This is What Goes On in National Parks That You Don’t See

South of Sydney, on Dharawal Country, lies the Royal National Park, a stretch of sandstone cliffs, beaches, and oh-so-Aussie bush that feels truly ancient. Established in 1879, it was the second national park in the world; only Yellowstone in the United States beat Australia to it.

For nearly 150 years, national parks have been part of Australian life, carefully balancing public access to the outdoors with something irreplaceable: the land itself, and every plant and animal that calls it home.

This mission couldn’t be more relevant than it is today. With the threats of logging, climate change, and invasive species, national parks are a battleground for biodiversity. And they’re significant to the 30 by 30 initiative, a global movement to protect 30% of the planet’s land and sea by 2030.

What goes on in national parks is far more than just track grading and signposting. It’s species recovery, climate resilience, cultural protection, and community survival. And if we lose them, we’d lose more than a place to camp on the weekend.

We’d lose the biodiversity that makes Australia, Australia.

Why National Parks Matter (and How They’re Saving Species & Culture)

Wait, what exactly is biodiversity? It’s the variety of all living things, from plants and animals to fungi and tiny invertebrates. And Australia has more of it than almost anywhere else, thanks to millions of years of isolation that have resulted in the evolution of species found nowhere else on Earth.

But we’re in the middle of a biodiversity crisis. Australia has one of the highest rates of species loss in the world, with habitat destruction, invasive species, and climate change all driving native species to the brink. Nearly 1,900 species are listed as threatened, and we’ve already lost more mammal species than any other continent.

‘National parks are vital for conserving biodiversity’, says Kaitlyn York, Project Officer in the Threatened Species North Coast Branch, NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service, on Gumbaynggirr Country. 

Kaitlyn posing with a threatened orchid (Diuris disposita) that she works on

‘85% of all threatened species in NSW are found within our national parks. That alone should show how critical they are’, she tells me.

Kaitlyn has seen the positive impact of national park land designation firsthand through her work protecting beach-nesting birds, like Little terns, which rely on undisturbed coastal habitat to breed.

She manages conservation efforts along the Northern NSW coastline and says national parks offer a level of protection, for both nature and culture, that simply doesn’t exist elsewhere.

Dogs are also banned. Even their scent can cause adult birds to flee their nests, leaving eggs and chicks exposed. That’s before you even consider the risk of eggs being crushed by dogs unknowingly trampling through nests off-leash.

Little tern chick and eggs | | Photo by Kaitlyn York

Vehicle access is also restricted for similar reasons.

Off-park? It’s a different story. Disturbance is constant and far harder to control. And the result, Kaitlyn says, is simple: breeding success is much lower. 

This isn’t an isolated story.

In Western Australia, Project Eden transformed Shark Bay’s Heirisson Prong into a sanctuary through the installation of a feral-proof fence and decades of cat and fox control. Species like malleefowl, bilby, and the Banded hare-wallaby have all made a comeback.

Meanwhile, the Western Shield program has used aerial and ground baiting to create safe zones across 3.7 million hectares of bushland, protecting native species from feral predators.

Western Australia is also focusing on joint management of parks and reserves with Traditional Owners, with 6.4 million hectares becoming jointly managed since the amendment of the Land Management Act in 2013.

‘We carry an internal responsibility and a cultural responsibility to look after Country as well’, says Noongar Traditional Owner, Karim Khan.

Colin Ingram was the Former Manager of Aboriginal Engagement, Planning, and Lands with WA Parks and Wildlife during the five years the department brought an additional 6.5 million hectares of land into its care via national parks, marine parks, and other conservation reserves. That’s the size of Tasmania. 

‘What we have left of natural habitats/ecosystems is getting smaller, so capturing as much of that land (and water) into the reserve system is critical to stave off declining biodiversity’, he tells me.

In South Australia, where Guuranda/Yorke Peninsula was once stripped of its small native mammals, the landscape is now being rewilded through the Marna Banggara project, a collaboration between Traditional Owners, SA National Parks staff, and conservation groups including WWF Australia.

‘We built a predator-proof fence across the peninsula to stop foxes and feral cats from getting back in’, says Darren Grover, Head of Regenerative Country at WWF Australia.

Hey Darren! | Photo by WWF-Australia / thinkMammoth

‘That allowed us to reintroduce the Brush-tailed bettong, a small digger and scratcher that used to be one of the most common mammals in southern Australia. They’ve disappeared from 99% of where they were once found.’

Since the first bettongs (known as Yalgiri by the Narungga people) were reintroduced a few years back, they’ve not only survived, but thrived. 

PhD researchers from WWF releasing a bettong | © WWF-Aus / think Mammoth

‘Each one turns over four tonnes of soil and leaf litter per year, looking for something to eat’, Darren says. ‘That helps cycle nutrients, spread fungal spores, and create healthier forests.’

Now, over 500 bettongs call the rewilded Dhilba Guuranda-Innes National Park home, restoring balance to an ecosystem that’d been quietly collapsing.

Meanwhile, in the Northern Territory’s Kakadu National Park, one of the park’s largest operational programs focuses on cultural burning in the early dry season. 

‘Strategic fire planning and burns focus on maintaining long-unburnt areas of vegetation to protect habitat and food sources for native species’, a Parks Australia spokesperson explains. ‘These carefully managed fire strategies are necessary to protect old-growth hollow trees, which support a wide range of animals such as Masked owls, Northern quolls, Fawn antechinus, and Sand goannas.’

So, what if national parks didn’t exist?

If national parks are sanctuaries, what happens when the gates come down?

‘It’s as simple as conservation and biodiversity suffer. And in the end, everybody suffers from that’, Kaitlyn tells me. And she emphasises that the effects could quickly snowball into something completely unmanageable.

That means less monitoring, fewer species plans, and more extinctions. Public access would likely suffer too, not because of rules, but because of unmanaged trails collapsing, invasive weeds taking over, and fire risks soaring.

As WWF’s Darren puts it, national parks are ‘more than a green blob on a map’. If we want to have wildlife and the natural areas we love, we have to maintain them.

‘And in many areas, the landscape is very different to what it once was. There are a lot of new threats that have to be managed, and it takes constant work to keep these places healthy’, Darren tells me.

Darren releasing a bettong in the park | Photo by WWF-Australia / thinkMammoth

We’ve already seen what happens to Australia’s biodiversity and culture when steps aren’t taken to protect it. After all, as much as we celebrate projects like those on the Yorke Peninsula and in Shark Bay, species in these areas were only at risk because we’d destroyed their habitat in the first place. Usually for industries like pastoralism, or in WA, mining. 

‘The dominant influence in WA is the economic and political power of the resources industry’, says Colin. ‘The conservation agency’s long fight for access to land, or to keep already protected areas, has been difficult. Until the late 1990s, national parks were seen as an economic liability’, he tells me.

Luckily, that changed when researchers showed the value of protected natural and cultural areas to tourism and regional economies, with studies showing that WA’s Ningaloo Marine Park alone was estimated to generate $110 million a year. Governments started to invest, but conservation funding is still fragile – and keeping things moving forward takes more money than most people expect.

After all, threats like weeds and feral animals aren’t problems you solve once; they need constant attention.

‘You never spray a weed once and think, yep, we’re good’, Kaitlyn tells me. ‘Public safety is a priority too, so if visitor areas started to become unsafe, we’d need to put more resources into that, which might then come out of conservation actions. It’s a never-ending loop of prioritisation.’

Kaitlyn helping fight fires in Tassie

Balancing Access with Protection

Social media has turned once-remote locations into must-see destinations, while mapping apps like AllTrails make it easier to access wild places. Add to that a rising awareness of nature’s benefits for mental and physical wellbeing (which is a good thing!), and we’re seeing more visitors than ever enjoy Australia’s national parks.

In fact, in 2019 alone, 22 million Australians went on a day trip to a national park. That’s 87% of the population. 

But sadly, not everyone treats their newfound love for nature the same way. Over his decades in conservation, WA’s Colin Ingram has seen attitudes shift, and not always for the better.

‘I think there are three groups’, he says. ‘Those who care and are passionate about conservation, a large group in the middle who don’t think about it at all, and a growing group who see access to public land as a right, not a privilege, and want to exploit it for their own enjoyment or benefit.’

That shift has had real consequences, and Colin informs me that WA parks are seeing growing amounts of vandalism, the spread of disease like dieback, and damaged infrastructure. 

National parks across Australia have various conditions in place to balance the challenges of public access with conservation. In Kakadu, hunting activities have been banned to preserve native wildlife, and seasonal closures of certain roads also play a role.

‘Seasonal closures of some roads to wetland areas and rocky country are intended to limit vehicle damage to tracks and sensitive vegetation’, says a Parks Australia spokesperson. ‘Without these seasonal closures, it’d be challenging to preserve many of these special places.’

Like many other national parks, Kakadu uses a permit system to manage access to remote campgrounds and bushwalking trails, with the intention of limiting numbers and providing a safe and enjoyable experience for visitors. 

But not everyone sees park rules as a positive thing. In some circles, there’s growing frustration that efforts made to protect this fragile biodiversity and this land’s ancient cultures are limiting access to public land.

‘National parks are here for conservation. If you’re getting annoyed that you can’t take your dog down to the closest beach because beach-nesting birds are there and you have to drive ten minutes, try to remember that those birds are running out of habitat.’

Kaitlyn’s call for empathy is echoed by WWF’s Darren Grover, who also calls for more respect for the irreplaceable nature of what national parks protect.

‘National parks are typically the best of the best – rare species, old-growth forests, cultural heritage’, he says. ‘Why would we threaten that with activities you can do elsewhere? A 500-year-old tree with hollows that wildlife needs is not the same as a two-metre-tall sapling’, he reminds me.

At the same time, Darren sees room for a broader mix of protected land types that balance conservation and access. Take Victoria for example, where native forest logging has recently ended across almost 2 million hectares of state forest. There are strong, ongoing campaigns to both protect the area as a national park and to leave it as a state forest.

‘Some of that land is still high value and should become national park’, Darren argues. ‘But other areas haven’t really recovered, and there’s an opportunity to make them regional parks, places where people could go 4WDing, horse riding, or maybe ride a motorbike.’

Speaking of those Little terns on the NSW coast, Kaitlyn sums up: ‘We’ve either cleared or changed their coastal habitat. We’ve introduced threats. They’re running out of places to go. You still have a choice. But they don’t.’

The Big Picture: Why 30 by 30 Matters

The 30 by 30 commitment isn’t just about percentages; scientists have agreed that this is the bare minimum required to protect life on Earth. And national parks are one of our best shots at doing this. 

So the next time you’re walking through the Royal, camping under the stars in Kakadu, or enjoying the waters of Shark Bay, remember what’s going on behind the scenes. Fire breaks. Feral animal control. Species reintroduction. Habitat repair. All of it, so you can still hear a frog call in the night or feel the thrill of spotting a koala in the wild. And so those species that make nature so special are still here for generations to come.

Feature photo by WWF-Australia / thinkMammoth