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Kakadu Beach Shorebirds Roost


THE CONVERSATION

Published: October 15, 2024 6.05am AEDT Updated: October 18, 2024 2.10pm AEDT

Authors

  1. Stephen Garnett

    Professor of Conservation and Sustainable Livelihoods, Charles Darwin University

  2. Sophie Gilbey

    Research Projects Officer, Environment Research Unit, CSIRO


First Peoples’ names for animals and plants undeniably enrich Australian culture. But to date, few names taken from a language of Australia’s First Peoples have been widely applied to birds.


About 2,000 Australian bird species and subspecies occur in Australia and its territories. However, just 35 of these have common names taken directly from First Peoples’ languages. These names are variations of just a handful of First Peoples words: galah, gang-gang, budgerigar, currawong, brolga, kookaburra, chowchilla, Kalkadoon and mukarrthippi.


By contrast, many more bird names promote colonial power, by memorialising (mostly male) foreign explorers, naturalists, administrators or royalty – some of whom never even visited Australia.


There is growing interest in the use of First Peoples’ words, as a global movement to decolonise the common names of species gathers pace. But as we and our colleagues explain in a paper published today, the practice is far more complex, and sometimes contentious, than it might appear.


A bird by many names

In Aoteoroa/New Zealand, many birds are known by their Māori names. Kiwis have never been known by any other name, and nor have kākāpō or kākā.

It seems natural to assume using Indigenous names for our flora would help recognise First Peoples’ rights and knowledge, and their important role in Australian bird conservation.


But we should proceed with both caution and respect.


More than 250 First Peoples languages exist in Australia. This is unlike New Zealand where there is one Māori language (though many dialects).


Most Australian birds occur on Country of more than one First Peoples’ group, and each group is likely to have at least one name for each species.


The galah is a good example. For the first 100 years after Europeans arrived, naturalists most commonly used the name rose-breasted cockatoo.


Gradually, however, the name used by the Yuwaarlaraay of north-western New South Wales – gilaa – took hold. In 1926, the Royal Australasian Ornithologists Union, now BirdLife Australia, adopted a variant of this, galah, as the official Australian name for the species.


Since then, galahs have become deeply embedded into the national psyche. When Home and Away character Alf Stewart calls someone a “flamin’ galah” most Australians knows he is being uncomplimentary.


Similarly, there could be no mistaking which species a survey respondent was referring to when they stated their favourite bird was a “glar”.


But in the Kimberley region, the Gooniyandi peoples call galahs girlinygirliny. In the NSW Riverina, the Wemba-Wemba name is wilek-wilek.


Likewise, the white-throated grasswren is known by the name yirlinkirrkkirr or yirrindjirrin in the Kunwinjku dialect. It’s also known as djirnidjirnirrinjken in the Kune dialect, from the Bininj Kunwok language group. The Jawoyn name for the same species is nyirrnyirr.


The situation is even more complicated for birds shared with other countries.


These multiple words for a species mean governments and other organisations could be seen as favouring one group over another if they recognise a particular First Peoples’ name.


So sometimes it’s best to keep the English name, even though First Peoples’ names exist. This was the case with the endangered golden-shouldered parrot, known by Queensland’s Olkola people as alwal.


The bird is highly significant in the Olkola creation story. However, a team working on the species’ recovery, chaired by an Olkola representative, decided to stick with the English name because neighbouring language groups refer to the bird by other names.


Sadly, the parrots themselves no longer occur on the Country of some First Peoples, and only the name of the bird remains.


Protecting the secret and sacred

The words First Peoples use to describe species may have special cultural significance.


First Peoples’ names for birds, and other species, are often built around the birds’ relationships with people, kin and with Country. For example, the name may describe:

  • a connection between a person and a species

  • a group of people’s relationship with each other which is related to a shared ancestor

  • relationships between people and a sacred site or Dreaming track.


Sometimes the names have sacred or secret meanings – and these can change with the place or with the speaker.


For these reasons, First Peoples may not want names from their language to be publicly available or used in official documents without their consent.


Permission is key

There are cases where English names should and can be replaced by a First Peoples’ name.


For example, in 2020 the bird now known as the mukarrthippi grasswren was recognised as a separate subspecies and needed its own common name. Australia’s rarest bird, it is known from just a few sand dunes on Country of the Ngiyampaa people in western New South Wales.


Ngiyampaa elders together settled on the name mukarrthippi. It is a combination of Ngiyampaa words – mukarr or spinifex (the spiny grass in which the grasswrens live) and thippi which means little bird.


Across Australia, 14 other bird subspecies have only ever been known from Country of a single First Peoples group. This means conversations with elders could be had about ascribing a First Peoples’ name to these birds.


In other cases, language users from multiple First Peoples groups could decide together on a name.


Where First Peoples offer alternative names for animal and plant species, governments should embrace the change. But no new First Peoples’ names should be adopted for species without explicit permission of the speakers of the language.


[NOTE: This article was identified by Nadia Arrighi as a subject of interest for readers]


 Dear all

 

What a lovely day at the bird roost!!  Not only did we have lots of birds (1402) but also lots of people for the Bribie Island Nature Festival – over 30 people looked through my scope while getting excited about flocks of godwits, knots and plovers.  It was a wonderful opportunity  to combine education with bird watching and hopefully some will go away inspired with a better understanding and appreciation of these incredible birds. May Brittan and other volunteers were doing a great job with leaflets and spare fieldglasses. Thank you.

 

And there were some exciting birds here this morning.  A Great Knot with a yellow over black leg flag banded in Kamchatka Peninisula, Russia, was among the more than 1000 godwits and 120 knots crowded onto the roost.  It was a very high tide (2.5m), the first day high tide for a long time and pushed the shorebirds off the Passage roosts and also Toorbul roost.  It just shows how important the Kakadu Beach roost is for our shorebirds at these big tides.  We welcomed back AKE, a bar-tailed godwit that has been coming since about 2013. Unfortunately QWSG doesn’t have precise dates for birds banded before then but I have recorded her for over 11 years which means she has flown a staggering 242,000 km in migration since she was banded (and we are not sure when or how old she was when banded!).

 

There was also the welcome sight of six Red Knots, one of our flagship endangered species.  A Black-tailed Godwit was also spotted among an incoming flock of Bar-tails and this is first record for some time.  Three Pacific Golden Plovers were on the roost (they are common residents at the Pacific Harbour marina park but rare at KBBR).  There were also three Eurasian Whimbrels (again a high number for Kakadu Beach).  We often have a single bird but three is good.  I think the Red-capped Plover pair are nesting; one spent a long time sitting quietly in the same patch of sand which in itself is unusual for our lively Red-caps.

 

However, the Beach Stone-curlews who laid an egg last Monday had lost it by Wednesday and were parading sadly and noisily up and down the beach, perhaps looking for a new nest site.  It may have been a crow that took the egg, but BSC are not above stealing oystercatcher eggs themselves!!

 

It’s a great time to watch out for new species turning up, attached to the migrating flocks winging their way south. Happy bird watching.


Species (23)

  • Australian Pelican 8

  • Australian Tern 2

  • Australian White Ibis 2

  • Bar-tailed Godwit (1062)

  • Beach Stone-curlew (2)

  • Black-tailed Godwit (1)

  • Buff-banded Rail (3)

  • Caspian Tern (2)

  • Chestnut Teal (2)

  • Eurasian Whimbrel (3)

  • Far Eastern Curlew (106)

  • Great Knot (120)

  • Great Crested Tern (16)

  • Grey-tailed Tattler (1)

  • Little Pied Cormorant (1)

  • Masked Lapwing (4)

  • Pacific Golden Plover (3)

  • Pied Cormorant (2)

  • Pied Oystercatcher (4)

  • Pied Stilt (30)

  • Red Knot (6)

  • Red-capped Plover (1)

  • Silver Gull (24)

Driving across the Bribie bridge yesterday I spotted a large white bird with dark brown wingtips and a heavy pointed bill gliding on stiff wings above the ocean.  This was an adult Australasian Gannet Morus serrator, who breed in large colonies to the south of Queensland and visit Bribie during the winter months, especially along the Passage between Red Beach and Kakadu Beach roost.  Given their size, about 90 c, long, with a wingspan of up to 2 metres, and diving habit, they are not easily confused with other seabirds. 


Many of the Bribie visitors are juveniles with more brown than white, suggesting that gannets disperse after breeding in huge island colonies numbering many thousands.


 Gannets are expert fishers, soaring above the water, then folding back their wings in a spectacular dive that takes several metres under the surface.   One of our winter visitors to watch out for.


Bar-tailed Godwits in breeding plumage

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