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

A species · Mammal

Short-beaked echidna

A spine-covered, egg-laying insectivore from the oldest surviving branch of the mammal family tree — and one of the very few native mammals recorded the whole length of the gulf-to-range gradient, coastal scrub to summit forest to rain-shadow mallee, through two centuries of clearing besides.

On the gradient
The whole gradient at once — the one native mammal genuinely recorded end to end, from the samphire coast to the summit forest to the mallee behind
Rock
Not tied to one formation — digs equally in Holocene dune sand, reworked plains alluvium and uplifted Mount Lofty bedrock
Soil
Not soil-bound — wherever ants or termites nest, from coastal dune sand to red-brown plains earths to leached ranges soils
Short-beaked echidna — diagram

Locate this place on the map →

What you'll take away

Nearly everything else in this book keeps to one rung of the gradient.

The samphire holds the salt line, the emu-wren the wet swamp, the stringybark forest the range front — each one a precise answer to its own particular ration of salt, water and lime.

The short-beaked echidna did not get that memo, and it is one of the very few native mammals in the whole region that can be found from one end of the transect to the other: rooting through the leaf litter of the coastal scrub, snuffling along a cleared paddock fence line, working a stringybark gully floor, turning up in the dry mallee behind the ranges, indifferent to which rung of the climb it happens to be standing on.

It manages this on a small, old set of tools.

An echidna is a monotreme, one of only two surviving lineages of mammal that lay eggs rather than bear live young, and everything about it reads like a design settled long before most of the rules the rest of this book runs on were written.

The spines are modified hair, keratin rather than armour, and the snout beneath them carries no teeth at all — just a long, sticky tongue that flicks deep into a torn-open ant or termite nest faster than the eye can follow.

Threatened, it does not run; it digs straight down, wedging itself into the ground until only a knuckle of spines is left showing, or curls into a ball no fox or dog much fancies its chances against.

And its body temperature runs unusually low and flexible for a mammal, a trait that lets it slide into torpor for days or even weeks at a stretch through a cold snap, a drought or the lean months after a fire, waiting out conditions that would force a fussier animal to move on or die.

None of that is a suburban work-around, the way the brushtail possum’s move from tree hollow to roof cavity is.

It is the same toolkit that has always let the echidna live anywhere ants and termites do, which in this region is everywhere, and it is very likely part of why the species has come through two centuries of land clearing and introduced foxes and cats in far better shape than the ground-dwelling mammals it shared the country with — more than one in ten of Australia’s endemic land-mammal species lost in that time, the worst such record on the planet (Woinarski et al. 2015).

The Mount Lofty Ranges’ fussier specialists are still sliding as their forest is thinned and cut into fragments too small to sustain them (Szabo et al. 2011), and the echidna’s own range has been reduced along with everyone else’s, something like nineteen-twentieths of the region’s original vegetation gone or degraded (Bradshaw 2012), but the animal itself keeps turning up, in bushland and farmland and reserve alike.

Which is exactly why it is worth a second look rather than a shrug: an ancient, genuinely native survivor, doing such an unspectacular job of it that it is easy to mistake for proof the country is fine, when it is really one exceptionally well-equipped contestant, still standing amid a great many losses (Pauly 1995).

Reading the country

Look for the echidna’s signature rather than the echidna: a conical snout-hole punched into soft ground beside a raided ant nest, a scuffed and broken termite mound, or a short, spine-flecked cylinder of scat on a bush track.

Winter is the best season to catch the animal itself abroad in daylight, when the “echidna trains” of the breeding season — one female trailed by a line of hopeful males — sometimes cross open ground in full view.

Then ask the harder question its ordinariness is built to prompt: which of the mammals that once shared that same ant nest are no longer around to compete for it.


Notes & sources

Authored for Reading the Country. General echidna natural history — monotreme egg-laying, spines as modified hair, toothless ant-and-termite diet and tongue, defensive digging-in and curling, low/flexible body temperature and torpor, and winter “echidna trains” — is stated qualitatively as standard vertebrate-zoology field-guide biology; no numeric or contested regional claim rests on it.

Sources for this guide · 4

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

Concepts this teaches — follow a thread

The gradient (reading ecology as a climb)Clearance and fragmentation (the great clearing)The shifting baseline

More guides like this

Adelaide rosellaBanksiaBrush-tailed bettong (woylie)Common brushtail possumGrasstree (Xanthorrhoea)Greater bilby (the lost suburbanite)

Test yourself →

The short-beaked echidna turns up right across the gulf-to-range gradient — coastal scrub, cleared paddock, range-front forest, mallee behind — while many of the region's other native mammals have vanished from most of that same ground. What is the more accurate way to read the echidna's persistence?

Spines, a toothless ant-and-termite diet available almost anywhere, and a low, flexible body temperature that allows long torpor let the echidna persist on nearly every rung of the gradient, so its ordinariness is easy to mistake for proof the country is fine. It is not: more than one in ten of Australia's endemic land-mammal species have been lost since European settlement, the worst continental record on Earth, driven chiefly by land clearing and introduced foxes and cats (Woinarski, Burbidge & Harrison 2015), and the Mount Lofty Ranges' habitat specialists are still sliding under the same pressures. The echidna is one exceptionally well-equipped survivor standing amid those losses, not a sign the ecosystem around it is intact — the shifting-baseline trap this book keeps returning to.