News of "sightings" of the extinct Tasmanian tiger in Queensland this week are barely causing a ripple down here in Tasmania, where the active Aurora Australis is offering a stunning spectacle in a clear sky at night, and where the harvesting of apples is underway in earnest.
Tasmania is slightly larger than the Republic of Ireland. It’s astonishing beautiful place but, economically, it has seen better times. Tourism is replacing the traditional industries of agriculture and forestry, and many traditional blue collar jobs have disappeared. And like Ireland, many of youth can’t wait to get away somewhere else.
The underwhelming response to the “sightings” in Queensland is hardly surprising, because everyone here knows that Benjamin, the last Tasmanian tiger (thylacine cynocephalus) died after three miserable years in captivity at Hobart Zoo, way back in 1936.
It could also be because Tasmanians share a sense of collective guilt about having hastened the tiger’s demise. Once a common sight in Tasmania, and dating back 4,000 years, the thylacine was doomed in the face of widespread land clearing and the early settlers’ firearms. Tigers attracted a bounty and they were blamed (erroneously as it transpired) for killing livestock, which lead many farmers to pursuing them with a vengeance.
As if in some kind of gesture of atonement or recompense, an image of the Tasmanian tiger adorns many Tasmanian products, including a well-known Tasmanian beer. For an animal that’s been extinct for nigh on a century, it sure retains a special place in the hearts of many Tasmanians.
Perhaps the indifferent response to the Queensland "sightings" may be due to the recent campaign to rid Tasmania of foxes. A campaign, that, for almost a decade, saw scores of well-paid fox hunters scouring the island, ostensibly to trap and destroy any foxes that allegedly had made the hazardous trip across Bass Strait from mainland Australia. In what amounted to be little short of a brazen scam, close to $40 million (€28.6 million) was spent on this search for what ultimately turned out to be a phantom fox. I'd struggled to work out why it was so difficult to sight a fox here when, on mainland Australia, they are a common sight, even on city streets.
The fear of the fox making it to Tasmania no doubt, played a role this campaign. Had the fox made it here, it would have had a devastating impact of our rich array of marsupials. Pademelons, bettongs, bandicoots, wallabies and a host of others species would have been easy prey for the quick brown fox.
The enduring belief of the existence of the Tasmanian tiger may run deeper than simply wishful thinking. The Australian bush has long been regarded with a mixture of admiration and trepidation by many Australians. Despite the stereotype of the brash, know no fear Aussie, many people here seldom venture out beyond the major metropolitan areas. It’s hardly surprising that all of Australia’s cities, with the exception of Canberra, are situated close to the coast of the continent. Central Australia is a vast inhospitable desert. It’s no place for the faint-hearted.
Hundreds of thousands of hectares of bush are cleared in Australia every year to satiate the ever-increasing demand for agricultural land. However, there are still vast tracts of land, in south west Tasmania and far north Queensland, where “extinct” animals may still lurk. At least that’s the belief or hope of those who still hold a candle for the Tasmanian tiger.
There is also an enduring narrative of children vanishing in the Australian bush. Although it is a work of fiction, Peter Weir’s 1975 film Picnic at Hanging Rock tells a haunting tale of several schoolchildren who mysteriously vanish during a day trip to Hanging Rock in Victoria. It’s no surprise that Weir’s film resonated with so many people, and that it occupies a revered place in the pantheon of Australian cinematography.
Adults can also perish in the Australian bush. Just recently, two elderly German tourists tragically died from dehydration in outback central Australia.
And yet, we cling to the notion, that out there in the bush, there lurks the thylacine. Unlikely, perhaps but can we really be certain. One can only hope that Benjamin’s descendants are lying low in Tasmania and not doing it tough somewhere under the unrelenting Queensland sun.
