You might know the short-tailed shearwater and sable shearwater by the common name “muttonbirds”. These two species of seabird breed on islands off southeastern Australia. Both undertake a breathtaking two-week, non-stop flight across the Pacific to the Bering Sea, more than 10,000 km away near Alaska and Russia. Here, they spend the northern summer.

Shearwaters have to survive often-ferocious conditions. Researchers using tracking technology found a shearwater flying inside the eye of a hurricane for 11 hours at an altitude of 4,700 m and winds exceeding 200 km/hr. The bird lived.

These remarkable birds have evolved special features such as tendons in their shoulder joints allowing them to take advantage of intense winds. Rather than being harmed, they use powerful winds to catapult them vast distances while expending minimal energy.

This is why it’s puzzling when many people – and wildlife agencies – blame strong winds or “migration” for the increasing numbers of dead shearwaters seen on Australian beaches.

In our new research, we point to the real cause of deaths in Australian waters: starvation linked to climate change. Researchers overseas have also pinpointed ocean warming as a key factor in mass deaths of seabirds.

Why blame the wind?

Pelagic (ocean-going) seabirds such as shearwaters rarely approach land other than to breed on their chosen islands – or if they are sick, starving or dying and don’t have enough energy to use the wind as they want.

In these cases, the wind can often push them onshore where beachgoers might see them and assume the strong winds are to blame.

Dead or dying beach-washed shearwaters are typically found over a vast area, from Queensland to Tasmania. This means the causes of these deaths must cover a large area – it can’t just be localised storms.

Shearwaters can survive long periods without food, but they have their limits. The waters of Australia’s east coast are a hotspot for marine biodiversity. But these same waters are warming significantly faster than the global average. As more and more heat is funnelled into the oceans, the prey species the shearwaters rely on are moving elsewhere, or going deeper. With their food out of reach, the birds grow weaker and many will die.

Many beachgoers spotting a dead shearwater may think this is normal, as they have seen this before. But it’s not normal. Of the world’s roughly 10,000 bird species, about 1,800 migrate, travelling long distances every year. These include shorebirds, land birds and seabirds. Almost none are regularly found dead on beaches or anywhere else. When they are found dead, they are very often emaciated.

Mass deaths are multiplying

The death of large numbers of birds in a short time is called a “wreck”. In birds, these sad events are typically linked to less prey and warmer waters.

From 2014 to 2015, around 400,000 Cassin’s auklets died off the Pacific northwest of the United States. The mass death of these small seabirds was linked to falling prey numbers brought on by a powerful marine heatwave which spread like a wildfire across the ocean.

Of all the extra heat trapped by climate change, more than 90% pours into the ocean. While the ocean gets gradually hotter, sudden marine heatwaves can bring abrupt, unwelcome change. Marine heatwaves are now striking more often and with increasing intensity.

While some species can adapt to some levels of change, others will not. Indeed, researchers predict “more losers than winners” as the rates of ocean warming rise.

Sadly, shearwaters look to be one such species. During a strong marine heatwave over the 2023-24 southern summer, an estimated 629,000 adult shearwaters died on Australian beaches. For the short-tailed shearwater, that’s around 3% of the global population, gone in a matter of weeks.

Shearwaters are globally recognised as sentinels of ocean health. When their populations are expanding and birds are able to successfully rear their young, this indicates the surrounding ocean is healthy and robust.

The deaths of hundreds of thousands of shearwaters in a single summer is an early warning of what is to come as ocean temperatures keep rising.

Jennifer Lavers (Métis Nation ᓲᐊᐧᐦᑫᔨᐤ), Lecturer in Ornithology, Charles Sturt University

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

With their dazzling blooms, orchids are among the most famous and collected flowering plants on Earth.

But orchids are not just beautiful and rare. They can also provide clues into the broader health of global ecosystems.

From the outside, ecosystems can look healthy while species reproduction rates are quietly collapsing, due to a decline in the number of bees and other pollinators such as flies and wasps. That’s in part what makes pollination failure so dangerous – and so hard to detect.

However, orchids have a very specialised biology which allows them to act as early indicators of pollination decline. And as our recent research, published in the journal Global Change Biology, shows, they’re telling us pollination is under pressure and has been for a long time. This threatens everything from global biodiversity to ecosystem resilience and food production.

No plan bee

Most plants are flexible. If one pollinator disappears, another might fill the gap. But for many orchid species, there is no other pollinator.

Many orchid species rely on a single pollinator, or a very narrow group of them. To attract these pollinators, orchids use specific scents, colours and shapes.

Some orchids chemically mimic the pheromones of female insects, tricking males into attempting to mate with the flower. Others flower only during short windows of time when their pollinator is active.

This tight ecological coupling means orchids may not be able to compensate when conditions change. If climate shifts, land use changes, or pollinator activity or emergence changes, orchid reproduction may fail.

The impact of pollination failure on orchid populations may not be seen for some years, as individual orchids – many of which retreat to an underground tuber when not flowering – may live for many years or even decades.

Turning collections into data

Proving long-term pollination decline in plants has been incredibly difficult. Reduced pollination in the field, unless for an agricultural crop, often goes unnoticed.

Few studies track reproduction consistently over decades.

While widespread declines in pollinators have been documented in Europe and North America, equivalent evidence from Australasia is lacking. A major review published in 2023 even asked whether the region had dodged the bullet, but concluded a lack of data was to blame, not immunity.

But orchids leave behind a record of visitation. When pollinators visit orchids, they remove pollen packets in a way that can be seen and measured even on dried orchid specimens. And herbaria around the world hold hundreds of thousands of these specimens, collected over centuries.

In our study, we analysed more than 10,000 preserved orchid flowers collected across Australia.

These specimens act like ecological time capsules, allowing us to measure pollination services directly, long after the season in which they were collected from the wild.

We found pollination services have declined by more than 60% since the 1970s. Mean pollination services declined with increasing land-use intensity, and temporal declines in pollination service were associated with rising temperatures.

A global pattern

This is a global pattern.

The first study to apply this approach, published in 2010, showed a long-term decline in the removal of pollen packages in the orchid Pterygodium catholicum from Signal Hill, South Africa.

More recently, an analysis using collections at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, in the United Kingdom, examined removal of pollen packages across three orchid genera from Africa, the Americas and Europe.

That study found significant declines in pollinia removal in African (Disa) and American (Oncidium) orchids, particularly among species with deceptive or highly specialised pollination strategies. European Ophrys showed mixed trends depending on pollinator group.

Together, these studies show that declines in pollination are most pronounced in orchids that rely on specialised pollinator interactions.

This reflects broader evidence for what’s known as “pollen limitation”, where plant reproduction is constrained by a lack of effective pollination worldwide.

A window to the past

This emphasises why herbarium collections matter. Rather than stacks of old, dry plants, they provide a window to the past. This is invaluable to understanding environmental change.

Preserved orchid specimens provide rare long-term evidence of ecological change that cannot be replaced by short-term field studies.

When pollination fails, plant populations may persist for a time. But without reproduction they are already in decline.

Applying this approach across Australia’s orchid diversity could allow pollination failure to be detected earlier and more consistently at a continental scale.

Right now, orchids are sending a clear signal. Pollination is under pressure, and it has been for decades.

Joanne Bennett, Senior Research Fellow Gulbali Institute, Charles Sturt University and Heidi Zimmer, Research Scientist (Botany), Centre for Australian National Biodiversity Research (joint venture between Parks Australia and CSIRO), Australian National Herbarium, CSIRO

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

The loss of our forests is one of the biggest environmental challenges of our time.

Forests are key to curbing carbon emissions and protecting the plants, animals and humans that call Earth home.

However, we’re losing our forests at an alarming rate. Our new study shows we’ve lost roughly 300 million hectares over the past 11 years. However, it’s unclear how much of this forest has since been restored.

Either way, we’re losing a significant amount of forest despite efforts to protect it through certification, protection and other conservation schemes.

A global effort

The European Union has introduced policies aimed at eliminating products and supply chains that contribute to forest loss. Examples include palm oil, soy, coffee, cocoa, timber and rubber.

Halting forest loss is also a major focus of international declarations, such as the Glasgow Leaders’ Declaration on Forests and Land Use. This declaration, which more than 140 countries endorsed at the COP26 conference in 2021, aims to strengthen global efforts to reduce deforestation and land degradation.

Over the past three decades, the international community has launched forest management certification schemes to protect our forests. These include those developed by the Forest Stewardship Council and the Programme for the Endorsement of Forest Certification.

These are voluntary, market-based schemes meant to ensure forests are being properly managed. These schemes aren’t state-controlled, but rely on the market to create incentives to pressure companies to comply. They do this by getting accredited auditors to independently assess forest management practices against approved or endorsed forest management standards. These schemes also encourage companies to buy products sourced from certified forests. About 10% of the world’s forests are currently certified under these schemes, equal to more than 400 million hectares.

Protected areas may also help curb forest loss. Protected areas are defined locations designed to help conserve nature. Globally, roughly 18% of our forests are in protected areas.

These two strategies should be reducing, or even stopping, forest loss. But they’re failing to do so at a global scale.

So, what’s actually happening?

In our new study, we measured how much forest each country lost each year, due to fire or other causes, from 2013 to 2023. An example of a fire-related cause is a severe fire that engulfs the tree canopy. Forest loss as a result of logging for agricultural or urban development is an example of a non-fire cause. We then compared this to how much forest area is certified or protected in each country.

Between 2013 and 2023, we estimate the amount of forest in protected areas increased from about 868 million hectares to 990 million hectares.

Despite this, our study shows over that period between 21 million and 32 million hectares of forest were lost each year. This tracks with earlier research finding a similar, and no less alarming, trend between 2002 and 2011.

Our study also found no evidence linking more certification and protected areas with less forest loss, at a country level. Between 2013 and 2023, nearly half of global forest loss happened in four countries. These include Russia, Brazil, Canada and the United States. This was mainly caused by fire in countries north of the equator, and non-fire causes in tropical regions such as Brazil.

What can we do?

Forest certification schemes and protected areas, while effective at a forest or local scale, may not have much of an impact on forest loss on a global level. But that’s not a reason to get rid of them.

Instead, we should consider them as just some of the tools in the toolbox. And to make them more effective, we should rethink how they are governed and implemented.

At present, forest management certification schemes are market-based. This means they are largely influenced by private companies. In contrast, most protected areas are managed by state actors, such as a country’s government.

These are two very different forms of governance that historically have not been applied in a coordinated way. For example, a government may decide to add more forest to a protected area. But if it doesn’t have the support of private companies, this may inadvertently lead to negative forest leakage. This is where unprotected forests become more vulnerable to forms of intensified logging, such as clearfelling. Clearfelling involves removing most or all of an area’s trees in one operation, meaning old-growth trees and other key parts of the forest may be lost. To avoid this, we need to coordinate certification and protected areas better.

Another approach that’s been effective is Indigenous-led management. This gives Indigenous communities control over how land is used and managed, including preventing deforestation and other types of illegal forest loss. Recent research suggests this approach can be effective in conserving forests, when used in conjunction with other strategies.

We also need to use the resources we get from our forests more appropriately and efficiently. The vast majority of logs cut from forests are used in short-lived and often disposable products, such as copy paper and pallets. Using precious forests for these low-value products is wasteful and inefficient. It might help reduce forest loss if these products came from recycled sources. To protect our forests, we need to do more with less.

Chris Taylor, Research Fellow, Fenner School of Environment and Society, Australian National University; David Lindenmayer, Distinguished Professor of Ecology, Fenner School of Environment and Society, Australian National University, and Maldwyn John Evans, Senior Research Fellow, Fenner School of Environment and Society, Australian National University

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

US President Donald Trump is a longtime climate denier and oil industry ally, who sums up his own energy policy as “drill, baby, drill”. Yet he is doing more than almost anyone to speed up the global shift from fossil fuels to clean energy and electric vehicles (EVs).

After the US and Israel struck Iran in late February, Tehran closed the Strait of Hormuz and triggered the largest disruption of oil supply in history.

Ironically for Trump and his oil industry donors, this crisis may be an irreversible tipping point for clean energy. For years, fossil fuel advocates spruiked oil, gas and coal as “reliable” energy. That narrative has been reversed. Fossil fuels have become expensive and unreliable, while renewables are cheap, reliable and secure.

For the first time ever, more than 50 nations will gather next week in Colombia to hash out how to wind down and end their dependence on coal, oil and gas. The history-making conference was planned before the Iran war. But this year’s energy crisis has greatly raised the stakes.

The oil crisis is real

Iran’s closure of the narrow Strait of Hormuz stopped oil tankers reaching their destinations. But that wasn’t all. More than 60 gas and oil sites have been damaged in the conflict so far. Even if a durable ceasefire is reached, these impacts will reverberate for months and years to come.

Around 80% of the trapped crude oil was destined for the Asia-Pacific. Faced with dwindling supply, the region’s governments are implementing emergency measures such as sending workers home, banning government travel, rationing fuel and cutting school hours.

The problem is especially bad in the Pacific. Many island nations use diesel for power generation. In response, leaders declared a regional emergency.

Fuel import bills were already a major burden for Pacific nations, leading to efforts to switch to local renewables. Fuel bills could rise by A$933 million in Fiji (nearly three times the healthcare budget).

Scrambling for energy

When energy supplies are disrupted, leaders have three options: find alternate supplies, reduce use or switch to alternatives. In the very short term, countries aim to shore up supply, just as Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese did last week in Malaysia.

Countries have also moved to reduce use. This can have lasting effects. During the Middle East oil shocks of the 1970s, oil prices tripled and then doubled again. Authorities responded by improving energy productivity to do more with less. The world’s final oil demand per capita peaked in 1979 and has never recovered.

But the real difference from half a century ago is that fossil fuel alternatives are ready for prime time. Since the 1970s, the price of solar panels has fallen 99.9%, while the cost of wind has fallen 91% since 1984. Battery prices have fallen 99% since 1991.

This means it’s now viable for many nations to switch to these alternatives.

The European Union will accelerate electrification, after its fossil fuel bill increased more than $36 billion since February. France has doubled state aid to help households switch to EVs and electrify home heating. Import-dependent South Korea gets 70% of its crude oil through the Strait of Hormuz. It now plans to double renewables capacity within four years.

Electric vehicles at the tipping point?

This year’s oil shock shows signs of creating an unplanned social tipping point – a threshold for self-propelling change beyond which systems shift from one state to another. Climate scientists warn of climate tipping points which amplify feedback and accelerate warming. But social scientists also point to positive tipping points – collective action that rapidly accelerates climate action.

The rush to EVs is a case in point. In Australia, petrol prices surged almost 50% in March, and diesel more than 70%. It’s no surprise new EV sales are at an all-time high, while secondhand EV sales more than doubled last month.

Australia’s 1.3 million hybrid and battery electric vehicles avoid almost 15 million litres of petrol and diesel use every week.

The rush to electric transport is global. Most new Chinese cars are powered by batteries, not oil. Battery electric vehicles outsold petrol cars for the first time in Europe in January.

A conference to quit fossil fuels

The routine burning of coal, oil and gas is the primary driver of the climate crisis. The world’s highest court last year made clear nations have obligations to stop burning fossil fuels.

But fossil fuels have barely been mentioned in 30 years of global climate negotiations, due in part to blocking efforts by big fossil fuel exporters and lobbyists.

Frustrated by slow progress, a coalition of nations has bypassed global climate talks to discuss how to actually phase out fossil fuels.

The first of these summits will take place next week. More than 50 nations will gather in Santa Marta, Colombia, to discuss a potential standalone treaty to manage fossil-fuel phaseout while protecting workers and financial systems.

Colombian Environment Minister Irene Vélez Torres says it comes at the “best possible moment”, as the oil crisis focuses global attention on fossil fuel dependency.

If next week’s summit produces real momentum to wean off fossil fuels amid the energy crisis, we might look back at it as a social tipping point where early adopters move in earnest – and make it easier for the rest of the world to follow.

Wesley Morgan, Research Associate, Institute for Climate Risk and Response, UNSW Sydney and Ben Newell, Professor of Cognitive Psychology and Director of the Institute for Climate Risk and Response, UNSW Sydney

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

As the crisis in the Middle East continues, much of the public focus has been on fuel prices and the cost of living. But there’s another oil-related product that often gets overlooked: plastic.

Most everyday plastics are made from “petrochemicals” that come from oil and gas. This means when energy markets fluctuate, companies that use plastic as a raw material also feel the impact.

When oil prices spike, producing “virgin” plastic becomes more expensive, though often with a delay, as higher raw material and transport costs move through the supply chain.

But what about recycling plastic? For years, this has been framed mainly as an environmental issue, and it still is. But that is no longer the whole story.

In a world increasingly shaped by volatile energy markets, geopolitical tension and supply chain shocks, recycled plastic offers something else: resilience.

From crude oil to coffee lid

Plastic is not a niche material. It is part of the hidden infrastructure of modern life. Australians use about 4 million tonnes of plastic each year.

Consider construction. Plastic is found in pipes, insulation, flooring, sealants and protective films. When the price goes up, the cost of building can increase as well. Or agriculture, which relies on plastics for irrigation lines, crop covers and chemical containers.

Packaging is even more obvious: plastic helps transport and protect food, beverages and consumer goods throughout the country.

Paying more for plastic

We can easily see sudden increases in fuel prices at the petrol station. But when plastic prices rise, the effects can extend to food packaging, building materials, farming supplies, medical products and household items.

Recent disruptions in global supply chains have highlighted how fragile this system can be. Many companies have learned the hard way that “just-in-time” global supply chains can easily turn into “too-late” supply chains when disruptions occur. That’s why even the threat of disruption can lift prices if traders anticipate shortages.

Australia is not immune. Many local manufacturers depend on imported raw plastics priced globally. If international prices spike, Australian businesses typically end up paying more. These higher costs can then spread across the whole economy.

This is where recycled plastic can help. This comes from used items that are collected, sorted, cleaned and processed into new materials. Since it makes use of local waste, it doesn’t depend on imported raw materials derived from fossil fuels.

Yet less than 10% of Australia’s plastic use is recycled back into the local supply, manufacturing and consumption chain. Much of the rest ends up in landfill.

Money in the bin

The fact it comes from waste doesn’t mean recycled plastic is automatically cheap. In fact, it’s more expensive than raw, virgin plastic often by 10% to 50% on average, depending on the plastic type and quality requirements.

Why? Collection systems cost money. Sorting mixed waste is technically difficult. Contamination lowers quality. Reprocessing plants need investment, energy and skilled workers.

But price is only one part of the story. Stability matters too. A manufacturer might prefer slightly higher-priced recycled materials if they provide a more dependable local supply and reduce exposure to sudden global disruptions.

This is especially crucial for businesses that plan their production months in advance. A reliable supply can be as valuable as a lower price.

We are already seeing some movement in this direction, but it is much too slow given the scale of the challenge. Despite years of talk about circular economy goals, many Australian manufacturers still see recycled plastic as a niche option for sustainability, not as a key raw material.

Where we’re getting stuck

Too often, companies that use plastic as an input make purchasing decisions that are driven by the lowest short-term price, even when that increases exposure to future shocks and supply risks. As the current crisis is showing, that can be costly.

Delays in strengthening recycling systems mean greater reliance on imported fossil-based plastics, more local waste sent to landfill or export and missed opportunities to create jobs in collection, sorting, reprocessing and advanced manufacturing.

The clear solution is to close the cost gap. There are many ways we can move in this direction, such as:

• improving collection systems
• designing packaging that is easier to recycle
• reducing contamination in household bins
• investing in modern sorting technology and more reprocessing capacity.

Individuals cannot fix global supply chains on their own, but they do shape the quality of material entering the recycling system. Buying products made with recycled content helps create demand for local recycled plastic.

Correctly sorting household waste and keeping recyclables clean can also reduce contamination, making plastics easier and cheaper to process. Reusing items where possible matters too.

The circular economy is not only built in factories and policy offices. It indeed begins at our homes.

Omid Zabihi, Research Fellow, Institute for Frontier Materials Carbon Fibre and Composites, Deakin University and Minoo Naebe, Professor, Program Lead Solving Plastic Waste Cooperative Research Centre (CRC), Deakin University

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

Australia is in the middle of a fuel crisis, but the way the state and federal governments have chosen to respond signals a firm commitment to fossil fuels.

In a matter of days, Canberra found billions of dollars to make petrol and diesel cheaper. The temporary halving of the fuel excise is costing about $2.55 billion over three months (plus GST returns), simply to blunt the pain of oil prices without changing Australia’s dependence on oil.

Add in relief for heavy vehicles and loans to fuel-intensive businesses, and you have a crisis package that keeps the existing, oil-hungry system running. Fuel security, in this framing, means securing fuel, not securing mobility.

How the states responded

Victorians and Tasmanians get a brief holiday from public transport fares – a month of free or heavily discounted travel. There was no permanent increase in public transport services or enduring fare reform. There was also no new support for electric vehicles (EVs), accelerated installation of bike lanes or bus priority lanes.

Outside those two states, public transport riders got nothing. Queenslanders remain on their 50 cent fares – which is a positive. There were no new incentives for electric vehicle drivers. People walking or cycling remain invisible in the oil crisis response.

In Western Australia, the proposed policy intervention is to spend millions creating WA’s own storage of petrol and diesel.

The message seems to be: if you’re part of the fossil-fuel system, the state will cushion you; if you’re trying to live outside it (and perhaps support action on climate change), you’re on your own.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Consider if we spent just one-third of the excise relief – roughly $850 million over the same three-month window – and imagine what could be achieved if we made ending fuel use the goal.

Here’s what could be done

First, we could make all public transport free nationwide for three months and boost peak-hour frequencies where systems are already at capacity. Free fares coupled with greater frequency are not just a cost-of-living measure but a continent-wide experiment in habit formation. Give millions of Australians an easy way to test life without the car commute, and some will never go back.

Second, we could target the heaviest fuel users with rapid electrification support, similar to what mining giant Fortescue has announced. With a few hundred million dollars, government could fund tens of thousands of EV rebates for high-kilometre drivers. These include taxis, ride share, fleet vehicles and regional commuters, where the vehicle uses more than 5-6 times the amount of petrol or diesel every year than average users. Add in support for e-bikes and e-cargo bikes for households, couriers and local businesses, and you support short car trips and local deliveries that no longer need fuel.

Third, we could fast-track the infrastructure that makes these choices stick. A national push for kerbside and workplace charging would remove one of the big psychological and practical barriers to EV uptake.

At the same time, bus lanes and intersection bus priority on key corridors could be deployed quickly, and tram boulevards within a slightly longer time.

Fourth, we can begin the hard transition to electric trucks, tractors and agricultural machinery, which is underway in China. China now has 50% of its new truck sales as electric, and will release cheap versions on the global market.

Finally, instead of spending $20 million on advertising that asks drivers to use less fuel, we could spend the same amount explaining how to get through this crisis by using public transport, active transport such as walking and riding, and EVs. And, we could fund those options, as above.

Time to change the system

The point is not to pretend we can fully transform the transport system in three months, but we can make a start. The world has been surprised at how quickly solar, batteries and now EVs have been adopted. It has been the fastest energy transition in history.

With the same fiscal firepower that Canberra found to support the oil industry almost overnight, we could start to end our oil dependence.

Peter Newman, Professor of Sustainability, Curtin University and Ray Wills, Adjunct Professor, The University of Western Australia

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

Australia has long been proud of its food production. The nation produces enough to feed 75 million people – and exports 70% of its produce.

But this position isn’t guaranteed. Intensifying climate change is putting Australian agriculture and our food system at risk.

The Australian government last year published its National Climate Risk Assessment, showing food systems already face increased risks. Stronger and more frequent heatwaves, floods, droughts and bushfires are taking a toll on farmers, livestock, crops and fisheries.

Climate change isn’t the only risk. Fuel and fertiliser shortages in the wake of the Iran war are driving up food prices. Increased competition for water in the Murray-Darling Basin, disruptions to supply chains, the dominance of major supermarkets, and the rising cost of food are also all taking a toll as many Australians go hungry.

These challenges mean Australia can no longer take its food security for granted.

How does Australia do on food security?

A country with strong food security is one where everyone has the right to access safe, nutritious and appropriate food at all times and the food system is sustainable.

You might think Australia would do well here. But in 2025, one in five households skipped meals or went whole days without eating.

Australians also tend not to eat enough nutritious food. In 2022, 36% of children and adolescents and 56% of adults fell short of their daily fruit and vegetable intake. Of all calories consumed, 42% come from ultra-processed foods which can lead to higher risks of cancer, heart disease, and early death.

Australia’s supermarket sector is one of the world’s most concentrated, as Coles and Woolworths take 67% of sales. This so-called duopoly has long been accused of keeping prices too high.

One area where Australia performs well is food availability. But this advantage is being eroded. After decades of growth, farm productivity is now declining due to more extreme climate variability, more plant and animal diseases, pressure on water supply and other resources and other factors.

Natural disasters also restrict access by cutting off crops or livestock from markets. The end result: food gets more expensive.

Climate change is already at work

As floods become more extreme, farmers are now taking serious hits – especially in Queensland.

In 2019, floods and sticky mud trapped and killed up to 500,000 cows.

In 2022, record-breaking floods caused a national lettuce shortage.

In 2023, floods hit banana, mango and avocado crops.

In 2025, over 100,000 cows died in outback Queensland due to flooding.

This summer, it happened again. Over 48,000 cattle are dead or missing after extreme flooding in northwest Queensland.

Rising temperatures also make life harder for the animals and plants we rely on. Heat stress is on the rise in livestock. When animals are too hot, their health can suffer and milk and meat production falls.

As a recent CSIRO report shows, heat stress leads to smaller vegetable yields and worse crop quality, as well as triggering painful economic and labour market shocks.

In poultry, shifting bird migration patterns are increasing risks of diseases such as avian influenza. A recent outbreak saw egg prices spike.

The waters of the Murray-Darling Basin are becoming less reliable. These rivers support 40% of Australian farms, 8,400 irrigated businesses and produces $30 billion in food and fibre annually.

Climate change is intensifying competition for scarcer water resources, adding to the long-term mismanagement of the basin’s environmental health.

What can we do to boost food security?

One overlooked response is to preserve and create more local and diverse food supply chains – especially for major cities.

Sydney once supported its population with local food production. But as the suburbs have expanded, much of this has been lost – especially in the north and south-west regions.

The city of 5.5 million still produces 20% of its own food in the Sydney Basin. But under projected housing development scenarios, this would fall 60% by 2031, leaving the city only 6% self-sufficient. Local fresh vegetable and egg supply would fall more than 90%.

Melbourne’s food bowl faces similar development pressure. At present, farms around the city of 5.4 million meet around 41% of its food needs. For instance, the Yarra Valley to the northeast supplies 78% of Victoria’s strawberries and Casey and Cardinia shires in the city’s southeast produce 90% of Australia’s asparagus. These regions are all under pressure from new housing developments.

Intensified natural disasters could also block transport of food from further afield. If Sydney’s main food transport routes were cut, reserves of fresh food would only last a few days.

Looking forward

When floods devastated Lismore in 2022, the New South Wales town had empty supermarket shelves for months after main roads and freight lines were cut.

But farmers’ markets reopened within a week. As one farmer’s market manager told experts:

supermarket shelves were completely empty [but] we had all this produce.

Lismore’s experience shows how a sudden hit from a climate change linked disaster can weaken resilience in a food system already reliant on concentrated markets and limited local diversity. But it also points to how communities can respond faster than authorities.

As we face an uncertain future, we will need much better food security planning across the continent.

Boosting resilience comes in many forms, from better water and soil management to diversifying supply chains to supporting local food producers and distributors and protecting farms on the urban fringe.

Investing in more sustainable agriculture practices can cut farm emissions, reduce reliance on synthetic fertilisers and pesticides and improve resilience to climate change.

A legislated right to food could also help ensure all Australians can access healthy and sustainable food well into the future.

Anja Bless, Lecturer in Sustainability and International Relations, University of Technology Sydney and Milena Bojovic, Lecturer in Sustainability and Environment, University of Technology Sydney

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

You might not have heard of buffel grass, a robust and invasive grass that has spread across tens of thousands of square kilometres of inland Australia. But you might know its effects.

Most people remember the deadly 2023 fires in Maui, Hawaii, which killed more than 100 people. Many will know of the worsening bushfires in Australia’s centre. In both cases, buffel grass, (including Cenchrus ciliaris), played a role by adding fuel in dry environments.

Right now, the federal government is weighing up whether to declare buffel grass one of the worst weeds in the country – a “Weed of National Significance”.

Our new study shows buffel grass does real damage to native animals, and we can now predict the types of animals most at risk. Building on previous work, we show buffel grass affects at least three major groups – birds, reptiles and ants – in multiple habitats and regions.

What is buffel grass?

Buffel is a tussock grass, bulkier than most Australian native grasses. Native to Africa, the Middle East and Asia, buffel grass first arrived in Australia via imported camel saddles in the 1870s. It was later planted for dryland pasture as its deep roots allow it to thrive in dry climates.

Buffel grass was first planted in the 1920s and became well established by the 1960s. It enabled significant returns to the pastoral industry, including economic returns in dry years.

But now buffel grass has spread much further and is smothering Aboriginal land, conservation reserves, public places and regional and remote towns. More summer rainfall in central Australia, as part of climate change, is fuelling the growth, seeding and spread of buffel grass.

The issue is complex: although valued by many graziers, buffel grass is now spreading so rapidly and widely its severe negative impacts can no longer be ignored.

It has significant impacts on biodiversity, people’s health and safety and on cultural sites and practices, especially for Aboriginal people in central Australia. The case for recognising it as an invasive weed of national significance is compelling.

What our research found

We surveyed birds, reptiles and ants in the Aṉangu Pitjantjatjara Yankunytjatjara Lands of inland South Australia in two regions, 300 kilometres apart. Survey sites included rocky hills, fertile plains, spinifex grasslands and wooded sites. We wanted to see whether buffel grass invasion changes the mix of animals species in an area, and if we could predict which types of animals would be most affected.

We found reptile, bird and ant communities had all changed where buffel grass had taken over these habitats. Certain groups of animals were consistently less common in areas affected by buffel grass.

Buffel grass changes the whole ground layer of a site; thick grass replaces open native grasses and shrubs. As we expected, animals that use the ground and need open space, such as small reptiles, ants and ground-feeding birds, were less common in buffel grass. These findings are consistent with earlier local studies of reptiles, and birds in central Australia.

Once buffel grass invades, it dominates plant communities, reducing the diversity of native plants. We predicted this would make it harder for animals with specialised diets to find food compared to animals that eat more broadly. As expected, specialist eaters were most affected, such as seed-eating ants and birds.

Birds that feed on insects were also consistently worse off. For example, the dusky grasswren is a stout wren that only lives on rocky hillsides in central Australia and specialises on eating insects. We found grasswrens on hills with spiky native spinifex grass, but not on hills where buffel had displaced spinifex. Likewise, the rufous whistler – another insectivore that prefers Acacia woodlands – was less prevalent where buffel grass had invaded.

Whole groups of animals at risk

Because these trends were mostly predictable and consistent across animal groups, habitats and regions, we expect the same thing is happening in other areas. Considering how widespread buffel grass is, whole groups of fauna across inland Australia are at risk if its invasion progresses unchecked.

Loss of major animal groups is often only evident after it is too late. With mounting evidence available, we must act now.

Buffel grass was declared a weed in South Australia in 2019, and the Northern Territory in 2024. Weed recognition can lead to more strategic research and management.

A national listing of buffel grass as a “Weed of National Significance” would be critical recognition of its impact at a continental scale. It would also mean a nationally coordinated response, which is the only way to protect whole groups of species, ecosystems and livelihoods of arid Australia. Without national policy, the spread and impacts of buffel grass will continue unchecked.

Ellen Ryan-Colton, Senior Research Officer, Australian National University and Christine Schlesinger, Professor in Environmental Science, Charles Darwin University

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

Lord Howe Island lies in the middle of the ocean, about 700 kilometres northeast of Sydney. It’s covered in lush forest and fringed by the world’s most southerly coral reef ecosystem.

This reef system isn’t as famous as its northern neighbour, the Great Barrier Reef. Our new research in the Journal of Applied Ecology, shows it plays an outsized role in keeping vast coral regions across the Pacific connected – and alive.

A small number of other reefs in the region serve a similar function. Knowing which reefs matter most for recovery and adaptation to ocean warming – and protecting them now – could make the difference between regional reef collapse and long-term resilience.

Tiny coral babies in a vast ocean

Coral reefs are in global decline, but this loss is not just about dying corals – it’s about breaking the natural connections that allow reefs to recover after marine heatwaves, cyclones and other threats.

Right now, climate change is rapidly reducing the ability of coral larvae to travel between reefs, shrinking their chances of survival by undercutting recovery.

These tiny coral babies can sometimes spend many weeks in the surface waters of the open ocean, carried by currents across hundreds or even thousands of kilometres before settling and beginning to grow.

The movement of larvae provides a constant source of replenishment for reefs, both near and far away, which is especially important when reefs are damaged.

Without this constant replenishment, some damaged reefs simply cannot recover. Connectivity isn’t a nice-to-have for coral reefs. It’s their lifeline.

Tracking dispersal across 850 reefs

Our study used ocean circulation models to simulate the trajectories of coral larvae across the southwestern Pacific Ocean from 2011 to 2024, tracking the movement of larvae across 850 reefs.

These reefs spanned the Great Barrier Reef, New Caledonia, the Coral Sea and Lord Howe Island.

We traced how two key coral growth forms (fast-growing branching corals and slower-growing massive corals) move between reefs under current conditions and under projected global climate warming scenarios of 1°C, 2.5°C and 4°C above pre-industrial temperatures.

We then examined how corals moved between different types of reef, including reefs that were naturally resistant to heat stress, those that recover quickly after disturbance, and those that stay cooler because of local water currents and upwelling that naturally reduce water temperature around the reef.

This allowed us to ask not just which reefs are connected, but which kinds of reefs are sending and receiving different types of larvae.

A fragile network

We found that only a handful of reefs act as genuine hubs — places where larvae both arrive from distant sources and depart to “seed” reefs far away. Lose these stepping stones, and the entire network begins to fragment.

The Coral Sea reefs emerged as crucial bridges in this network, linking the southern Great Barrier Reef with New Caledonia and beyond. But perhaps the most striking finding involves Lord Howe Island.

Our modelling identified Lord Howe as a potential refugium: a place where corals may be able to persist even as warming intensifies, potentially owing to its more temperate, southerly position.

Yet its very isolation – what makes it a likely survivor – also means it has limited natural connectivity with surrounding reefs.

This situation therefore cuts both ways: while isolation helps protect its coral from extreme heat stress, it also means the reef relies less on new larvae that others could need for recovery. It therefore also means Lord Howe needs protection – not just for itself, but for the entire regional reef system that may one day depend on it.

Another important finding is that the reefs most resistant to heat stress (those classified as naturally resistant) tended to export larvae to a relatively smaller number of reefs within the wider network.

But there are techniques that enable the intentional movement of larvae from heat-tolerant reefs to more vulnerable locations. These include assisted gene flow, in which scientists deliberately move warm-adapted adult corals or their offspring to reefs that are more vulnerable to heat stress, helping to spread heat-tolerant genes more quickly across reef networks.

Protecting our marine superhighways

Our results make clear that marine protected areas should not be managed as isolated reserves but as an interconnected network, with transboundary cooperation between Australia and Pacific Island nations.

The larval corridors linking the southern Great Barrier Reef, New Caledonia and Lord Howe Island do not fall within national boundaries. Neither can our conservation response.

Reefs are already fighting against warming oceans. The waters of the Lord Howe Rise and South Tasman Sea, the vast oceanic region between Australia and New Zealand through which these larval corridors flow, are under threat from industrial fishing.

Industrial fishing, pollution and climate change are pushing these ecosystems to the brink, with longlines intersecting surface waters. This cumulative pressure across these newly identified larval transport superhighways adds yet another layer of pressure onto these already stressed ecosystems.

Our research adds a new and crucial dimension to high seas protection. Our region sits directly across the larval corridors that connect and sustain coral reef systems. Protecting this ocean is not just about what lives here. It is about what passes through – fundamental for migratory and connected populations.

The least we can do is protect the superhighways through which their future flows – invisibly, at the ocean surface, some larvae no bigger than a grain of rice, carrying the genetic potential to rebuild what we stand to lose.

Kate Marie Quigley, DECRA Research Fellow in molecular ecology, James Cook University and Elise Thérèse Gisèle Dehont, PhD student in Fisheries Science and Marine Biology, Memorial University of Newfoundland

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

A humpback whale repeatedly restranding in shallow waters in the Baltic Sea for more than three weeks has become the focus of a complex debate about reconciling compassion for animals with ethical, evidence-based decision making.

Affectionately known as Timmy, the whale restranded several times and has been growing weaker, failing to recover despite multiple rescue attempts.

Its struggle attracted global attention and triggered debates between experts and the public regarding intervention versus allowing a natural end.

Marine biologists and veterinarians observing the whale made a clear and evidence-based assessment earlier this month: further intervention was unlikely to succeed and would risk prolonging the animal’s suffering.

Yet public pressure – driven by empathy amplified by social media and sharpened into outrage – led German state authorities to permit renewed rescue efforts this week, framed as a “last ditch” effort.

At first glance, it seems an act of compassion. But beneath the surface lies a more difficult truth. As our research shows, when scientific advice is sidelined in favour of public sentiment, outcomes for the very animals we aim to protect can worsen.

The emotional pull of “doing something”

Large, charismatic animals like whales evoke powerful emotional responses. They are intelligent, expressive and visibly vulnerable when stranded.

For many people, choosing not to intervene feels morally unacceptable, with inaction often perceived as neglect.

Wildlife medicine, however, does not operate on instinct or optics. It relies on probabilities, welfare assessments and the recognition that intervention is not always beneficial.

In Timmy’s case, experts from the German Oceanographic Museum and the Institute for Terrestrial and Aquatic Wildlife Research, as well as international organisations, reached a consistent conclusion that the whale was unlikely to survive.

After repeated failed rescues, the environment minister for Germany’s state of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania determined that continued intervention would likely worsen the whale’s condition. By then, Timmy was showing clear signs of trauma and exhaustion.

The decision was not made in isolation. In early April, the International Whaling Commission’s stranding expert panel publicly supported the German authorities. It outlined that further rescue attempts would likely increase suffering without improving survival chances.

Euthanasia, frequently suggested as an alternative, was deemed impractical, however. The whale’s partial buoyancy, combined with logistical, safety and personnel challenges meant this was not a viable option.

New Zealand’s experience

In 2021, New Zealand experienced a similar situation with Toa, a stranded orca calf.

The response was extraordinary, mobilising national and international expertise. Veterinarians, marine mammal scientists and stranding specialists contributed to an unprecedented rescue effort.

The scientific consensus, however, was sobering. Given Toa’s young age (unweaned), prolonged separation from his pod, and the challenges of reintegration, his chances of survival were extremely low.

Over time, his welfare declined during extended human care. Many experts ultimately supported euthanasia as the most humane option.

That path was not taken. Driven by public hope and attention, efforts continued. Toa died after weeks in care. In retrospect, the case raised a difficult but necessary question: when expert consensus and public sentiment diverge, which should guide decisions?

When perception overrides expertise

This tension is not anecdotal; it is well documented. Research shows that human perceptions and emotional investment can significantly shape responses to cetacean strandings, sometimes directly conflicting with recommendations based on the animal’s wefare.

In high-profile cases, decision making can shift from expert-led processes to outcomes shaped by public pressure. The patterns observed in Germany – repeated strandings, declining condition and cumulative stress – are strong predictors of poor outcomes, regardless of continued intervention.

The disconnect is clear. Experts assess welfare through measurable physiological, behavioural and environmental markers to infer the mental state of an animal. The public often evaluates it through effort, visibility and intent. The result is a compelling but flawed assumption: that doing more means doing better.

A common principle in veterinary ethics is that the ability to intervene does not justify doing so. Every rescue attempt carries risks: handling stress, injury, prolonged suffering and the diversion of limited resources.

While financial cost is often highlighted, the more critical issue is animal welfare. In repeated stranding cases, the ethical balance becomes increasingly stark.

When recovery is highly unlikely, continued intervention can shift from care to harm. In repeated stranding cases, the ethical calculus becomes sharper. Yet this is precisely the moment when public pressure tends to intensify.

A more difficult kind of care

Compassion is not the problem; it is fundamental to conservation. But compassion without evidence can mislead.

What’s at stake is trust in scientific expertise, veterinary judgement and the difficult reality that the most humane decision is not always the most emotionally satisfying one.

If every high-profile stranding becomes a referendum driven by public pressure, we risk creating a system where decisions are shaped less by animal welfare and more by public visibility.

The instinct to rally around a stranded whale reflects the best of human empathy. But real care in wildlife conservation is not always about action. Sometimes, it requires restraint.

In Toa’s case, official documents later revealed most experts had recommended euthanasia to prevent prolonged suffering.

Timmy’s situation raises a similar question. Not whether people care enough, but whether we are willing to accept that caring also means listening to science, to experience and to the difficult truths they bring.

Karen Stockin, Professor of Marine Ecology, Te Kunenga ki Pūrehuroa – Massey University

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

Cities are hotter than the surrounding countryside. Paved surfaces such as asphalt and concrete trap heat and release it at night. But as climate change worsens, this is becoming a real risk for residents.

Researchers are racing to find ways to protect urban residents from rising temperatures and pollution. As recent research shows, there’s no single fix for urban heat. Different places need different solutions, from tree canopies to cool roofs to reflective pavements.

Taming urban heat doesn’t necessarily require extravagant ideas such as air-conditioned footpaths. Some of the most effective tools are simple adjustments to infrastructure we already have, using nature to cool cities down with vegetation, soil and water.

One promising solution is hiding in plain sight: our tram tracks (particularly the many sections that run on their own corridors, separated from traffic). Cities around the world have been greening their tram corridors by replacing concrete with grass or low vegetation.

The idea is not new – grass-covered tram tracks date back to Berlin in 1905 – but has seen a resurgence since the 1980s. And the results are surprisingly effective.

How does this work?

A green tram track replaces the usual concrete around tram rails with a layer of healthy vegetation. Many cities use grasses or species of sedum, a genus of drought-resistant succulents able to survive in extreme conditions such as heat, low water and constant vibration.

The plants sit on a thin substrate designed to hold moisture and drain excess water, essentially turning part of the tram corridor into green infrastructure.

These systems are typically used on sections where trams run in their own corridor, rather than in lanes shared with general traffic.

Once in place, this simple system delivers multiple benefits:

• Better stormwater management: Green tracks absorb and slow rainfall instead of letting it run straight into drains. Studies show these systems can increase water storage by 50–70%, easing pressure during intense storms and supporting “sponge city” goals, even in relatively dense areas with limited open space.

• Lower surface and air temperatures: Plants don’t trap heat like concrete does. Thermal scans of green tracks show surface temperatures are roughly 10°C lower during summer peaks.

• Less noise and vibration: The plants dampen sound and vibrations from passing trams, though this effect is modest.

Plantings along tram tracks can help trap dust and fine particles on busy corridors, and provide a small boost to local air quality.

Even these narrow strips of green tracks help biodiversity by creating continuous habitat for insects and acting as ecological connectors between parks, nature strips and street trees.

Then there are the aesthetic benefits. In many cities, residents have reported that they prefer the softer, greener look of these tracks.

Where are these tracks?

Green tram tracks are now found in dozens of cities across Europe and beyond.

Greening is popular. A study of Warsaw residents found more than 90% viewed their city’s green tracks positively, rating them around five times more favourably than conventional paved track.

A Swedish study found a similar pattern. Residents described the grassed tram track as beautiful, calming and a clear improvement over a hard, traffic-dominated corridor.

Municipal staff, however, were more cautious. They acknowledged the visual and environmental benefits but worried about long-term maintenance costs and whether the model could be scaled across the network.

How much does it cost?

Installing a green track usually costs more than a bare concrete slab. But there are ways to keep costs down.

Grass needs mowing, watering and occasional replanting, which makes councils understandably nervous about ongoing budgets.

Sedum succulents have much lower maintenance needs and can need little or no irrigation once established. This reduces lifecycle costs even if the initial planting is more expensive.

Studies comparing grass and sedum tracks have found the long-term maintenance burden is much lower for sedum, while the main visual and environmental benefits are largely preserved.

Can this work in Australia?

Australia experimented with the idea of green tram tracks well before many other countries. Almost 20 years ago, Adelaide installed a small-scale grassed track as part of the Glenelg tram extension. While small, it is now considered an early example of using a nature-based solution in railways.

Sydney now boasts a much more substantial example. The Parramatta Light Rail has more than a kilometre of green track, using sedum plantings. This makes Australia’s largest and most modern installation.

It’s a good start. But there’s much more that could be done. Australia has about 339km of tram and light rail. Melbourne has more than 250km, making it the largest network in the world. And more tracks are being built.

Green tram tracks can’t be installed everywhere. They can’t be planted where tracks are built into the road and where cars, trucks and buses would run over them. They need a protected, stable track bed with no heavy traffic.

Much of Melbourne’s tram network runs along long medians and dedicated corridors, such as St Kilda Road, where tracks are already separated from traffic and could easily support green tracks.

In recent years, Sydney has expanded its light rail network through the CBD and out to the east and west. Canberra and the Gold Coast run modern systems designed with separated trackbeds, exactly the conditions where green tracks thrive.

Green tram tracks are not a silver bullet for urban heat. But they offer something rare in transport infrastructure: a visible, popular, nature-based upgrade able to cool streets, manage water, relax neighbourhoods and improve how a city looks and feels.

As Australia invests billions in new tram and light rail lines, the benefits of green tracks are too significant to ignore.

Milad Haghani, Associate Professor and Principal Fellow in Urban Risk and Resilience, The University of Melbourne and Ryan Keenan, Honorary Senior Research Fellow; Principal Consultant, Positioning Insights, The University of Melbourne

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

Lord Howe Island lies in the middle of the ocean, about 700 kilometres northeast of Sydney. It’s covered in lush forest and fringed by the world’s most southerly coral reef ecosystem.

This reef system isn’t as famous as its northern neighbour, the Great Barrier Reef. Our new research, in the Journal of Applied Ecology, shows it plays an outsized role in keeping vast coral regions across the Pacific connected – and alive.

A small number of other reefs in the region serve a similar function. Knowing which reefs matter most for recovery and adaptation to ocean warming – and protecting them now – could make the difference between regional reef collapse and long-term resilience.

Tiny coral babies in a vast ocean

Coral reefs are in global decline, but this loss is not just about dying corals – it’s about breaking the natural connections that allow reefs to recover after marine heatwaves, cyclones and other threats.

Right now, climate change is rapidly reducing the ability of coral larvae to travel between reefs, shrinking their chances of survival by undercutting recovery.

These tiny coral babies can sometimes spend many weeks in the surface waters of the open ocean, carried by currents across hundreds or even thousands of kilometres before settling and beginning to grow.

The movement of larvae provides a constant source of replenishment for reefs, both near and far away, which is especially important when reefs are damaged.

Without this constant replenishment, some damaged reefs simply cannot recover. Connectivity isn’t a nice-to-have for coral reefs. It’s their lifeline.

Tracking dispersal across 850 reefs

Our study used ocean circulation models to simulate the trajectories of coral larvae across the southwestern Pacific Ocean from 2011 to 2024, tracking the movement of larvae across 850 reefs.

These reefs spanned the Great Barrier Reef, New Caledonia, the Coral Sea and Lord Howe Island.

We traced how two key coral growth forms (fast-growing branching corals and slower-growing massive corals) move between reefs under current conditions and under projected global climate warming scenarios of 1°C, 2.5°C and 4°C above pre-industrial temperatures.

We then examined how corals moved between different types of reef, including reefs that were naturally resistant to heat stress, those that recover quickly after disturbance, and those that stay cooler because of local water currents and upwelling that naturally reduce water temperature around the reef.

This allowed us to ask not just which reefs are connected, but which kinds of reefs are sending and receiving different types of larvae.

A fragile network

We found that only a handful of reefs act as genuine hubs — places where larvae both arrive from distant sources and depart to “seed” reefs far away. Lose these stepping stones, and the entire network begins to fragment.

The Coral Sea reefs emerged as crucial bridges in this network, linking the southern Great Barrier Reef with New Caledonia and beyond. But perhaps the most striking finding involves Lord Howe Island.

Our modelling identified Lord Howe as a potential refugium: a place where corals may be able to persist even as warming intensifies, potentially owing to its more temperate, southerly position.

Yet its very isolation – what makes it a likely survivor – also means it has limited natural connectivity with surrounding reefs.

This situation therefore cuts both ways: while isolation helps protect its coral from extreme heat stress, it also means the reef relies less on new larvae that others could need for recovery. It therefore also means Lord Howe needs protection – not just for itself, but for the entire regional reef system that may one day depend on it.

Another important finding is that the reefs most resistant to heat stress (those classified as naturally resistant) tended to export larvae to a relatively smaller number of reefs within the wider network.

But there are techniques that enable the intentional movement of larvae from heat-tolerant reefs to more vulnerable locations. These include assisted gene flow, in which scientists deliberately move warm-adapted adult corals or their offspring to reefs that are more vulnerable to heat stress, helping to spread heat-tolerant genes more quickly across reef networks.

Protecting our marine superhighways

Our results make clear that marine protected areas should not be managed as isolated reserves but as an interconnected network, with transboundary cooperation between Australia and Pacific Island nations.

The larval corridors linking the southern Great Barrier Reef, New Caledonia and Lord Howe Island do not fall within national boundaries. Neither can our conservation response.

Reefs are already fighting against warming oceans. The waters of the Lord Howe Rise and South Tasman Sea, the vast oceanic region between Australia and New Zealand through which these larval corridors flow, are under threat from industrial fishing.

Industrial fishing, pollution and climate change are pushing these ecosystems to the brink, with longlines intersecting surface waters. This cumulative pressure across these newly identified larval transport superhighways adds yet another layer of pressure onto these already stressed ecosystems.

Our research adds a new and crucial dimension to high seas protection. Our region sits directly across the larval corridors that connect and sustain coral reef systems. Protecting this ocean is not just about what lives here. It is about what passes through – fundamental for migratory and connected populations.

The least we can do is protect the superhighways through which their future flows – invisibly, at the ocean surface, some larvae no bigger than a grain of rice, carrying the genetic potential to rebuild what we stand to lose.

Kate Marie Quigley, DECRA Research Fellow in molecular ecology, James Cook University and Elise Thérèse Gisèle Dehont, PhD student in Fisheries Science and Marine Biology, Memorial University of Newfoundland

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

Around the world, people plan to plant more than 1 trillion trees this decade in an ambitious effort to slow climate change and reduce biodiversity loss. But if the past is prologue, many of those planted trees won’t survive. And if they do, they could end up as biological deserts that lack the richness and resilience of healthy forests.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

The United Nations declared 2021-2030 the Decade on Ecosystem Restoration to encourage efforts to repair degraded ecosystems. Tree planting has become a centerpiece of that effort, championed by initiatives such as the Bonn Challenge and the Trillion Trees Campaign.

However, many tree-planting commitments have a critical flaw: They rely too heavily on monoculture plantations – vast areas planted with just a single tree species.

Monoculture plantations are generally one-way tickets to producing wood. But these high-yield plantations are high risk and can be surprisingly fragile. When drought, pests, or forest fires strike, entire monoculture plantations can fail at once. In one example, nearly 90% of 11 million saplings planted in Turkey died within three months due to drought and lack of maintenance.

Forests are more than just timber factories. They regulate water, store carbon, provide habitat for wildlife, cool the landscapes around them and even provide human health benefits.

Rather than gambling on a single species and hoping for the best, science now points to a smarter path that captures both ecological and economic benefits while minimizing risk: mixed-species plantings that mirror the biodiversity of a natural forest, ultimately creating forests that grow faster and are more resilient in the face of constant threats.

We are community and landscape ecologists at the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center. Since 2013, we and our colleagues have been rigorously testing this idea in a large, ecosystem-scale experiment called BiodiversiTREE. The verdict is striking: Trees in mixed forests don’t just survive – they outgrow their monoculture counterparts and support dramatically more biodiversity.

Trees with diverse neighbors grow larger

Thirteen years ago, we teamed up with volunteers to plant nearly 18,000 tree seedlings on 60 acres of fallow fields on the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center campus near the Chesapeake Bay.

We didn’t plant just a single species. We planted 16 different native species from all walks of tree-life. Some species were fast-growing timber species, some were mid-story species, and some were slow-growing species that might not reach full size for a century or more.

Some plots we planted with just a single species – homogenous rows of the same species over and over again. But others were planted with random allotments of four and 12 species, reflecting the middle and upper ends of tree diversity in similar-sized areas of our local forests.

We asked a simple question: What would happen if we tried to mirror nature and plant a mixture of species instead of a monoculture?

The differences over a decade later are striking.

The monoculture plots – those that survived – resemble traditional plantation forestry that historically has dominated rural lands in the Southeast and Pacific Northwest in the U.S. They contain rows of tall, narrow trees with sparse canopies and little life below.

The mixed-species plots, by contrast, are layered, complex and dynamic, with foliage filling the canopy and a diversity of plants and animals thriving underneath.

These visual contrasts reflect real ecological gains. Trees grown in mixtures, including important timber species like poplar and red oak, are up to 80% larger than the same species when grown alone. Mixed plots supported fewer leaf pathogens, more abundant caterpillar communities that provide food for birds, and increased phytochemical diversity in their leaves. We hypothesize that these leaf chemicals, some of which deter animals from eating them, reduced browsing damage from hungry deer, ultimately leading to higher tree growth in the mixed plots.

Plots with several tree species also had much fuller, denser leaf canopies, leading to cooler, shadier conditions that help understory plants flourish and support up to 50% more insects, spiders and birds.

This pattern isn’t unique to our site. The BiodiversiTREE project is part of TreeDivNet, a global network of large-scale experiments spanning more than 1.2 million trees and hundreds of species. Across continents and climates, the results are consistent: Forests with a mix of species tend to grow larger, store more carbon and better withstand stress from drought, pests and disease.

So why are monocultures still common?

Despite decades of evidence, mixed-species plantings remain relatively rare in practice. Most commercial forestry operations still rely on monocultures, and these plantations are counted toward international planting campaigns aimed at slowing climate change and reversing biodiversity loss.

The reasons are generally practical: Mixed plantings can be more complex to design, more expensive to establish and harder to manage. Crucially, until recently, there has been limited evidence that they can match or exceed the economic returns of conventional plantations.

A new experiment at the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center called “Functional Forests” aims to bridge some of the gaps between science and practice. We’re developing intentionally designed combinations of trees to test whether specific mixtures of species can contribute ecological benefits while also providing timber and other services that humans need to support a thriving, sustainable economy.

Each of the 20 tree species in the Functional Forests project was chosen to provide one or more benefits, including timber, wildlife habitat, food for people, resistance to deer and climate resilience. But no single species provides all of these benefits.

Some of the nearly 200 plots will contain a single species, while others include carefully selected combinations of five species assembled based on the functions they provide. Some plots are protected from deer browsing, while others are left exposed.

By comparing these approaches, we can test how different planting strategies perform across a range of goals, from timber production to food production and from biodiversity to climate resilience.

Landowners and communities have different priorities, whether that’s producing wood, supporting wildlife or creating forests that can withstand a changing climate. The idea behind Functional Forests is to design plantings that can deliver these multiple benefits all at once, rather than optimizing for just one, essentially leveraging the positive effects of biodiversity to achieve real-world goals.

Planting 1 trillion trees wisely

The stakes are high. Restoration has become a major global investment, with hundreds of billions of dollars already being spent annually. Getting it wrong means wasted resources and missed opportunities to address some of the most pressing environmental challenges of our time.

If the world is going to plant a trillion trees, we believe it needs to do more than just put seedlings in the ground. It needs to rethink what a forest should be.

The goal isn’t just to grow trees. It’s to grow forests that last.

John Parker, Senior Scientist in Community Ecology, Smithsonian Institution and Justin Nowakowski, Senior Scientist in Spatial Ecology and Conservation, Smithsonian Institution

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

With 104 matches in 16 stadiums across Canada, the United States and Mexico, the 2026 FIFA World Cup will be soccer’s biggest event ever.

It’s our job as turfgrass researchers hired by FIFA, the game’s governing body, to make sure those pitches feel the same for players and that the grass thrives.

That’s not so simple. In fact, it seemed like an impossible challenge at first.

Picking the right turf

The scale of this job was unprecedented: three distinct climatic zones, over 3,100 miles between the farthest stadiums, and venues ranging from stadiums open to the heat of Mexico City and Miami to enclosed NFL stadiums in Dallas and Atlanta, to the cooler climates of Boston and Toronto.

Despite the unique situations of each stadium, FIFA has a long list of rules for how the fields must be built. The grass has to be real but reinforced so it can handle a lot of games and ceremonies. Each field needs an automatic irrigation system, good drainage, built-in vacuum and vents to keep the grass and soil aerated, and artificial grow lights to keep the grass healthy.

Each host city is responsible for figuring out how to meet these requirements.

Right now, eight of the 2026 host stadiums normally use artificial turf – how will they temporarily switch to real grass for the World Cup?

Even trickier, five of the stadiums have domes, which means the grass gets less sunlight. How can they keep the grass alive for eight weeks?

How can we make sure that a player competing in Philadelphia has the same on‑field experience as a player competing in Guadalajara or Seattle?

Our team at the University of Tennessee and Michigan State University has spent the past five years researching these questions to provide guidance to the host cities. Here, we’ll explore some of the most important questions we faced: which grass to grow, how it’s grown, how we plan to make it even stronger, and how to move it safely to each stadium.

Growing the grass

Typically, sod is grown on native soil. When harvested, the roots are cut, which shocks the plant and can delay root reestablishment for several weeks.

That wouldn’t work for the World Cup because games may take place within just 10 days of installation. If the roots can’t become established fast enough, the grass will be weaker and more prone to damage.

To address this, we decided to use sod grown on plastic with sand as a base.

Think of it like growing grass in a plastic tray, but on a much larger scale. When the roots reach the plastic, they spread sideways and intertwine, forming a dense rooting system. Because the roots stay intact during harvest, the sod experiences minimal stress and can be ready to play almost immediately after installation.

Sod for sports fields is typically grown in a base of sand to provide quick drainage and prevent the grass from getting compacted as the roots become established.

The problem is that growing grass in 2 inches of sand on a plastic sheet comes with risks. Because of the plastic, a single heavy rainfall while the grass is becoming established can wash the exposed sand away.

For warm‑season sod farmers – those that grow grass that thrives in high temperatures – sand washing away is less of a concern because the Bermudagrass they grow establishes quickly. On the other hand, cool‑season sod farmers usually grow Kentucky bluegrass, which germinates slowly compared to other turfgrass species, increasing the risk of washouts.

We decided to mix a faster‑germinating species – perennial ryegrass – with Kentucky bluegrass grown on plastic and then tested various seeding ratios. We found that an 84% Kentucky bluegrass and 16% perennial ryegrass mixture produced a stronger sod than pure Kentucky bluegrass alone four months after seeding. Since 2025, these findings have been used on sod farms across North America, beyond those growing grass for the World Cup.

Stabilizing the surface

“One World Cup game is equal to a Super Bowl,” FIFA officials like to remind us. Since each field will host a lot of games and ceremonies, including up to nine games over six weeks, the fields need to be extremely strong.

To make them tougher, we mix plastic fibers into the natural grass, which creates a hybrid turfgrass system. As the grass grows, its roots wrap around these plastic fibers, which helps to keep the surface stable and firm. These fibers are also colored to match the natural grass, so even if the real grass wears down, they help the field stay green.

Hybrid turfgrass systems can be created in two ways: by stitching plastic fibers into an existing grass field or by laying down a carpet of plastic fibers that is then filled with sand and seeded to grow new grass.

Stitched systems have been used in World Cup games for a long time, but carpet systems are still fairly new to the tournament – they have been used only in the 2023 Women’s World Cup.

We tested eight carpet systems to see how they performed and found that all could be successfully grown on plastic. All the surface performance tests – ball bounce, rotational resistance and surface hardness – on these eight carpets also met FIFA standards.

One type of carpet was chosen by three host cities for their stadiums: Vancouver, Los Angeles, and Philadelphia.

Getting the sod from farm to stadium

Most of the stadiums – 14 of them – will have sod that is grown on plastic, then rolled up and shipped to the venue during spring 2026. Some of the grasses won’t have to travel far, but some will be shipped in refrigerated trucks across the country. Since the sod remains fully intact after harvest, it can withstand long travel times.

Five of those stadiums don’t get enough sunlight, so they will use cool-season grasses that require less light than warm-season grasses.

While the open-air stadium in Miami will use Bermudagrass, the domed stadium in Houston, despite being at a similar latitude, will use the Kentucky bluegrass and perennial ryegrass mix. That means cross-country trips from cool-season sod farms in Denver and Washington to domed stadiums in the southern regions is essential.

It’s wild to think that this is all necessary, but the length of the tournament and unique stadium environments call for innovation.

John N. Trey Rogers, Professor of Turfgrass Research, Michigan State University; Jackie Lyn A. Guevara, Assistant Professor of Turfgrass Management, Michigan State University; John Sorochan, Professor of Plant Sciences, University of Tennessee, and Ryan Bearss, Research Assistant in Plant, Soil and Microbial Sciences, Michigan State University

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

Whether it’s tucking into some toast, dumplings or a bowl of fresh pasta, humans love eating wheat.

Wheat is the most widely grown cereal crop in the world. It’s produced by harvesting the dry, edible seeds of a type of cultivated grass. Once processed, these seeds can be used for food, animal feed and industrial purposes such as biofuel production.

The global demand for wheat rises year after year, largely due to population growth. In 2026, global wheat production is set to reach 820 million tonnes.

Wheat is a tough plant, able to endure drought, heat and cold. But it has limits.

The world’s major wheat-growing regions are increasingly vulnerable to climate change. More extreme weather and rainfall shortages are already making life harder for wheat farmers. And many are now facing the added challenge of securing fertiliser and fuel amid shortages linked to the Iran war.

So how can we keep growing wheat with all these pressures, and especially in a changing climate?

Wheat around the world

Wheat is a staple food for roughly three billion people around the world, of whom more than one-third live in the poorest countries. Wheat contributes more calories and protein to the world’s diet than any other crop.

Wheat is also a major economic commodity, contributing nearly $A70 billion to the global economy. Millions of farmers around the world rely on it to make a living. Australia’s graingrowers produce about 4% of the world’s wheat. But this crop is disproportionately important, as the majority is exported. This is between 10% and 20% of global wheat exports.

Our changing climate

Humans have successfully grown wheat for more than 10,000 years. Over this period, global climate and rainfall patterns have remained relatively stable.

But the climate is now very rapidly changing, due largely to our continued reliance on fossil fuels.

Wheat is a temperate-zone crop, thriving in places with moderate rainfall and mild, sunny weather. Conditions in the world’s temperate zones – geographic regions that typically have hot summers and cold winters – are getting more extreme. Rainfall patterns are also changing. Some areas are getting drier and others wetter and cloudier.

These climatic changes make it much harder for farmers to reliably grow healthy, high-yielding crops such as wheat. Recent modelling suggests average wheat yields in dryland growing regions – where farmers rely on rainfall instead of irrigation – could fall by up to 20% by the 2030s.

These changes can also make wheat crops less nutritious. One 2020 study found more carbon dioxide in the air reduces how much protein wheat grains have. This matters because food that’s low in essential nutrients, fibre or protein can contribute to “hidden hunger”, which affects people who only eat nutrient-poor foods.

Climate change may also make weeds, pests and plant diseases more of a problem. These already have a huge financial toll on Australian farmers, costing them more than $5 billion each year in agricultural losses. Just this week, farmers in two Australian states have been battling a potential mouse plague. Researchers suggest unpredictable weather – two years of drought followed by record-breaking rain – is a key factor.

So, what can we do?

In response, scientists around the world are working to develop climate-resilient, high-yielding wheat varieties.

One approach is crop plasticity – breeding crops to become more “plastic”, meaning they can more effectively adapt to harsher climatic conditions. Researchers are investigating how specific genes in crop plants could boost climate resilience. Some are examining the genes of ancestral wheat varieties to find beneficial genes that could make modern varieties more climate-resilient, meaning they tolerate more heat and require less water to grow.

Another promising research area is plant hormones. Our team has studied strigolactone, a plant hormone that helps plants perform better in warmer, drier conditions or with reduced nutrients. In our recent study, we found altering a plant’s production of strigolactone prevented yield loss, even when less fertiliser is applied. This suggests plant hormones could help certain crops adapt better to climate change.

Wheat can’t do it all

Wheat is a very versatile crop. But it can’t adapt to every new challenge. It’s time to consider growing other crops better suited to certain farming areas.

For example, climate change may turn temperate areas sub-tropical, making their summers hotter and winters milder.

As the climate keeps changing, it may work better to replace wheat with crops such as sorghum and maize, which are better suited to hot, dry conditions.

We can also grow rarer crops which look to be very resilient in the face of climate change. Ancient grains such as sorghum and teff are two examples.

That’s not to say we won’t need wheat. Securing our supplies of wheat will be essential to feed future generations. But as the climate rapidly changes, we urgently need to find creative, sustainable ways to keep producing this vital crop.

Phil Brewer, Professor in Plant Biology, La Trobe University

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

On a chilly yet beautifully clear evening last November, I sat on a video call with colleagues and happened to mention the live feed from the International Space Station – a real-time broadcast from onboard cameras as the station orbits earth.

Several people hadn’t heard of it, and so I dug out the link and sent it over. We then turned to Nasa’s spot the station smartphone app, which shows you the ageing satellite’s orbital track and provides a countdown to when you can next see it. Again, I found the link and shared it on the chat.

I suddenly realised the station was going to pass directly overhead – in just a few minutes. Video beamed from the station as it advanced over the Atlantic, crossed the terminator (the line that separates day from night), and hurtled towards the southwestern tip of the UK, where I live.

Running outside, I took my phone and the live feed with me. And as I looked up at the bright, impossibly fast-moving smudge traversing the sky above, the feed showed the station’s birdseye view – and perhaps the view of the astronauts aboard – looking down on me, too.

Just 25 years ago, this kind of experience would have been hard to imagine. Yet as our lives have become increasingly interwoven with technology, so too have our encounters with the world around us. And nowhere is this more true than when it comes to viewing the night sky.

Smartphone apps now help us to identify planets, catch views of satellite clusters (for better and worse), and plan how to view supermoons. These experiences could be crucial in helping to reconnect people with the night sky and preserve a darkness that is increasingly under threat.

Simulations that allow people to view the Earth from afar, via apps or computer games, could even recreate a fascinating phenomenon reported by astronauts: the overview effect. Recently referred to by the Artemis II crew, the overview effect is described as a “a profound reaction to viewing the Earth from outside its atmosphere”. It represents a powerful form of awe and wonder and digital tools might help us unlock similar feelings from Earth too.

On May 11 2024, residents marvelled at the aurora borealis (northern lights) across parts of the UK including in southern England where they are rarely seen. The sightings made headlines across Europe, an excitement that was made possible by digital technology and heightened by digital shares and updates.

Public interest began with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s Deep Space Climate satellite picking up particularly strong solar winds. This triggered an alert to users of Lancaster University’s Aurorawatch app. These stargazers started taking photos of the northern lights, which they promptly shared via social media.

The display happened close to midnight when most people in the UK were in bed – but still scrolling. And as real-time images of the aurora quickly circulated online, masses of people went outside to see it for themselves. But, as one witness reported, many people struggled to make out the display: “I could see nothing by eye, but it was there on the camera screen, and on my phone camera too.” And so images of the sky were captured through ultra-sensitive smartphones.

From webcams in bird boxes to big-budget nature documentaries, these digital connections have come to define modern interactions with the natural world. They are now interwoven into everyday routines.

Ten million people watched the first episode of BBC’s Planet Earth III in 2023 – the same number who visit the Peak District in a year. Nature-based “relaxation” videos have achieved viral status on YouTube, amassing hundreds of millions of views each. Spotify, Audible and Netflix have made nature content a core offering to their combined half a billion subscribers. Instagram is home to pictures of 346 million sunsets – and counting.

Online relationships

Being online can also have serious consequences for mental health, but when it comes to the natural world, digital connections could also provide exciting opportunities to bolster wellbeing. Growing research has shown that engaging with digital forms of nature can lead to improvements in emotion regulation, stress reduction and attention restoration – a pathway that is already being explored by apps hoping to boost wellbeing for people who spend large amounts of time online.

These digital encounters also have the potential to affect how people behave towards the environment.

Some academics are worried that these trends might be degrading our relationship with nature, but there is substantial nuance to be found here. The real value in these experiences may lie not in their ability to simulate natural worlds, but in their capacity to stimulate interest in nature.

Harnessing technology to “rewild” our digital lives could be especially relevant when it comes to an emerging generation of young people. Take for example, the perspectives of generation alpha, the first wave of which are entering their late teens, and who, after gen Z, represent the second cohort of digital natives – hyper-connected visual learners who have never known a world without smartphones, social media, instant access to information, and for some, artificial intelligence.

Perhaps, as some have suggested, modern and digital tools could even mean that young people’s opportunities to connect with nature are unprecedented.

And so, as with some other innovations, these technological connections might enhance human experience, understanding and capability.

It could be time to recognise and embrace digital tools as part of the dynamic, evolving, and exciting way we interact with the natural world – approaches that might bring us closer to nature at a time when its future hangs in the balance.

Alex Smalley, Research Fellow in Environmental Psychology, University of Exeter

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

You might go for a walk in the forest to disconnect from work and calm your nerves after a busy week. The chirping and calls of birds in the canopy above might be exactly what allows you to relax.

But what sounds soothing to humans may signal danger to other animals – and trigger fear across the forest.

In our research, published today in Current Biology, we show that when some animals spot a predator they issue a warning cry that is picked up by others and spread through the rainforest canopy. For a time, different species are linked into a shared information network, and parts of the forest briefly fall silent.

Birds and monkeys

During an expedition to a remote area of the Peruvian Amazon, working with a falconer, we used trained raptors to trigger warning calls from birds and primates. We recorded the calls then played them back into the forest and monitored how the community responded.

We already knew that birds sometimes repeat the warnings of others – occasionally even those of different species, or of primates. What we wanted to know was how widespread this behaviour is across the animal community.

We discovered that alarm calls produced by small bird species – those weighing less than 100 grams – were most often passed on. Other small birds living in the canopy were the most likely to relay the call, but other animals joined in too.

Larger species, including capuchin and spider monkeys, sometimes responded as well. Two canopy species in particular – the black-fronted and the white-fronted nunbirds – stood out as especially likely to repeat and propagate the warnings of their neighbours throughout the forest.

Sounds and silence

Alarm calls from species living in the forest understorey were far less likely to spread and be propagated by other birds or primates.

However, even when these alarm calls were not repeated, they changed the forest’s soundscape. Small canopy birds almost completely stopped singing after hearing a predator alert. At the same time, animals in lower forest layers often continued to make sounds despite the perceived threat.

Together, these findings suggest that the Amazonian canopy is not only the rainforest’s most mysterious layer – largely unexplored and home to much of its biodiversity – but also functions as an information highway, like a fibre-optic network through which animals rapidly share signals of danger.

A new layer of the ‘internet of the forest’

In the past decade, the idea of an “internet of the forest” has become popular through the concept of the “wood wide web”, where plants exchange resources and information via root systems and fungal networks. Our work points to another communication system, one operating high above the ground.

Suspended above our heads is a vast ecosystem where animals constantly listen to one another, forming an eavesdropping network that spreads critical information within seconds.

The vocal activity of birds is usually associated with finding mates and defending territories. However, we now know that sometimes this activity, or lack of it, may represent pulses of a soundscape of fear.

Next time you walk through a rainforest, look up and listen to the birds. A sudden silence may mean a raptor is gliding somewhere above the canopy.

Ettore Camerlenghi, Associate Research Fellow, Avian Behaviour, Deakin University and Ari Martínez, Assistant Professor of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, University of California, Santa Cruz

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