WORDS Michele Gierck

People who spend time in our natural environment can teach us a lot about looking after it.

Last spring, a friend took me for a walk around his bush block on the outskirts of Melbourne.

I followed him as he treaded gently up the slope, careful not to trample on the nodding greenhoods, tiny little plants with droopy heads. As we walked, he talked about the native vegetation and his wonder and delight were evident.

It was the same wonder and delight I’d felt from a scientist I met last year, Dr Selina Ward, a lecturer at the Centre for Marine Studies (CMS) at the University of Queensland who researches at the Heron Island Research Station on the Great Barrier Reef.

There are many things I could write about her, including her detailed understanding of the complexity and interdependence of organisms living on the reef, and her ability to explain technical and complex issues to the not-so-scientifically-minded. But what impressed me most about Dr Ward was her passion: for the reef environment, for the research that is already indicating the devastating effects that climate change is having on the reef, and her belief that research may lead to better management and protection of this Australian wonder.

Since that interview with Dr Ward, I’ve often thought about how she manages to stay so positive in spite of knowing that if we do not reduce the level of greenhouse gases that we as an international community are emitting, the reef may not be there for our grandchildren to enjoy.

The thought of the Great Barrier Reef no longer existing is shocking. It is such a spectacular environment. There’s brilliant colour, contrasts, and incredible diversity. The corals appear in so many shapes and contortions, and the fish are amazing; tiny ones among strands of coral, sleek trumpet fish, large spotted groupers. And the turtles, the reef sharks and manta rays look majestic. Interdependence between species is all part of the dynamic process of life on the reef. One that global warming threatens.

There may well be a groundswell of support in Australia to reduce greenhouse gases but looking at the number of cars on the city freeways each morning you realise we are not going to give up old ways easily. And possibly not without the threat of being taxed on our greenhouse gas emissions. This could be the carrot, or rather the stick, to make some industries, not just individuals, change.

But perhaps what we also need is inspiration.

My friend with the bush block is also a freshwater scientist. He spends a lot of time standing in waders, thigh-deep in rivers, surveying Australian native fish and the quality of the water they live in. He has such an understanding of these fish and their habitats that I reckon he can actually think like a fish.

I’ve seen how determined he is to have the habitat of Australia’s native fish—not the most known or glamorous species—recognised and protected. How dejected he has been, at times, monitoring the effects of the drought on our native species; watching their habitat and breeding grounds literally dry up. And once they are gone, that’s it. Game over. Freshwater fish can’t seek refuge in sea water.

What these scientists I’ve written about have in common is an understanding of the earth and its rivers, reefs or oceans that most of us do not. I’m not simply referring to ‘knowing’ in terms of scientific data, but rather ‘experience’ from having spent so much time out in their respective fields. Yet in spite of monitoring the degeneration, at times demise, of fragile, unique Australian environments, they remain passionate. Inspiring. They have not lost hope.

To spend a little time with such passionate people who respect and advocate for the environment, and delight in it, is perhaps what each of us needs so we can really experience the earth we tend to trample on without much thought. To learn to appreciate it, and to be inspired to take action.

Now.