Reading the Country the companion to A Coast Running Out of Water

Caring for country

Caring for Country today

After two centuries of taking, the Adelaide region has begun, in a hundred scattered and uncoordinated ways, trying to give some of its country back — modest, real, and nowhere near a full repair.

Caring for Country today — diagram

What you'll take away

For seventeen chapters’ worth of story, more or less, the Adelaide region’s ecological history reads as subtraction: forests cleared, wetlands drained, animals lost. This entry is about the other half of the ledger — smaller, slower, less certain, but real: somewhere in the last few decades, people here began trying to add some of it back.

The most visible form is trees. Since 1981, volunteers with a charity called Trees For Life have grown and handed out tens of millions of native seedlings for landholders to plant, while a sister program sends trained volunteers into hundreds of surviving remnant patches — cemeteries, roadside strips, reserve fragments — to weed and nurse them back toward health. None of it undoes the clearing. It is the clearing run, however partially, in reverse, by people with trowels.

Bringing the animals back is harder, because it runs straight into the two predators that emptied the country in the first place. You cannot release a bettong into the Adelaide Hills and expect it to survive, because the foxes and cats are still there. So the return of the fauna has meant fences: at Warrawong, near Mylor, a predator-proof fence closed in 1982 and rebuilt bettong, bandicoot and potoroo populations behind it — though the sanctuary itself later closed in 2013 and reopened only in 2019, a case study in how precarious even a defended island is to keep staffed and funded (InDaily 2019). Water is coming back in patchier ways: aquifer-recharge schemes now bank winter stormwater underground rather than letting it run to waste, and the battered samphire and mangrove coast north of the city is being nursed back after brine damage, while a new national park on the city’s southern edge, Glenthorne, is being replanted tree by tree into what was once paddock.

The deepest return is the oldest. In 2018 the Federal Court formally recognised Kaurna native title over the Adelaide region, the first such recognition over the ground of an Australian capital city (Agius v State of South Australia (No 6) [2018] FCA 358). In May 2021, in the Park Lands, Kaurna people lit a cultural fire — described by Green Adelaide as the first cultural burn in an Australian capital city, and the first on that ground in over 240 years (Green Adelaide / City of Adelaide 2021). This is the public record, respectfully told, and no more.

None of this restores 1836. The mammals that are gone are gone, the climate is warming, and the country will never again be what it was. Success was never going to mean restoration — only slowing the losses, holding what remains, and handing on a country a little fuller than the one this generation was given.

Go deeper — the mechanism & the evidence

The honest test of any restoration claim is whether it is measured or merely hoped for, and here the evidence is encouragingly specific but still partial. At Mount Lofty Ranges revegetation sites, native bee diversity rises with the effort put into replanting — more so where the plantings carry high plant diversity rather than a handful of species — a real, counted signal that putting vegetation back changes what lives there (Kireta et al. 2024). But the same study looked for the next link in the chain, whether that richer bee community was actually restoring the service of pollination, measured as fruit-set on phytometer plants placed in the revegetated sites, and found it had not yet shown up. That is not a failure so much as a timescale: mycorrhizal networks, understorey structure and the pollinators that depend on them can take decades longer to knit back together than the trees take to reach head height. The same patience-before-payoff logic runs through every fenced rewilding project, because none of it undoes the underlying problem the continent still carries — foxes and cats have driven more than one in ten of Australia's native land mammal species extinct since 1788, a toll with no parallel on any comparable landmass, which is why every reintroduction here still depends on a barrier rather than an open paddock (Woinarski et al. 2015).

Sources for this guide · 5

Every claim here is traceable. Each citation links to its entry in the bibliography.

Concepts this teaches — follow a thread

From taking to keepingClearance and fragmentation (the great clearing)The underground loop

Part of these pathways

Mending ground

Test yourself →

Restoration groups in the Adelaide Hills could, in principle, breed up bettongs, bandicoots and potoroos and simply release them back into the ranges. Why has almost every mammal return here instead happened behind a predator-proof fence, like the one at Warrawong near Mylor?

The fence is not bureaucratic caution but a direct response to an unfinished continental catastrophe: foxes and cats have driven more than one in ten of Australia's native land mammal species extinct since European settlement, a toll with no parallel on any comparable landmass. Until that predator problem is solved at landscape scale, a bettong or bandicoot released into open bush is simply prey, so every reintroduction so far — Warrawong included — depends on a barrier rather than an open paddock. (Woinarski, Burbidge & Harrison 2015.)