The history of the science behind biological control is rich, with the most notable hit being the release of the cactoblastis moth in 1927 to control the prickly pear incursion into Queensland.
The cactus was spreading at the astonishing rate of a million hectares per year, paralysing farmland.
And of course, the biggest miss was the cane toad brought from Hawaii to control one of our own native beetles which had gotten a taste for sugar cane.
The cane toad then became our worst pest ever, destroying delicate ecosystems that were home to our native frogs, while also poisoning dogs and blackening fishponds.
Meanwhile, the cane beetle lives on.
The cactoblastis moth has remained the rockstar of agents — even having a hall named after it — providing biologists with the gold standard of thorough research.
Before releasing an agent, scientists need to be as thorough as possible to ensure its risk of attacking another crop or native species is minimal, which is why biologists return from any pest’s overseas homeland with a range of potential killers, whittling it down to one, or sometimes none.
Why the cane toad was never subjected to such rigour just eight years after the cactoblastis triumph is anyone’s guess.
Hubris comes to mind, coat tails perhaps; these projects need time.
I worked briefly for a long-term CSIRO project testing insects against water hyacinth, a floating weed which already had four control agents released in 1975, and remains a pest today.
(All I did was measure the plant’s leaves for a few weeks, but shoulders were rubbed.)
I also had the genuine honour of working under Peter Room, who famously led a team in the 1980s to decimate the lake-suffocating floating plant salvinia in Queensland with a mere weevil.
Continued success in developing countries won Dr Room the 1991 CSIRO Chairman’s Medal, and in parts of Papua New Guinea, he is considered a demi-god.
My third brush with biological control almost-fame was closer to home.
A relative of mine was given a handful of blue flatworms by a colleague who, in his own backyard, had discovered they were eating thousands of millipedes that march into homes every autumn in cooler parts of the country.
In the next two years, my kinsman effectively eradicated all millipedes from his own garden.
But there was no money and no interest because everyone had learned to live with them.
However, I think the most unique aspect of this exciting science is happening here in the Goulburn Valley and it comes with technology and expertise for the ages.
I am going to name it ‘reverse habitat biological control’ as the outcome is to highlight to an industry a measurable need to not cut down trees.
Bats have been helping with vineyard pest control long before we knew there was a problem.
Two NSW scientists have estimated that a slew of bat species has been doing the hard yards for vintners across Australia, saving millions in pesticides which winemakers probably didn’t know they were not using.
They’ve set up their experiment in an Avenel vineyard.
So why bother? The bats are doing their thing, they’re native and there’s no testing to be done.
It’s a reverse process which brings us back to consider if there is enough habitat of gum trees for the bats, and if we preserved what was there, and planted some more, would farmers then reduce pesticide use even further?
More trees, more native bats, less pesticides.
Cheaper wine.
Watch this space.
To read the story on the winery research, go to: https://www.countrynews.com.au/news/winery-helps-research-bats-scats-and-more-habitats/
Andy Wilson writes for Country News. He is a pre-peer review science editor in a range of fields and has a PhD in ecology from the University of Queensland.
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