Journal articles on the topic 'Capricorn (Queensland)'

Periclimenaeus nielbrucei sp. nov., a coral reef sponge associate, is described from specimens from the Capricorn Islands, Great Barrier Reef, Queensland, Australia. The rostral dentition is unique in Periclimenaeus, with the dorsal carinal teeth diverging irregularly from the midline. The Australian Periclimenaeus fauna is now increased to 24 species.

The golden trapdoor spider genus Euoplos Rainbow, 1914 is endemic to Australia, and currently contains 23 species. In eastern Australia, the genus is known to occur from southern Victoria to the Cape York Peninsula of northern Queensland, however, all described species in the genus are from the southern part of this distribution– all species north of the Tropic of Capricorn are currently undescribed. Here, wetake the first step in rectifying this by describing Euoplos eungellaensis, sp. nov. from the rainforest of the Clarke Range in central-eastern Queensland. We provide diagnostic characters for both males and females, as well as information on burrow morphology.

If the state of Queensland can be said to have true "uplands", then they are to be found in the southern and central region of the state in that place Archibald Meston (1895) called the "Home of the Rivers". There, some 400km inland from Australia's eastern coast and some 600km south of the Tropic of Capricorn, the uplifted and heavily weathered Triassic sandstones form a conspicuous link in the north-south trending mountains collectively referred to as "The Great Dividing Range". These ancient sandstones seldom rise above 650m elevation, and never more than the prominence of Black Alley Peak (Mt. Ackland) at 1000m. Rather, the range here achieves its mass and character by being broad and ruggedly dissected. Plateaus and mesas with sharp precipitous cliffs commingle with alluvial flats, seasonal creeks and the headwaters of several important rivers such as the Dawson, Warrego, Maranoa and Barcoo.

Pollen of Diporites aspis, corresponding to the extant genus Fuchsia, is reported from Late Oligocene to Early Miocene strata in two new localities in Australia. They extend the range of Diporites pollen in Australia from the Otway Basin in Victoria to the Capricorn Basin offshore Queensland, and they bring to six the number of Diporites specimens in Australia, from five different sites. These reports establish the presence of Fuchsia in Australasia from at least the Early Oligocene, when mesic forests were widespread across Australia. Fuchsia reached New Zealand by the Late Oligocene and has survived there until the present, but is not known to have survived in Australia past the late Miocene. These results support the hypothesis of an early Tertiary origin of the genus in southern temperate forests.

The critically endangered Capricorn yellow chat (CYC) is endemic to coastal central Queensland on marine plains where it occurs in three areas, numbering <300 birds. Recent industrial expansion in the region has increased the threat to the CYC. To assist management of the subspecies, a phylogeographical evaluation of the CYC using mitochondrial DNA was undertaken. We found no genetic diversity within, nor genetic divergence between, the two areas at the northern and southern extremes of their current distribution, and only slight morphological differences. These findings suggest that the two groups of CYC represent daughter populations of an ancestral population that was affected by a genetic bottleneck in the recent past. Implications for conservation of the subspecies could be increased vulnerability to environmental change. A preliminary evaluation of the divergence between the CYC and its nearest subspecies, the widespread inland yellow chat, indicate a time to the most recent common ancestor of 215 000 years or less. This timespan overlaps two periods of glacial aridity during which xeric habitats used by yellow chats for breeding, such as semiarid and arid swamps, may have expanded, allowing colonisation of the coastal marine plains. CYCs may represent a relictual population from a previously more xeric era that has subsequently become isolated as the region became wetter following glacial maxima.

Background Leptospirosis is a zoonotic disease with a worldwide distribution, caused by pathogenic serovars in the genus Leptospira. Feral pigs are known carriers of Leptospira species and pig hunting using dogs is a common recreational activity in Queensland, Australia. Methodology and principal findings This study aimed to determine the seroprevalence of Leptospira spp. serovars in pig-hunting dogs above the Tropic of Capricorn in Queensland and by establishing the geographic distribution, serovars and incidence of human cases of leptospirosis in Queensland, identify potential overlap between human and canine exposure. We also explored the knowledge and risk-taking behaviours of pig-hunting dog owners towards zoonotic diseases. Ninety-eight pig-hunting dogs deemed healthy by physical examination and owned by 41 people from Queensland had serum submitted for Microscopic Agglutination Testing (MAT) to determine antibody titres against Leptospira serovars, while 40/41 dog owners completed a survey on their knowledge of diseases relating to pig hunting. Human leptospirosis cases (n = 330) notified to Queensland Health between 2015–2018 were analysed. Approximately one quarter (23/87; 26%) of unvaccinated pig-hunting dogs were seropositive to Leptospira spp. Although harder to interpret, 8/11 (73%) vaccinated dogs were seropositive to Leptospira spp. Pig hunters may be more likely to contract leptospirosis compared with the general Queensland population, based on responses from surveyed hunters. The highest concentration of human leptospirosis was in the wet tropics region of Far North Queensland. There was little overlap between the serovars dogs were exposed to and those infecting humans. The dominant serovar identified in unvaccinated dogs was Australis (13/23; 57%), with serovar Arborea (36/330; 10.9%) responsible for the highest number of human leptospirosis cases. Topaz was the second most common serovar in both humans and dogs and was previously unrecorded in Australian dogs. Most hunters surveyed used hand washing as a zoonotic disease risk reduction technique. Conclusions Leptospirosis is an emerging disease of growing significance. The infection requires a ‘one health’ approach to understand its epidemiology. With shifting climatic patterns influencing human-animal-environment interactions, ongoing monitoring of diseases like leptospirosis is critical to helping prevent infection of individuals and disease outbreaks.

Parkinsonia aculeata is an invasive, introduced shrub that is found in all mainland states of Australia except Victoria. It is especially prevalent north of the tropic of Capricorn. Size-biomass relationships were established for this species using data from 167 shrubs spread across eight sites in the Northern Territory and north-eastern Queensland. Above-ground dry weight (W, kg) can be predicted from plant height (H, m), canopy diameter (D, m) or stem cross-sectional area (A, cm2) using the equations: W = 0.025 H4.47 W = 0.091 D3.64 W = 0.022 A1.61 These relationships are linear when plotted on log-log scales. Although there was a significant effect of "site" on the log-log relationships between above-ground dry weight and size variables, the amount of information lost by not using site-specific equations is relatively small. These results provide reliable methods for estimating above-ground biomass in this species, the most robust being based on measurements of stem diameter at 20 cm above ground level.

A new niphatid demosponge, Amphimedon queenslandica sp.nov., is described from Heron and One Tree Islands, southern Great Barrier Reef, Queensland, Australia. The new species is of particular significance as it is currently the subject of the first sponge genome project. The species is characterized within the globally distributed genus Amphimedon by its distinctive blue-green colour, and the combination of encrusting-lobate growth form, spongin-rich spiculofibres and feeble spicule size, The new species is compared and contrasted with known or suspected Amphimedon species of Australia and adjacent territories of Papua New Guinea, New Caledonia and Indonesia.

The area of seagrasses in waters adjacent to the Queensland coast between Cape York and Hervey Bay is approximately 4000 km2. Seagrasses were found near estuaries, in coastal bays and associated with islands, at sites that provided shelter from the south-easterly trade winds and Pacific Ocean swells. Of the seagrass meadows mapped, 37% had a bottom vegetation cover greater than 50%. Two large continuous areas (total of approximately 2500 km2) of seagrass of predominantly Halophila species were found in deep water in Hervey Bay and between Barrow Point and Lookout Point and may be part of a much larger area of deep-water seagrass habitat not yet surveyed in the Great Barrier Reef province. Fourteen seagrass species were found in the surveyed region, and most were typical of the northern Australian and Indo-West Pacific region. The opportunistic Halophila and Halodule species were most common, with Halophila ovalis (R. Br.) Hook. f. and Halodule uninervis (Forsk.) Aschers. each being found in more than 15% of samples. High species richness occurred at depths of less than 6 m, predominantly in sheltered bays at coastal and island locations. Low species richness at estuary- associated sites may be due to stresses caused by low salinity during monsoonal runoff periods or exposure at low tides. Zostera capricorni Aschers. was restricted to these areas and may have a competitive advantage over other species with lesser tolerance to varying salinity. Species richness decreased with an increase in both latitude and depth. The latitudinal limits of recorded distributions for some of these tropical seagrasses were confirmed. Seagrass biomass decreased with increasing depth, but parameters of seagrass abundance showed no correlation with latitude, being dependent on a complex of site-related factors. High seagrass biomass occurred at sheltered sites, including estuary-associated, coastal-bay and island-associated sites. The maximum recorded above-ground biomass was 102.9 g m-2 for Zostera capricorni at Upstart Bay. Shoot densities reached 13 806 shoots m-2 for Halophila ovalis at Escape River, and the highest leaf area index was 1.81 for Zostera capricorni at Upstart Bay.

Population models proposed as a result of independent tagging programs of nesting Caretta caretta in Queensland are in disagreement about the size of discrete breeding units. An electrophoretic survey was conducted to assess the relevance of genetic variation as revealed by electrophoresis to the investigation of Caretta caretta population breeding structure. Low level electrophoretic variability (H*L(obs) = 0.016) was found. The geographical distribution of alleles, when compared with tag-recapture data and other aspects of life history, indicated that discrete breeding populations of C. caretta in Queensland are larger than previously thought. C. caretta nesting on the mainland beaches and on the cays of the Capricornia Section of the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park form a panmictic population. The data indicate that those nesting on the Swain Reefs cays do not interbreed with the mainland-Capricornia breeding population.

Cercariae capricornia I–VI, six new cercariae putatively identified as belonging to the Acanthocolpidae, are described and named from prosobranch gastropods of the family Nassariidae collected from the intertidal zone in the Capricornia region, Central Queensland, Australia. Four species are reported from Nassarius olivaceus and two from N. dorsatus. The cercariae have a unique and complex three-dimensional body shape, including a keel, which differentiates them from previously described acanthocolpid cercariae. These are the first cercariae to be described from these gastropods.

Correlations between water quality parameters and seagrass depth penetration were developed for use as a biological indicator of integrated light availability and long-term trends in water quality. A year-long water quality monitoring programme in Moreton Bay was coupled with a series of seagrass depth transects. A strong gradient between the western (landward) and eastern (seaward) portions of Moreton Bay was observed in both water quality and seagrass depth range. Higher concentrations of chlorophyll a, total suspended solids, dissolved and total nutrients, and light attenuation coefficients in the water column and correspondingly shallower depth limits of the seagrass Zostera capricorni were observed in the western portions of the bay. Relatively high correlation coefficient values (r2 > 0.8) were observed between light attenuation coefficient, total suspended solids, chlorophyll a, total Kjeldahl nitrogen and Zostera capricorni depth range. Low correlation coefficient values (r2 < 0.8) between seagrass depth range and dissolved inorganic nutrients were observed. Seagrasses had disappeared over a five-year period near the mouth of the Logan River, a turbid river with increased land use in its watershed. At a site 9 km from the river mouth, a significant decrease in seagrass depth range corresponded to higher light attenuation, chlorophyll a, total suspended solids and total nitrogen content relative to a site 21 km from the river mouth. Seagrass depth penetration thus appears to be a sensitive bio-indicator of some water quality parameters, with application for water quality management.

In some parts of their range, green turtles maintain grazing plots in seagrass beds by regular regrazing. The effects of simulated repeated grazing on subtropical seagrasses in Moreton Bay, Australia were investigated in a manipulative experiment over summer. Three seagrass species were subjected to two different clipping frequencies (simulating turtle cropping) and compared with unclipped controls over a 3.5-month summer period for the effects on seagrass biomass, leaf size and regrowth rates and water-soluble carbohydrate (WSC) and starch content. The order of the seagrass species’ relative tolerance to simulated grazing was Halophila ovalis > Zostera capricorni > Cymodocea serrulata. Frequent regrazing of the green turtle’s preferred seagrass, H. ovalis, resulted in an increase in leaf regrowth rate so that standing biomass of leaves and total plant material was maintained, suggesting an increase in productivity. Furthermore, whole-plant concentrations of WSC increased significantly in clipped H. ovalis plants relative to unclipped controls. In contrast, leaf biomass of the seagrass species less preferred by turtles, Z. capricorni and C. serrulata, decreased in response to repeated leaf removal relative to controls, despite maintenance of leaf regrowth rates. C. serrulata responded to repeated clipping with a reduction in leaf size and a decrease in rhizome WSC concentration. Z. capricorni also produced fewer and smaller new leaves. The ability of the preferred species, H. ovalis, to increase production of nutrient-rich standing crop in response to regrazing has major implications for green turtles and other seagrass grazers.

The natural diet of juveniles of Penaeus esculentus Haswell (mean size 13.0 � 3.3 mm CL) collected from a seagrass (Zostera capricorni Aschers.) bed in Moreton Bay over 18 months was studied. There was a marked seasonal change in the occurrence of Z. capricorni seeds in their diet. These seeds made up to 1370 of the ash-free dry weight of the prawns' diet in November but disappeared completely from the diet between June and September. When seeds were not available, juvenile P. esculentus ate filamentous algae. Prawns less than 8 mm CL were not found with seeds in their foregut. There was no indication that prawns feed on seeds because of a shortage of other food items such as crustaceans or gastropods. Prawns studied in the laboratory removed seeds from the spathes and selected mature seeds. The seeds (each about 0.75 mg dry weight) had an energy content of 15.36 kJ g-1 dry weight. Seeds were found at densities of 456 m-2 in the seagrass beds. This study and other studies indicate that many species of juvenile penaeids incorporate vegetable material into their diet.

In the Elasmopus group of maerid amphipods, seven species of Elasmopus, six species of Mallacoota and two species of Parelasmopus are reported from the Great Barrier Reef, Queensland, Australia. Five of the 15 species, Elasmopus slatyeri, Elasmopus varanocephalensis, Mallacoota capricornia, Mallacoota scopulosa and Parelasmopus cymatilis are new to science. The Maeridae is diagnosed against all amphipod families and additional genera are assigned to the family.

Two new Stephanostomum-like cercariae, Cercaria capricornia VII and Cercaria capricornia VIII (Digenea: Acanthocolpidae), are described from the nassariid gastropods Nassarius dorsatus and Nassarius olivaceus collected from the intertidal zone in the Capricornia region of Central Queensland, Australia. Morphological analysis of these new cercariae was augmented with DNA sequence data from the large subunit (LSU) ribosomal DNA region to aid in identification. Bayesian inference analysis of the LSU rDNA revealed that these putative acanthocolpid cercariae nested well within a clade containing species of Stephanostomum, which along with morphological data, suggests they are species of Stephanostomum. Comparative analysis of LSU rDNA sequences also indicates that these two cercariae are not S. adlardi, S. bicoronatum, S. tantabiddii or S. cf. uku, all species known from Australian fishes. The secondary structure of the internal transcribed spacer 2 (ITS2) rDNA region was inferred for these two cercariae using minimum free energy modelling algorithms. Both cercarial types displayed a four helix ITS2 secondary structure model and differed from each other by two compensatory base changes (CBCs) and nine hemi-CBCs.

From aerial photography (July 1987) and diving surveys (February 1988), 876 ha of seagrasses (eight species) were mapped in Cairns Harbour, tropical north-eastern Queensland. Zostera capricorni was the most common seagrass species and had the greatest biomass at 79 g m-2 dry weight of stems and leaves and 180 g m-2 dry weight of roots and rhizomes. The maximum shoot density found was 4798 shoots m-2 of Halodule pinifolia, the second most common species. Seagrasses were found only between 0.5 and 5.0 m below mean sea level. Zostera capricorni was found at the shallowest depths, Halodule pinifolia at the deepest depths. Twenty species of penaeid prawns, nine of which are marketed commercially, were sampled from the seagrass beds. Abundances of prawns of commercial species were significantly greater on seagrass-covered substrata than on nonvegetated substrata. Overall, 5614 mostly small or juvenile fish, representing 134 taxa, were sampled from seagrasses in Cairns Harbour. The most numerous fish species were a goby, Yongeichthys criniger, and a pony fish, Leiognathus splendens. Only 15 species were highly valued as recreational fish, and only 11 species were highly valued as commercial fish. Of the fish species, five (4%) were highly valued species of both groups. The density of fish on the seagrass beds was estimated to be 8809 fish ha-1.

The impact of grazing by two megaherbivores, the Dugong Dugong dugon and the Green Turtle Chelonia mydas on the community structure of intertidal seagrasses was investigated experimentally over two time frames (shorterterm: 1?4 months; longer-term: 10 and 13 months), at three levels of grazing intensity (leaf cropping, light grazing, intensive grazing), at two seagrass meadows in tropical Queensland, Australia: (1) a mixed species bed of Zostera capricorni, Halophila ovalis, Halodule uninervis, Cymodocea rotundata and Cymodocea serrulata, and (2) a monospecific bed of Halodule uninervis, From the perspective of the megaherbivores, grazing improved the structure and dynamics of the tropical seagrass communities by altering their biomass, volume of detritus, net aboveground biomass productivity and the species composition of the mixed-species bed, Recovery from grazing disturbance occurred after several months to a year.

Concern over the loss of seagrass habitat has prompted examination of the value of the production of commercial prawns from such habitat. Cairns Harbour in tropical northern Queensland has 876 ha of mixed seagrasses, dominated by Zostera capricorni and Halodule pinifolia, that support a multispecies commercial penaeid prawn fishery offshore. Densities of juvenile commercial prawns estimated from seagrass surveys were used to project estimates of annual yield and landed value, using a deterministic simulation model employing lunar-period time steps. Estimates of the potential total annual yield from Cairns Harbour seagrasses for the three major commercial prawn species (Penaeus esculentus, P. semisulcatus and Metapenaeus endeavouri) were 178 t (range 81-316 t) year-1 with a landed value of $A1.2 million (range $0.6 million to $2.2 million) year-1.

Faced with significant health and workforce challenges, the Central Queensland Hospital and Health Service commenced an innovative student-assisted clinical model of care ‐ The Capricornia Allied Health Partnership (CAHP) in 2010. The clinic supports pre-entry allied health student clinical placements to: (1) address service delivery gaps for previously underserved people with chronic disease; (2) facilitate hospital avoidance and early discharge from the local hospital; (3) provide an attractive clinical placement opportunity for allied health students that will potentially lead to future recruitment success, and (4) demonstrate leadership in developing interprofessional skills of future health workforce trainees. This case study details the conceptual background of the initial model, the key features of the clinical placement and service delivery model, and discusses the current and future evaluation of the clinic.

To elucidate the trophic status of hemiramphids, the diets of three species from subtropical south-east Queensland were investigated. All undergo a marked ontogenetic trophic shift from an animal to plant diet, which occurred between 50 and 70 mm standard length (Ls) for Arrhamphus sclerolepis krefftii (freshwater) and between 80 and 110 mm Ls for both Hyporhamphus regularis ardelio and H. quoyi (both marine). After the ontogenetic shift, the diet of A. sclerolepis krefftii is dominated by filamentous algae, whereas the diet of the two marine species is dominated by Zostera capricorni. The two marine species feed mainly during the day, with gut fullness dropping markedly after dusk. Neither showed evidence of a diel trophic shift between herbivory and carnivory that has been reported for other hemiramphids. The lack of diel trophic switching in these subtropical hemiramphids may suggest that latitudinal effects on daylength and/or water temperature may influence the extent to which hemiramphids switch periodically to animal prey from an otherwise essentially herbivorous diet in order to balance their nutrient requirements.

Spatial and temporal variability of Z. capricorni biomass, shoot characteristics (canopy height, surface area, flowering), distribution and detrital content were examined from December 1988 to December 1990. Between August 1987 and August 1991, 15% (2.0 ha) of the meadow was lost. Biomass of above- and below-ground structures showed a unimodal seasonal pattern with maxima in late spring (mean 194.92 g dry weight m-2 and 426.67 g DW m-2 respectively) and minima in winter (mean 28.72 g DW m-2 and 56.98 g DW m-2 respectively). Mean above-ground biomass (95.53 � 2.21 g DW m-2) was approximately half the mean below-ground biomass (177.28 � 4.49 g DW m-2). Leaf canopy heights were greatest between October and February (maximum 53.4 cm) and lowest around mid year (minimum 4.4 cm). Leaf surface area per square metre of seagrass meadow ranged from 10.28 to 1.39 m2 (mean 3,692 � 0.104 m2), and flowering occurred during September and October. Detrital biomass ranged from 339.73g DW m-2 to 11.83 g DW m-2 (mean 77.39 � 2.36 g DW m-2). Detrital biomass was higher during July-October and lower during February-May. The climate during the study was typical for the area, and all trials displayed similar seasonal patterns, although the amplitudes differed among some trials. The environmental parameters that may influence seagrass and detrital biomass were investigated. The best models explained only 14% of the variation in above-ground biomass, 15% of the variation in below-ground biomass, and 21% of the variation in detrital biomass. These models suggest that fluctuations in seagrass and detrital biomass in Cairns Harbour were influenced by changes in light availability, temperature, salinity and exposure.

We describe the photosynthetic characteristics of three seagrasses and the relationship between their production and natural light intensities (photosynthesis-irradiance response, i.e. PI curves). Seagrass production (gross production minus shoot respiration) was measured in the field by the rate of gas release from the lacuna1 space of whole seagrass shoots and compared with net leaf production. Field work was carried out on the seagrasses Cymodocea serrulata (R. Br.) Aschers, and Magnus, Thalassia hemprichii (Ehrenb.) Aschers., and Zostera capricornia Aschers. in the turbid, warm waters of Cairns Harbour, Queensland, Australia. The photosynthetic efficiencies (the initial slope of the PI curves) of all of the seagrass species were 10 times greater than any previously measured for the same species in higher-light environments. The high compensating light intensities (80-92 �E m-2 s-1) showed that the plants have high respiration rates that were probably due to the high water temperatures (29-33�C) of the harbour. The seagrasses responded to small increases of light at low light intensities by rapidly reaching saturating light intensities, and the maximum rates of production were between 0.4 and 0.6 mg C h-1 shoot-1. The average period of exposure to saturating light intensity was 2 h day-1. One-quarter of the gross production was lost to plant respiration. The net productivity and respiration of all three seagrasses was calculated from this photoperiod. Net leaf production in situ compared well with the seagrass production estimates that were measured with the lacunal-gas technique. Most of the production appeared to be allocated to the above-ground tissue, a feature consistent with seagrasses growing in low-light and terrigenous sediments.

The Leichhardt Highway is a six hundred-kilometre stretch of sealed inland road that joins the Australian Queensland border town of Goondiwindi with the Capricorn Highway, just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Named after the young Prussian naturalist Ludwig Leichhardt, part of this roadway follows the route his party took as they crossed northern Australia from Morton Bay (Brisbane) to Port Essington (near Darwin). Ignoring the usual colonial practice of honouring the powerful and aristocratic, Leichhardt named the noteworthy features along this route after his supporters and fellow expeditioners. Many of these names are still in use and a series of public monuments have also been erected in the intervening century and a half to commemorate this journey. Unlike Leichhardt, who survived his epic trip, some contemporary travellers who navigate the remote roadway named in his honour do not arrive at their final destinations. Memorials to these violently interrupted lives line the highway, many enigmatically located in places where there is no obvious explanation for the lethal violence that occurred there. This examination profiles the memorials along Leichhardt’s highway as Gothic practice, in order to illuminate some of the uncanny paradoxes around public memorials, as well as the loaded emotional terrain such commemorative practices may inhabit. All humans know that death awaits them (Morell). Yet, despite this, and the unprecedented torrent of images of death and dying saturating news, television, and social media (Duwe; Sumiala; Bisceglio), Gorer’s mid-century ideas about the denial of death and Becker’s 1973 Pulitzer prize-winning description of the purpose of human civilization as a defence against this knowledge remains current in the contemporary trope that individuals (at least in the West) deny their mortality. Contributing to this enigmatic situation is how many deny the realities of aging and bodily decay—the promise of the “life extension” industries (Hall)—and are shielded from death by hospitals, palliative care providers, and the multimillion dollar funeral industry (Kiernan). Drawing on Piatti-Farnell’s concept of popular culture artefacts as “haunted/haunting” texts, the below describes how memorials to the dead can powerfully reconnect those who experience them with death’s reality, by providing an “encrypted passageway through which the dead re-join the living in a responsive cycle of exchange and experience” (Piatti-Farnell). While certainly very different to the “sublime” iconic Gothic structure, the Gothic ruin that Summers argued could be seen as “a sacred relic, a memorial, a symbol of infinite sadness, of tenderest sensibility and regret” (407), these memorials do function in both this way as melancholy/regret-inducing relics as well as in Piatti-Farnell’s sense of bringing the dead into everyday consciousness. Such memorialising activity also evokes one of Spooner’s features of the Gothic, by acknowledging “the legacies of the past and its burdens on the present” (8).Ludwig Leichhardt and His HighwayWhen Leichhardt returned to Sydney in 1846 from his 18-month journey across northern Australia, he was greeted with surprise and then acclaim. Having mounted his expedition without any backing from influential figures in the colony, his party was presumed lost only weeks after its departure. Yet, once Leichhardt and almost all his expedition returned, he was hailed “Prince of Explorers” (Erdos). When awarding him a significant purse raised by public subscription, then Speaker of the Legislative Council voiced what he believed would be the explorer’s lasting memorial —the public memory of his achievement: “the undying glory of having your name enrolled amongst those of the great men whose genius and enterprise have impelled them to seek for fame in the prosecution of geographical science” (ctd. Leichhardt 539). Despite this acclaim, Leichhardt was a controversial figure in his day; his future prestige not enhanced by his Prussian/Germanic background or his disappearance two years later attempting to cross the continent. What troubled the colonial political class, however, was his transgressive act of naming features along his route after commoners rather than the colony’s aristocrats. Today, the Leichhardt Highway closely follows Leichhardt’s 1844-45 route for some 130 kilometres from Miles, north through Wandoan to Taroom. In the first weeks of his journey, Leichhardt named 16 features in this area: 6 of the more major of these after the men in his party—including the Aboriginal man ‘Charley’ and boy John Murphy—4 more after the tradesmen and other non-aristocratic sponsors of his venture, and the remainder either in memory of the journey’s quotidian events or natural features there found. What we now accept as traditional memorialising practice could in this case be termed as Gothic, in that it upset the rational, normal order of its day, and by honouring humble shopkeepers, blacksmiths and Indigenous individuals, revealed the “disturbance and ambivalence” (Botting 4) that underlay colonial class relations (Macintyre). On 1 December 1844, Leichhardt also memorialised his own past, referencing the Gothic in naming a watercourse The Creek of the Ruined Castles due to the “high sandstone rocks, fissured and broken like pillars and walls and the high gates of the ruined castles of Germany” (57). Leichhardt also disturbed and disfigured the nature he so admired, famously carving his initials deep into trees along his route—a number of which still exist, including the so-called Leichhardt Tree, a large coolibah in Taroom’s main street. Leichhardt also wrote his own memorial, keeping detailed records of his experiences—both good and more regretful—in the form of field books, notebooks and letters, with his major volume about this expedition published in London in 1847. Leichhardt’s journey has since been memorialised in various ways along the route. The Leichhardt Tree has been further defaced with numerous plaques nailed into its ancient bark, and the town’s federal government-funded Bicentennial project raised a formal memorial—a large sandstone slab laid with three bronze plaques—in the newly-named Ludwig Leichhardt Park. Leichhardt’s name also adorns many sites both along, and outside, the routes of his expeditions. While these fittingly include natural features such as the Leichhardt River in north-west Queensland (named in 1856 by Augustus Gregory who crossed it by searching for traces of the explorer’s ill-fated 1848 expedition), there are also many businesses across Queensland and the Northern Territory less appropriately carrying his name. More somber monuments to Leichhardt’s legacy also resulted from this journey. The first of these was the white settlement that followed his declaration that the countryside he moved through was well endowed with fertile soils. With squatters and settlers moving in and land taken up before Leichhardt had even arrived back in Sydney, the local Yeeman people were displaced, mistreated and completely eradicated within a decade (Elder). Mid-twentieth century, Patrick White’s literary reincarnation, Voss of the eponymous novel, and paintings by Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker have enshrined in popular memory not only the difficult (and often described as Gothic) nature of the landscape through which Leichhardt travelled (Adams; Mollinson, and Bonham), but also the distinctive and contrary blend of intelligence, spiritual mysticism, recklessness, and stoicism Leichhardt brought to his task. Roadside Memorials Today, the Leichhardt Highway is also lined with a series of roadside shrines to those who have died much more recently. While, like centotaphs, tombstones, and cemeteries, these memorialise the dead, they differ in usually marking the exact location that death occurred. In 43 BC, Cicero articulated the idea of the dead living in memory, “The life of the dead consists in the recollection cherished of them by the living” (93), yet Nelson is one of very few contemporary writers to link roadside memorials to elements of Gothic sensibility. Such constructions can, however, be described as Gothic, in that they make the roadway unfamiliar by inscribing onto it the memory of corporeal trauma and, in the process, re-creating their locations as vivid sites of pain and suffering. These are also enigmatic sites. Traffic levels are generally low along the flat or gently undulating terrain and many of these memorials are located in locations where there is no obvious explanation for the violence that occurred there. They are loci of contradictions, in that they are both more private than other memorials, in being designed, and often made and erected, by family and friends of the deceased, and yet more public, visible to all who pass by (Campbell). Cemeteries are set apart from their surroundings; the roadside memorial is, in contrast, usually in open view along a thoroughfare. In further contrast to cemeteries, which contain many relatively standardised gravesites, individual roadside memorials encapsulate and express not only the vivid grief of family and friends but also—when they include vehicle wreckage or personal artefacts from the fatal incident—provide concrete evidence of the trauma that occurred. While the majority of individuals interned in cemeteries are long dead, roadside memorials mark relatively contemporary deaths, some so recent that there may still be tyre marks, debris and bloodstains marking the scene. In 2008, when I was regularly travelling this roadway, I documented, and researched, the six then extant memorial sites that marked the locations of ten fatalities from 1999 to 2006. (These were all still in place in mid-2014.) The fatal incidents are very diverse. While half involved trucks and/or road trains, at least three were single vehicle incidents, and the deceased ranged from 13 to 84 years of age. Excell argues that scholarship on roadside memorials should focus on “addressing the diversity of the material culture” (‘Contemporary Deathscapes’) and, in these terms, the Leichhardt Highway memorials vary from simple crosses to complex installations. All include crosses (mostly, but not exclusively, white), and almost all are inscribed with the name and birth/death dates of the deceased. Most include flowers or other plants (sometimes fresh but more often plastic), but sometimes also a range of relics from the crash and/or personal artefacts. These are, thus, unsettling sights, not least in the striking contrast they provide with the highway and surrounding road reserve. The specific location is a key component of their ability to re-sensitise viewers to the dangers of the route they are travelling. The first memorial travelling northwards, for instance, is situated at the very point at which the highway begins, some 18 kilometres from Goondiwindi. Two small white crosses decorated with plastic flowers are set poignantly close together. The inscriptions can also function as a means of mobilising connection with these dead strangers—a way of building Secomb’s “haunted community”, whereby community in the post-colonial age can only be built once past “murderous death” (131) is acknowledged. This memorial is inscribed with “Cec Hann 06 / A Good Bloke / A Good hoarseman [sic]” and “Pat Hann / A Good Woman” to tragically commemorate the deaths of an 84-year-old man and his 79-year-old wife from South Australia who died in the early afternoon of 5 June 2006 when their Ford Falcon, towing a caravan, pulled onto the highway and was hit by a prime mover pulling two trailers (Queensland Police, ‘Double Fatality’; Jones, and McColl). Further north along the highway are two memorials marking the most inexplicable of road deaths: the single vehicle fatality (Connolly, Cullen, and McTigue). Darren Ammenhauser, aged 29, is remembered with a single white cross with flowers and plaque attached to a post, inscribed hopefully, “Darren Ammenhauser 1971-2000 At Rest.” Further again, at Billa Billa Creek, a beautifully crafted metal cross attached to a fence is inscribed with the text, “Kenneth J. Forrester / RIP Jack / 21.10.25 – 27.4.05” marking the death of the 79-year-old driver whose vehicle veered off the highway to collide with a culvert on the creek. It was reported that the vehicle rolled over several times before coming to rest on its wheels and that Forrester was dead when the police arrived (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Traffic Incident’). More complex memorials recollect both single and multiple deaths. One, set on both sides of the road, maps the physical trajectory of the fatal smash. This memorial comprises white crosses on both sides of road, attached to a tree on one side, and a number of ancillary sites including damaged tyres with crosses placed inside them on both sides of the road. Simple inscriptions relay the inability of such words to express real grief: “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed” and “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed / Forever in our hearts.” The oldest and most complex memorial on the route, commemorating the death of four individuals on 18 June 1999, is also situated on both sides of the road, marking the collision of two vehicles travelling in opposite directions. One memorial to a 62-year-old man comprises a cross with flowers, personal and automotive relics, and a plaque set inside a wooden fence and simply inscribed “John Henry Keenan / 23-11-1936–18-06-1999”. The second memorial contains three white crosses set side-by-side, together with flowers and relics, and reveals that members of three generations of the same family died at this location: “Raymond Campbell ‘Butch’ / 26-3-67–18-6-99” (32 years of age), “Lorraine Margaret Campbell ‘Lloydie’ / 29-11-46–18-6-99” (53 years), and “Raymond Jon Campbell RJ / 28-1-86–18-6-99” (13 years). The final memorial on this stretch of highway is dedicated to Jason John Zupp of Toowoomba who died two weeks before Christmas 2005. This consists of a white cross, decorated with flowers and inscribed: “Jason John Zupp / Loved & missed by all”—a phrase echoed in his newspaper obituary. The police media statement noted that, “at 11.24pm a prime mover carrying four empty trailers [stacked two high] has rolled on the Leichhardt Highway 17km north of Taroom” (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Truck Accident’). The roadside memorial was placed alongside a ditch on a straight stretch of road where the body was found. The coroner’s report adds the following chilling information: “Mr Zupp was thrown out of the cabin and his body was found near the cabin. There is no evidence whatsoever that he had applied the brakes or in any way tried to prevent the crash … Jason was not wearing his seatbelt” (Cornack 5, 6). Cornack also remarked the truck was over length, the brakes had not been properly adjusted, and the trip that Zupp had undertaken could not been lawfully completed according to fatigue management regulations then in place (8). Although poignant and highly visible due to these memorials, these deaths form a small part of Australia’s road toll, and underscore our ambivalent relationship with the automobile, where road death is accepted as a necessary side-effect of the freedom of movement the technology offers (Ladd). These memorials thus animate highways as Gothic landscapes due to the “multifaceted” (Haider 56) nature of the fear, terror and horror their acknowledgement can bring. Since 1981, there have been, for instance, between some 1,600 and 3,300 road deaths each year in Australia and, while there is evidence of a long term downward trend, the number of deaths per annum has not changed markedly since 1991 (DITRDLG 1, 2), and has risen in some years since then. The U.S.A. marked its millionth road death in 1951 (Ladd) along the way to over 3,000,000 during the 20th century (Advocates). These deaths are far reaching, with U.K. research suggesting that each death there leaves an average of 6 people significantly affected, and that there are some 10 to 20 per cent of mourners who experience more complicated grief and longer term negative affects during this difficult time (‘Pathways Through Grief’). As the placing of roadside memorials has become a common occurrence the world over (Klaassens, Groote, and Vanclay; Grider; Cohen), these are now considered, in MacConville’s opinion, not only “an appropriate, but also an expected response to tragedy”. Hockey and Draper have explored the therapeutic value of the maintenance of “‘continuing bonds’ between the living and the dead” (3). This is, however, only one explanation for the reasons that individuals erect roadside memorials with research suggesting roadside memorials perform two main purposes in their linking of the past with the present—as not only sites of grieving and remembrance, but also of warning (Hartig, and Dunn; Everett; Excell, Roadside Memorials; MacConville). Clark adds that by “localis[ing] and personalis[ing] the road dead,” roadside memorials raise the profile of road trauma by connecting the emotionless statistics of road death directly to individual tragedy. They, thus, transform the highway into not only into a site of past horror, but one in which pain and terror could still happen, and happen at any moment. Despite their increasing commonality and their recognition as cultural artefacts, these memorials thus occupy “an uncomfortable place” both in terms of public policy and for some individuals (Lowe). While in some states of the U.S.A. and in Ireland the erection of such memorials is facilitated by local authorities as components of road safety campaigns, in the U.K. there appears to be “a growing official opposition to the erection of memorials” (MacConville). Criticism has focused on the dangers (of distraction and obstruction) these structures pose to passing traffic and pedestrians, while others protest their erection on aesthetic grounds and even claim memorials can lower property values (Everett). While many ascertain a sense of hope and purpose in the physical act of creating such shrines (see, for instance, Grider; Davies), they form an uncanny presence along the highway and can provide dangerous psychological territory for the viewer (Brien). Alongside the townships, tourist sites, motels, and petrol stations vying to attract customers, they stain the roadway with the unmistakable sign that a violent death has happened—bringing death, and the dead, to the fore as a component of these journeys, and destabilising prominent cultural narratives of technological progress and safety (Richter, Barach, Ben-Michael, and Berman).Conclusion This investigation has followed Goddu who proposes that a Gothic text “registers its culture’s contradictions” (3) and, in profiling these memorials as “intimately connected to the culture that produces them” (Goddu 3) has proposed memorials as Gothic artefacts that can both disturb and reveal. Roadside memorials are, indeed, so loaded with emotional content that their close contemplation can be traumatising (Brien), yet they are inescapable while navigating the roadway. Part of their power resides in their ability to re-animate those persons killed in these violent in the minds of those viewing these memorials. In this way, these individuals are reincarnated as ghostly presences along the highway, forming channels via which the traveller can not only make human contact with the dead, but also come to recognise and ponder their own sense of mortality. While roadside memorials are thus like civic war memorials in bringing untimely death to the forefront of public view, roadside memorials provide a much more raw expression of the chaotic, anarchic and traumatic moment that separates the world of the living from that of the dead. While traditional memorials—such as those dedicated by, and to, Leichhardt—moreover, pay homage to the vitality of the lives of those they commemorate, roadside memorials not only acknowledge the alarming circumstances of unexpected death but also stand testament to the power of the paradox of the incontrovertibility of sudden death versus our lack of ability to postpone it. In this way, further research into these and other examples of Gothic memorialising practice has much to offer various areas of cultural study in Australia.ReferencesAdams, Brian. Sidney Nolan: Such Is Life. Hawthorn, Vic.: Hutchinson, 1987. Advocates for Highway and Auto Safety. “Motor Vehicle Traffic Fatalities & Fatality Rate: 1899-2003.” 2004. Becker, Ernest. The Denial of Death. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1973. Bisceglio, Paul. “How Social Media Is Changing the Way We Approach Death.” The Atlantic 20 Aug. 2013. Botting, Fred. Gothic: The New Critical Idiom. 2nd edition. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. 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In 2013, the Capricornia Arts Mob (CAM), an Indigenous collective of artists situated in Rockhampton, central Queensland, Australia, successfully tendered for one of three public art projects that were grouped under the title Flood Markers (Roberts; Roberts and Mackay; Robinson and Mackay). Commissioned as part of the Queensland Government's Community Development and Engagement Initiative, Flood Markers aims to increase awareness of Rockhampton’s history, with particular focus on the Fitzroy River and the phenomena of flooding. Honouring Land Connections is CAM’s contribution to the project and consists of several “memory poles” that stand alongside the Fitzroy River in Toonooba Park. Rockhampton lies on Dharumbal Country with Toonooba being the Dharumbal name for the Fitzroy River and the inspiration for the work due to its cultural significance to the Aboriginal people of that region. The name Toonooba, as well as other images and icons including boomerangs, spears, nets, water lily, and frogs, amongst others, are carved, burnt, painted and embedded into the large ironbark poles. These stand with the river on one side and the colonial infrastructure of Rockhampton on the other (see fig. 1, 2 and 3).Figure 1 Figure 2Figure 3Within this article, we discuss Honouring Land Connections as having two main functions which contribute to its significance as Indigenous cultural expression and identity affirmation. Firstly, the memory poles (as well as the process of sourcing materials and producing the final product) are a manifestation of Country and a representation of its stories and lived memories. Honouring Land Connections provides a means for Aboriginal people to revel in Country and maintain connections to a vital component of their being as Indigenous. Secondly, by revealing Indigenous stories, experiences, and memories, Honouring Land Connections emphasises Indigenous voices and perspectives within a place dominated by Eurocentric outlooks and knowledges. Toonooba provides the backdrop on which the complexities of cultural and identity formation within settler-colonial spaces are highlighted whilst revelling in continuous Indigenous presence.Flood Markers as ArtArtists throughout the world have used flood markers as a means of visual expression through which to explore and reveal local histories, events, environments, and socio-cultural understandings of the relationships between persons, places, and the phenomena of flooding. Geertz describes art as a social text embedded within wider socio-cultural systems; providing insight into cultural, social, political, economic, gendered, religious, ethnic, environmental, and biographical contexts. Flood markers are not merely metric tools used for measuring the height of a river, but rather serve as culture artefacts or indexes (Gell Art and Agency; Gell "Technology of Enchantment") that are products and producers of socio-culture contexts and the memories and experiences embedded within them. Through different methods, mediums, and images, artists have created experiential and intellectual spaces where those who encounter their work are encouraged to engage their surroundings in thought provoking and often-new ways.In some cases, flood markers have brought attention to the “character and natural history” of a particular place, where artists such as Louise Lavarack have sought to provoke consciousness of the movement of water across flood plains (Lavarack). In other works, flood markers have served as memorials to individuals such as Gilbert White whose daughter honoured his life and research through installing a glass spire at Boulder Creek, Colorado in 2011 (White). Tragedies such as Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans in 2005 have also been commemorated through flood markers. Artist Christopher Saucedo carved 1,836 waves into a freestanding granite block; each wave representing a life lost (University of New Orleans). The weight of the granite symbolises the endurance and resilience of those who faced, and will continue to face, similar forces of nature. The Pillar of Courage erected in 2011 in Ipswich, Queensland, similarly contains the words “resilience, community, strength, heroes, caring and unity” with each word printed on six separate sections of the pillar, representing the six major floods that have hit the region (Chudleigh).Whilst these flood markers provide valuable insights into local histories, specific to each environmental and socio-cultural context, works such as the Pillar of Courage fail to address Indigenous relationships to Country. By framing flooding as a “natural disaster” to be overcome, rather than an expression of Country to be listened to and understood, Euro and human-centric perspectives are prioritised over Indigenous ways of knowing and being. Indigenous knowledges however encourages a reorientation of Eurocentric responses and relationships to Country, and in doing so challenge compartmentalised views of “nature” where flooding is separated from land and Country (Ingold Perception; Seton and Bradley; Singer). Honouring Land Connections symbolises the voice and eternal presence of Toonooba and counters presentations of flooding that depict it as historian Heather Goodall (36) once saw “as unusual events of disorder in which the river leaves its proper place with catastrophic results.”Country To understand flooding from Indigenous perspectives it is first necessary to discuss Country and apprehend what it means for Indigenous peoples. Country refers to the physical, cosmological, geographical, relational, and emotional setting upon which Indigenous identities and connections to place and kin are embedded. Far from a passive geographic location upon which interactions take place, Country is an active and responsive agent that shapes and contextualises social interactions between and amongst all living beings. Bob Morgan writes of how “Country is more than issues of land and geography; it is about spirituality and identity, knowing who we are and who we are connected to; and it helps us understand how all living things are connected.” Country is also an epistemological frame that is filled with knowledge that may be known and familiarised whilst being knowledge itself (Langton "Sacred"; Rose Dingo; Yunupingu).Central to understanding Country is the fact that it refers to a living being’s spiritual homeland which is the ontological place where relationships are formed and maintained (Yunupingu). As Country nurtures and provides the necessities for survival and prosperity, Indigenous people (but also non-Indigenous populations) have moral obligations to care for Country as kin (Rose Nourishing Terrains). Country is epistemic, relational, and ontological and refers to both physical locations as well as modes of “being” (Heidegger), meaning it is carried from place to place as an embodiment within a person’s consciousness. Sally Morgan (263) describes how “our country is alive, and no matter where we go, our country never leaves us.” Country therefore is fluid and mobile for it is ontologically inseparable to one’s personhood, reflected through phrases such as “I am country” (B. Morgan 204).Country is in continuous dialogue with its surroundings and provides the setting upon which human and non-human beings; topographical features such as mountains and rivers; ancestral beings and spirits such as the Rainbow Snake; and ecological phenomena such as winds, tides, and floods, interact and mutually inform each other’s existence (Rose Nourishing Terrains). For Aboriginal people, understanding Country requires “deep listening” (Atkinson; Ungunmerr), a responsive awareness that moves beyond monological and human-centric understandings of the world and calls for deeper understandings of the mutual and co-dependant relationships that exist within it. The awareness of such mutuality has been discussed through terms such as “kincentrism” (Salmón), “meshworks” (Ingold Lines), “webs of connection” (Hokari), “nesting” (Malpas), and “native science” (Cajete). Such concepts are ways of theorising “place” as relational, physical, and mental locations made up of numerous smaller interactions, each of which contribute to the identity and meaning of place. Whilst each individual agent or object retains its own autonomy, such autonomy is dependent on its wider relation to others, meaning that place is a location where “objectivity, subjectivity and inter-subjectivity converge” (Malpas 35) and where the very essence of place is revealed.Flooding as DialogueWhen positioned within Indigenous frameworks, flooding is both an agent and expression of Toonooba and Country. For the phenomenon to occur however, numerous elements come into play such as the fall of rain; the layout of the surrounding terrain; human interference through built weirs and dams; and the actions and intervention of ancestral beings and spirits. Furthermore, flooding has a direct impact on Country and all life within it. This is highlighted by Dharumbal Elder Uncle Billy Mann (Fitzroy Basin Association "Billy Mann") who speaks of the importance of flooding in bringing water to inland lagoons which provide food sources for Dharumbal people, especially at times when the water in Toonooba is low. Such lagoons remain important places for fishing, hunting, recreational activities, and cultural practices but are reliant on the flow of water caused by the flowing, and at times flooding river, which Uncle Mann describes as the “lifeblood” of Dharumbal people and Country (Fitzroy Basin Association "Billy Mann"). Through her research in the Murray-Darling region of New South Wales, Weir writes of how flooding sustains life though cycles that contribute to ecological balance, providing nourishment and food sources for all beings (see also Cullen and Cullen 98). Water’s movement across land provokes the movement of animals such as mice and lizards, providing food for snakes. Frogs emerge from dry clay plains, finding newly made waterholes. Small aquatic organisms flourish and provide food sources for birds. Golden and silver perch spawn, and receding waters promote germination and growth. Aboriginal artist Ron Hurley depicts a similar cycle in a screen-print titled Waterlily–Darambal Totem. In this work Hurley shows floodwaters washing away old water lily roots that have been cooked in ant bed ovens as part of Dharumbal ceremonies (UQ Anthropology Museum). The cooking of the water lily exposes new seeds, which rains carry to nearby creeks and lagoons. The seeds take root and provide food sources for the following year. Cooking water lily during Dharumbal ceremonies contributes to securing and maintaining a sustainable food source as well as being part of Dharumbal cultural practice. Culture, ecological management, and everyday activity are mutually connected, along with being revealed and revelled in. Aboriginal Elder and ranger Uncle Fred Conway explains how Country teaches Aboriginal people to live in balance with their surroundings (Fitzroy Basin Association "Fred Conway"). As Country is in constant communication, numerous signifiers can be observed on land and waterscapes, indicating the most productive and sustainable time to pursue certain actions, source particular foods, or move to particular locations. The best time for fishing in central Queensland for example is when Wattles are in bloom, indicating a time when fish are “fatter and sweeter” (Fitzroy Basin Association "Fred Conway"). In this case, the Wattle is 1) autonomous, having its own life cycle; 2) mutually dependant, coming into being because of seasonal weather patterns; and 3) an agent of Country that teaches those with awareness how to respond and benefit from its lessons.Dialogue with Country As Country is sentient and responsive, it is vital that a person remains contextually aware of their actions on and towards their surroundings. Indigenous peoples seek familiarity with Country but also ensure that they themselves are known and familiarised by it (Rose Dingo). In a practice likened to “baptism”, Langton ("Earth") describes how Aboriginal Elders in Cape York pour water over the head of newcomers as a way of introducing them to Country, and ensuring that Country knows those who walk upon it. These introductions are done out of respect for Country and are a way of protecting outsiders from the potentially harmful powers of ancestral beings. Toussaint et al. similarly note how during mortuary rites, parents of the deceased take water from rivers and spit it back into the land, symbolising the spirit’s return to Country.Dharumbal man Robin Hatfield demonstrates the importance of not interfering with the dialogue of Country through recalling being told as a child not to disturb Barraru or green frogs. Memmott (78) writes that frogs share a relationship with the rain and flooding caused by Munda-gadda, the Rainbow Snake. Uncle Dougie Hatfield explains the significance of Munda-gadda to his Country stating how “our Aboriginal culture tells us that all the waterways, lagoons, creeks, rivers etc. and many landforms were created by and still are protected by the Moonda-Ngutta, what white people call the Rainbow Snake” (Memmott 79).In the case of Robin Hatfield, to interfere with Barraru’s “business” is to threaten its dialogue with Munda-gadda and in turn the dialogue of Country in form of rain. In addition to disrupting the relational balance between the frog and Munda-gadda, such actions potentially have far-reaching social and cosmological consequences. The rain’s disruption affects the flood plains, which has direct consequences for local flora and transportation and germination of water lily seeds; fauna, affecting the spawning of fish and their movement into lagoons; and ancestral beings such as Munda-gadda who continue to reside within Toonooba.Honouring Land Connections provided artists with a means to enter their own dialogue with Country and explore, discuss, engage, negotiate, and affirm aspects of their indigeneity. The artists wanted the artwork to remain organic to demonstrate honour and respect for Dharumbal connections with Country (Roberts). This meant that materials were sourced from the surrounding Country and the poles placed in a wave-like pattern resembling Munda-gadda. Alongside the designs and symbols painted and carved into the poles, fish skins, birds, nests, and frogs are embalmed within cavities that are cut into the wood, acting as windows that allow viewers to witness components of Country that are often overlooked (see fig. 4). Country therefore is an equal participant within the artwork’s creation and continuing memories and stories. More than a representation of Country, Honouring Land Connections is a literal manifestation of it.Figure 4Opening Dialogue with Non-Indigenous AustraliaHonouring Land Connections is an artistic and cultural expression that revels in Indigenous understandings of place. The installation however remains positioned within a contested “hybrid” setting that is informed by both Indigenous and settler-colonial outlooks (Bhabha). The installation for example is separated from the other two artworks of Flood Markers that explore Rockhampton’s colonial and industrial history. Whilst these are positioned within a landscaped area, Honouring Land Connections is placed where the grass is dying, seating is lacking, and is situated next to a dilapidated coast guard building. It is a location that is as quickly left behind as it is encountered. Its separation from the other two works is further emphasised through its depiction in the project brief as a representation of Rockhampton’s pre-colonial history. Presenting it in such a way has the effect of bookending Aboriginal culture in relation to European settlement, suggesting that its themes belong to a time past rather than an immediate present. Almost as if it is a revelation in and of itself. Within settler-colonial settings, place is heavily politicised and often contested. In what can be seen as an ongoing form of colonialism, Eurocentric epistemologies and understandings of place continue to dominate public thought, rhetoric, and action in ways that legitimise White positionality whilst questioning and/or subjugating other ways of knowing, being, and doing (K. Martin; Moreton-Robinson; Wolfe). This turns places such as Toonooba into agonistic locations of contrasting and competing interests (Bradfield). For many Aboriginal peoples, the memories and emotions attached to a particular place can render it as either comfortable and culturally safe, or as unsafe, unsuitable, unwelcoming, and exclusionary (Fredericks). Honouring Land Connections is one way of publicly asserting and recognising Toonooba as a culturally safe, welcoming, and deeply meaningful place for Indigenous peoples. Whilst the themes explored in Honouring Land Connections are not overtly political, its presence on colonised/invaded land unsettles Eurocentric falsities and colonial amnesia (B. Martin) of an uncontested place and history in which Indigenous voices and knowledges are silenced. The artwork is a physical reminder that encourages awareness—particularly for non-Indigenous populations—of Indigenous voices that are continuously demanding recognition of Aboriginal place within Country. Similar to the boomerangs carved into the poles representing flooding as a natural expression of Country that will return (see fig. 5), Indigenous peoples continue to demand that the wider non-Indigenous population acknowledge, respect, and morally responded to Aboriginal cultures and knowledges.Figure 5Conclusion Far from a historic account of the past, the artists of CAM have created an artwork that promotes awareness of an immediate and emerging Indigenous presence on Country. It creates a space that is welcoming to Indigenous people, allowing them to engage with and affirm aspects of their living histories and cultural identities. Through sharing stories and providing “windows” into Aboriginal culture, Country, and lived experiences (which like the frogs of Toonooba are so often overlooked), the memory poles invite and welcome an open dialogue with non-Indigenous Australians where all may consider their shared presence and mutual dependence on each other and their surroundings.The memory poles are mediatory agents that stand on Country, revealing and bearing witness to the survival, resistance, tenacity, and continuity of Aboriginal peoples within the Rockhampton region and along Toonooba. Honouring Land Connections is not simply a means of reclaiming the river as an Indigenous space, for reclamation signifies something regained after it has been lost. What the memory poles signify is something eternally present, i.e. Toonooba is and forever will be embedded in Aboriginal Country in which we all, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, human and non-human, share. The memory poles serve as lasting reminders of whose Country Rockhampton is on and describes the life ways of that Country, including times of flood. Through celebrating and revelling in the presence of Country, the artists of CAM are revealing the deep connection they have to Country to the wider non-Indigenous community.ReferencesAtkinson, Judy. Trauma Trails, Recreating Song Lines: The Transgenerational Effects of Trauma in Indigenous Australia. Spinifex Press, 2002.Bhabha, Homi, K. The Location of Culture. Taylor and Francis, 2012.Bradfield, Abraham. "Decolonizing the Intercultural: A Call for Decolonizing Consciousness in Settler-Colonial Australia." Religions 10.8 (2019): 469.Cajete, Gregory. Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence. 1st ed. 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