The Restoration Shuffle

If ever you need to liven up a boring dinner-party amongst fellow conservationists, the best of topics is to question the values of restoration. Is it a populist distraction, of little substance or a value ( a green Bronwyn Bishop)? Or, at the other extreme, could it be the future of vegetation management, especially in regions where only small remnants survive? It's easy to find dinner guests who'll support both views. The truth, no doubt, lies somewhere in between.

Many restoration debates are fuelled by different interpretations of the term, "restoration". What do we mean: weeding the odd Paspalum from a fantastic remnant, or converting the local tip to a native grassland or wetland?

The Concise Oxford Dictionary carries a number of definitions for "restore", including "bring back to health" and "bring back to original state by rebuilding, repairing, ...etc.". One meaning for the noun "restoration" is "a model or drawing representing supposed form of extinct animal, ruined building, etc.". The broad definitions cover a multitude of activities, from weeding Phalaris, to rebuilding the local tip. Perhaps we can simplify the issue by re-defining the terms.

Luckily, we don't have to re-invent a linguistic wheel to refine the debate, as many other groups have dealt with similar issues. Vintage car enthusiasts lovingly restore rusted, gun-shot-riddled wrecks to shiny pride. They also build, from scratch, replicas of long-lost models, using original designs, but all new materials. Perhaps conservationists could also distinguish these two activities, restoration and replication - building new ecosystems from scratch, based on an idealised model of the original. Then we might restore a depauperate woodland, or build a "replica" of a native grassland or a wetland.

The merits of "restoration" can be debated independently of the merits of "replication". Restoration projects (giving existing remnants a helping hand) can be seen as an integral part of conservation management. By contrast, "replication" projects have very different starting points (virtually no indigenous vegetation), different problems (sorry, "challenges" - innumerable weeds, horrible "soil") and they often have very different objectives. Many replication projects have innumerable aims including, to quote from a recent Indigenotes article, employment creation, community education and urban beautification. Worthwhile as these aims obviously are, none are directly concerned with the biological outcome of the activity.

So, what priorities should we give to restoration and replication? The most obvious advice seems facile. Start with the projects that have the most chance of succeeding. And yet, grassland "restoration" projects always seems to start at the hardest starting point, in the worst sites, with the biggest weed problems and the most species to re-introduce.

We regularly read of admirable ideas to create new grasslands from scratch. Unfortunately, we rarely hear of projects to mend (i.e. "restore") damaged or depauperate, but otherwise itact, remnants. Most vintage car enthusiasts would leap on the most intact wrecks to restore, but grassland restorers seem to delight in the worst.

In depressive moments I occasionally wonder if the spate of "gee-whiz" replication projects is anything more than a modern form of old-fashioned bridge-building. Not bridge-building in the personal, networking sense; but bridge-building in the old style, arm-waving, "look at me", "we can re-build it" sense: personified by the Premier in a hard hat. Do we really expect to finish the job, or do we most delight in making a big noise at the launch?

Unfortunately, critical discussion of restoration readily draws flack from two quarters. Firstly it gives the impression that there must be a lot of it happening out there, since everyone is talking about it. In reality, far more time is spent debating the issue than getting out and joining in. The second criticism is that it is easy to fall into dismissive negativity, and to discourage people from doing anything, which is the worst outcome imaginable.

If indigenous urban remnants and rural grassland remnants are to survive, either as replicas, restored or "natural" remnants, we need as many people out working as possible. In this context, it is stupid to argue an either/or case over restoration versus conservation, or to imply that money devoted to one activity always syphons funds from the other. Both activities often tap into different funding sources, and they often involve different people with different interests.

Most importantly, though, each budding "restorer" makes an individual decision about which projects to get involved in. Should I spend Saturday afternoon at Merri Creek or the Organ Pipes, or Sunday morning at the Sunbury grassland or the Northcote tip? Most decisions are probably made for social reasons. But, if an ultimate aim of these activities is to benefit nature conservation, we also need to consider the potential impact of our labours on the conservation value of the site.

Building a replica ecosystem on an old building site may have many values, including community education and involvement, employment creation, and urban beautification, but in the most pragmatic sense it isn't likely to change the conservation values of the site in the foreseeable future.

If a group of biologists had to rate the conservatton significance of a replica ecosystem, using the same criteria as are used on natural remnants. then it is extremely unlikely that any replica will be rated as being of high biological significance (assuming that we don't lose all of the natural remnants in the meantime). Even the most ordinary natural remnant possesses far more native species than can rapidly be established in a replica, without enormous sums of money being pumped into the project. We already have a lot of ordinary remnants, why make more? Instead, why not devote some of that effort to converting an existing ordinary site into a high quality site?

If a small proportion of the work involved in a replication project was devoted to healing existing remnants (i.e. to "restoration" rather than "replication"), then these sites might eventually be transformed to be of extremely high biological significance. A medium quality remnant may be enhanced through weed control and re-planting to become of high value. More importantly, high quality remnants can be maintained as such, rather than being gradually worn away to low quality by neglect. At the moment, hardly any high quality remnants receive enough on-ground management. They desperately need the attention.

So, is "restoration" a useful activity? It's obviously imperative. "Replication" may also be valuable, for social educational and other reasons, although its biological relevance is probably not as great as is often imagined. But we must ensure that the sites with the best chances of success become the highest priorities for restoration. To revert to our motoring analogy, we have to stop fussing over the rusted hulks of battered fenders, and choose instead the less ambitious, but reasonably intact, old jalopies in sagging barns. Otherwise, we'll never see our shiny vehicles on the road.

And, just as importantly, we have to have a precise aim in mind when we begin to restore a site or build a replica. The target may never be attained, and it may often be modified, but at least it provides a steady goal to strive for. If our goals for restoration (or replication) are a fuzzy mix of sustainable jobs, warm inner glows, pretty lakes with ducks, Themeda dominance, and a foggy notion of pre-European landscapes, then we haven't a hope of achieving anything.

Hang on a moment. On second thought, perhaps one outcome is both achievable and eminently sustainable: more and more nonrestorative dinner parties, dominated by endless, replicated debates.