By Linda Cuttriss
Part One
ON A sunny day in early spring, I pull off Phillip Island Road at the butterfly sculpture for a walk in Scenic Estate Conservation Reserve. A wide gravel path follows the grid of streets laid out in 1960 for a subdivision known locally as ‘Chinamans Estate’ because many of the 332 house blocks were bought by investors in Hong Kong. After weeks of rain the swamp paperbark scrub that covers much of the reserve is immersed in shallow pools and it is easy to see why the estate was deemed unfit for development and no houses were ever built.
As I venture deeper into the reserve the muffled hum of traffic fades, absorbed by dense swamp paperbark thickets that shelter me from the thrum of the outside world. I hear water trickling and bubbling into tiny streams, birds call to each other through the scrubby trees and the fragrance of paperbark flowers drifts through the air.
Part One
ON A sunny day in early spring, I pull off Phillip Island Road at the butterfly sculpture for a walk in Scenic Estate Conservation Reserve. A wide gravel path follows the grid of streets laid out in 1960 for a subdivision known locally as ‘Chinamans Estate’ because many of the 332 house blocks were bought by investors in Hong Kong. After weeks of rain the swamp paperbark scrub that covers much of the reserve is immersed in shallow pools and it is easy to see why the estate was deemed unfit for development and no houses were ever built.
As I venture deeper into the reserve the muffled hum of traffic fades, absorbed by dense swamp paperbark thickets that shelter me from the thrum of the outside world. I hear water trickling and bubbling into tiny streams, birds call to each other through the scrubby trees and the fragrance of paperbark flowers drifts through the air.
Tall, slender papery-barked stems crowd closely together, their green mop-tops touch and enclose the canopy. In places where they stand further apart, light streams through, letting luminous green grasses and sedges grow.
A cacophony of frog calls surrounds me. It must be breeding time with every male in the neighbourhood calling for a mate. Every puddle large and small resonates with their calls and the wetland ahead is pandemonium. The sound subsides as I approach but when I stop and stand still the volume rises to fever pitch. I open my FrogID app and press record. It is hard to believe that only two frog species, common eastern froglets and eastern banjo frogs, are making all these marvellous sounds.
A cacophony of frog calls surrounds me. It must be breeding time with every male in the neighbourhood calling for a mate. Every puddle large and small resonates with their calls and the wetland ahead is pandemonium. The sound subsides as I approach but when I stop and stand still the volume rises to fever pitch. I open my FrogID app and press record. It is hard to believe that only two frog species, common eastern froglets and eastern banjo frogs, are making all these marvellous sounds.
Further along, a boardwalk crosses an open tussocky grassland and, beyond, the path leads on to higher, drier ground where frog sounds give way to buzzing insects. A swathe of coast beard heath in bloom is giving off a sweet perfume and honey bees dance from flower to flower, harvesting nectar as they go. The path weaves past sticky hop bushes and sweet bursaria trees. A mossy log is nestled in soft grasses bathed in sunshine.
Soon the sky opens up and a glimpse of the bay comes into view. I have reached the southern cliffs of Western Port where the limbs of large moonah trees twist and turn in elegant shapes silhouetted against the blue.
Soon the sky opens up and a glimpse of the bay comes into view. I have reached the southern cliffs of Western Port where the limbs of large moonah trees twist and turn in elegant shapes silhouetted against the blue.
I turn left past the picnic shelter and as I approach the viewing platform overlooking Swan Bay, six smiling faces turn my way. We all say “Hello” and one of the women adds excitedly, “I have driven past this place for years on my way to Cowes and kept meaning to drop in. It is so beautiful. The only thing missing is a thermos of tea. Or a book to sit in the sun”.
The friends move on and I take their place on the bench seat and reflect on how delighted they were to discover a special place so close to home. I sit quietly, watch and listen. Still water like glass, vibrant green paddocks on the far side. A twisted moonah teeters on the edge of the cliff. A pair of swans floats silently by. A blue wren bops along the ground near my feet. Insects buzz. Small birds whistle and tweet. Until a brown goshawk bursts out of a tree, just metres from me, sweeps past and disappears out of sight.
The friends move on and I take their place on the bench seat and reflect on how delighted they were to discover a special place so close to home. I sit quietly, watch and listen. Still water like glass, vibrant green paddocks on the far side. A twisted moonah teeters on the edge of the cliff. A pair of swans floats silently by. A blue wren bops along the ground near my feet. Insects buzz. Small birds whistle and tweet. Until a brown goshawk bursts out of a tree, just metres from me, sweeps past and disappears out of sight.
I follow the path with its framed views through moonahs to Churchill Island, all the way to the eastern viewing platform. A wallaby sees me and bounds off into the bush. After a short stop and a final look across the bay, I return via the swamp scrub boardwalk through a tunnel of swamp paperbark trees, one of my favourite parts of the walk.
Swamp paperbark scrub was once widespread in the hollows of Phillip Island and across the lowlands of Bass Coast but after decades of land clearance is now mostly reduced to small pockets in reserves and on farmland and as narrow strips along roadsides. Yet here at Scenic Estate, swamp paperbark scrub covers much of the 28-hectare (70 acre) site, just one reason why the reserve is exceptional. For 60 years this place has had a chance to go wild. Scrublands and grasslands have returned, the moonahs have multiplied and birds and frogs and other creatures have moved back in.
Part Two
Scenic Estate Conservation Reserve has not been entirely untouched by humans since the former dairy farm was subdivided for housing six decades ago. As John Eddy explains in Back to nature, his detailed history of the reserve in the Post in September 2017 the vacant housing estate had been used as a rubbish dumping ground, a partying headquarters and a dirt bike and 4WD playground prior to being cleaned up and opened to the public as a conservation reserve in 2015.
Bass Coast Shire Council manages the reserve in partnership with Phillip Island Nature Parks, Parks Victoria and Friends of Scenic Estate Reserve, a group of volunteers under the auspices of the Phillip Island Conservation Society. John Eddy was co-ordinator of the group until recently and is still actively involved. I meet John on site one November afternoon to learn more about this unique conservation story.
John explains that Scenic Estate Reserve is a prime example of regeneration after human disturbance. He says the reserve is not remarkable for its rare fauna but for its story of recovery. As well as extensive thickets of swamp paperbark scrub that are locally quite rare, it has areas of nationally endangered coastal grassland and saltmarsh, state threatened moonah woodland and a range of other regionally significant plant communities.
The land was mostly covered in swamp paperbark scrub in 1950 when, except for a section of saltmarsh in the north eastern corner, a strip of scrub on the western boundary and some of the moonahs, it was completely cleared and sown with pasture grass for dairy cows.
John suggests that successful recovery of the indigenous plant communities may have occurred because the land was under dairying for only ten years before being subdivided and then abandoned. Seeds of the original plants remained viable in the soil and with no superphosphate added to nourish the pasture, the soil, inherently brackish in the low-lying areas, reverted to low-nutrient conditions that favour indigenous plants. Native grassland replaced the pasture, swamp paperbark scrub slowly crept onto the grasslands, the moonahs increased their numbers and other trees and shrubs emerged.
The land was mostly covered in swamp paperbark scrub in 1950 when, except for a section of saltmarsh in the north eastern corner, a strip of scrub on the western boundary and some of the moonahs, it was completely cleared and sown with pasture grass for dairy cows.
John suggests that successful recovery of the indigenous plant communities may have occurred because the land was under dairying for only ten years before being subdivided and then abandoned. Seeds of the original plants remained viable in the soil and with no superphosphate added to nourish the pasture, the soil, inherently brackish in the low-lying areas, reverted to low-nutrient conditions that favour indigenous plants. Native grassland replaced the pasture, swamp paperbark scrub slowly crept onto the grasslands, the moonahs increased their numbers and other trees and shrubs emerged.
We follow the path through the paperbarks and arrive at a site where dirt bikes had created a large degraded area. It was decided that the best remedy would be to excavate the damaged area into a wetland. Water plants were planted in the depressions and species including noon flower, lomandra and poa tussock grasses were planted around the margins. The wetland area looks healthy but John points out that apart from some ribbon weed, most of the water plants did not establish, probably because the water is too saline.
Further along I notice a rich diversity of plants crowded together happily in a small area. Among them are pale-fruit ballart, hop goodenia and prickly moses with delicate blue-flowering love creeper and downy dodder laurel weaving through. It is hard to imagine that all these species have regenerated together in one place, without any help, but John assures me they were not planted.
We reach the boardwalk and the grassland which John says, due to its nationally endangered status, was one of the reasons for the reserve being created. John points out the encroachment of young swamp paperbark trees into the grassland shown by marker posts. He explains the management conundrum that the reserve’s aims for biodiversity and visitor experience are at odds with the natural progression from grassland to scrubland that occurs in nature. There are two competing natural plant communities and if the new swamp paperbark recruits are allowed to march across the grassland they will degrade some of the conservation values that brought about the reserve in the first place.
Further along I notice a rich diversity of plants crowded together happily in a small area. Among them are pale-fruit ballart, hop goodenia and prickly moses with delicate blue-flowering love creeper and downy dodder laurel weaving through. It is hard to imagine that all these species have regenerated together in one place, without any help, but John assures me they were not planted.
We reach the boardwalk and the grassland which John says, due to its nationally endangered status, was one of the reasons for the reserve being created. John points out the encroachment of young swamp paperbark trees into the grassland shown by marker posts. He explains the management conundrum that the reserve’s aims for biodiversity and visitor experience are at odds with the natural progression from grassland to scrubland that occurs in nature. There are two competing natural plant communities and if the new swamp paperbark recruits are allowed to march across the grassland they will degrade some of the conservation values that brought about the reserve in the first place.
The open grasslands in the reserve are mainly full of poa tussock grasses while more delicate weeping grass drifts among patches of coast beard heath. Wallaby grass can be found near the moonahs and around the wetlands. In places, milky beauty heads form a soft ground cover and strappy-leaved lomandra and flax lily have also returned. Magnificent specimens of coast saw sedge, with long fine leaves and brown clusters of flowerheads stretching up to two metres wide can be found beside the path, by the wetlands and among the paperbarks.
Small incursions of coast tea tree have been removed and replaced with more suitable plants for the conditions. Coast tea tree is at home on coastal sands in more exposed locations but on sheltered sites can quickly overtake and dominate other plants.
There is still evidence in places where 4WD vehicles have left ruts in the ground and there are small outbreaks of weeds here and there including kikuyu grass, spear thistle, gorse and remnants of pasture grasses such as paspalum, sweet vernal grass and fog grass. But these blemishes are barely noticeable to the visitor.
It is amazing to learn that almost all of the grasses, ground covers, climbers, shrubs and trees in the reserve have emerged from earth that was once laid bare. John says plantings have been done on barren areas or where weeds have been removed, but he estimates that around 95% of the plants in the reserve are the result of natural regeneration and only 5% have been planted.
For me, it is the random beauty of a place gone wild that makes Scenic Estate Reserve so special. Decades of land being left alone. Left to breathe and stretch out, to weave and ramble and roam. It is a place to celebrate. A place to appreciate nature’s capacity to recover and restore.
Small incursions of coast tea tree have been removed and replaced with more suitable plants for the conditions. Coast tea tree is at home on coastal sands in more exposed locations but on sheltered sites can quickly overtake and dominate other plants.
There is still evidence in places where 4WD vehicles have left ruts in the ground and there are small outbreaks of weeds here and there including kikuyu grass, spear thistle, gorse and remnants of pasture grasses such as paspalum, sweet vernal grass and fog grass. But these blemishes are barely noticeable to the visitor.
It is amazing to learn that almost all of the grasses, ground covers, climbers, shrubs and trees in the reserve have emerged from earth that was once laid bare. John says plantings have been done on barren areas or where weeds have been removed, but he estimates that around 95% of the plants in the reserve are the result of natural regeneration and only 5% have been planted.
For me, it is the random beauty of a place gone wild that makes Scenic Estate Reserve so special. Decades of land being left alone. Left to breathe and stretch out, to weave and ramble and roam. It is a place to celebrate. A place to appreciate nature’s capacity to recover and restore.
