Latest news with #Palawa
SBS Australia
18 hours ago
- Entertainment
- SBS Australia
"Tenderness and tension": Producer Catherine Pettman on the fragile beauty of 'Moonbird'
Sonny (Lennox Monaghan) holding a baby muttonbird. Credit: Jillian Mundy Filmed entirely on location on tayaritja, lutruwita (Great/Big Dog Island, Tasmania), new 6-part SBS and NITV Digital Originals series Moonbird explores the relationship between a recently sober father (Kyle Morrison; in his first leading role) and his son (Lennox Monaghan; Deadloch , Windcatcher ) who attempt to reconnect through a traditional muttonbirding season on a remote Tasmanian island. Produced by Catherine Pettman (who worked as a production manager on another SBS original, The Tailings ) and written by Adam Thompson (who has written several episodes of Logie Award-winning children's animation Little J & Big Cuz ) and Nathan Maynard (who wrote episodes of Deadloch and Stuff the British Stole ), Moonbird is a beautiful glimpse into the traditions of the Palawa people. "As writers and storytellers we wanted to share some of this special place with the world. To share the unique landscape, culture and way of life," said writer and Palawa man Adam Thompson in a statement. Coloured by gorgeous landscapes, the short drama series observes the importance of tradition to First Nations peoples, while also revealing the dark truths of how the breakdown of culture can have disastrous effects. In an interview with SBS, Catherine Pettman discusses the myriad wonders that came with working on Moonbird , from crafting the short series alongside female filmmakers to shooting on the fragile yet mesmerising land of the Palawa people: tayaritja. Moonbird offers a unique glimpse into the unique world of muttonbirding. What did it mean for you to create something that allows viewers to look into this tradition and were there any challenges that came about during production? I feel deeply honoured to be part of bringing this story to life — inviting audiences into the rarely seen world of muttonbirding, a tradition woven through place, family and survival. Big Dog Island, just south of Flinders Island in Bass Strait, is separated by a shifting tidal passage making access unpredictable and weather dependent. With near zero infrastructure on the island, we were challenged by a constant shuffle between barges and boats to get everything we needed on and off the island daily. Given the remoteness it was a tough shoot, but the team rose to the challenge spectacularly. While the island in Moonbird is fictional, the shooting location, Big Dog Island, is very much real, beautiful and has a deep history entrenched in the soil. What was it like creating Moonbird amongst such important lands? Big Dog Island is extraordinary — wild, remote, and teeming with life, with hundreds of thousands of burrows covering the island, sheltering the next generation of birds. From the beginning, we knew that protecting this fragile habitat was paramount. Every step of filming was approached with care and respect — not just for the environment, but for the Palawa people and their traditions at the heart of the story. We took great care to protect the fragile habitat, ensuring every step was respectful to the land, the birds and the story we were telling. Moonbird explores the need to reconcile the past through truth-telling, through the effort to heal fractured relationships, even as we acknowledge how hard that is within systems that continue to apply pressure. What is your most cherished memory or moment from the creation of Moonbird ? One of my most treasured memories from the film shoot was being awoken before dawn to the wild calls of the yula/muttonbird outside my tent—a haunting, beautiful sound, a clear signal to me I was a guest in a place few people ever get to experience. The island's raw, untouched beauty was unforgettable; its energy made us all feel like we were part of something deeply special. My most cherished moment, though, came on our final night. After a feast of wild island food, we gathered to reflect on the privilege of being welcomed into Adam (Thompson) and Nathan (Maynard)'s world. We'd all learned so much—not just about the land, but about resilience, heritage and care. I was especially grateful to our young actor, Lennox Monaghan, whose powerful, authentic performance as Sonny anchored the story. It was an emotional night—of joy and a little sorrow that it was ending. The island had moved us. It gave us something we'll carry forever. While there is certainly a lot of light in Moonbird , there is also darkness, especially around how the breakdown of culture can affect Indigenous peoples. Could you talk about exploring this duality in Moonbird ? Moonbird holds a deep emotional complexity. I feel in creating the story, Adam and Nathan skillfully navigated the duality of tenderness and tension—those intimate, warm moments between a father and son working to mend their bond, contrasted with the painful reality of disconnection: from family, from culture, from self. While there is a lot of light in the story, there's also a necessary darkness. The breakdown of culture—its theft, suppression and slow erosion—has left lasting wounds. Moonbird explores the need to reconcile the past through truth-telling, through the effort to heal fractured relationships, even as we acknowledge how hard that is within systems that continue to apply pressure. The island becomes a metaphor for this struggle—a place of breathtaking beauty, yet always at risk. I feel a deep sense of gratitude for my life here in lutruwita/Tasmania — it's an extraordinary place, and with that comes a responsibility to support stories that speak truthfully to its history. You've noted a strong female contingent working on Moonbird behind the scenes. Could you speak on how that experience felt for you and the positive impacts this had on the creation of Moonbird ? We had around 40% female crew on Moonbird and the impact of that was incredibly positive. I'm always mindful of creating opportunities for women across all departments and on this project, that balance really enriched the experience. Living and working so closely together on location, there was a strong sense of support, shared knowledge and mentorship. The diversity within the crew encouraged dynamic decision-making and genuine collaboration. It fostered a community of like-minded souls, where stories and skills were exchanged freely. Having such experienced, capable women on set—many of them role models—was a clear reminder that parity not only works, it elevates the entire production. You have worked on multiple short films and full-length films which tackle important topics and sometimes topics that do not get spoken on enough. How did this history inform your approach to telling the important stories of the Palawa people? I feel a deep sense of gratitude for my life here in lutruwita/Tasmania — it's an extraordinary place and with that comes a responsibility to support stories that speak truthfully to its history. Over the years, I've worked on projects that seek to give voice to stories not often heard and that experience has shaped how I approach work like Moonbird . As a non-Aboriginal woman, I've learned a great deal from the Palawa community and I carry a deep respect for the knowledge and generosity so many have shared with me. With Moonbird , my focus was on supporting Adam and Nathan to bring a powerful dramatic story to television — one that's rooted in their lived experiences and cultural strength. My role was to back their vision; it was a privilege to learn from them and help bring their story into the world. SBS and NITV Digital Originals series Moonbird is now streaming on SBS On Demand. Share this with family and friends SBS's award winning companion podcast. Join host Yumi Stynes for Seen, a new SBS podcast about cultural creatives who have risen to excellence despite a role-model vacuum.
Travel Weekly
18 hours ago
- Business
- Travel Weekly
Intrepid Travel acquires hotels in Tasmania and Morocco
Intrepid Travel has acquired boutique properties in Tasmania and Marrakech. The family-run Edge of the Bay, located near the town of Coals Bay in Tasmania, is a 20-room coastal resort that overlooks Wineglass Bay. The property is on 18 acres and close to Freycinet National Park. The hotel offers oceanview studios and secluded chalets. The resort will be refreshed to align with Intrepid's "impact-led ethos," the company said in its announcement. The revamp will include nature-based activities and environmental education programs developed with Greening Australia, an Intrepid Foundation partner and environmental organization founded to restore and conserve Australia's native vegetation. Intrepid also plans to work with the Palawa people, the indigenous inhabitants of the land, to conduct a cultural heritage assessment of the property. Intrepid also bought a 17-room riad in Marrakech, minutes from Medina, the city's old town. The traditional Moroccan guesthouse opened this month and offers culinary experiences with The Amal Association, a nonprofit that trains women in hospitality. Intrepid will fully operate the property beginning in July. "Our approach to accommodation is underpinned by a commitment to preserving culture, fostering connection, supporting communities and boosting travel's economic contribution with the local community," said Intrepid CEO James Thornton. The 20-room Edge of the Bay resort near Coals Bay in Tasmania. Photo Credit: Intrepid Travel Intrepid said last year that it was accelerating its expansion into hotels. It aims to acquire 20 properties by 2027. The brand hopes to acquire properties in Asia, Africa and the Americas, adding to its previous acquisition of Daintree Ecolodge in Australia and its multiyear lease of a Vietnam hotel. Since acquiring Daintree Ecolodge in Queensland, Australia, Intrepid said it has introduced solar power, advanced wastewater treatment, composting and vegetable gardens while eliminating single-use plastics. The lodge is certified as a B Corp, which means it has met high standards of social and environmental performance.
West Australian
05-06-2025
- Politics
- West Australian
The Snitch: What losing Tasmania as 19th AFL club could mean for Fremantle Dockers
The Snitch is a proud 'yes' man. I only ever vote yes in referendums despite our country's historical lean to a no. It's just my positive nature. Ask Mrs Snitch. I always find it hard to say 'no' to anything my dear lady requests, whether it was the peculiar mix of Penfolds Grange and Devils on Horseback at our wedding reception at El Caballo Blanco, or her insistence we ride to the chapel in a racing green Dymaxion replica. So I have been flummoxed with with all of this pushback from Tasmanians on having an AFL team. It's all so negative and small-town minded. The thought of missing out on a stadium, and therefore a team, because of political squabbling and local myopia, has brought Tasmanian's finest footy players to tears this week. Why wouldn't you want an AFL team in your State? Yes, Tassie's greatest tourism asset lies in its diverse landscape and rich history, from Cradle Mountain to Port Arthur, but this would surely ramp it up a notch. If I am honest, only one good thing will come from a team not landing in Van Diemen's Land and that would be the likelihood Alex Pearce would remain at Fremantle for the duration of his career. Alex has Palawa heritage and grew up in Ulverstone on Tassie's north coast. He'll be 31 by Tasmania's intended AFL debut in 2028, but would be just the type of experienced and balanced footballer and all-round good chap the Devils would be looking for to lead their inaugural team. The transformation of the ugly Macquarie Point Sewage Treatment Plant into a boutique stadium worth a few Tassie truffles short of $1 billion has poured new salt on to old north v south wounds in the State. On Thursday, Tasmania's Liberal Party Premier Jeremy Rockliff lost a vote of no confidence over a looming $1 billion budget deficit and will now call a snap election. The deficit and now the election mean the AFL team is in doubt given the league has made the new roofed stadium a condition of a 19th licence. Media giant Eddie McGuire summed it up best when he said: 'What Tasmania doesn't need is every week to have an advertisement that they are a second-rate state. I think Tasmania deserves to be finally seen for the great state that it is.' He's right. If they want to remain blissfully second rate, then we have to let them. It's their call. They are busy subversives Tasmanians, just like West Aussies, after all. Remember, Tassie is an actual island. We are like one given our distance from the east. Which brings me to my favourite Tassie story and a perfect segue out of this misery. Back in 1982, the Commonwealth Games opened in Brisbane to great fanfare. Matilda the giant kangaroo was the centrepiece as she circled the QEII Stadium, winked and opened her pouch to enable hundreds of kids to pour out and form a human map of Australia. The Snitch was one of those kids – with my aptly named best mate Cliff – positioned to form the Nullarbor Plain. It was all going splendidly until we realised there was a gaping error. We'd left Tasmania off the human map. I recall talking to the one kid who was solely responsible for that role. He mumbled something about eating too many apples and sprinted to the nearest toilet and, you guessed it, missed the cut when we boarded Matilda. The outrage was loud from Tasmanians. It was another slap in the face from the mainland. Realising the gravity of his absence when he emerged from the lav to find we had all left without him, 'Tassie' leapt the fence in a futile effort to address the geographical gaffe, but sadly, we'd already broken away. A bit like Tassie right now. Say no to the AFL and you deserve to be permanently cut adrift, leaving you to float south where you will somewhat ironically bump into Macquarie Island before clattering into the frozen pole of Antarctica.
News.com.au
27-05-2025
- Politics
- News.com.au
‘Time to move on': Flinders Island councillor pushes to scrap Welcome to Country
A councillor on Flinders Island in Tasmania has called for the end of Welcome to Country and Acknowledgement of Country, saying the ceremonies have 'served their purpose and it is now time to move on'. Flinders Island, part of the Furneaux Group in the Bass Strait off Tasmania's northeast tip, has a population of 800 people and the second-highest proportion of Aboriginal residents in the state at around 16 per cent. Councillor Garry Blenkhorn has put forward a resolution to be voted on at Wednesday's meeting for Flinders Council to 'cease reciting all references to Welcome to Country and Acknowledgement of Country in any event or publication involving the council including, but not limited to, meetings of the council, meetings of special and subcommittees of the council, public meetings organised by or involving the council and the publishing and presentation of reports of the council including Annual Reports'. Mayor Rachel Summers told the ABC that she was disappointed Cr Blenkhorn had not raised the issue before submitting his notice of motion. She warned that the proposal would 'take us back 50 years, 100 years even'. 'It's literally 30 seconds, 60 seconds, when we just acknowledge the contribution the Aboriginal community has made over their time as custodians of the land,' Cr Summers said. The Palawa people of the Trawulwai Nation are recognised as the traditional owners of the Furneaux Islands. Flinders Island is also the site of the old Wybalenna Mission where Indigenous Tasmanians were sent in the early 1800s, many dying from disease and poor conditions. Cr Blenkhorn said there had 'recently been an increase in discontent throughout Australia regarding the use of Welcome to Country and Acknowledgement of Country at public events'. 'The use of Welcome to Country and Acknowledgement of Country is seen as divisive, unnecessary and not contributing to reconciliation between Indigenous Australians and others,' he wrote. 'I believe the two protocols have served their purpose and it is now time to move on. These protocols are not historical and have only existed for around 50 years … It is not a long-held tradition and should not be regarded as such.' Cr Blenkhorn highlighted the 2023 defeat of the Indigenous Voice Referendum by a 60-40 margin. Flinders Island recorded a slightly stronger yes vote at 45.6 per cent, but Cr Blenkhorn said the overall result was 'a vote against constitutional recognition for Indigenous peoples throughout Australia'. 'There can be many interpretations put on the result … but the major certainty is that Australians do not want separatist development,' he wrote. 'That is called apartheid. Many will recall or have read of the White Australia policy which was developed after World War II. We do not want to go back to those days where your future in Australia was determined by your race. Those days have gone and should never return.' Flinders Council general manager Warren Groves raised concerns about the motion, saying the Flinders Island Aboriginal Association Incorporated (FIAAI), the Cape Barren Island Aboriginal Association (CBIAA) and the Aboriginal Land Council of Tasmania (ALCT) were all 'strongly opposed'. 'I am concerned that any such action will cause potentially significant offence and affront to those associations and the communities they represent,' he wrote. 'An Acknowledgement of, or Welcome to Country, is a relatively short expression of respect, acknowledging, amongst other matters, the strong ongoing connection of the Aboriginal people to Australia for more than 40,000 years.' Flinders Council has used the Acknowledgement of Country since 2019, and in 2014 'took what was reportedly viewed as a progressive step, to support an inclusive celebration of being Furneaux Islanders on a date separate to Australia Day'. 'This change has since been widely celebrated for its inclusive and progressive perspective,' Mr Groves wrote. 'I have significant concerns that removing the Welcome to or Acknowledgement of Country from Council events may be seen as a retrograde step and offensive to our Aboriginal community, as well as reputationally and socially damaging for council both within and outside our island communities.' CBIAA chair Aaron Maynard told the ABC 'words can't really explain how disgusting and just how disrespectful this is to everyone'. 'Our people on this land in Australia are the oldest living race in the world at 65,000 years old, and we're still not celebrating that to our full capacity,' he said. Debate over the use of Welcome to Country ceremonies has grown since the Voice Referendum, with the Liberal frontbencher Jacinta Nampijinpa Price previously warning people are 'sick if it'. 'There is no problem with acknowledging our history, but rolling out these performances before every sporting event or public gathering is definitely divisive,' she said. 'It's not welcoming, it's telling non-Indigenous Australians 'this isn't your country' and that's wrong. We are all Australians and we share this great land.' Reconciliation Australia, the national peak body dedicated to reconciliation between Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and the wider community, says the ceremonies are an important sign of respect. 'Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples have experienced a long history of exclusion from Australian history books, the Australian flag, the Australian anthem and for many years, Australian democracy,' it says. 'This history of dispossession and colonisation lies at the heart of the disparity between Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander and other Australians today. Including recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in events, meetings and national symbols contributes to ending the exclusion that has been so damaging.'
The Guardian
08-03-2025
- Science
- The Guardian
Jurassic-era trees have grown in Tasmania for millions of years. Now they face their biggest threat: fire
Steve Leonard finds it hard when he goes bushwalking in Tasmania's high country these days. 'I look at a stand of pencil pine and I wonder: 'how long will you be there?'' The ecologist is just back from a rapid survey of the cost to ancient trees of the latest lightning-strike fires across the island's drying landscapes. Among the losses he found near the overland track, an alpine walking trail through central Tasmania, were groves of pencil pine. 'We saw a couple of stands that were quite severely burned,' says Leonard, from the Tasmanian National Parks and Wildlife Service. 'Others where the fires had taken out single trees.' This wizard-bearded scientist spoke the fears of many: that tree-by-tree natural antiquity is being consumed. Only found in Tasmania, pencil pine dates back to the late Jurassic, 140 million years ago. It is from the small Athrotaxis genus, with King Billy pine and a third species that crosses between them called the Lax-leaf. If allowed, these trees can live a thousand years. Unlike eucalypts, they are hypersensitive to fire; if burned around the trunk, they die. And Tasmania is in a new age of fire. Pencil pine has an absorbingly varied character which reflects its landscape, shaped by wind, ice and snow. The bark is soft and yielding, its waxy leaves kind to running fingers. I have seen it outlined at sundown, making a trail along a watercourse like a clan on a centuries-long journey. Marvelled on a mountain plateau where the trees' windward stems have been ice-stripped of bark, yet shelter stems of new life. And I've been held spellbound on a glacial shelf where a pine crawls up a boulder, live branchlets rising barely a hand's breadth above the rock. I have imagined pencil pines sculptural groves offering permanence through generations of Palawa who have lived on the island for thousands of years, the shelter across riskier altitudes they would have offered. After invasion it was regarded as so 'remarkably handsome' that its first colonial name was pine of Olympus. Woodlands of pencil pine are now rare. The tree persists in rock-guarded fortresses like the walls of Jerusalem and the labyrinth; a reminder of what once stood before wide-scale burning. Mostly now pencil pines live as remnants, finding just enough nourishment to huddle in fireproof boulder fields or to edge wet shorelines. A century ago the poet Marie Pitt, who lived through bushfire on a mountain mining hamlet, wrote of people unleashing 'A gallop of fire': I loose the horses, the wild, red horses I loose the horses, the mad, red horses And terror is on the land. The burning was to clear Tasmanian land for access and prospecting, and later to encourage livestock grazing. Pitt's words stand eerily today as a description of the red horses of global heating, which have brought lightning-started fires across whole Tasmanian landscapes in 2013, 2016, 2020, and now in 2025. These latest fires, now burning into a fifth week, are again exceeding our ability to protect these ancient trees. A tree like Huon pine, renowned for its long-lasting scented timber, can more often be found today confined to pockets of landscape that are less likely to burn: south-facing hillsides, for example, sheltered from the predominant northerly wind-blown fires. In his 21 February helicopter survey, Leonard flew west to the Harman River, where deep concern was held for a Huon pine stand that included a tree ring counted to 2,500 years of annual growth – not including its rotten centre, which might have held another 500 rings. Fire had burned to the edges of this stand in a steep river valley. 'It's a tall, single stem tree. It sticks up out of the canopy in the rainforest. It's a really nice looking tree. It was unharmed.' Other, big, Huon further downriver did burn, leaving a ghastly catalogue for Rob Blakers, a nature photographer, to record. Touchstones from the deep past such as the Huon and pencil pines give each of us pause to contemplate our own temporary existence. I was drawn to these trees during my recovery from stage 4 metastatic lung cancer, our joint struggles for life an inspiration to me. I have the medical breakthrough of immunotherapy to thank for my second life. Surely human ingenuity can be turned to protect this rich heritage of trees too. On the afternoon of 3 February, 1,227 lightning strikes hit the ground in a sweep across the island. Nineteen fires lit up within hours in the north-west but one in the south of the state didn't. It stayed smouldering near Mount Picton for a few days, then burst into flame. Within minutes its smoke was reported by a remote AI-trained camera set on a nearby mountaintop; a little swarm of Fire Boss water bombers flew out to it and began dumping. Helicopters followed and winched down remote area firefighters. Together they stopped the burn at a few hectares. But this is just a hopeful sign. The 2025 fires have left a patchwork of burnt ground across 98,500 hectares of wild country. Richard Dakin, the deputy incident controller with the National Parks and Wildlife Service, says the fire which took out the pencil pine near the overland track was nearly held back by Fire Bosses – fire fighting float planes – skimming water out of nearby Lake St Clair. Lakes and coastal bays are on the side of the ancients. But Tasmania is an island in the southern ocean. Strong winds and cloud are usual, and the skimmers could not hold the fire's perimeter. Instead, the fire headed north toward more rich flora, including a very old King Billy pine forest and – in the distance – Cradle Mountain itself. 'We had to throw everything at it,' Dakin sais. NSW fire service large air tankers dropped a 2.5km fire-retardant line; water bombers campaigned from the lakes; and remote firefighters worked at arduous, grimy 'old-school' firefighting, flailing and digging at the perimeter. 'The combination of the three led to success,' Dakin says. Their campaign rolls on, the full losses of the ancients yet to be tallied. But already we know for certain that after millions of years on Earth, and living only in Tasmania, these trees will need our help if they are to have a place in a heated future. Andrew Darby is the author of The Ancients, published by Allen & Unwin and available now
