Indigenous Australians use their deep spiritual connection to the land to track the seasons, but elders are warning of a "massive shift" in climate.
Meandering the sandy tracks of the Wandi nature reserve, Noel Nannup stops to observe the budding yellow flowers of the acacia tree.
Their drying and deepening yellow is a subtle sign the season is changing.
Uncle Noel is a Whadjuk Noongar elder, from one of the largest Aboriginal cultural blocks in Australia, made up of 14 different language groups.
His culture is rooted in a deep spiritual connection to the land he lives on which informs his vast knowledge of the local Indigenous seasons.
"[People] don't understand depth of Aboriginal knowledge of country, and the main motivating factor of why we're on country, which is to care for it," he said.
On Noongar boodja [country], there are not four seasons like modern Australia has been taught – but six.
The seasons are not fixed to a certain date, instead dictated by changing signs in the environment.
But a major government report has warned these seasons are being disrupted by climate change, putting Indigenous people's knowledge and culture at risk.
This is how to recognise the seasons on Noongar country, and how they are changing.
Djilba: First spring (August - September)
Each Noongar season is represented by a phase of the life cycle.
One of the earliest is Djilba – the season of conception.
Djilba is marked most significantly by a flush of yellow across the landscape.
It is the first spring – a time when heavy rains become less predictable, replaced by warm moments and scattered drizzly days.
Cultural tour guide Derek Nannup said Djilba can be identified by the behaviour of birds, with many now nesting and becoming protective.
"This is the time when magpies start swooping," he said.
"And the little Djiti Djiti, the willy wag tail ... It's an amazing little bird.
"He's a very protective little bird of his area. He's not big but he's fast."
In traditional life, Djilba was the perfect season for hunting, and the temperature was just right.
Mr Nannup said the main food sources were yongka [kangaroo] and the waitj [emu].
It was also a time to harvest and prepare food for the following year, ready for a move toward the coast with the warmer weather.
Kambarang: Second spring (October-November)
As the periods of dry weather become longer, an explosion of life bursts across the landscape, signalling the arrival of Kambarang.
Kambarang is awash with colour, of all shades.
It is the second spring, and the season of birth.
In traditional life, it was a time to move to the coast.
Each subtle change in the environment helps mark the season.
Uncle Noel said there was more to it than just that.
He said each indicator was also a guide for how to care for country, where to move and what bush food and medicines were available.
But in recent years, changes have been happening.
Uncle Noel said the seasons were no longer flowing like they used to — a sentiment echoed in the latest State of the Environment report, which included an Indigenous chapter for the first time.
"Usually this would be teeming with all these little creepy crawleys, doing their job of pollinating, but they're not here," he said.
"There's this whole, massive shift, and the powers of observation, if you are in tune with it, you see all of this.
"Everything is out of whack. Everything."
He said it was a change impacting Indigenous people in many ways, including the ability to read country, care for country, and use country for sourcing bush food and medicine.
Birak: First summer (December - January)
As the warmer weather takes hold, the life-cycle progresses to the first summer, the season of the young: Birak.
Its arrival is signalled by a clockwork-style pattern of winds.
In the morning, the land is heated by easterlies blowing in from the desert, and cooled during the afternoon by the sea breeze.
Menang-Gnudju elder Carol Pettersen said you could smell the sea breeze before it arrived.
“I remember watching sheep and dogs, because they would smell it long before us, and the birds would start singing, and we would say 'uh-oh the doctor's coming in'," she said.
“And it was so refreshing to get the breeze after a hot day.”
The heat is emulated through the changing colour of the Moodjar tree [Australian Christmas Tree], which is becoming brighter.
This unique, giant mistletoe, which is endemic to the region, is a spiritually significant tree for Noongar people, with the spirits of ancestors resting in its branches.
Other plants and animals are now merging into adulthood.
Birak is the comfortable summer, preceding Bunuru, when the heat becomes more harsh.
But in recent decades, the desert winds have been getting more intense, as Birak days are overlaid by days of extreme heat more often.
In Perth, the number of days over 40 degrees has doubled in the last century.
The flow-on impacts can be seen in the Moodjar tree.
A once uniform flowering pattern that began in the north, around Jurien Bay, and flicked south and east as the season progressed, has become broken and sporadic.
Aunty Carol said changing patterns were forcing Noongar people to adapt their knowledge, like they had done for many generations before.
"It is having an impact all around, and we notice those small changes," she said.
"But it isn't leaving [our culture] in a state of despair.
"Over thousands of years, we have learnt to adapt, and that is how we have managed to survive, especially colonisation."
Bunuru: Second summer (February - March)
During Bunuru, the summer heat becomes harsh.
Noongar elder Richard Walley said Bunuru was a time when white flowering gums, like the jarrah, marri and ghost gum, boom and bloom with the heat.
"This is the heatwave. This is Bunuru," he said.
Dr Walley said this season was known to be a good time to go spearfishing in rivers and estuaries, the "life-giver", with the lowest water levels allowing stillness.
But more importantly, it was a time of learning.
"It is a lot warmer outside so you lay down and you look up at the stars and they tell you the stories," he said.
"We call it the woi djinda warangki. It's the sky and the stars that are speaking to us and telling us all the secrets of the past and bringing them into the present."
During Bunuru, some of the clearest changes to the seasons were visible on the ground.
Since the 1970s, the rainfall declines during Makuru have amounted to an 80 per cent decline in streamflow, according to the Water Corporation.
Many inland waterways are drying up and most native freshwater fish in the country's south-west, a traditional food source to Noongar people, were considered "threatened".
On the land, it is becoming harder for animals and birds to find water.
And the days of extreme fire danger are increasing.
Bushfire is a natural hazard familiar to Australians, which threatens not only life and property, but sacred and heritage sites.
According to the State of the Environment report, extreme events are continuing the incremental destruction of Indigenous places and cultural values, many of which are unidentified or undocumented.
Dr Walley said it was a change that humans needed to listen to and learn from.
"We can feel record heats, record rains; we are living and feeling and seeing a change in seasons," he said.
"The plants and animals are changing, but they adapt a lot quicker than we do.
"It's a time like no other, under our watch right now, that we have to look at these seasons and look at the plants and animals that are the indicators of the season change and learn from them."
Djeran: Autumn (April - May)
In the months following the blistering heat of Bunuru, the earth begins to cool.
It is the season of Djeran, when plants and animals are now reaching adulthood.
To Noongar tour guide Kerry Ann Winmar, it is a change you can feel all around.
"The first thing I notice is it's a different smell, it's a sweeter smell," she said.
"There are new shoots coming though, and the dew in the air is causing things to regerminate and activate."
It is the time of red flowers and flying ants. And off the coast, the salmon are running.
Aunty Kerry-Ann said each of these indicators also had a relationship with one another, that the Noongar people used as a guide.
"When the red flowers came out, those fish were ready, they were nice and fat," she said.
"And when flying ants were abundant, it signalled the nectar was ready and those plants could be harvested for certain bush medicines," she said.
Aunty Kerry-Ann said Djeran was all about "getting ready" by preparing shelters and food before the cold and wet weather arrives.
Makuru: Winter (June-July)
When the winds shift to strong south-westerlies, it is a sign Makuru has arrived.
White flowers of the tea tree or weeping peppermint begin to show and flashes of purple begin to brighten winter days.
Makuru is the coldest and wettest time of the year, when the heavy rains set in. In traditional life, it was a time to move inland.
Noongar man Jason Barrow said a quietness fell over the landscape, with the familiar cawing of the raven noticeably absent.
"One day after he was out collecting, he comes back to the nest and she was nowhere to be seen, and so he starts calling out 'aark, aark, aark'.
"And you hear him calling, calling for his mate, pining for his loss. And eventually as the year comes round, they find each other and come back together. And they're quiet again."
Makuru is the season of fertility, when seeds are being spread and animals are pairing up getting ready to breed.
Then, granted there is no disruption, the life cycle begins again.
Spiritual connection hard to measure
For Uncle Noel, Aunty Carol, Dr Walley, Mr Barrow, Aunty Kerry-Ann and Mr Nannup, the seasons are far more than just individual signs in the environment.
They each have a deep spiritual connection to the land they live on.
"And it's a wonderful thing to be a part of when you read nature, you become part of nature, then you realise that you are nature," Dr Walley said.
Western Australia's South West has been identified as a global drying hotspot, and was one of the few locations in the world where scientists agree drying would continue.
Wardandi Noongar man and biologist Stephen van Leeuwen was one of the co-authors of the SoE report.
He said impacts to Indigenous values were being experienced across the nation.
One of the difficulties was the ability to measure those impacts.
"Some of them are tangible, so we can measure the number of threatened species in a hectare for instance," he said.
"But how do you measure someone's emotional sense of place to a particular species or location? It's extremely difficult."
Dr van Leeuwen said spiritual connection needed to be a part of the conversation around climate change.
He said sharing, recording and listening to Aboriginal knowledge was also crucial.
"Science is about getting knowledge, and I would argue 65,000 years is a lot of adaptive management and knowledge about how to sustainably live on country and how to use the resources there," he said.
Aunty Carol said it was a way of living and listening, which everyone could learn from.
"I've been taught that we look at the weather first, then the flora responds and then the animals," she said.
"And then we, as human beings, we are the last responders.
"Our behaviour is determined by the behaviour of nature."
Credits
- Words: Tyne Logan
- Pictures and video: Tyne Logan, Gian De Poloni, Tom Edwards, Hugh Sando, Michael Goh, Steve Johns
- Production: Tyne Logan, Kate Christian, Gian De Poloni
