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Sharks are front of mind for many Sydneysiders and coastal New South Wales residents. In January, a teenager died amid a spate of attacks in and around Sydney. This month, a woman was bitten by a large great white while swimming close to shore and between the flags at Coogee Beach.

These incidents have made many swimmers and surfers fearful of returning to the ocean. Public figures have called for shark culls.

The NSW government has ruled out culling great whites, a protected species, but is considering a bull shark cull. This week, it announced $A34 million in new funding to expand its shark-spotting drone program, as part of a larger shark safety program. It will mean daily drone surveillance of around 70 beaches, including every Sydney beach and one for each coastal council.

While spotter drones are a genuine advance in shark detection, they’re not foolproof. After flying spotter drones over Sydney beaches for a season, this article’s lead author found shark detection didn’t mean protection.

The more you look, the more you see

Before drones, authorities relied on infrequent spotter flights over popular beaches. As a result, few sharks were sighted.

Drones have made it much easier to watch the ocean from above for extended periods. As a result, spotting a shark is now more likely. But more sightings doesn’t necessarily mean there are more sharks.

As authorities roll out their expanded drone program, we can expect to see a surge in shark sightings and more beaches closed as a precaution.

Detection doesn’t mean protection

Researchers have used drone footage to map shark movements and assess the risk to help pilots decide when to evacuate beaches. This showed the risk was low. At three Queensland beaches, only 4% of sightings over four years were bull sharks and no white or tiger sharks were seen at all. Drones mostly spotted small whaler sharks.

To date, there’s no published peer-reviewed research showing drone surveillance reduces shark bites. This isn’t an oversight. Shark bites get a lot of media attention, which makes them seem common. In reality, they are extremely rare.

Millions of Australians swim in the ocean every year. Last year, there were 23 bites across all Australian waters.

Their rarity means no research could realistically gather enough data to prove drone spotting led to a fall in bites, given many other possible explanations and factors.

Drone spotting is not flawless. Even in good conditions, drone pilots only detect around 40% of sharks swimming under the surface in real time. The figure rises to about 50% after careful post-flight review.

Detection is even more challenging when water isn’t clear. Murky water is common after periods of rain.

Drowning is a much bigger risk than sharks

Shark bites make headlines and capture public attention. This gives many of us a skewed view of what the real risks are of swimming in oceans and estuaries.

Deaths due to shark bites in Australia averaged about 3 per year over the last decade.

But in just the last year, 154 people drowned along the Australian coast. This included 30 deaths due to the single biggest beach hazard – offshore flowing rip currents.

In an average year, rip currents cause more deaths than bushfires, floods, cyclones and sharks combined. Each death causes significant trauma for loved ones and the community.

It’s worth asking why a spate of shark bites led to major public investment while deaths from rip currents do not tend to attract the same spending.

If the goal of the NSW government was to save the most lives at the beach, it might have made sense to first tackle drownings due to rip currents. Local governments could be funded to extend and expand their beach lifeguard services.

Evaluation before expansion

Drones may well prove useful tools to boost beach safety. The scale and cost of the NSW drone spotting program makes it a world-first.

But it’s an open question whether rapid expansion of drone spotting will boost the safety of beachgoers, given shark bites are the rarest hazard. The NSW government announced the investment without an evaluation of evidence for spotting program effectiveness.

It may not be possible to prove drones reduce bites, but we could still evaluate what they demonstrably do: shark detection and species identification, response times, and how often drones assist with other rescues.

We should expect the drone spotting program to lead to more frequent and more extended beach closures. That could have unintended consequences, such as a fall in beach visitors and a drop in revenue for coastal economies.

If closures get more frequent and become the new norm, people may seek out unpatrolled beaches with no flags, lifeguards or drones. That would be a dangerous outcome, as almost every coastal drowning occurs on unpatrolled beaches or outside lifeguard patrol hours and times.

Until we have evidence to say drone spotting will help, we should be honest about what this program will do.

Their clearest life-saving value may be elsewhere: in Queensland’s trial, drones were also used to spot swimmers caught in rip currents and locate missing persons.

Spotting for sharks alone looks to be about reassurance – not true protection.

Samuel Cornell, Honorary Research Fellow in Public Health, The University of Queensland and Rob Brander, Professor, UNSW Beach Safety Research Group, School of Biological, Earth & Environmental Sciences, UNSW Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Sydney is no stranger to extreme heat. In January 2020, Penrith in Western Sydney reached 48.9°C, the highest temperature ever recorded in Greater Sydney.

Now imagine Penrith in 2050: the heat lasts longer, extreme heat events happen more often, and power goes out on the hottest days because the grid can’t cope.

Our recent research, published in the journal Energy and Buildings, shows Sydney apartments built to current building codes may become very uncomfortable by 2050 far more often. In fact, we found that inside an apartment built to today’s standards, temperatures would stay above 30°C for several days in a row.

Sydney is rapidly rezoning, leads the nation in apartment living, and is still racing to build more homes. Many of the developments approved today will still be standing in 2050.

But while we are building for the future, we are designing for the past.

Building for yesterday’s climate

Our study used the latest climate projections for Sydney to test apartments built to today’s standards in inner-city Redfern and Western Sydney’s Penrith.

By the 2050s, owing to climate change, Sydney’s median outdoor temperatures could be up to 5°C higher than today in its hotter inland areas under the highest-warming regional projection (a high greenhouse gas emissions scenario known to researchers and policymakers as SSP3–7.0), with hot days becoming longer and more frequent.

We found apartments built to today’s standards could be too hot for comfort for the equivalent of about four weeks a year in Redfern and more than seven weeks in Penrith.

The level of indoor overheating could pose a serious heat stress risk to residents.

Design matters. West-facing homes receive intense afternoon sun, while top-floor apartments absorb heat radiating through the roof. Opening a window offers relief when air outside is cooler. But many apartments lack cross-ventilation, and others have windows too small to remove the heat that builds up indoors.

A threat faced unequally

Older people, poorer communities, and people with chronic illnesses face the greatest risks.

Our projections show people living in Penrith could face almost twice as much overheating inside their homes as people in Redfern.

Air conditioning (AC) isn’t always an option. This is especially true for renters, elderly residents, and low-income households who make up much of western Sydney’s growing apartment population.

Some renters may not be allowed to install AC. And even where it’s already installed (it is not mandatory in new builds), not everyone can afford to run it.

One national longitudinal study estimated about one in 14 Australian households (around 7% of households) already spends more than 10% of their income on energy bills.

A survey of more than 1,000 Australian found 49.7% of households resist using their AC units on hot days to save on summer electricity bills.

Running air conditioners during extreme heat also puts enormous strain on the electricity grid. On hot summer days, NSW peak electricity demand can surge above 13,000 megawatts, well above the state’s average operational demand of around 7,700 megawatts, straining the grid and increasing the risk of blackouts.

During a blackout, even homes with AC may lose cooling when they need it the most. Air conditioners also release heat outdoors, making already hot neighbourhoods even hotter.

To sum up: many people cannot rely on AC and may not be able to easily relocate during a heatwave.

Homes should be able to keep people safe even when AC is not available.

Two changes could make a major difference

The solution starts with building standards. Australia’s current construction code focuses on predicted energy use for heating and cooling based on historical weather data, not the warmer climate those buildings will face. They should also test how long a home can stay at safe temperatures in a warmer future, especially during heatwaves, without relying on AC. This is known as a building’s “passive survivability”.

To make homes safer, we need two changes to building standards.

First, new apartments should be tested against a range of future climates, including longer and more intense periods of heat.

Second, standards should set a minimum time that a home must stay safe without air conditioning and provide practical guidance on how to achieve this.

Better design can cut the risk

Adding more insulation on its own doesn’t go far enough to protect apartments from future heat. But our study found several design changes that can make a real difference:

• External window shades block sunlight before it heats the apartment. We found they reduced the time apartments were too warm by up to 32%
• Safe night-time ventilation – meaning windows you can leave open overnight – lets trapped heat escape after sunset. We found it reduced overly warm hours by up to 34%, especially in Penrith
• Lighter roof colours also helped protect top-floor apartments.

The best results came from combining these measures with double glazed windows and insulation. Together, they cut the risk of Sydney apartments becoming too hot in the 2050s by up to 94%.

Australia needs more apartments. But homes approved today must still protect people decades from now.

Building codes need to change so the country’s growing apartment stock stays safe, liveable and resilient in a hotter future.

Our study focused on Sydney, but it is likely these findings are applicable across many other parts of Australia, and the region.

More broadly, planning for new developments should also combine urban-scale heat mitigation measures (such as urban greening, light-coloured or reflective materials for roofs, roads and pavements, providing shade for built surfaces, and designing with water) with building adaptation to offset the impacts of climate change.

Shamila Haddad, Sydney Horizon Fellow (Senior Lecturer) School of Architecture, Design and Planning, University of Sydney; Arianna Brambilla, Lecturer in Architecture, University of Sydney; Jingjing Liu, Research Fellow Sydney School of Architecture, Design and Planning, University of Sydney, and Mat Santamouris, Anita Lawrence Chair of High Performance Architecture, Professor, UNSW Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

I am one of Hobart’s many residents who travelled to a nearby beach to witness Neil the seal – an animal that has been receiving global attention for his wild personality and humorous antics.

Neil’s latest arrival in Tasmania was in late June. Due to his celebrity status, a security detail from the local council had been tasked with limiting all pedestrian access to the animal.

On my visit yesterday evening, people peered from a distance at the sleeping giant. A constant stream of cars was permitted to travel on the road, slowly, as though on an impromptu safari.

The one-tonne creature hadn’t moved much over the previous two days. But since my visit he has returned to the waters, and wildlife managers are now speculating he might have left Tasmania.

As we wait for Neil to return or head out deeper into southern waters, it’s worth reflecting on the cultural meaning we’ve ascribed to this wild animal.

In reality, he’s a five-year-old southern elephant seal who returns to the region to moult and rest. But in our hearts and social media feeds, he has become an international folk hero.

What is it about him that’s caused such worldwide mania?

A rare wild encounter

Firstly, we can look to our enduring fascination with wild animal encounters.

David Attenborough’s decades-long legacy of wildlife documentaries reflects the global appetite that exists for wild animal media.

In Australia, celebrity wildlife ambassadors such as the deeply missed “crocodile hunter” Steve Irwin, his wife Terri and children Bindi and Robert Irwin have long enthralled both television and real-life audiences as they get up close with nature.

And Steve’s tragic death from a stingray barb in 2006 also demonstrates the manifest danger of such encounters – no matter how much preparation is undertaken.

Due to these dangers, public encounters with wild animals are usually highly controlled, such as through zoos, aquariums, wildlife parks, circuses and tours. The recent virality of baby penguin Pesto all took place from inside Melbourne’s SEA LIFE aquarium.

Neil, however, is a free animal who can only be minimally controlled due to his hefty size. The nature of his short-term visits also means he poses relatively little risk to humans.

Perhaps one reason Neil has captured our imagination is because he dodged these controlled spaces. It’s rare to have a wild encounter that takes place on the animal’s terms.

Sealy behaviour

An examination of the Neil memes currently circulating on TikTok, Instagram and Facebook quickly reveal the seal’s emerging online status as a folk hero.

Online video and news footage shows the seal lying in the middle of the road, disrupting traffic, knocking over traffic signs and groaning heavily as workers attempt to move him.

It’s easy to imagine Neil as a rebel loner who doesn’t follow rules.

To this end, we’ve seen footage of Neil remixed with metal music, most frequently to A Day to Remember’s lyric “disrespect your surroundings”, and Rage Against the Machine’s 1992 anthem Killing in the Name.

In some funny videos, Neil’s awkward land waddle is sped up to show him flopping endlessly onto the road.

His biological need for deep sleep is also played as hilarious and obstinately slothful.

Online, Neil’s rebellious antics have been leveraged by users to comment on issues as varied as the anti-data centre movement to denouncing politicians. Artists are even creating imagery of Neil as a defiant anti-establishment icon.

A digital hero

Of course, these interpretations are far removed from the reality of this wild elephant seal. Neil doesn’t break the rules because he’s a rebel – but because he’s not human.

Yet folk heroes, even in animal form, appear in popular culture for a reason. As Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm argued in his first major work Primitive Rebels (1959), these mythic examples can serve a therapeutic function, providing a coping mechanism against the stifling rules and inhibitions of a society.

They arguably also draw out, or stand for, the unconscious desires of a community. In other words, maybe we love Neil because we’re jealous of his freedom.

Perhaps our adoration suggests we, too, wish to live a little more on our own terms.

This article was amended to remove mentions of Neil’s moulting, as this was not confirmed by wildlife experts.

Gemma Blackwood, Lecturer, Media, University of Tasmania

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The world’s oceans are the hottest on record for June, pushing past records set during the 2023–24 El Niño years.

Right now, the average sea surface temperature is just under 21°C across the world’s tropical and temperate oceans. Before widespread industrialisation in 1870, the temperature was about 19.6°C.

That may not sound like a big difference. But heating the world’s oceans this much requires a truly enormous amount of energy. Of all the extra heat trapped by greenhouse gases from burning coal, gas and oil, more than 90% has gone into the world’s oceans.

As a result, the oceans are getting rapidly warmer. In 2025, the heat added was the equivalent of about 12 Hiroshima-scale nuclear bombs exploding every second of every day.

To find a climate analogue comparable to what’s happening now in the oceans, we would have to go back around 120,000 years to before the last ice age. Back then, slow shifts in Earth’s orbit led it to heat up gradually over thousands of years. Humans have accomplished a similar result in a little over a century.

But the heat in the ocean doesn’t just stay there. Hotter oceans fuel stronger cyclones, a more humid atmosphere, more intense rainfall and more heat in air masses over the seas, which can in turn make heatwaves over land more likely and more intense.

The El Niño forming in the tropical Pacific right now is likely to be a big one. As it develops, we can expect to see warmer temperatures and extreme events such as marine heatwaves in the western Indian, tropical Atlantic and eastern Pacific Oceans.

Where are the hotspots on land and in the ocean?

Europe is sweltering through a record-breaking heatwave. The oceans surrounding the region and in enclosed seas are also exceptionally hot.

Parts of the Mediterranean are up to 6°C hotter than the long-term average.

Parts of the North Sea are up to 3°C warmer than average.

The forming El Niño has led to sea surface temperatures about 1.24°C warmer than average across a large area of the central eastern Pacific.

There’s much more heat below the surface as well. Subsurface conditions in the eastern Pacific are more than 6°C above average.

A typical El Niño lasts about a year. The full effect on atmospheric heat becomes clearest towards the end of the cycle. That means while we can expect 2026 to be very hot – perhaps a new record – next year is very likely to be even hotter, as ocean heat is moved back to the surface. We saw this during El Niño events over 2023–24 and 2015–16.

Steady ocean warming coupled with longer-lasting and more intense marine heatwaves pose huge threats to marine ecosystems such as coral reefs, sea grass meadows and coastal reefs. Research on the 2023–24 El Niño and the warm 2024 year showed widespread impacts.

From oceans to land

What happens in the oceans doesn’t stay there.

In June 2023, a record-breaking marine heatwave broke previous temperature records across the North Atlantic Ocean. Soon afterwards, large areas of Europe were hit by intense heatwaves, while extreme rains triggered deadly floods in Spain and severe bushfires broke out around the Mediterranean.

Rising ocean temperatures have many consequences.

A warmer ocean is less able to cool the land over summer. Warmer oceans also lead to more evaporation, boosting humidity and fuelling more intense and more sudden extreme rain and floods. These can have devastating consequences.

During El Niño events, there’s a clear geographical pattern. The regions we expect to be warmer or cooler during an El Niño roughly reflect where we are more or less likely to get marine heatwaves and more intense tropical cyclones.

Typical cyclone areas such as the western Indian Ocean could see stronger cyclones dumping heavier rainfall when they hit land. El Niño tends to bring extreme rain and floods to the western South America and dry conditions over parts of Australia and Southeast Asia.

Can we prepare?

We are gaining a better understanding of how big climate drivers like El Niño shape weather and how to use ocean data from around the world to develop better seasonal forecasts authorities can use to prepare.

Over the past two years, we have improved our ability to forecast marine heatwaves three to four months ahead in Australia, the United States and other regions. Forecasts give marine authorities a chance to act early by reducing allowable fishery catches and beginning conservation efforts for vulnerable species.

This early success in ocean forecasting may be short-lived. The current US administration last year slashed funding for climate data gathering networks and has worked to dismantle the National Center for Atmospheric Research.

This year, the administration announced it would end funding for a key ocean monitoring network before backing down.

Ongoing collection of ocean data is crucial for ocean and land forecasts. If they are weakened or discontinued, we could face the challenge of dealing with worsening climate impacts blind.

Ending the measuring of climate change won’t stop it happening. The only way to keep climate change from steadily worsening is to reach net zero as soon as humanly possible. Until then, we must use forecasts to prepare for what we can’t avoid.

Matthew England, Director of the ARC Centre of Excellence for Our Future Oceans and Scientia Professor in Oceanography, UNSW Sydney; Alex Sen Gupta, Associate Professor in Climate Science, UNSW Sydney, and Alistair Hobday, Chief Research Scientist - Environment, CSIRO

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

It might feel strange to talk about being able to trade water as a financial asset, in the same way as company shares or bonds. But water is big business.

Australia leads the world on the size, extent and adoption of formal water markets, especially in our largest river system, the Murray-Darling Basin.

The impacts of climate change are already being felt, and water security is one of the world’s biggest vulnerabilities.

Australia is facing predictions of a strong El Niño event this year, meaning hotter, drier conditions are more likely. Water markets play an important rule in helping farmers’ share water.

Yet they have also been the subject of criticism. This month, stronger rules on Basin-wide market manipulation and insider trading came into effect, enforced by the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC).

Here’s a refresher on how water markets work, what the new laws mean – and why despite their flaws, well-designed water markets remain one of our best tools for managing drought.

A liquid asset

Around the world, water markets exist in two forms: informal (think unregulated “handshake deals” between neighbours) and formal (heavily regulated with oversight).

Formal water markets have been around for decades in Australia. They began state-by-state, but were supercharged by the Council of Australian Government (COAG) reforms in the 1990s and the implementation of the National Water Initiative in 2004.

The Millennium Drought of the 2000s and the buyback of water entitlements for environmental purposes also hastened adoption.

How water markets work

Most farmers who irrigate crops own a certain amount of water, known as their “entitlements” or “shares”, which is their ongoing right to water. Depending on water availability, each water season they receive a percentage of this water – known as their allocation – depending on the type of entitlement they have.

For example, a farmer in South Australia’s Riverland who owns 100 megalitres (one megalitre equals one million litres) of “high security” water, will in high rainfall and good years receive their full allocation.

However, in times of drought, they might only receive 30% of their allocation by the end of the water year. Other farmers in the Murray-Darling Basin who own “low security” entitlements, might receive nothing.

What happens if farmers don’t have enough water from what they own, or if they have water they are not using? This is where water markets come in.

Such markets allow those who have surplus water (and there are many who do) to sell water, either in the permanent entitlement or temporary allocation market.

Prices are not fixed; they fluctuate freely depending on how much water is available each year. But they are far more volatile in the temporary allocation market, which farmers’ use more often.

Separating water from land ownership

These price signals provide the biggest advantage of markets in promoting adaptation.

However, when water was separated from land, this also allowed other stakeholders to buy and hold water – such as superannuation companies, retired farmers, institutional investors, and so on.

In 2025, foreign investors held 13% of the freshwater entitlements in the Murray-Darling Basin.

The high water prices seen in the Tinderbox drought (from 2017 to 2019) and the increasing ownership of water by non-farmers led to demands for a government review of water markets.

In 2021, the ACCC handed down a report from the largest ever review of water markets in the Basin. The regulator had considerable powers to investigate and requested and analysed the water trade records from 20 of the largest non-landholders.

Overall, the ACCC found no evidence that investors exercised market power or manipulated markets.

Previous research suggests insider trading may have happened prior to 2014 (when the first insider trading rules were introduced), but no real evidence after this.

Nevertheless, the ACCC recommended the implementation of stronger market manipulation rules, which are now in force.

For the first time, as of July 1 this year, there are now Basin-wide insider trading laws. It is now illegal for any participant to engage in any conduct to artificially influence water prices, create a false or misleading impression of market activity, or to distort the efficient operations of the market.

The ACCC is now an official market conduct regulator, and there are significant civil penalties for those who breach rules.

Where we are today

Water markets – including the involvement of large, non-farmer investors – are a popular punching bag. Most of this criticism is over-hyped and incorrect.

However, some criticism is warranted. Some stakeholders, including First Nations people, have historically been excluded from markets, and there is action to change this.

In addition, setting up water markets requires substantial institutional investment, regulation and water extraction caps. Not all countries have the resources and institutions developed enough to do so.

Continual improvement of water governance issues in Australian water markets is a good thing. This year, it is possible we will see prices rise again to Tinderbox drought levels, and water market prices will again be one of the main topics of conversation for many farmers.

Society needs to have confidence water markets are operating fairly, and that they are being continually improved for the good of everyone. Doing so reinforces one of the best mechanisms we have for sharing water in the Basin.

Sarah Ann Wheeler, Matthew Flinders Professor in Water Economics, Flinders University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

This year’s El Niño is expected to be strong to very strong, tilting the odds toward a hotter, drier winter and spring across southern and eastern Australia. Droughts, water shortages and a dangerous fire season become more likely.

It makes sense to prepare. But the size of the event isn’t set in stone.

For authorities, farmers and land managers, this poses a challenge – wait, and risk being unprepared, or act with a chance preparations may go to waste. Prescribed burn windows, water allocation deadlines and decisions about crop sowing all need to happen before the forecast solidifies.

Faced with decision problems like this, it’s best to stage interventions, starting with low-cost, low-regret actions and preparing contingency plans in case the worst happens.

Why are authorities worried?

Forecasters expect El Niño to keep strengthening into spring.

But a strong event doesn’t always mean worse conditions here. The very strong 1997–98 El Niño resulted in near-average rainfall in most of Australia, while the far weaker 2002–03 event helped produce the severe Millennium Drought.

The Indian Ocean Dipole (IOD) climate driver can either intensify or weaken El Niño’s effect on Australia.

It’s not yet clear which way it will go, though models suggest it may switch from neutral to positive into spring. If it does, the chances of dangerous levels of drying increase substantially.

Over 2018 and 2019, these two climate drivers overlapped, causing intense drying ahead of the Black Summer bushfires. In 2023, they overlapped again, producing Australia’s driest three-month stretch on record.

We should know if they will overlap this year by late July or August.

From reacting to acting

It makes sense to lay out stages of action and do more as necessary, rather than waiting for certainty.

State government drought responses are largely structured like this.

But federal leaders have consistently relied on ad-hoc spending as droughts worsen rather than building resilience early, leading to worse outcomes for rural communities and a higher cost.

Similar criticism has been made of our bushfire response. A recent independent review found only 7% of federal disaster funds went to reduce risk and boost preparedness before the disaster.

So what would a staged approach look like?

Stage 1: low regrets

Some actions can be taken without regret because they cost little and build resilience. These would include:

• properly funding volunteer firefighter training and accreditation at state level. Volunteer firefighters do much of Australia’s firefighting but the sector is chronically underfunded

• create a national drought early warning system

• lift the legal barriers that prevent Traditional Owners practising cultural burning at scale. Cultural burning could match existing fuel reduction with far less ecological cost.

• build the national register of firefighting personnel, equipment and aerial assets the Bushfire Royal Commission recommended back in 2020. It is still not in place.

• expand existing advice services for farmers, such as financial counselling and on-farm advice for sowing decisions and livestock feed planning.

Stage 2: getting ready

If a positive IOD is confirmed, authorities should focus on actions too specific or too costly to justify now, but too important to improvise mid-crisis.

These could include:

• boosting staffing and readiness for agencies responsible for drought and bushfire response

• tying drought relief to observed conditions so support reaches farmers in weeks rather than months

• boost federal support for rural mental health early. At present, these measures require assessment after the disaster and sign-off from the prime minister

• confirm aerial firefighting capacity, cross-state emergency communications and potential defence force deployment in advance. This would avoid repeating Black Summer’s reactive scramble when more than 60 firefighting aircraft had to be sourced from overseas mid-crisis, incompatible radio systems left crews from different states unable to communicate directly, and defence force deployment only came after weeks of public pressure

• provide hospitals with access to better air-quality forecasts ahead of fire season, to allow preparation for surges in respiratory illness

• establish and resource more community-led networks such as the Red Cross’s Community-led Resilience Teams. These networks have proven critical to effective disaster response and recovery but are often left out of formal emergency management planning.

During and after disaster

Preparation ahead of time means authorities aren’t building capacity under pressure but simply trigger what’s already in place.

States use their incident control structures to coordinate police, fire, ambulance and the defence force under one chain of command.

Declaring a state of emergency unlocks legal powers and funding pathways agreed well in advance.

Evacuation orders go out through tested and proven public warning systems.

The same logic carries into recovery. Rapid damage assessment teams establish what’s needed where, feeding into the first wave of financial support — one-off emergency payments and short-term income assistance for people who’ve lost homes, livelihoods or income.

Recovery centres open as a single point of contact, so affected residents can access grants, counselling, insurance guidance and practical help in one place.

Failing to plan is planning to fail

An unprepared, improvised response doesn’t fail everyone equally – it punishes those with less capacity to compensate. A wealthy irrigator with secure water entitlements can weather a bad season better than a farmer reliant on the volatile temporary water market.

Similarly, First Nations communities repeatedly report being left out of disaster planning and facing unwelcoming treatment during a disaster response.

Australians are no strangers to natural disasters. What we have failed to do consistently is plan staged responses and begin as soon as a large event seems probable, rather than waiting for absolute certainty.

Em Murdock, PhD Student, Department of Environmental Science, Policy and Management, University of California, Berkeley and Lucas Vargas Zeppetello, Assistant Professor, Department of Environmental Science, Policy, and Management, University of California, Berkeley

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The spidery wattle (Acacia araneosa) is a national treasure.

This plant is named for its spidery, leaf-like phyllodes and shares the same iconic golden flowers as Australia’s floral emblem, the golden wattle (Acacia pycnantha).

The spidery wattle is extremely rare, found only in a tiny area of South Australia’s Arkaroola Wilderness Sanctuary and Vulkathunha-Gammon Ranges National Park. This, alongside its unusual appearance, makes it a distinctive and beloved part of the landscape.

But this local icon is under threat. In the late 1830s, the first pastoral leases – which allowed livestock grazing on government land – were granted in South Australia. This significantly reshaped the state’s landscapes and ecosystems.

Our new study shows since that period, the spidery wattle population has drastically shrunk by about 98%. If this trend continues, the future of this unique species looks grim.

Thankfully, we can do something about it.

A perplexing plant

The spidery wattle has long puzzled scientists.

For years, researchers studying this unassuming plant noticed seed from the spidery wattle would sometimes “revert” to the form of another common wattle species, the silver wattle (Acacia rivalis). The silver wattle is a more widespread species than the spidery wattle, but grows in the same area.

This phenomenon could be explained by phenotypic plasticity — the ability of an organism to modify its physical traits or behaviour in response to environmental changes. This is fairly common in the plant world, with one example being Hydrangea flowers that change colour depending on soil pH levels.

These observations raised a crucial question: are spidery wattles just silver wattles that have changed form to suit local conditions?

It can be difficult to get funding for conservation efforts, so if we are to protect a plant or animal, it better be a “real” species!

Our latest research reveals, for the first time, the spidery wattle and silver wattle are indeed two distinct species. But we found these plants can hybridise in the wild, meaning the “reverted” seeds scientists observed were very likely hybrid seeds.

Why genes matter

We know of only two small spidery wattle populations, growing very close together on the hills of the Arkaroola Wilderness Sanctuary. Data from the mid-1990s suggests there were about 1,000 individual plants in total. This figure has almost certainly decreased since.

Despite being within shouting distance of each other, these two populations are genetically distinct. This is concerning because when populations shrink, they can rapidly lose genetic diversity. This is due to a process known as “genetic drift”, where the number of different genes in a small population randomly fluctuates.

It’s also more likely that individual plants with similar genes will interbreed. This means two small populations of 50 individuals are more vulnerable to pests, disease and environmental change, compared to a single population of 100.

This was the case with the Florida panther, a species once found across the south-eastern United States. In the 1980s, this panther population rapidly shrank, leading to inbreeding and the birth of many unhealthy kittens.

Worryingly, our research suggests the two remaining spidery wattle populations are already showing signs of being less genetically diverse.

A species under threat

Local observations suggest adult spidery wattles cope reasonably well in hot and dry conditions. However, their tiny seedlings are extremely vulnerable to drought and introduced herbivores such as rabbits, goats and sheep.

Over the past few millenia, Australia’s weather has become more dry and unpredictable. Our research shows these climatic changes have had a marked impact on the spidery wattle. This is because seedlings struggle to reach maturity in drought conditions, affecting the overall health of the spidery wattle population.

We found the species started declining roughly 3,300 years ago. Other research shows the now-extinct Tasmanian tiger disappeared from mainland Australia at this time, due to the same climatic changes.

However, the spidery wattle population started declining much faster once humans settled in South Australia and started farming from 1836 onwards. In the intervening years, the spidery wattle population has shrunk by roughly 98%.

So, what can we do?

Together, these factors mean the spidery wattle is now on the brink of extinction. However, work is already underway to ensure this unique species survives.

A passionate group of South Australian conservationists are spearheading efforts to set up exclusion fences, which stop herbivores from grazing spidery wattle seedlings. Through restoration planting, they have also grown and planted seedlings to boost the size of existing populations.

Importantly, about 2,000 spidery wattle seeds are being preserved in South Australia’s Botanic Gardens and the United Kingdom’s Millennium Seed Bank.

But there is still more we can do.

Currently, the spidery wattle is listed as a “Vulnerable” species federally, and “Endangered” at a state level. Given the two remaining populations are still at risk, it’s time we recognise it as a “Critically Endangered” species in Australia.

The spidery wattle should also be added to the International Union for Conservation of Nature’s Red List. These listings would support conservationists and policymakers to secure the funding needed to protect this iconic species.

We dedicate this work to the memory of Martin O‘Leary of the South Australian Herbarium, whose contribution to this study was crucial. A leading plant taxonomist in South Australia, Martin brought warmth and enthusiasm to his work, with a particular kindness to students. We are grateful for the privilege of working with him.

Brittany Hogben, PhD Candidate in Conservation Biology, Adelaide University ; Andrew Lowe, Director, Environment Institute, Adelaide University ; Colette Blyth, Postdoctoral Researcher, School of Biological Sciences, University of Adelaide, and James B. Dorey, Lecturer in Biological Sciences, University of Wollongong

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Pollinators – including bees, flies, wasps, moths, butterflies and some nectar-loving birds – are a cornerstone of our natural environment.

By helping plants reproduce, they keep our ecosystems healthy and ensure we can grow vital food crops.

But climate change threatens the very survival of these hard-working animals.

Previous research has focused on how temperature changes affect bees, finding that certain groups are more vulnerable to hotter temperatures.

But our new study shows rising carbon dioxide (CO₂) levels may also be putting pollinators – such as bees and hoverflies – at risk.

Larger bees are the most vulnerable. We found populations of big bees – including Bombus asiaticus and Xylocopa pubescens – were smaller and less genetically diverse in areas with high CO₂. Small-bodied pollinators, however, may actually do better in higher-CO₂ environments.

A dire situation

In Australia and around the world, we are facing a pollinator crisis. There are several reasons for this, including the loss and degradation of wild pollinator habitat, the introduction of the European honey bee and other invasive species, and the use of broad-spectrum pesticides.

But climate change – driven by human-made greenhouse gases including CO₂ emissions – is another key factor. Australia contributes to higher CO₂ levels as the second-largest fossil fuel exporter in the world.

Elevated CO₂ levels can affect pollinators by reducing how much protein is in flower pollen. Having more CO₂ in our atmosphere may also change the chemical make-up of nectar, for example reducing how much sugar it contains. Both factors influence how pollinators develop and survive.

Other research suggests higher CO₂ concentrations could impact how pollinators’ bodies function, for example by accelerating how quickly they break down fats.

What we studied

In our latest study, we examined how bees and hoverflies coped with different levels of CO₂ across 25 sites. This is the first time researchers have investigated how natural changes in CO₂ levels affect pollinators.

While our study was conducted in Pakistan, it is relevant to pollinator networks in Australia and around the world, given that CO₂ levels are rising globally. Importantly, we controlled for other factors that may affect the number and distribution of bees and hoverflies, including altitude, temperature, humidity and rainfall.

Our results suggest pollinators respond to variations in CO₂ in different ways. Specifically, smaller pollinators may actually do better in higher-CO₂ environments. In contrast, larger-bodied pollinators were less abundant in areas with more CO₂.

We identified Xylocopa and Amegilla bees, two genera found in Australia, as being particularly vulnerable to increased CO₂ levels. Ceratina and Lasioglossum bees are two examples of smaller-bodied Australian genera that did well in higher-CO₂ environments.

Why big bees matter

These findings are concerning for several reasons.

Existing evidence shows larger-bodied bees such as Bombus are already more vulnerable to climate change. This is because they tend to retain more heat and don’t cope as well in dry conditions. Big bees also have higher metabolic demands than smaller pollinators, meaning they need more resources to keep their bodies functioning.

Large bees are among our most effective pollinators. They typically carry and deposit more pollen than smaller-bodied pollinator species. They also fly longer distances, meaning they can transport seeds and pollen to help plants reproduce and spread their genes to new places.

Other research suggests flowers have even evolved to match pollinators with particular body sizes. We see this in Australia with Melastoma. This plant’s impressive flowers are most effectively pollinated by large pollinators such as Xylocopa bees, which use vibrations to release pollen from flowers.

So, what can we do?

Here are four practical ways we can help our larger pollinators thrive in a warming world.

• protect their habitat by preventing further land clearing, for example to make room for more livestock farms

• ensure pollinators have access to wildlife corridors to help them move to areas that are naturally lower in CO₂, such as dense forests

• plant more bee-friendly trees, with some Australian examples being Eucalyptus, Corymbia, Angophora, Melaleuca, Banksia and Brachychiton

• maintain populations of larger-bodied bees by reducing other threats such as competition from introduced honey bees, to ensure they have the genetic diversity to adapt to rising CO₂ levels.

To protect our pollinators in a rapidly changing climate, we must act now. Ensuring their habitat remains intact and curbing our greenhouse gas emissions are vital first steps.

Kit Prendergast, Postdoctoral Researcher, Pollination Ecology, University of Southern Queensland; Curtin University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Over the past 15 months, one of the country’s worst marine environmental disasters has been unfolding in South Australia.

A harmful algal bloom expanded in many coastal seas, killing thousands of fish, birds, shellfish and marine mammals. Even iconic species such as giant cuttlefish and seadragons have washed up dead on beaches.

These blooms happen when particular species of microscopic algae accumulate in a body of water. Several hundred species of microalgae produce toxins that, in high concentrations, can be harmful to humans and deadly to marine creatures.

Our new research shows Karenia cristata, the rare microalgal species behind this catastrophic bloom, is among the most toxic species to marine life ever studied. It’s capable of killing zooplankton, a type of small marine animal, in concentrations of just five cells per millilitre of seawater.

A marine disaster

In March 2025, dozens of surfers and swimmers fell ill after being exposed to water or seafoam on the Fleurieu Peninsula, south of Adelaide.

Local residents and tourists reported respiratory symptoms such as coughing and shortness of breath, as well as skin and eye irritation.

Reports of dead or dying marine creatures followed. And water testing by authorities found the first signs of an algal bloom.

In the following months, the algal bloom spread across SA’s two main gulfs, the Gulf St Vincent and Spencer Gulf. It has proved devastating for the state’s marine ecosystems, aquaculture industries and coastal communities.

The detection of brevetoxins in shellfish forced local oyster and mussel farmers to stop harvesting for up to eight months. Hundreds of coastal businesses, such as recreational fishing charters and wildlife tour operators, lost significant income.

What is Karenia cristata?

K. cristata is an extremely rare microalgal species. Before this bloom, it has only ever been found in two locations: South Africa and an island off the coast of Newfoundland.

There are many different species of Karenia. But they’re often hard to distinguish as their cells have a similar size and shape. This is a problem because Karenia species that look similar can produce completely different toxins, or no toxins at all.

In our new study, we used a method called scanning electron microscopy to get an extremely close-up view of K. cristata cells. This allowed us to compare them with the cells of other types of Karenia.

We also developed several new molecular genetic methods to measure the number and distribution of Karenia during the SA bloom. These genetic methods allowed us to easily distinguish between different Karenia species.

We found the only other Karenia species known to produce brevetoxins, K. brevis, was not in the SA bloom. We also found both K. cristata and K. brevis produced similar concentrations of brevetoxins, but with a different chemical makeup.

We found K. cristata was the dominant Karenia species. It was in 90% of the samples we tested, and remained in high concentrations over time. We also identified four other Karenia species in our samples.

Why is this algae so lethal?

Our latest research suggests the microalgae that caused SA algal bloom is among the deadliest species of its kind, in terms of impact on marine life.

Our team of 25 scientists took a closer look at laboratory-grown strains of K. cristata. To do this, we hand-picked individual cells of microalgae from seawater using ultrafine glass pipettes. We then grew them in bacteria-free, nutrient-rich seawater and made sure the temperature and amount of light stayed the same.

Using these lab-grown cells, we conducted three different experiments to observe how Karenia toxins affect the cells of fish and invertebrates – tiny marine animals that don’t have a backbone such as rotifers, a type of small zooplankton, and larval crustaceans.

The results were startling. K. cristata killed half the invertebrates we studied, even in extremely low concentrations of only five cells per millilitre – or 5,000 cells per litre – of seawater. This makes it more deadly to invertebrates than any other species of toxin-producing algae tested using this same method. The algae had a similar affect on lab-grown fish gill cells.

Compared with our experiments, K. cristata was present in higher concentrations in the waters around SA during the latest algal bloom. In August and September 2025, we routinely recorded concentrations higher than one million cells per litre of seawater off the coast of Adelaide.

This may explain why this bloom was so catastrophic.

Where to from here?

Until now, we thought an algal bloom of this scale could only develop in the warm waters off the southeastern United States. There, harmful algal blooms caused by the K. brevis microalgae are fairly common.

But our research shows other coastal areas around the world could also be at risk – including those with cooler waters.

We urgently need more research to understand the conditions that allow K. cristata to thrive and produce toxins in such high concentrations.

This will allow us to develop monitoring programs that not only detect harmful algae, but also identify which species may be most deadly. Only then can we protect our coastal ecosystems, industries and communities from another marine disaster.

Shauna Murray, Professor; Faculty of Science, University of Technology Sydney; Cheong Xin Chan, Associate Professor, School of Chemistry and Molecular Biosciences, The University of Queensland; Craig Styan, Associate Professor, School of Physics, Chemistry and Earth Sciences, University of Adelaide; Greta Gaiani, Chancellor's Postdoctoral Research Fellow, School of Life Sciences, University of Technology Sydney, and Gustaaf Hallegraeff, Adjunct Senior Researcher, Ecology and Biodiversity, University of Tasmania

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

There’s nothing like gliding down a snow-covered slope.

That’s if you ask the thousands of people that make an annual pilgrimage to our alpine resorts during the Australian winter.

But this year, the start to the snow season has been far from spectacular.

While there is still some way to go before the typical peak of the season in mid- to late August, maximum snow depths have declined by around 30% since the middle of last century.

Given the underwhelming start to the season, many ski resorts are struggling to attract visitors and keep their lifts running. It’s also affecting local businesses, alpine communities and parents who hoped a school holiday skiing trip would keep their kids occupied.

So why is there so little snow this year? And what does it mean?

What shapes our snow season?

There are four main climate drivers that shape Australia’s alpine weather – including whether we get a good or bad snow season.

1. El Niño or La Niña

El Niño and La Niña refer to naturally occurring variations in temperature and winds over the Pacific Ocean that can influence weather around the world.

In Australia, El Niño years typically bring drier and warmer weather. In the eastern half of the country, this translates to below-average rainfall and warmer daytime temperatures during winter and spring. This also raises the risk of a shorter snow season. At the higher peaks, the season ends roughly two weeks earlier with maximum snow depths that are about 35cm less than average.

La Niña is the opposite to El Niño, characterised by higher rainfall and cooler temperatures in Australia. La Niña winters typically bring more snow. But occasionally mild temperatures in alpine regions can result in warm rain, the natural enemy of decent snow cover. This can mean some La Niña snow seasons can end abruptly due to spring rain.

2. Indian Ocean Dipole (IOD)

The IOD is caused by changes in sea surface temperatures in the Indian Ocean. A positive IOD indicates cooler ocean temperatures in the eastern Indian Ocean, near Indonesia. This means south-eastern Australia typically receives less winter rain and snow. In contrast, a negative IOD generally means more snow falls across eastern Australia.

3. Southern Annular Mode (SAM)

The SAM tells us where the main weather systems that bring snow and rain – cold fronts and low pressure systems – are located over the Southern Ocean. If they are closer to Australia – where they can draw up cold air and moisture from the south – this is known as a negative SAM. If they are closer to Antarctica than normal, this creates a positive SAM.

We’re most likely to score a good snow season when La Niña, a negative IOD and a negative SAM all coincide. These conditions make Australia’s alpine regions colder and wetter than average, creating the ideal conditions for snow. We saw this in 2022 and 2025, the last two times when the peaks of the Snowy Mountains were blanketed in more than two metres of snow.

An underwhelming year

This snow season, none of the good-for-snow climate drivers have arrived.

In fact, we currently have an El Niño, a positive SAM and a neutral IOD, loading the dice for a drier and warmer winter in Australia.

As a result, we’ve seen a slow start to this year’s snow season. Ski resorts are battling warmer daytime temperatures, bouts of rain and warm soils, which mean snow tends to melt once it hits the ground.

Using machines to make artificial snow has helped. But conditions have sometimes been too humid to make snow.

The latest snow depths from July 7 show Spencers Creek in the Snowy Mountains had only 35cm of snow, and Mount Hotham just 28cm. We had similar poor starts to the snow season in 1957, 1967, 1982 and 1997.

Most recently, both 2023 and 2015 saw our snow-related climate drivers all point to a poorer snow season. On July 9 2015, less than 5cm of snow was on the ground at Spencers Creek, and just 9cm at Mount Hotham. That’s far less than our current 2026 totals.

On July 9 2023, Hotham had a much healthier 88cm, but that ended up being its maximum depth for the entire season. That’s well below its long-term average peak of 116cm.

A concerning trend

We’ve now had three poor starts – 2020, 2023 and 2026 – to the snow season in just seven years. And worryingly, the length of the snow season, snow depth and area of snow cover are all shrinking.

Global warming – driven by our continued burning of fossil fuels such as coal, oil and gas – is already reducing how much snow is falling. It’s also changing our alpine landscapes in Australia.

The world has now warmed by 1.44C and Australia by 1.59C, since the early 20th century. And research suggests climate change is gradually overtaking the traditional climate drivers which have, until now, largely shaped our snow seasons.

If we don’t curb our greenhouse gas emissions, our snow season is likely to slowly disappear. The good news is, the faster we abandon fossil fuels, the better our future winters will be.

Correction: This article originally said weather systems close to Australia were known as positive SAM and those closer to Antarctica created a negative SAM. This has now been corrected.

Andrew B. Watkins, Adjunct Professor (Practice) in the School of Earth, Atmosphere and Environment, Monash University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Forecasters expect the El Niño now underway in the tropical Pacific to strengthen into a strong or very strong climate driver later this year.

When an El Niño arrives, it reorganises rainfall patterns around the world. Parts of the Americas and east Africa tend to get heavier rain, while monsoonal rains in Asia get weaker and drier conditions settle over eastern Australia, southeast Asia, India and southern Africa.

This mix of heat and disrupted water supplies could have real consequences for food supply, especially rice. El Niño doesn’t tend to hit wheat as hard, because a bad season in one region is often offset elsewhere. But rice is different. Production is concentrated in Asia and only a small share is traded.

The last El Niño in 2023-24 threatened rice supplies. This one may be worse for farming, because climate change is adding extra heat on top of disrupted rainfall.

Why rice is the crop to watch

Over half the world’s population relies on rice. India and China grow more than half of the world’s supply, and rice supplies more than half of all daily calories in countries such as Bangladesh, Vietnam and Cambodia.

Poorer households spend the largest share of income on food, so price spikes hit them first and hardest. In 2007-08, rice prices roughly tripled, food riots broke out in dozens of countries, and in Haiti, the unrest helped bring down the prime minister. Securing rice is about more than food – it underpins public order.

Rice is also a thirsty crop. Most high-yielding varieties are bred for flooded paddies, where water suppresses weeds, supports flowering and grain development, and helps keep plants cool. Hardier upland rice can grow with less water but usually yields less. Hence, breeders want to move the drought-tolerance of upland rice into lowland varieties that most farmers actually grow.

If this year’s El Niño is severe, it could hit the water supplies of several major producers at once, so shortfalls compound rather than cancel out.

Fertiliser prices have also spiked in 2026 due to the Iran war and disruption to the Strait of Hormuz, making a hard season even harder.

The issue with irrigation

Around three-quarters of the world’s rice comes from irrigated lowland paddies. Irrigation buffers rice against patchy rainfall in normal years, but it depends on water sources such as rivers, reservoirs and snowmelt which El Niño can affect.

Australia shows this clearly. The Riverina region of New South Wales grows some of the most water-efficient rice in the world. But rice competes for water with permanent plantings such as almonds, which must be watered regularly.

In the worst droughts, Australia’s rice crop has fallen to a small fraction of normal production.

A shock that travels

Rice is thinly traded. Most of what a country grows is eaten at home, and exports are often less than 10% of production. This means a disruption to a few big exporters can move prices fast.

In 2023, India clamped down on rice exports to protect domestic prices, resulting in global price surge. But the picture recently reversed. India now has record stocks and is exporting heavily after lifting its bans, easing prices.

This situation is not guaranteed to last. During the 2007-08 rice crisis, export bans and panic buying were the major factors driving up prices. If this year’s El Niño is severe, it could hit several regions at once, triggering bans and panic buying on a larger scale. Worst hit would be poorer nations dependent on rice imports, such as the Philippines and West African countries.

Can we prepare?

Rice farmers in Indonesia are racing to plant their crop ahead of El Niño, and farmers elsewhere are trying to adapt too.

Researchers can play a key role. Before being domesticated, wild rice was a humble grass with much smaller grains and lower yields. Thousands of years of selective breeding have turned it into cultivated rice, with much larger yields.

Even more can be done to make rice stress resilient, climate adapted, and water efficient.

Our recent work suggests some rice varieties can conserve water without an obvious yield and quality penalty even when water supplies are limited.

Farming methods can save water too: growers can let paddies dry between waterings, irrigate later in the season, or grow rice more like a dryland crop. Standing water also shields the crop from temperature extremes, cooling it in heat and buffering it against cold, so cutting it back too far can expose flowers to damage at the most vulnerable stage.

Beyond the farm, preparation means better forecasting, sustained research investment, and a shared resolve among rice-growing nations to keep trade open rather than hoard in a crisis.

We are not powerless against a strong El Niño. But this year’s rice supply faces a real test. The stakes are high, not just for food security, but also for global stability.

Vito Butardo Jr, Senior Lecturer in Biotechnology, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Australia is home to some of the world’s most beautiful reefs.

This includes the lush Great Southern Reef, which wraps around Australia’s southern coastline, and the world-renowned Great Barrier Reef.

But the corals of the Great Barrier Reef and the kelp forests of the south are both plagued by prickly problems – voracious starfish and sea urchins.

The coral-eating crown-of-thorns starfish is one of the greatest threats to the Great Barrier Reef. And on the temperate Great Southern Reef, long-spined sea urchins have eaten their way through thousands of hectares of kelp forests. Both species are native but can boom in numbers, and the urchins have spread to new areas due to climate change.

Scientists tend to study these two species as isolated threats. But our new study shows that while they pose high but differing risks, investing in control programs and innovative research could help curb these two prickly problems.

Overabundant species

Crown-of-thorns starfish and long-spined sea urchins threaten reefs by building up large populations that overgraze coral or kelp.

Crown-of-thorns starfish are native to the Great Barrier Reef. Their population growth follows a boom-and-bust cycle. Since data were first available in the 1950s, the number of crown-of-thorns starfish has surged by more than 1,500 per square kilometre roughly every 15 years. But once they eat all the available coral – the foundation of their diet – the population crashes. When the starfish eat too much coral, this represents another threat to reefs already stressed by climate change.

Long-spined sea urchins are native to the seas off mainland Australia. Tasmanian waters were once too cold. But as the oceans have warmed due to climate change, the sea urchin has been able to spread south.

Their spread into Tasmania in recent decades, in their millions, has caused extensive damage to kelp forests.

Our neighbours in New Zealand are also battling an influx of these urchins.

The long-spined sea urchins can build up to densities hundreds of times higher than peak crown-of-thorns starfish densities. And further, because of their flexible diet of various kinds of microalgae, drifting seaweed, and invertebrates, the urchins can survive in a semi-starved state. This results in the barren reefs they create persisting for decades.

Tricky to manage

From a conservation perspective, the way to tackle long-spined sea urchins currently differs from tackling crown-of-thorns starfish for three main reasons:

1. Fluid borders

Crown-of-thorns starfish are monitored and managed by federal institutions on the Great Barrier Reef, including monitoring by the Australian Institute of Marine Science and management by the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority.

In contrast, long-spined urchins are spread across multiple jurisdictions, stretching from northern New South Wales to southern Tasmania. Authorities in each state manage urchins in different ways and to varying degrees, as populations change from native to invasive and overabundant. But these urchins are a national problem, given that urchin larvae travel south for hundreds of kilometres on the prevailing ocean currents, with no regard for state borders.

2. Commercial interests

Crown-of-thorns starfish have no economic value. But urchins can be harvested for their roe, considered a delicacy in countries such as Japan. While demand for this high-value seafood product continues to grow, it is not yet at the scale required to combat the problem. Developing the urchin industry further would see more urchins removed from the water, enhancing reef protection.

3. Inconsistent funding

Sustained, large-scale investment in management is necessary to tackle these prickly problems. The roughly $20 million-per-year federally funded crown-of-thorns starfish control program is locked in years in advance. But funding for urchin control in Tasmania is about 40 times lower.

Researchers, managers and politicians alike have been calling for federal investment into the urchin fishery, but to date no substantial funding has been delivered. Investment into developing a profitable and larger sea urchin industry would deliver a long-term, low-cost solution to the urchin problem.

Natural defences

To protect our precious tropical and temperate reefs, we must take action.

One strategy is to protect their natural predators.

A 2026 study showed the spangled emperor is the key predator of crown-of-thorns starfish on the Great Barrier Reef. This fish species is found throughout the Indo-Pacific region but is sought after by fishers.

On the Great Barrier Reef there are six times more spangled emperor in areas protected from fishing. This suggests protecting spangled emperor populations can help control crown-of-thorns starfish.

Similarly, the highly valuable southern rock lobster is a predator of long-spined sea urchins in Tasmania. Although these lobsters are widespread, they are highly sought after by fishers. When given a break from intensive fishing, lobster populations can build up, helping to limit urchin populations.

Rebuilding predator populations can form part of a whole-of-ecosystem reef management approach, where priority is given to the overall health and balance of ecosystems and communities.

Plotting a positive future

As our climate changes, Australia’s reefs face an uncertain future. Outbreaks of coral-eating starfish and kelp-grazing sea urchins can rapidly transform healthy reefs into degraded ecosystems.

Yet this future is not inevitable. By investing in collaborative research we can find ways to restore and protect these iconic environments.

Sterling B. Tebbett, Postdoctoral Researcher, Tropical and Temperate Reef Ecology, University of Tasmania; John Keane, Research Fellow (Dive Fisheries), University of Tasmania, and Scott Ling, Associate Professor, Ecology and Biodiversity, University of Tasmania

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Our national parks are a haven for humans, plants and animals alike.

Protected areas such as national parks are a cornerstone of our efforts to conserve nature. But these unique ecosystems can still bear the scars of past fires, floods and other natural disturbances.

Our new study examines how repeated bushfires have changed, and continue to change, one of Australia’s iconic national parks.

Located on Australia’s southernmost tip, Wilsons Promontory or “the Prom” is one of Victoria’s most popular national parks, famous for its wombats, rosellas, mountains and coastlines.

But in the first half of last century, the Prom was repeatedly burnt by intense bushfires. This pushed thousands of hectares of eucalypt forests towards collapse. And as our climate changes, bushfires will only become more frequent and severe.

The history of the Prom may provide a preview of what our forests could look like in a warmer, more fire-prone future. It could also give us clues about how to protect them.

Fire and forests: a delicate balance

Over millions of years, Australia’s eucalypt forests have evolved to both survive and recover from bushfires.

For many species, this includes their ability to resprout new stems and leaves from the sides of charred trunks – a process known as “epicormic resprouting”.

Even so, resprouting eucalypts need time to recover before they can withstand another fire. If they’re burnt by back-to-back bushfires, eucalypts may start to die.

At its most severe, this can lead to “ecosystem collapse” – where an area loses all forest cover and only patches of dense, short shrubs remain.

This has serious consequences for the entire ecosystem, including less habitat for wildlife, less carbon storage and potentially increased bushfire risk. But we still don’t fully understand how long these changes last, and what the longer-term implications may be.

Our new research aims to provide some answers.

What we studied

After multiple successive bushfires in the early 1900s, the Prom’s eucalypt forests failed to recover and resprout, and became “collapsed forests”. They have stayed that way for the past 70 years.

Our study compared areas of collapsed forests with nearby areas of “intact forests”, where eucalyptus trees are still growing, at the Prom.

We found collapsed forests had 97% fewer large trees and were dominated by shrubs. Large trees provide areas for birds to build nests and possums, gliders and microbats to shelter in hollows.

We also found collapsed forests have 40% fewer fallen trees and trunks, compared with intact forests. These logs act as shelter for native ground-dwelling mammals such as the long-nosed potoroo and the pookila, also known as the New Holland mouse. They also provide food and other resources for various types of fungi and insects.

Collapsed forests store 60% less carbon than intact forests. In collapsed forests, carbon is mainly stored in short, dense shrubs. This type of vegetation is more likely to be burnt up in future fires, meaning any carbon they store is released back into the atmosphere.

So, what can we do?

Given these collapsed forests have persisted for 70 years, the only way they may be restored is if we intervene. This is possible through forest management strategies such as reforestation or reseeding.

But before we try to restore these forests, we must consider several questions:

• how much should we intervene in national parks? Is it our responsibility to reforest these areas, or should we expect to see more collapsed forests in protected areas?

• should we restore these collapsed forests to what they were in the 1900s, or prepare them for a more fire-prone future by introducing more drought- and fire-tolerant trees?

These are complex questions. We need more research to know how to best protect our national parks and other vulnerable ecosystems from future fires, floods and other natural disturbances. We must also ensure our national parks are reliably funded.

The Prom shows us forest collapse is not inevitable. But it’s an urgent reminder of the importance of actively managing and investing in our national parks, particularly as the warming climate threatens their very survival.

Aaron Heap, PhD candidate, The University of Melbourne and Tom Fairman, Forest and fire scientist, The University of Melbourne

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

An alpine ash forest is a sight to behold.

Alpine ash (Eucalyptus delegatensis) is a tall eucalypt species that grows in the cool, wet mountains of south‑eastern Australia.

These forests store large amounts of carbon in their wood and soils. They help regulate water flows into major rivers and dams, and provide habitat for a wide range of birds, mammals and insects.

Mainland alpine ash forests are now formally listed as endangered. This is because bushfires are becoming more frequent and severe due to climate change, which threatens to wipe out some of these forests.

In our new study, we examined how alpine ash forests would change under different climate scenarios, and found that difficult choices likely lie ahead.

Is it still possible to protect this unique species? We think so.

From the ashes

Alpine ash is what ecologists call an “obligate seeder”. This refers to plants that, after a major disturbance such as a bushfire, can only regenerate from seed.

If a mature forest burns, many adult trees die. However, the heat from the flames opens their seed capsules high in the canopy, releasing a flush of seed that allows the forest to regenerate. But this strategy only works if there is enough time between fires for young trees to mature and start to reproduce.

In recent decades, increasingly hot and dry conditions have sparked larger fires, including the devastating “Black Summer” fires of 2019-20. As a result, some regions have been repeatedly burnt within a matter of years.

When fire returns before the new generation of trees can produce seed of their own, alpine ash forests can fail to regenerate and may be replaced by other vegetation. This process, known as “immaturity risk”, is a major reason why alpine ash is now considered an endangered species.

In response, forest managers are increasingly turning to aerial resowing. Helicopters or planes are used to drop seed over burnt areas where young trees were killed before they could produce seed. The goal is to protect patches of alpine ash forest which could otherwise be replaced by other species, and turn into shrublands or grasslands.

Research has shown this active management approach helps protect smaller pockets of alpine ash affected by repeated severe fires. But it’s still unclear how effective aerial sowing can be at a landscape scale.

What we did

In our study, we used a powerful computer model to simulate these ecosystems over the next century and examined the forest changes that happened along the way. We focused on the Australian Alps, the country’s highest mountain range which stretches across southeast Australia.

We then tested how alpine ash forests will fare under different climate scenarios. This allowed us to consider three main questions:

1. what drives alpine ash decline in mainland Australia and how much loss can we expect?

2. in a warmer climate, how important is the reproductive age, meaning when the trees first produce seed, to the species’ survival?

3. how effective is aerial resowing after fires for protecting alpine ash at a landscape scale?

Finally, we examined how these combined factors – climate, fire, tree maturity and resowing – together may reshape the size, location and spread of alpine ash forests over the next century.

What we found

The results were striking.

Across all scenarios, alpine ash forests shrank dramatically – by between 49% and 65% – over the next 100 years, even without taking extra warming from future climate change into account.

This means that even our current climate and fire patterns are enough to push alpine ash towards extinction. The main drivers of its decline were aridity (hot and dry conditions) and the frequency and severity of current bushfires. But what mattered in its survival?

The strongest factor was the age at which trees first produced seed. We examined trees at seven and 15 years of age. Scientists often treat 15 years as the “normal” age for this species to reach maturity. Work by colleagues and our own field observations, however, suggest that young alpine ash trees can start producing seed much earlier, at about seven years age.

When we assumed trees could produce seed earlier, our model predicted about 96,000 hectares more alpine ash forest would survive in a century’s time. compared to maturity at 15 years. That’s about 14% of existing alpine ash forests in mainland Australia.

Surprisingly, our study shows aerial resowing after fire would only boost alpine ash survival marginally, saving between 1% and 3% of alpine ash forest area over the next 100 years.

Hard decisions ahead

Our findings show even current climate and fire risk are enough to push Australia’s alpine ash forests towards long-term decline. Therefore, authorities have to make hard decisions about which areas can be saved – and which can’t.

It also means we can’t wait for the future to unfold. To protect this important species, we must make targeted decisions about which regions to prioritise now.

To guide these difficult decisions, authorities can use the resist–accept–direct framework to target management and conservation activities at large scales, relevant to species conservation.

Resist

In some high value areas, forest managers can “resist” change by focusing on fuel management to reduce the intensity of future fires and limit how quickly they spread.

In areas where fuel management works, managers can also use targeted resowing. Given our research shows this approach isn’t as effective across large scales however, resowing should be used selectively to to keep patches of alpine ash connected and protect forest edges that will burn more frequently.

Accept

In high-risk areas, managers may need to “accept” that alpine ash will be taken over by more fire-tolerant vegetation, such as resprouting eucalypts. These trees can survive fires and regenerate their crowns by growing fresh shoots from their bark or roots. Such vegetation types may provide different ecosystem values, but are more resilient to future fire and climate.

Direct

In the remaining areas, managers can actively “direct” change. For example, they could introduce these fire-resilient “resprouter” tree species, such as mountain gums (Eucalyptus dalrympleana), or snow gums (E. pauciflora). They could also sow or plant alpine ash in areas previously occupied by other species or used by humans, or test climate-resilient seed sources for regeneration.

The future for alpine ash is likely going to be a mixed bag.

Landscape-scale models like ours can be used to map and better understand which areas can be protected, which can’t, and what else can be done to help forest managers take the best course of action.

That’s crucial to protect our unique alpine ash forests in a warmer, drier and more fire-prone world.

Benjamin Wagner, Research Fellow - Forest Resilience and Adaptation, The University of Melbourne; Craig Nitschke, Professor in Forest and Landscape Dynamics, The University of Melbourne, and Kaitlyn Hammond, Postdoctoral fellow, University of Northern British Columbia

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Australia’s Great Southern Reef is built not by coral but by seaweed. The seaweed forests on these rocky reefs stretch more than 8,000 kilometres around southern Australia.

Amid the swaying fronds live seadragons, rock lobsters, giant cuttlefish and southern blue devils. The reef is home to more than 1,500 seaweed species and contributes billions to the economy each year.

But these remarkable cold water forests face a worsening threat. The ocean is getting steadily warmer, pushing seaweed species outside their survival zone. Much of this damage is done by sudden marine heatwaves, where temperatures spike and remain high for some time. Heatwaves have driven the decline of seaweed forests across the country.

To protect these underwater forests, we need to preserve their genetic diversity. We led the first attempt to cryopreserve (freezing and storing reproductive material at ultra-low temperatures) a key Australian seaweed, crayweed, and found the idea shows promise, though the techniques need to be perfected.

Why does seaweed matter?

Most of us encounter seaweed as a slightly stinky mass spotted when walking along a beach. But underwater, these large algae (not plants) form beautiful forests swaying in the current – some as tall as 30 metres.

Seaweed forests are among the most productive ecosystems on Earth. Like forests on land, they provide habitat, shelter and food for many creatures. They underpin valuable fisheries such as lobster and abalone.

When local populations are wiped out, they take something important with them – genetic diversity. Species with high genetic diversity can better adapt to change. Some populations will be able to tolerate heat better, for instance. But if these populations disappear, their unique genes go with them.

In 2011, an extreme marine heatwave in Western Australia led to two common seaweed species losing an estimated 30 to 65% of their genetic diversity. These losses may mean poorer outcomes in response to intensifying threats.

Consider the crayweed

Golden-brown crayweed (Phyllospora comosa) once formed extensive underwater forests along Sydney’s coastline. Many of these disappeared in the 1980s, likely due to sewage pollution. But crayweed didn’t return even after pollution levels fell.

Over the past 14 years, scientists and divers have replanted this species around Sydney through Operation Crayweed. Their work has led to the return of self-sustaining populations, including Australia’s first named seaweed forest – Yanggaa forest at Coogee Beach.

But restoration may not be enough in a rapidly warming ocean. Our research shows separate crayweed populations harbour unique genetic diversity – and some individuals appear better equipped to tolerate heat. It may make sense to plant germlings (baby seaweed) from these individuals in vulnerable populations to boost their chances of survival.

Of seed banks, biobanks and cryopreservation

For decades, thousands of land-based plant species have had their genetic diversity preserved through seed banks. The seeds stored are sleeping but still alive. If planted in the right conditions, they will grow.

Some kelp species can also be kept alive in biobanks – not as seeds, but in a microscopic form (gametophytes) able to be kept alive in laboratories for years. Current kelp collections support research, aquaculture and restoration programs around the world, including in Australia.

These banks are important. But they won’t be enough. The majority of seaweed species dominating the Great Southern Reef are known as fucoids. Unlike true kelps, fucoids don’t have this microscopic life stage – they release sperm and eggs directly into seawater that fertilise and form germlings. This makes species such as crayweed, bull kelp (Durvillaea potatorum), Cystophora sp. and Scytothalia dorycarpa more challenging to conserve.

It is possible to bank species which rely on sexual reproduction, such as humans, cows, corals and fucoids. Assisted reproduction methods such as IVF rely on cryopreservation: storing reproductive material, tissue or early life stages at ultra-low temperatures (around –196 °C) so it remains viable for future use.

Our recent research tested whether frozen crayweed sperm and germlings were viable after being thawed. We found the sperm did well, but the germlings did not (for now). Our ultimate goal is to develop proven methods able to work across a broader range of Australian seaweed species.

Preserving the genetic diversity of seaweed species would mean these genes can be drawn on to bring them back. This buys valuable time and keeps the door open for new methods such as assisted gene flow, where individuals from better-adapted populations are used to help vulnerable ones cope with warmer conditions.

Time for seaweed biobanks?

Australia already has an impressive algal culture collection and is a global leader in coral cryobanking.

Even so, it will take real work to develop methods of preserving the forest-forming seaweed species that rely on sexual reproduction. We need to learn which populations contain unique or threatened genetic diversity, understand which are most vulnerable to climate change and improve freezing and recovery techniques.

Choosing which species and populations should be done alongside Indigenous custodians, governments, conservation organisations and local communities.

Cryobanking doesn’t solve climate change or replace the need to protect habitat. It’s an insurance policy for biodiversity. Much has already been lost. Preserving the remaining genetic diversity of our seaweed forests may well be critical to the survival of the Great Southern Reef.

Catalina A. Musrri, Postdoctoral Research Fellow in Marine Biology, University of Sydney and Georgina Wood, ARC Research Fellow in Marine Science, Flinders University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

When you think about threats to the Great Barrier Reef, coral bleaching due to climate change would likely be first.

But the world’s largest reef system faces many threats. One surprisingly large threat is poor water quality. When sediment is washed off farms, cities and bushland into rivers, it can be transported kilometres offshore. If there’s too much, it can smother corals and seagrass meadows. Fertiliser and pesticide residue can make things worse.

Unlike the global problem of climate change, water quality is a threat Australia can directly address. The issue has been repeatedly flagged by UNESCO, the United Nations body responsible for World Heritage areas such as the reef. In its latest draft decision – the fourth since 2023 – water quality remains a major issue, alongside climate change.

The draft decision notes “with utmost concern, the continuing negative impacts on hard coral cover across the Reef” and asks the Australian government to report on the damage done by coral bleaching in 2024–25 as well as poor water quality, unsustainable fishing practices and poorly managed uses of coastal land. The draft decision also requests an assessment of the impacts caused by dumping sediments from dredging in coastal waters.

In April, the Queensland and federal governments released a revised strategy to improve water quality. Previous plans have talked the talk but failed to deliver.

The new strategy is also likely to disappoint. It relies on broad vision statements without clear responsibilities, an adequate budget or realistic actions.

Water pollution is the biggest local threat

For years, one of the biggest local threats to the reef’s ecosystems has been land-based runoff.

Shallow seagrass meadows act as nurseries for fish and food for turtles and dugong. Like all plants, seagrass requires light to survive. If too much sediment blocks light or settles on a plant’s leaves, it can die. This is often worst after storms or cyclones, which churn up seas and mix sediment back into the water. Coral can be similarly hard-hit, especially if the sediments are laced with pesticides and other contaminants.

To improve water quality, farmers need to reduce sediment washing into rivers and reduce fertiliser and pesticide use. But it’s not just farms – runoff from industries, cities and towns also contributes.

Progress has been made to reduce fertiliser overuse. But Australia has repeatedly missed its own targets to cut water pollutants such as sediments, pesticides and dissolved inorganic nitrogen from fertilisers.

The federal and state governments have remained largely silent about these missed targets in favour of focusing on water quality successes, community involvement and investment.

Reasons for concerns about the new strategy

The recently released water quality strategy was delayed, with the previous plan expiring in 2022. Drawing on the latest Scientific Consensus Statement and two decades of monitoring, the plan proposes solutions such as better land management, rehabilitating mangroves, seagrass and wetlands and updated targets.

Despite that, the plan is unlikely to achieve what it’s meant to.

• Implementation. It’s not clear how the updated strategy will become reality. Previous strategies have suffered due to insufficient funding or limited success.

• Funding is uncertain. We estimate less than 25% of the funds necessary to meet the water quality targets have been invested by governments since 2003. The 2026 strategy and revised targets do not come with costings.

• Lack of coordination. Too often, aspirations set by one government department clash with another. When land is cleared for farming, the farm industry can grow. But cleared land leads to more sediment washing into waterways. Between 2018 and 2022, more than 680,000 hectares of land were cleared across the reef’s 35 river catchments. Of this, almost 90% was for livestock grazing. Last year’s federal environment law reforms were meant to protect the trees and shrubs growing along rivers but much work is still required.

There are other reasons to be concerned. To date, much of the funding from the Queensland government has gone to voluntary programs to improve farming practices – despite limited evidence these programs represent the best approach to improve water quality.

Inspections of sugarcane and banana farms show almost 50% aren’t compliant with regulations meant to protect the reef.

What future?

As climate change worsens and water quality problems persist, authorities are increasingly worried about the future of the Great Barrier Reef.

Last year, the International Union for Conservation of Nature rated its condition as “critical”. The 2024 Outlook Report from the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority describes the long-term outlook as very poor, with water quality efforts only “partially effective”.

The reef faces a dire future. Efforts are being made, but there are reasons for onging concerns after years of missed targets, incomplete compliance and inadequate funding.

The latest water quality plan will only work if the federal and state governments invest more in evidence-based solutions, such as better management of river catchments, continuous improvements in farming practices, stronger actions to protect riverside vegetation, improving stormwater and sewage management and reducing deforestation, earthworks and marine debris.

Later this month, UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee will consider the draft decision. Then the ball will be back in Australia’s court. It remains to be seen whether authorities will properly address major threats such as poor water quality.

The authors would like to acknowledge the input of environmental scientist Dr Maximilian Hirschfeld.

Jon C. Day, Adjunct Principal Research Fellow, College of Science and Engineering, James Cook University and Rob Coles, Principal Research Scientist at TropWATER, James Cook University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Australia is a world leader when it comes to adopting rooftop solar systems. But our solar transition is leaving renters and apartment dwellers behind.

According to the latest census, almost one-third of Australians rent their homes, live in apartments or are connected to private energy networks. These households are largely unable to benefit from rooftop solar.

Our research shows the reasons for this include limited roof space, relatively high costs for upgrading switchboards and wiring, and long approval wait times. Landlords may also be reluctant to install solar as any energy bill savings go directly to renters.

So renters and apartment dwellers face multiple obstacles in accessing free solar energy. That’s where plug-in solar comes in.

Plug-in solar systems – also known as balcony solar because they can be hung off balcony balustrades – are a convenient, low-cost way for households to take control of their energy use.

But there are several reasons why these systems aren’t being rolled out across Australia.

What are plug-in systems?

Plug-in solar systems are generally made of one or two solar photovoltaic panels, which turn sunlight into electricity. They also have a micro-inverter, which converts solar-generated electricity into the type of electricity that can power household appliances.

These “mini power plants” just need a standard power plug to work. So unlike rooftop systems, they are easily installed and removed without the help of an electrician. Many also include a battery, which stores any extra electricity.

Germany is spearheading the uptake of plug-in technology, with more than 1.2 million systems now installed across the country. The technology has recently also been legalised in other European nations such as France and Austria, as well as the United Kingdom and many jurisdictions in the United States.

Could they save you money?

Plug-in solar systems could help Australians save hundreds of dollars on their annual power bills. However, the exact benefits depend on what kind of home you have and how you use energy.

We used the Nationwide Home Energy Rating Scheme Whole of Home tool to estimate how much households in Australia’s capital cities could save by installing a one-kilowatt plug-in solar system that is vertical, unshaded and faces true north. A household in Canberra could save A$226 each year. In Adelaide, this figure rises to $372.

This equates to about 13% in savings, based on the average amount Australians pay in annual energy bills. This may be even higher for low-income households, which typically use less electricity than other households.

Obstacles remain

In Australia, these systems are gaining traction among advocates and policy makers. However, it’s currently illegal to install such systems in Australia.

If this is to change, we must overcome three main obstacles.

Technical challenges

Currently, no tested or certified plug-in solar systems are available in Australia. This means existing technical standards and safety rules don’t account for this new technology. More research is needed to understand how we can use plug-in systems safely, and how they may affect the wider electricity grid. This will determine if we place limits on how big these systems are and whether they can be exported. It will also tell us if we must update Australia’s household wiring standards.

Regulatory challenges

Australian rental and strata laws are a major barrier to adopting plug-in systems. These laws give landlords and body-corporates – legal bodies that manage shared property such as an apartment block – more control over building upgrades than the people living in the homes. However, Germany has changed its rules to empower households. For example, German landlords and body-corporates can’t unreasonably block plug‑in balcony solar systems, say if they simply don’t like how the systems look.

Social challenges

Our research shows many renters and vulnerable households want more climate‑friendly homes. However, they may not make any concrete changes because they lack information or mistrust new technologies. To ensure all Australians benefit from renewable energy systems, we need solutions that suit different kinds of households and are co-designed with local communities.

What can we do right now?

In Australia, we’re not yet ready to install plug‑in solar systems. But portable power stations are already available, and could help more Australians benefit from free solar power.

Portable power stations are indoor battery packs charged via a household powerpoint. These packs are able to store free daytime electricity for later use and have sockets to connect lights, small appliances and devices such as TVs, computers and phones. These stations can be installed in Australia without the approval of an electrician, landlord or strata body.

The new federal Solar Sharer Offer and Victoria’s upcoming Midday Power Saver provide free midday electricity tariffs to eligible households. Electricity tariffs determine how much you pay for the energy you consume. Free midday tariffs are most helpful for households who can use a lot of power over lunchtime.

For people who aren’t as flexible, however, portable power stations allow the storage of this free midday electricity to use at other times. This combination may also benefit people living in high-rise apartments, where it’s difficult to install rooftop solar. But some people may need support to buy and use them efficiently.

Australia is making ground in our clean energy transition. But we must develop safe and affordable ways for all households to switch to renewable electricity.

Nicola Willand, Associate Professor in Housing, School of Property, Construction and Project Management, RMIT University; Alan Pears, Senior Industry Fellow, Environment and Planning, RMIT University; Mike Roberts, Senior Research Fellow, School of Photovoltaic and Renewable Energy Engineering, UNSW Sydney, and Xiufang (Leah) Li, Senior Lecturer, Communication and Media Studies, RMIT University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

When you think of carnivorous marsupials, you probably picture the Tasmanian devil or perhaps a spotted-tailed quoll. But these famous predators are only the largest members of a remarkable family of marsupials called dasyurids.

Today the dasyurid family contains almost 80 living species. Some live in trees, others in deserts. Some eat insects and weigh only a few grams, while others can weigh up to 14 kilograms and feast on wombats and wallabies. Together they occupy habitats stretching from New Guinea’s tropical rainforests to Australia’s deserts and alpine woodlands.

Despite this extraordinary diversity, one of the biggest questions about their evolution has remained unanswered. Where did they come from?

Our new research, published today in Australian Zoologist, describes what is now the earliest known member of the dasyurid family – a mouse-sized predator we have named Miyumba chrisdickmani. It pushes the fossil record of dasyurids back by more than five million years and provides the first clear picture of what the earliest members of this iconic Australian group looked like.

A long-running puzzle

For decades, scientists have puzzled over the origins of dasyurids.

Early researchers assumed they must be an ancient group because their molar teeth exhibit a remarkably primitive design, little changed from the earliest Australian marsupial ancestors.

But DNA studies later suggested something very different. Modern dasyurids are actually a comparatively young branch of the marsupial family tree, diverging from their closest relatives around 18 million years ago.

The problem was that the fossil record didn’t seem to agree.

Almost every fossil dasyurid known was younger than five million years old. One supposed dasyurid, Barinya wangala, from the Miocene Epoch, appeared to have filled this evolutionary gap. But recent work showed it actually belongs to an entirely different family of bizarre snail-eating marsupials called the malleodectids.

Suddenly, the fossil record contained no confirmed dasyurids at all before the start of the Pliocene roughly 5.3 million years ago. This left an apparent evolutionary ghost lineage stretching back millions of years.

Our new fossil helps solve that mystery.

Tiny teeth hold important clue

Miyumba chrisdickmani was about the size of a modern antechinus or large dunnart, weighing only around 30 grams.

It is known from six fossil lower jaws recovered from the Riversleigh World Heritage Area on Waanyi country in northwestern Queensland. This is one of the world’s richest fossil deposits. It preserves Australian ecosystems that span more than 25 million years.

Although tiny, the animal’s teeth preserve an important evolutionary clue.

For decades, palaeontologists struggled to identify fossil dasyurids because there was no unique dental feature that clearly separated them from their extinct relatives. Miyumba reveals one at last.

In most primitive marsupial predators, the third lower premolar is the largest of the three premolars. In modern dasyurids, however, that tooth is actually smaller than both the first and second premolars.

Miyumba possesses exactly this arrangement. This makes it the earliest known fossil to display what appears to be a defining feature of the dasyurid family.

That seemingly subtle difference finally gives palaeontologists a reliable way to recognise early members of this important group.

The earliest known dasyurid

To test where Miyumba belonged, we compared its anatomy with living and extinct marsupials using two different evolutionary analyses.

One examined hundreds of anatomical features preserved in fossils. The other combined anatomical evidence with DNA sequence data from living species while also incorporating the ages of fossil species to estimate when major groups evolved.

Both approaches reached the same conclusion. Miyumba chrisdickmani represents the earliest and most primitive known dasyurid.

The analyses also identified another small Riversleigh fossil, Mayigriphus orbus, as one of the earliest members of the lineage that eventually gave rise to today’s dunnarts, planigales and other small arid-adapted dasyurids.

Together these discoveries push the origin of the dasyurid family back to around 23 million years ago, roughly five million years earlier than previous estimates.

An early life in rainforests

Perhaps the biggest surprise is what these fossils reveal about where modern dasyurids came from.

Today, many of Australia’s smallest dasyurids thrive in dry grasslands and deserts. Yet Miyumba lived in the lush rainforest ecosystems that covered much of northern Australia during the Early Miocene. Its anatomy also suggests it was most closely related to modern rainforest species found only in New Guinea.

This hints that the earliest dasyurids evolved in rainforests before some lineages adapted to the increasingly dry environments that spread across Australia over the past 15 million years.

While many ancient rainforest species disappeared from mainland Australia, some of their descendants may have survived in New Guinea’s tropical forests, where similar environments persist today.

A second mystery might be solved

The timing may also explain another long-standing mystery.

Early dasyurids appear just as another group of Australian marsupial predators, the keeunamorphians, disappeared from the fossil record.

It’s possible that as these older predators declined, early dasyurids expanded into the ecological niches they left behind before eventually diversifying into the remarkable array of carnivorous marsupials we know today.

A handful of tiny fossil jaws may not seem like much. But they reveal the missing opening chapter in the evolutionary history of Australia’s most successful marsupial predators and show that sometimes the smallest fossils answer the biggest questions.

Timothy Churchill, Adjunct Associate Lecturer, School of Biological, Earth & Environmental Sciences, UNSW Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Seen from the air, Channel Country resembles a vibrant and vast tapestry, with a network of waterways crisscrossing the land. Spread across more than 280,000 square kilometres in outback Australia, it is one of the world’s last free-flowing desert river systems.

In the heart of Channel Country, in southwest Queensland, live the Mithaka people whose ancestors over at least the past 3,000 years played a key role in the development of a transcontinental trade and exchange system. Plants were a central part of the economy of Mithaka people, with at least 200 different species used for food, medicine, materials and ceremonial purposes.

In a new paper published in Nature Communications, we reveal important new information about the genetic complexity of one particular food source from the region: channel millet (Echinochloa turneriana).

The traits we found are often associated with domestication.

Deep importance of plants in Mithaka life

How people managed and interacted with plants is an area that’s slowly starting to gain momentum in Australian archaeology.

Genomics has played a fundamental role in increasing understanding of relationships between people and plants in several regions of the world, including the Americas and Asia. It has the potential to shed light on how humans influenced vegetation communities in Australia, though much of the detailed research is yet to be done.

The few genetic studies undertaken in Australia working with Aboriginal people on understanding their history of plant interactions have revealed important new insights.

One outstanding example is the discovery that Aboriginal people in northeast New South Wales and southeast Queensland deliberately dispersed the black bean (Castanospermum australe), a valuable native food source.

The Mithaka people have a rich archaeological record that highlights the deep importance of plants in everyday life. Our previous research has identified hundreds of grinding stone quarries used to process the seeds of native grasses, herbs, shrubs and trees – evidence of sophisticated knowledge of local ecosystems and food resources.

Together, these sites form an interconnected cultural landscape of exceptional significance, recently recognised and added to the National Heritage List.

Untangling complex genetics

Our new study builds on this foundation.

Channel millet grows more than a metre tall. A robust grass, it flourishes after flooding, forming extensive fields of waving brown seedheads. At such times in the past, it was an important food source for Aboriginal people.

The explorer Augustus Gregory came upon “fields of 1,000 acres of millet” on the Cooper Creek floodplain in 1884, and described people cutting the stalk halfway up. Early pastoralist and writer Alice Duncan-Kemp described the processing of “ugar” or “egar” (grass seeds resembling canary seeds) by Aboriginal women on the Diamantina River.

We first sequenced the DNA in the channel millet. When we analysed the genome we found it to be highly complex. While humans and many plants have two copies of each chromosome (one from the father and one from the mother), this plant has 12 copies of each chromosome.

This is called polyploidy, in which an organism acquires multiple sets of chromosomes, typically through accidents of reproduction or through hybridisation.

Large numbers of copies of each chromosome are common in domesticated crops such as wheat, rice and sugarcane. It’s not a smoking gun for domestication; in fact, natural polyploidy has been occurring for millions of years through the processes of chromosome duplication and hybridisation.

People, however, have greatly accelerated and exploited the process, sometimes accidentally, but in more recent history deliberately, inducing chromosome doubling to produce crops with larger fruits, greater vigour and improved resilience.

This novel genetic pattern may explain how this plant survives the bust and boom environment in which it grows. Populations of channel millet are decimated during extended dry periods. But they survive as underground seeds that germinate rapidly in periods when floodwaters flow across the region.

Multiple copies of each chromosome may help these populations endure the dramatic fluctuations of life in the Channel Country. Like the hybrid crops prized by farmers, plants with extra chromosome sets can be especially vigorous, giving them a genetic toolkit that helps them survive and thrive in an unpredictable environment.

More than natural selection?

Natural selection may not be the only force that has contributed to the evolution of such unusual genetics.

This plant has large seeds making it an attractive food source. Like other grass species such as wheat, rice and corn that have been domesticated by people in the past, it also shows little shattering (shedding of the mature seed). This means it is quite efficient to harvest, with seeds remaining attached to the plant at harvest.

Human harvest, storage and consumption may have contributed to the evolution of this unique plant. Harvest will have favoured large seeds that did not shatter.

Human consumption may have contributed to population bottlenecks in the ancestors of modern channel millet, while storage may have ensured survival of at least some seeds during extended dry periods. Studies of population variation and other species in the area will be needed to better define these impacts.

Informing knowledge for future foods

Today, Mithaka people are keen to learn more about plants such as channel millet, and how past human interactions with these species may inform knowledge for future foods.

Our future research will link plant genetics with evidence from ancient fireplaces and shell midden sites, plant residues from grinding stones and pollen cores from waterholes targeting specific landscapes in Mithaka country.

Combined with Indigenous knowledge, this research will help build a clearer picture of how Mithaka people actively shaped – and were shaped by – the vegetation communities around them over thousands of years.

Michael Westaway, Professor of Archaeology and Biological Anthropology, School of Social Science, The University of Queensland; Jennifer Silcock, Post-doctoral Research Fellow, School of the Environment, The University of Queensland; Rahul Chandora, PhD Student, Centre for Crop Science, The University of Queensland; Robert Henry, Director, Queensland Alliance for Agriculture and Food Innovation, The University of Queensland; Sammi Blinco, Director, Mithaka Aboriginal Corporation, Indigenous Knowledge, and Shawnee Gorringe, Admin & Research Support at Mithaka Aboriginal Corporation, Indigenous Knowledge

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Last month’s US Supreme Court ruling in favour of the makers of the weedkiller Roundup (formerly Monsanto, now owned by German pharmaceuticals group Bayer) upended thousands of lawsuits based on the cancer risk associated with the product’s active ingredient glyphosate.

But the ruling also highlights a longstanding controversy about how the product’s use is approved, including in New Zealand.

The US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has judged glyphosate “not likely” to cause cancer, while the World Health Organization’s International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC) describes it as “probably carcinogenic to humans”.

The two agencies weigh the evidence differently. IARC uses only publicly available studies and tests animal data for dose-response trends, while the US EPA leans heavily on unpublished studies commissioned by the manufacturer itself.

As a small country, New Zealand cannot itself conduct full risk assessments of thousands of chemicals in use, and leans on findings from bigger agencies overseas.

In the case of glyphosate, New Zealand’s approval process is based on several reviews shaped by Monsanto. But I argue this is no longer tenable, as one of them has now been retracted and two are under investigation.

Compromised evidence in regulatory decisions

Monsanto-produced evidence has a questionable track record. Its early tests during the 1970s and ‘80s were conducted in contract laboratories that have since been convicted of fabricating data.

In 2017, litigation forced Monsanto’s internal documents to be unsealed. These exposed how the company interacted with researchers who gave favourable assessments and produced ghostwritten reviews.

In this context, ghostwriting is the practice of putting names of independent scientists on work produced by employees of the company. It is explicitly prohibited under the standards of scientific practice.

Faced with the divided evidence, New Zealand’s Environmental Protection Authority (NZ EPA) commissioned its own report in 2016. It concluded glyphosate is “unlikely to be genotoxic or carcinogenic to humans”.

New Zealand scientists objected at the time. In 2018, six New Zealand public-health researchers, several of whom have connections to IARC, challenged the authority’s report.

They listed many concerns, including reliance on unpublished industry studies and ghostwriting. None of this moved the authority’s position. In 2024, it again found no grounds to reassess the use of glyphosate. A High Court challenge to this decision was unsuccessful.

However, the ground beneath this debate is shifting.

Three key Monsanto reviews under scrutiny

Over the past year, together with colleagues, I have traced how Monsanto-influenced reviews shape public discourse and regulation around the world.

We found they had been effective in their intended purpose of convincing people and regulators of glyphosate’s safety.

We called for them to be retracted because the first was written by Monsanto and signed by outside academics. An internal email describes the practice of writing the sections so the named authors “would just edit & sign their names”.

The journal retracted this review in November 2025, noting Monsanto employees “may have contributed […] without proper acknowledgement as co-authors”, among other issues.

Another two have recently come under investigation.

One was also shaped by Monsanto, with a company scientist who helped write it deliberately kept off the byline to make it look independent.

A recently disclosed memo shows the US EPA’s own investigator reached the same conclusion that the paper “hid Monsanto’s role as an author”, but the agency kept citing it.

Another review published in 2015 discredited a study that had found glyphosate caused a significant rise in malignant lymphoma in mice, instead invoking a “viral infection”. But subsequent independent reanalysis found no evidence of this in the original study.

Bayer continues to reject the ghostwriting characterisation, saying Monsanto’s involvement was appropriately cited in the acknowledgments which thanked the company’s scientists for “significant contributions”.

NZ should reconsider glyphosate regulation

Institutional trust varies significantly. US EPA emails from 2025 show Bayer promising the agency “a small thanks” for updating its glyphosate webpage.

By contrast, the judge in Australia’s 2024 Roundup class action warned that a company dealing with regulators cannot be assumed to “play with a straight bat,” and said the evidence gave him “concerns about accepting anything from Monsanto at face value”. Yet the 2015 review was used by the applicant’s own statistician.

New Zealand’s 2016 report also leans on these three reviews. But now, in 2026, it is much harder to treat them as legitimate evidence in an honest scientific debate about glyphosate’s safety.

When New Zealanders are told dietary exposure sits well under 1% of the “acceptable level”, they should keep in mind two things.

First, this level is based on industry-sponsored studies. Second, an average hides how unevenly exposure falls on sprayers, rural communities and people with particular diets. These factors should be weighted in, but New Zealand holds almost no exposure data.

Glyphosate is only one of 16 high-use pesticides in New Zealand flagged as suspected carcinogens by at least one major agency.

The costs of using them should be estimated explicitly: an uptick in illnesses, strain on the healthcare system, harm to the environment and lost quality of life.

The intellectually honest process would be to assess risks with broad scientific consultation and acknowledgement of where evidence is compromised or plainly missing.

For New Zealand to keep avoiding a comprehensive reassessment of glyphosate is to make wilful ignorance a matter of national policy.

Alexander Kaurov, PhD Candidate in Science and Society, Te Herenga Waka — Victoria University of Wellington

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

If you stand on one of Australia’s southern shorelines at this time of the year, you might be lucky enough to spot a southern right whale (Eubalaena australis) swimming in the shallow waters.

These ocean giants have migrated from the Southern Ocean and Antarctica to breed, give birth and to rest. If you’re really lucky, you may even see one of them resting upside-down.

At first glance, this perplexing behaviour, which has not been reported in other large whales, may make you think the animal is sick or injured. But our new paper, published in the journal Mammalian Biology, suggests quite the opposite.

It may actually be an indicator of a healthy mother carefully managing her energy reserves during one of the most energetically demanding periods of her life.

A balancing act

Southern right whales migrate long distances, greater than 6,000 kilometres. That’s like travelling the distance from Perth to Sydney … and back.

If that didn’t sound difficult enough, southern right whales are not feeding when they are on the calving grounds in Australia. The whales are known as capital breeders, meaning they feed intensively for half the year on their feeding grounds, before migrating to their calving grounds where they rely on stored energy in their blubber.

Mothers with newborns require the largest amount of energy compared to others. They therefore face a delicate balancing act to conserve enough energy to be able to return to the feeding grounds while producing enough milk to feed their hungry, growing calf.

To better understand this balancing act, we took to the skies with our drones to film the behaviours of whales along the Great Australian Bight.

Hundreds of drone flights and many batteries later, we collected hours upon hours of footage of the whales nursing and resting.

What really sparked our interest was an unusual behaviour we observed: whales lying upside-down on the surface or just below the surface.

To our knowledge, no other large whale has been recorded resting this way.

Why do southern right whales rest upside-down?

The first clue as to why the whales are resting this way lies in who is resting this way.

Whales who were observed resting upside down were only mothers with newborn calves and one mother who was in the late stages of pregnancy. The behaviour wasn’t observed in other adults, juveniles or calves.

We saw this behaviour in 25% of the mothers we observed, suggesting this behaviour may be linked to the energetic demands of reproduction. When these mothers did rest this way, they did so for roughly 19% of their time we followed them.

One reason for this behaviour could be that upside-down resting helps mothers regulate how much milk they feed their calf.

When mothers rest upside-down, the calf is unable to reach their mammary slits where the milk is. Mothers therefore may rest in this position when they are feeling low on energy and need a break.

Another possible reason for mothers to rest upside-down is to help prevent overheating.

Unlike some other whales and dolphins, these whales completely lack a dorsal fin. Dorsal fins often play an important role in controlling internal temperature, by exposing blood vessels that are close to the skin to the cool air.

By lying upside-down at the surface and exposing her belly and pectoral fins out of the water, she could be increasing the surface area of skin that’s in contact with the sea breeze, helping her cool down, like us dipping our legs in a cold pool on a hot day.

Beauty sleep at a cost

Regardless of its purpose, upside-down resting places southern right whales in a vulnerable position.

Rotating the right way up is no easy feat, especially when you can weigh upwards of 40 tonnes. By resting the “wrong way up”, it takes the whale longer to rotate to breathe and swim away quickly if a threat approaches (such as boats or ships).

As southern right whale populations stall and are yet to recover from historical whaling, understanding unique behaviours such as upside-down resting help inform how we better protect this species.

If you are lucky enough to see a southern right whale resting upside-down this winter, remember these animals are undertaking one of the most energetically demanding periods of their lives and it’s best to give them space and not disturb them.

Take a moment to appreciate how perplexing and unique this behaviour is. You are one of the few people to witness one of Australia’s upside-down resting whales.

Kate Sprogis, Lecturer, UWA Oceans Institute, The University of Western Australia; Fredrik Christiansen, Senior Researcher in Marine Biology, Aarhus University, and Renae van Noort, Research Associate, UWA Oceans Institute, The University of Western Australia

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Humans have been turning seeds and soil into food for thousands of years.

We first started cultivating edible plants at the end of the last Ice Age, roughly 12,000 years ago. Ploughing made this possible.

Ploughing, also known as tilling, is the process of turning over soil to bury weeds, loosen the earth and bring fresh nutrients to the surface.

But ploughing, particularly over long periods, can erode the soil and make it less healthy. This is where conservation-focused farming methods, including no-till farming, come in.

So what is no-till farming? And does it actually improve the soil?

Many ways to work the soil

Conventional farming involves sowing a crop into ploughed soil. Ploughing kills weeds that compete with crops for resources, such as water. It also buries weeds and dead plant material deep into the ground, where they are then broken down by bacteria and fungi.

Humans first ploughed the earth using curved wooden sticks known as ards. In Roman times, we invented the iron ploughs on which our modern moldboard ploughs are based.

But herbicides, which are chemicals that kill weeds, became much cheaper to buy from the mid-20th century. This allowed farmers to kill weeds without cultivating the soil. And it paved the way for the no-till farming movement.

Put simply, no-till farming is farming without disturbing the soil. No-till approaches use specialised machinery to sow directly into the plant waste that’s left once previous crops have been harvested, and any remaining weeds have been killed with chemicals.

The rise of no-till farming

No-till farming gained traction in the 1950s and 1960s as more people learnt of its potential benefits. These include:

• limiting soil erosion, by shielding the surface of the soil from wind and rain

• retaining soil moisture, by trapping it under a layer of crop waste

• protecting the large holes in the soil, known as macropores, that allow water to seep into the soil

• reducing our reliance on machinery such as disc ploughs and rotary hoes, and the fossil fuels needed to operate them.

Supporters of no-till farming also claim it boosts the amount of beneficial organisms and nutrients in the soil. They also say no-till farming improves water quality, reduces the risk of pests and diseases, and boosts farmer profits.

Digging deeper

However, there is a darker side to no-till farming. Here are three reasons why.

More harmful chemicals

No-till farmers must use much larger amounts of chemicals to destroy weeds that would otherwise be killed by tilling.

A 2025 report by Friends of the Earth found the United States’ corn and soybean industries rely heavily on widespread chemical use to produce their crops, using no-till or minimum-till methods. Research has linked these chemicals with higher rates of cancer, birth defects, infertility and other medical conditions. However, any harmful effects will depend on how they are applied and in what doses.

These chemicals have also been shown to harm the health of animals that live in the soil. A recent meta-analysis examined nearly 400 studies about how chemicals used in no-till farming affect soil organisms, such as earthworms, beetles and mites. It found these chemicals affected how these animals bred and how long they lived in 70% of cases. Another recent study from Estonia suggests pesticide use is more harmful to soil microbes, including bacteria and fungi, than conventional tillage.

Less stored carbon

Research shows no-till farming practices may boost the amount of carbon that’s stored near the surface of the soil. This matters because carbon-rich soils are less likely to erode, and most of the beneficial organisms and microbes are found in the soil’s top layer.

But when you consider the various layers that make up our soils, this is not the case. One study found soils that haven’t been ploughed contain about 5% less stored carbon than conventionally-farmed soils. Other research shows no-till practices don’t necessarily increase carbon storage, contrary to what many no-till advocates say.

Lower crop yields

Even if no-till farming is better for the environment, it may not produce the yields farmers need to earn an income. One international meta-analysis found farmers grew about 5% less crop, one to two years after switching from conventional to no-till practices. This drop in yields was consistent across 678 studies looking at 50 different crops. This may be because no-till practices can compact the soil, limiting how much roots can grow and absorb nutrients.

A balancing act

Overall, it seems conventional farming methods are better for the soil than no-till practices. But that’s only if farmers plough the soil without relying on herbicides and other harmful chemicals.

Current evidence suggests these chemicals are damaging, both for the soil and our health. So we need new ways of producing food without chemicals. “No-kill cropping” – which involves sowing seed directly into dry soils without any artificial chemicals – may be one option.

But we urgently need more research to know if such alternative ways of farming will actually improve the health of our soils, communities and agriculture sector.

David John Eldridge, Professor of Dryland Ecology, UNSW Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

For years, Darwin residents have been concerned about toxic chemicals emitted by the city’s two gas export facilities.

In fact, some locals are so worried about these airborne chemicals – particularly benzene – they recently formed a community group and launched a fundraiser to buy a regulation-grade mobile device for continuous monitoring.

Only days later, the Northern Territory Environment Protection Authority (NTEPA) approved a permit extension allowing international gas giant Santos to emit – or “hot vent” – toxic gases and volatile organic compounds (VOCs), such as benzene, for an extra 26 days each year. Santos already has permission to emit for 36 days each year.

The evidence shows benzene and other gas-related chemicals pose significant health risks. So why is the NT willing to green-light this additional pollution without more rigorous monitoring?

Why benzene exposure is a problem

Among the many hazardous gases released into the atmosphere during gas and Liquified Natural Gas (LNG) production, benzene is one of the most concerning.

Many recent studies link benzene exposure to significant health risks, both alone and with other “BTEX” chemicals (toluene, ethylbenzene and xylene).

These risks include cancers, childhood asthma, heart and respiratory diseases, hospitalisations and deaths, low birth weight and cancer risks to the developing fetus, even at low levels of exposure in outdoor environments.

The research is clear: there is no safe level of exposure to benzene. Every part per billion people inhale matters.

In 2004, the Australian government committed to review evidence and set a formal standard for benzene exposure by 2012, but none has been set. The level of benzene that triggers an investigation in Australia is two to three times higher than benzene standards across Europe, India, Japan and New Zealand.

Permission to emit

Darwin has two LNG export facilities, operated by Japanese giant Inpex and global energy corporation Santos. They are respectively located about 10 kilometres from Darwin’s central business district.

Residents concerned about the levels of benzene and other toxic chemicals being emitted by these two plants recently formed a group called Community Healthy Air Northern Territory (CHANT).

Launched on June 14, CHANT has raised more than $100,000 to buy a regulation-grade mobile BTEX monitoring device. The community is currently gaining advice from experts to conduct their own air monitoring project.

The day after this group was launched, NTEPA announced its own plans to establish an air-quality testing network. The authority said this would measure and report on toxic air substances, including BTEX chemicals.

Yet only two days later, the authority approved the extension – allowing Santos to “hot vent” toxic waste gases from its new controversial Barossa gas supply for an additional 26 days. Hot venting is when waste gas is released directly into the atmosphere, bypassing anti-pollution devices.

Concerns over priorities

Some Darwin residents see this extension as an example of the priority given to the gas industry over the community concerns.

This view has merit. For example, in 2025 an ABC Darwin investigation revealed Santos failed to report a serious leak in its LNG storage tank for 20 years. Despite large volumes of methane escaping, Santos is not required to repair the crack.

In 2024, Darwin residents became aware Inpex LNG had emitted VOCs, such as benzene, up to 22 times higher than it originally estimated it would.

In 2025, Inpex admitted to underestimating benzene emissions by 138 times in compulsory reporting of total VOCs, likely since 2018. It also admitted to hot venting for extended periods of time when the company’s anti-pollution devices were not operating.

In 2025, Inpex commissioned a consultancy to conduct desktop modelling of estimated levels of benzene and toluene across nearby areas in greater Darwin. The modelling used Inpex’s own emissions data and monthly measurements of BTEX chemicals in ambient air samples at four community locations, as well as the gas plant boundary. This report was not made public.

A second consultancy found fundamental deficiencies in INPEX’s emissions calculation methodologies, meaning hot venting emissions were consistently underestimated by several orders of magnitude.

It also found multiple additional flaws, such as poor documentation, inconsistencies and incomplete coverage of all emission sources.

How has the government responded?

Following the release of the report, the NT Chief Health Officer commissioned a preliminary human health risk assessment in relation to hot venting and high emissions of benzene and toluene. The assessment concluded that the risk of health effects from these emissions was low.

This raises some serious questions. The quality of the report results depends entirely on the quality of the input data. Continuous air quality measurements, not just monthly sampling, are needed. If benzene is systemically under-reported, then exposure estimates and potential health impacts may be substantially underestimated.

Past exposures should be investigated urgently. Because air quality measurements ceased at their peak in October 2021, health studies will be needed to assess any adverse health outcomes in future years, particularly in children.

Stronger action needed

Given the evidence, we urge the federal government’s National Environment Protection Council to carefully review the many recent population studies that reveal serious risks of exposure levels below those currently considered ‘safe’.

We await truly protective short and long term standards for benzene and total BTEX exposure that must be acted upon when exceeded. The NT EPA and government must take full responsibility to ensure emissions of these pollutants are minimised for people and their environment.

Getting this right now is critical for Darwin, and rapidly growing gas developments across the world. Clear limits to toxic emissions, careful independent monitoring and firm regulatory action is essential to protect people.

Melissa Haswell, Professor of Health, Safety and Environment, School of Public Health and Social Work, Queensland University of Technology and Kerrie Mengersen, Distinguished Professor in Statistical Science, Queensland University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Every winter, millions of Australians are reminded how hard it is to live comfortably in older homes. Warm air constantly leaks out through poorly insulated ceilings, walls and floors, and through gaps in floors, windows and under doors. Heaters run day and night, sending energy bills soaring.

The gap between new and old homes is huge. Since 2004, new homes across most of Australia have to meet minimum energy performance standards. Homes now have to reach 7 stars on the national Home Energy Rating scheme, known as NatHERS (or the equivalent BASIX system in New South Wales). The higher the rating, the cheaper it is to get through winter or summer.

By contrast, homes built before 2004 get an average of just 2.1 stars. Many lack basic features such as insulation, draught proofing and energy efficient appliances. That’s according to new research we undertook assessing energy performance of almost 1,100 older homes in NSW. Across the state, this means about 850,000 homes would get zero or 1 star for energy performance.

Why does this matter?

Requiring new homes to be more and more energy efficient over time is good policy. Energy efficient homes require less heating and cooling and keep residents comfortable.

But houses last a long time. In NSW, most homes were built before these standards were introduced over 20 years ago. Older homes make up 61% of the state’s housing stock, or just over two million homes.

The energy performance gap means most people in NSW live in homes which are harder and more expensive to keep comfortable during cold and hot weather.

These costs can be considerable. Of a home’s fixed energy use, 38% is used to heat air, 29% to heat water, and 16% to cool air. A 2-star home would typically need 4–6 times as much energy as a 7 star home to maintain a comfortable temperature.

Residents are forced to run their heaters and air conditioners more often to maintain comfortable temperatures or risk their wellbeing if they can’t afford to.

It’s not news that older homes aren’t as energy efficient. But much of what was known came from a 2015 study on 60 houses in Victoria, which found homes built before 2005 averaged 1.8 stars. Our new research analysed 1,091 homes across New South Wales, giving us a much larger and geographically diverse evidence base.

The homes in this research came from across the state. They were selected to be representative of older housing types, including single dwellings and townhouses built before 2004. Apartments were not included.

A small group of home energy assessors visited and assessed all 1,091 homes between July 2023 and June 2024. Each home was assessed using the Residential Efficiency Scorecard approach, and then converted into the equivalent NatHERS star rating.

Why is the gap so large?

The introduction of minimum energy standards has led to clear improvement in new homes. Builders and owners can choose how to meet energy performance requirements – it’s not one size fits all.

Typically, newer NSW homes have double the ceiling insulation of older homes, coupled with insulation in external walls and often under floors. Windows and doors with good air seals are now standard features.

By contrast, a typical older home has little or no insulation in the walls and floors. It’s common for warm air to leak out and draughts of cold air to blow in. Our research found only 22% of doors and 40% of windows were sealed.

Older homes also tend to have older, less energy-efficient methods of heating and cooling. We found 72% of fixed heating and 60% of cooling appliances had efficiency ratings of medium or below.

Renters have it worse

Our research shows renters have it worse. Older homes used as private rentals had significantly lower energy ratings (1.6 NatHERS stars) compared to the homes where owners lived there (2.1 stars).

Rental properties had lower levels of insulation in ceilings and walls, as well as less access to heating and cooling. Almost a quarter of rentals (24%) had no air conditioners.

Rental homes were more than twice as likely to have expensive-to-run electric radiators for winter heating (16% compared to 6–7% for owner-occupied).

What can be done?

Many older homes can be upgraded to make them more liveable and cheaper to live in. These include:

Lower cost

• sealing gaps to prevent draughts
• switching to water-efficient shower heads

Mid-range

• upgrading insulation in ceilings, walls and potentially floors
• improving internal window coverings
• replacing inefficient appliances with energy-efficient reverse cycle air conditioners for heating and cooling
• switching to efficient heat pumps for hot water or setting existing electric systems to heat in the middle of the day alongside new solar sharer plans if eligible

Higher cost

• install high-performance double or triple glazed windows
• install external blinds or shading

Combining improvements can cut energy consumption up to 39%.

Scaling up

Upgrading older homes at scale would cut energy consumption while improving resident comfort and reducing energy bills.

But cost is a deterrent. Our research has informed the state government’s new Home Energy Saver scheme, intended to make this less of a barrier.

The scheme currently offers zero interest loans for home owners to upgrade energy performance. In the future, it will offer discounts of up to A$4,000 for owners and renters on lower incomes.

The government plans to introduce disclosure of home energy ratings when homes are sold or rented to give people more information about energy costs.

It’s too early to say whether these schemes will do what policymakers hope. But our research shows the problem is real – and it won’t fix itself.

Matthew Daly, Research Principal, Institute for Sustainable Futures, University of Technology Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.