroused through imagination can prompt creative, transformative experiences. While environmental conservation tends to rely on data-driven empirical approaches, it appeals to imagination less commonly. We have found, however, that attending to the present object (the city) in terms of something absent (its wetlands) through evocative visual material can complement traditional conservation agendas focused on habitats and species. The actual extent of wetlands loss in the Swan Coastal Plain—the flat and sandy region extending from Jurien Bay south to Cape Naturaliste, including Perth—is contested. However, estimates suggest that 80 per cent of wetlands have been lost, with remaining habitats threatened by climate change, suburban development, agriculture, and industry (Department of Environment and Conservation). As with the swamps and lakes of the inner city, many regional wetlands were cleared, drained, or filled before they could be properly documented. Additionally, the seasonal fluctuations of swampy places have never been easily translatable to two-dimensional records. As Giblett notes, the creation of cartographic representations and the assignment of English names were attempts to fix the dynamic boundaries of wetlands, at least in the minds of settlers and administrators (Postmodern 72–73). Moreover, European colonists found the Western Australian landscape, including its wetlands, generally discomfiting. In a letter from 1833, metaphors failed George Fletcher Moore, the effusive colonial commentator, “I cannot compare these swamps to any marshes with which you are familiar” (220). The intermediate nature of wetlands—as neither land nor lake—is perhaps one reason for their cultural marginalisation (Giblett, Postmodern 39). The conviction that unsanitary, miasmic wetlands should be converted to more useful purposes largely prevailed (Giblett, Black 105–22). Felicity Morel-EdnieBrown’s research into land ownership records in colonial Perth demonstrated that town lots on swampland were often preferred. By layering records using geographic information systems (GIS), she revealed modifications to town plans to accommodate swampland frontages. The decline of wetlands in the region appears to have been driven initially by their exploitation for water and later for fertile soil. Northern market gardens supplied the needs of the early city. It is likely that the depletion of Nyoongar bush foods predated the flourishing of these gardens (Carter and Nutter). Engaging with the history of Perth’s swamps raises questions about the appreciation of wetlands today. In an era where numerous conservation strategies and alternatives have been developed (for example, Bobbink et al. 93–220), the exploitation of wetlands in service to population growth persists. On Perth’s north side, wetlands have long been subdued by controlling their water levels and landscaping their boundaries, as the suburban examples of Lake Monger and Hyde Park (formerly Third Swamp Reserve) reveal. Largely unmodified wetlands, such as Forrestdale Lake, exist south of Perth, but they too are in danger (Giblett, Black Swan). The Beeliar Wetlands near the suburb of Bibra Lake comprise an interconnected series of lakes and swamps that are vulnerable to a highway extension project first proposed in the 1950s. Just as the Perth Town Trust debated Lake Kingsford’s draining, local councils and the public are fiercely contesting the construction of the Roe Highway, which will bisect Beeliar Wetlands, destroying Roe Swamp (Chinna). The conservation value of wetlands still struggles to compete with traffic planning underpinned by a modernist ideology that associates cars and freeways with progress (Gregory). Outside of archives, the debate about Lake Kingsford is almost entirely forgotten and its physical presence has been erased. Despite the magnitude of loss, re-imagining the city’s swamplands, in the way that we have, calls attention to past indiscretions while invigorating future possibilities. We hope that the re-imagining of Perth’s wetlands stimulates public respect for ancestral tracks and songlines like Balbuk’s. Despite the accretions of settler history and colonial discourse, songlines endure as a fundamental cultural heritage. Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup states, “as people, if we can get out there on our songlines, even though there may be farms or roads overlaying them, fences, whatever it is that might impede us from travelling directly upon them, if we can get close proximity, we can still keep our culture alive. That is why it is so important for us to have our songlines.” Just as Fanny Balbuk plied her songlines between Yoonderup and Lake Kingsford, the traditional custodians of Beeliar and other wetlands around Perth walk the landscape as an act of resistance and solidarity, keeping the stories of place alive. Acknowledgments The authors wish to acknowledge Rod Giblett (ECU), Nandi Chinna (ECU), Susanna Iuliano (ECU), Jeff Murray (Kareff Consulting), Dimitri Fotev (City of Perth), and Brendan McAtee (Landgate) for their contributions to this project. The authors also acknowledge the traditional custodians of the lands upon which this paper was researched and written. 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