What is This Thing Called Postprocessr~alArchaeology ... Hodder, I. 1989b This is not an article about material culture as Preucel, R.W. in press The postprocessual condition. Journal of Archaeological Reseurch. a text. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 8:250-69. Hodder, I. 1991 Interpretive archaeology and its role. American Shanks, M. 1992 Experiencing the Past. London: Routledge. Shanks, M. and Tilley, C. 1987a Social Theory and ArchueolAntiquity 56(1):7-18. Hodder, I. 1992 Theory and Practice in Archaeology. Lnndon: ogy. Cambridge: Polity Press. Routledge. Shanks, M. and Tilley, C. 1987b Re-Constructing A rchueology: Huchet, B.M.J. 1991 Theories and Australian prehistory: The Theory and Practice. Cambridge. Cambridge University last three decades. Australian Archaeology 33:44-51. Press. Huchet, B .M.J. 1992 Processual archaeology: Discrepancies Shanks, M. and Tilley, C. 1989 Archaeology into the 1990s. between norms and performances. Norwegian ArchaeoNorwegian Archaeological Review 22( 1):1- 12. logical Review 25(2): 111-19. Smith, L. 1993 Towards a theoretical framework for archaeoHuchet, B.M.J. 1993 Modelling and Australian Prehistory. logical heritage management. Archaeological Review f h m Australian Archaeology 36: 12-16. Cambridge 12(1):55-75. Leone, M.P. 1986 Symbolic, structural and critical archaeology. Smith, L. 1994 Heritage management as postprocessual archIn DJ. Meltzer, D.D. Fowler and J.A. Sabloff (eds) Ameriaeology? Antiquity 68:300-9. can Archaeology Past and Future, pp.415-38. Washing- Smith, L. in press Postprocessual archaeology and the politics ton: Smithsonian Institution Press. of cultural resource management. In H. Burke and Leone, M.P. and Potter, P.B. Jr 1992 Legitimation and the C. Lovell-Jones (eds) Scales of Perception and Spheres of classification of archaeological sites. American Antiquity Power in Archaeology. 57(l): 137-45. Tangri, D. 1989a Early physical anthropology, confirmation, Leone, M.P., Potter, P.B. Jr and Shackel, P.A. 1987 Toward a and Australian Aboriginal brains. Australian Archaeology critical archaeology. Current Anthropology 28(3):283-302. 28:26-34. Leone, M.P. and Preucel, R.W. 1992 Archaeology in a demo- Tangri, D. -1989b The hand that mocked: A rejoinder to Murray. cratic society: A Critical Theory Perspective. In Australian Archaeology 29:6 1-6. L Wandsnider (d.) Quandaries and Quests: Visions of Tangri, D. 1989c Science, hypothesis testing and prehistoric Archaeology Future, pp. 115-35. Carbondale: Southem Ilpictures. Rock Art Research 6:83-95. linios University. Tangri, D. 1991 Reflections on refutation. Austrulian ArchueMcGuire, R.H. 1992 Archaeology and the first Americans. ology 32:47-50. Americm Antiquity 94(4):8 16-32. Tilley, C. 1991 Mderial Culture and Text: The Art of AmbiguMiller, D. and Tilley, C. 1984 Ideology, power and prehistory. ity. London: Routledge. In D. Miller and C. Tiley (eds) Ideology, Power and Pre- Trigger, B.G. 1984 Alternative archaeologies: Nationalist, history, pp. l - 15. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. colonialist, imperialist. Man 19:355-70. Murray, T. 1989 Socio-political values and archaeological Trigger, B.G. 1986 Prospects for a world archaeology. World research: A rejoinder to Tangri. Australian Archaeology Archaeology 18(1):1-20. 29:53-60. Trigger, B.G. 1991 Early native North American responses to Murray, T. 1990 Why plausibility matters. Australian ArchEuropean contact: Romantic versus rationalistic interpretaaeology 31:98-102. tions. Journal of American History 77(4): 1 195-215. Patterson, T.C. 1990 Some theoretical tensions within and between the processual and the postprocessual archaeole Veth, P. 1991 Archaeological ethics in Western Australia: The formalisation of Aboriginal consultation. Australian Aborgies. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 9(2): iginal Studies 1991(1):63-5. 189-200. Preucel, R.W. 1991 Introduction. In R.W.Preucel (d.)Zimmerman, L. 1989 Made radical by my own: An archaeole gist learns to accept reburial. In R. Layton (ed.) Conflict in Processual and Postprocessual Archaeolog ies: Multiple the Archaeology of Living Traditions, pp.60-7. London: Ways of Knowing the Past, pp. l - 14. Carbondale: Southern Unwin Hyman. Illinios University. Marginal returns and fringe benefits: Characterising the prehistory of the lowland deserts of Australia (a reply to Smith) Peter Veth Given the rapidly increasing discovery of early sites in Australia and the 'filling in' of the arid zone (cf. Smith and Sharp 1993), there is a demonstrable need for archaeologists to accurately characterise the behavioural systems mol of~o~plagy .od ~ ~ l o gJ- y y cmk , uoivarityof North Queensland, Townsville, QLD 481 1, Australia. 32 responsible for producing 'first assemblages' at the regional level. Most commentators would agree that the earliest dated assemblages are unlikely to reflect the fust, permanent occupations of a region, let alone reflect the timing of initial colonisation. That a time-lag might exist for the production of archaeologically visible residues may Australian Archaeology, Number 40, 1995 Veth be attributed to numerous factors, including sample size effect, post-depositional disturbance, intensity of site occupation, rate of sedimentation and the uncertainties of radiocarbon determinations. The relationship between regional population levels, type of residential mobility, site function and discard rate at specific localities within settled areas is likely to be highly complex. It seems imperative, therefore, that archaeologists attempt to assess whether prehistoric groups are entering lands only opportunistically, as influenced by climate or cultural preference, or if entry constitutes a colonising event leading to permanent occupation and ultimately the establishment of a culturally constructed and maintained landscape (cf. O'Connor et al. 1993; Sutton 1990). While archaeologists cannot expect to necessarily discover, nor calibrate, a continuous record of occupation in any one stratified site they should reasonably aim to find evidence for repeated occupations. As daunting as the mid-range challenge is, there is a clear need to discriminate, where possible, between sites with aggregate signatures of repeated occupations from those sites which simply reflect sporadic, and possibly 'pulse-like', incursions from groups in adjacent territories. To automatically treat the oldest dated cultural manifestation in a region, such as a hearth, as proof of colonisation, occupation aud adaptation is, in my mind, to underestimate the social flexibility and temporal requirements of prehistoric groups engaged in the process of mapping onto new country. It is my contention that successful colonisation of, and adaptation to, lands with significantly different resource structuring can only be archaeologically demonstrated through the location of similarly dated assemblages at the regional level. If the earliest date from an individual site located within a region is used as evidence of a group's familiarity with resources of that region, then this denies the opportunistic and ephemeral use of 'marginal' lands, so well described kom arid zone ethnographies (Veth 1987,1993). Therefore, when exploring alternative models to explain the pattern and timing of prehistoric occupation of unsettled lands, it is essential to conceptualise the differences between short-term, opportunistic and pulse-like incursions into those lands and the establishment of truly regional occupations. Competing models In a recent review of the human ecology and prehistory of the sandridge deserts of Australia, Smith (1993:47) offers a model which 'posits that fluctuations in climate ... are likely to have been the major factor affecting the accessibility of these regions to humans.' He (1993:48-9) argues that the entire arid zone would have been accessible to humans prior to the last glacial maximum. Following abandonment of the sandridge deserts during the last glacial maximum these deserts are likely to have been recolonised by 12,000 to 10.000 BP, at the same time as other desert lowlands. He (1993:48) notes that recolonisation 'may have proceeded very rapidly in empty territory, with groups budding off well before any popula- tion pressure was felt'. This scenario may be characterised as a (climatically driven) fast train model. In direct challenge to this 'alternative scenario' it will be the purpose of this paper to argue that a different model encompassing a dine in the timing of reoccupation of post-glacial arid lowlands can be expected. This follows The Islands in the Interior Model' from Veth (1989a). That model came from a review of faunal responses to phases of aridity and particularly models for speciation in amphibians, reptiles and birds (Davey 1983; Pianka 1969, 1972, 1981; Roberts and Maxson 1985a, 1985b, 1986, 1987; Veth 1989a, 1989b) and resulted in a division of the Australian continent into a hierarchy of zones of marginality with significance for human geography. The most marginal desert regions were termed barriers (Veth 1989a:81). The model aimed to characterise a cline in the actual timing of permanent occupation of increasingly marginal desert regions. That these regions might be redefined using different criteria of significance to human ecology is to be expected (e.g. Morse 1993), given the paucity of palaeoclirnate and vegetation data for much of arid Australia (Ross et al. 1992). As originally noted in the colonisation model (Veth 1989a:81) 'Although the model employs fluctuating boundaries around areas of occupation and assumed non-occupation, these serve as heuristic devices for illustrating modes of adaptation' (Veth 1989a:81). This alternative scenario may be characterised as a gradual dine model. The term cline is used here to describe a gradual change in dates of (re)colonisation between a starting point and an end point. The points can be defined as regions of increasing marginality within the arid zone. Marginality is clearly both a biological parameter and a social construction and we must therefore necessarily take account of both. I would predict that a cline in the timing of permanent (re)occupation of lowlands has occurred and that this process will be reflected in earlier dates for suites of sites located in arid lowlands with coordinated drainage rather than those in areas of uncoordinated drainage. A reconfiguration of desert lowlands Smith (1993:39-42) has argued strongly for an equal ranking of desert lowlands. Recent ecological studies, such as the framework for the ecology of arid Australia advanced by Stafford-Smith and Morton (1990), lend some support to his arguments. What these recent studies do emphasise in particular, however, is the significance of drainage lines and run-on areas and the strong patterning of plant and animal communities at these features. Stafford-Smith and Morton (1990255) note that within the arid zone the unpredictability of rainfall combined with the presence of ancient and infertile soils. and the high degree of soil differentiation, results in 'a specific range of establishment and persistence opportui~itiesfor plants. with fertile or reliable sites scattered like islands in a sea of exceptionally infertile and unreliable conditions'. Additionally. they state. Marginal Return and Fringe Benefits Environments with relatively continuous production are riverine channels and a range of buried drainage lines and run-on areas ... In these places native mammalian herbivores are (or were originally) most diverse and abundant ... Many other invertebrate herbivores are also likely to be found preferentially in such piaces ... (Stafford-Smith and Morton 199O:27O) Given these observations, I argue that drainage configuration must be of significance to human geography, especially in providing networks of more reliable resources. Coordinated drainage occurs within some desert lowlands (e.g. the Lake Eyre Basin) and not in many others (e.g. the Tanami, Great Sandy and Gibson Deserts). I concede that the sandridge deserts can be designated a similar status of 'marginality' to that of other arid lowlands such as the Nullarbor Plain, Gibson Desert and Tanami sandplains. This is largely on the basis of the commonality of uncoordinated drainage. I do not agree, however, that all desert lowlands should be treated as a homogeneous entity in that they would necessarily have been re-colonised immediately following amelioration of full glacial conditions. Indeed, the 'levelling' approach adopted by Smith runs contrary to current syntheses, such as that of Gould (1991:30) who notes that Since arid Australia is not a uniform or homogeneous area, it is reasonable to expect and to try to model different regional outcomes according to local variations in biogeography. Those areas originally shown as barrier deserts (Veth 1989a) are now enlarged to accommodate all areas of desert lowlands which lack coordinated drainage (see Fig. 1). Coordination of drainage is a fundamental physical parameter which is argued as determining resource structure and which must be highlighted when examining the human ecology of arid zone occupation. The dine model versus the fast train model While I will not attempt a review of arid zone data in this reply, I will focus on pertinent archaeological and ethnographic issues to provide support for the gradual cline model. Initially, I will address several aspects of Smith's (1993) critique which I believe to be problematic. Fistly, I question whether Smith's 'alternative scenario' of human access to lands driven mainly by climate (1993:47) takes us any further in understanding the social and economic transformations leading to the basic elements of the ethnographic desert economy. Secondly, I suggest that it is premature to demand verification and 'proof of the 'Islands in the Interior model' at the same time that the original theory is explicated, the predictions and test-implications of which are only being stated for the first time (Smith 1993:44; see also Clarke 1972:2 and Shanks and Tilley 1992:49). Lastly, I draw attention to the portrayal of Holocene socioeconomic transformations (such as development of long-distance social networks) as hurdles which required acts of cultural or technical innovation i.e. their appearance as unique phenomena (Smith 1993:44). This characterisation runs entirely contrary to the 'Islands in the Interior' thesis, which concludes (Veth 1989a:92), 'it is expected that the roots of the Australian desert cultures will be found within the refuges of the glacial maximum'. Turning now to the competing models it should be emphasised that a basic tenet of the fast train scenario is that change in climate determines access to arid lowlands (Smith 1993:47). This stands in contrast to the conchsions of Ross et al. who, after extensively surveying environmental data for the Holocene (1992: 1O7), note 'that the timing and magnitude of Holocene environmental change in the arid zone is not in phase with the timing and magnitude of change seen in the archaeological record'. The authors reject the notion that the environment acts as a trigger to cultural change in the Holocene and opt for a model in which environment sets boundary conditions, beyond which behaviour cannot vary, but within which social and technological forces control the changes (1992:109). These forces are described in the original model (Veth 1989a:83) as socioeconomic transformations which encompass shifts in resource strategies, social organisation and technologies and which largely had their antecedents in the glacial refuges. This view is also expounded by Ross et al. in their proposed phase I1 occupation of the arid zone a period of consolidation which followed the spread of aridity to most parts of the continent. During this period adaptation to a number of truly arid localities developed, and people may have begun to have an effect on their local environment. (1992:77) One of the socioeconomic shifts described related to the shift towards the intensive use of seeds, particularly within the hummock grasslands of the desert lowlands. That hummock grassland dominates these regions is supported by Smith (1993:39), however, in no way was the presence of hummock grassland, due to its homogeneity, argued to be a primary limiting factor. Rather, the decision by groups to shift their economies towards the more intensive use of a staple i.e. seeds, is seen as a flexible strategy which would facilitate the permanent occupation of marginal areas, including those that may occur outside barrier deserts. Identifying a staple food group and increasing its dietary ranking is an economic shift, not an innovation. Increasing reliance on an accessible and abundant resource to the level where it becomes a major staple food group does, however, require a 'detailed knowledge of the distribution, seasonality and processing methods for useful seed-bearing species in the hummock grasslands' (Veth 1989a:83). Is Smith suggesting that the entire total of 46 grass seed species, documented as being used by Martujarra in the Great and Little Sandy Deserts and argued to be a major staple group (Veth and Walsh 1988) was also a staple group 15,000 years ago? The likely use of some of these species amongst groups occupying the sites of Puntutjarpa and Puritjarra (cf. Smith 1993:Fig. 5 ) is acknowledged. However the point is that we have no archaeological evidence whatsoever that they were used regularly at this time. Is Smith also suggesting that the Australian Archaeology, Number 40, 1995 Veth broad suite of seed processing techniques which were recorded at contact have a similar antiquity? His own archaeological work in the arid zone (Smith 1986) argues against such technological breadth. Smith has juxtaposed the 'heuristic' barrier desert boundaries from Veth (1989a) against plots of dunefields with hummock grassland and uncoordinated drainage (1993:Figs 3 and 5). Given that hummock grasslands are not incorporated in the original definition of barrier deserts (Veth 1989a:81), this is not a valid exercise. It should also be noted that Smith uses a different reference for the plot of hummock grasslands (Atlas of Australian Resources, Vol. 6, 1990:44) rather than the primary source from the collator (and mapper) for the majority of these grasslands (Beard 1981). There are differences between the plots. All of these factors exaggerate a supposed lack of fit between definitions and actual boundaries. While some areas of dunefield with uncoordinated drainage fall outside the barrier desert boundaries (e.g. in the Gibson and Tanami Deserts), these were not seen to be large systems (Veth 1989a:81) in the sense of the other major sandridge deserts. Having established that hummock grasslands have not, in fact, been portrayed as 'an unfamiliar environment' (Smith 1993:37), we might now examine the issue of drainage coordination in some detail. Smith notes that the resources of some riverine habitats are comparatively poor. This is presumably to support the argument that the terminal Pleistocene sites of JSN (Smith et al. 1991) and the Lower Cooper hearths (Veth et al. 1990), despite being near coordinated drainage systems, reflect systematic use of dunefield resources. Given the relatively high productivity of drainage courses in the arid zone is it possible, therefore, to underplay the significance of continuous drainage systems when examining the mechanisms for the movement of groups into sandridge deserts to sites such as JSN? Indeed, excellent evidence for a 'riverine-tethered' settlement strategy is presented by Smith et al. (1991) in their description of the use of the JSN site in the Strzelecki desert. For example, they (1991:185) note that stone raw materials must originate from the adjacent creeks and that stone reduction is minimal indicating that 'people intended to travel directly back to Strzelecki Creek after leaving the site' (1991: 188). Additionally, they state that The duration of visits to the JSN site must also have been relatively short' (1991:188) and that 'The presence of Velesunio shell at JSN, in both late Pleistocene and mid-Holocene contexts, is tangible evidence of some link with these riverine habitats' (199 1:190). While Smith actually admits (thereby contradicting a number of previous comments) that 'Humans moving into the barrier deserts would in many cases have found much poorer country than that they had left' (1993:39) and that the sandridge deserts are likely to have been barriers to permanent occupation 'due ultimately to the aridity of these regions' (1993:39) he is unwilling to accept there may have been a mechanism for colonising groups to establish estates which would extend beyond several generations. Australian Archaeology, Number 40,1995 The concept of greater marginality in some desert lowlands finds common expression in anthropological literature. For example, Cane comments that the Aboriginal settlement of the Western Desert (a region of uncoordinated drainage) represents possibly the most marginal example of permanent human occupation in the world ... the Western Desert provides an example of the extreme limits of human expansion and settlement and represents the harshest conditions under which human society could exist. (1990: 1%) It was Peterson (1976) who first produced the map of 17 culture-areas which correlated to drainage divisions of the continent. Following on this theme, Sutton (1990) defined smaller regional groupings which fall in between the culture-area groupings and the dialectal tribes of Tindale; the so-called 'confederacies' or 'messmates'. These social groupings are argued by Sutton to have been sets of hundreds or even a few thousands of people who intermarried often, who spoke many if not all of each others' languages, and whose countries tended to cover linked sub-parts of a drainage system, where drainage was clearly differentiated. These are the groupings where one finds commonality of prescriptive marriage rules, a clear basis for collaboration in ceremonies, the maximum range from which allies might normally come in time of conflict, and many surface similarities among languages, for example. (1990:73) Sutton reasons (1990:74) that large-scale populations of the order of messmates are linked in relations of attraction and repulsion and that equilibrium, if it exists, comprises pulsing movements of integration and disintegration. He notes further, While the forces of these pulses is never neatly unidirectional, I suggest that the underlying pressure for this combination of demographic movement and social ideological encompassment tends to be in one particular direction in each region. This direction is from the area of a poorer economy, with fewer people, towards a better one which has more people, across a permeable but real social and topographical membrane that is visible in the bush as the key ecological break in each case, and that is classically the subject of elaborate cultural constructions that are frequently pursued with great passion. (1990:74) One of the three kinds of ecological break identified by Sutton (1990:75) and relevant to the arid zone is that of river versus hinterland. There are three related hypotheses underlying this dichotomy 1. Populations in arid areas of undifferentiated drainage press towards (coordinated) drainage systems 2. Populations in the 'back' country near rivers press towards them, and 3. Up river populations tend to press towards downstream areas. Marginal Returns and Fringe Benejits Sutton (1990:75) characterises such movements as being part of a chain of connection, where on desert plains, hills might be targeted, due to their greater capacity to provide permanent water (Berndt and Berndt 1942:326), yet these in turn are not as favoured as distant regions with more reliable rainfall and drainage development. As Sutton (1990:75) concludes The point here is that the various environments may be seen in a chain leading from relatively poor to relatively rich'. Discussion That the evolutionary plasticity, or adaptability, of (re)colonising groups was high for Pleistocene Ausualians is not being questioned (see also O'Connor 1990). Rather, I question the mechanisms and timing required for groups 'being able to map ... onto local resources and new terrain' (Smith 1993:47). My concern is with the permanent occupation of marginal lands with significantly different structuring of resources. I believe this process entails a longer chronological perspective than that provided by the level of generation. This is particularly so if we believe that socioeconomic transformations were required to 'mitigate the effects of environmental stochasticity' (Davidson 199054) and that earlier colonising processes were 'acted out by populations possibly quite unlike the pre-contact ethnographic 'norm" (Beaton 1990:36). With reference to the clinal model, an informative juxtaposition may be made between the location of all known late Pleistocene sites (Smith and Sharp 1993:Fig. 6) and those areas defined as having uncoordinated drainage (Smith 1993:Fig. 3). This overlay is presented in Figure 1. Only one site, Puntutjarpa (Gould 1977), is clearly located within this huge area (approximately 2000 km long by 1500 km wide). This site only just falls within the Pleistocene. The other five sites shown in Figure 1 which lie on, or just within, the boundary of uncoordinated drainage may be approached from Flgure 1 Map of Pleistocene sites of Australia (after Smith and Sharp 1993) and regions with uncoordinated h a g e (after Smith 1993). adjacent areas. That is, their early use may have been incorporated within core temtories located outside this boundary. For example, Puritjarra has been depicted as an outlier of an adjacent rangelplains system with a connecting chain of major and permanent waters (Smith 1989:102). The early sites of Koonalda and Allens Caves on the Nullabor Plain may have been approached, and incorporated within, settlement and subsistence rounds mainly focused on the (now largely drowned) Roe Plain to the south. It is acknowledged, however, that these sites do contain economic fauna representative of arid plains assemblages. A charcoal sample from the base of a small rockshelter, Katumpul, in the Goldfields of Western Australia has, however, recently returned a date of approximately 22,000 BP (O'Connor p m . comm.). This site is clearly located within an area of uncoordinated drainage. What is significant about the site is that the early assemblage associated with the date is exceptionally sparse. In contrast, the mid-Holocene unit immediateiy overlying the lower assemblage is extremely rich. That &ly dates will be found for the use of locations within areas of uncoordinated drainage is to be expected. That these sparse and characteristically 'episodic' assemblages are representative of the systematic exploitation of a group's territory is another issue, however. My purpose in drawing attention to this distinction is not to ueate an artificial dichotomy between exploited and non-exploited lands but to stress that the behavioural systems responsible for creating 'first assemblages' must be fully examined. For example. a consideration of the source and availability of the stone materials present, their degree and stage of reduction and the diversity of implements may inform on the type of residential mobility and logistical planning occurring at a particular site. It is only through a regional analysis of early assemblages that archaeologists will be able to argue with any certainty that a site reflects familiarity with the resource base to the extent that the region may be occupied. That the pattern of occupation demonstrated by ethnographic arid zone hunter-gatherers is often opportunistic, highly fluid and transitory, and that this may result in minimal assemblages, is beyond dispute. Conversely, it is also m e that aggregation sites are common in contemporary accounts and, importantly, are seen to be essential to the establishment of reciprocity networks and, indeed, the overall viability of a basic desert adaptation (cf. Gould 1977; Veth 1993). Numerous extensive and dense artefact scatters have been recorded from sites known to have served as major aggregation sites in desert lowlands (Veth 1993). While such assemblages have been located in Holocene units from Katumpul, Puntutjarpa and Puritjarra, they are arguably absent from the Pleistocene units (Gould 1977; O'Connor pers. comm.; Smith 1988), although this disparity may be argued to simply reflect lower population levels. I fully acknowledged that there is under-representation in previous survey and excavation coverage in the areas of uncoordinated drainage. Tbese areas are also likely to have lower archaeological visibility due to poor exposure Australian Archaeology. Number 40. 1995 of past living surfaces. That these biases can account for such a low representation of Pleistocene sites located within the uncoordinated drainage lowlands (a ratio of 2:155), however, is open to debate. I would propose that the apparent hiatus in dates may reflect real environmental constraints on human behaviour which were 'outweighed by the rise of social options' (Ross et al. 1992:77). That demographic factors may have played a role in the process of gradual recolonisation (Smith 1993:46) must also be acknowledged (cf. O'Connor et al. 1993). In conclusion, I would stress that the modelling of behavioural systems responsible for the formation of 'first assemblages' is as important an endeavour as the exarnination of taphonomic processes and the establishment of dating associations. This need arises directly from the problems involved in attempting to establish whether sparse assemblages recorded from the arid zone indeed reflect systematic use and occupation of previously unsettled or abandoned lands. The need for further systematic survey and excavation within desert lowlands, having uncoordinated drainage, is clear. Concurrent research must also be conducted, however, on the behavioural systems likely to have given rise to early assemblages. This is required so that we might address the issue of whether such assemblages reflect opportunistic incursions into marginal lands or, instead, reflect a group's occupation of such lands. Acknowledgements I would like to express my appreciation to Mike Smith for providing the stimulus to revisit the 'Islands in the Interior' model. For valuable discussions andor critical feedback on aspects of the contents I would like to thank Jim Allen, Ken Aplin, Alex Baynes, John Campbell, Iain Davidson, Richard Fullagar, Paul Gorecki, Richard Gould, Rosita Henry, Peter Hiscock, John Luly, Susan O'Connor, Sandra Pannell, Tim Pulsford, Anne Ross, Peter White and an anonymous reviewer. References Beard, J.S. 1981 Vegetation of central Australia. In J. Jessop (ed.) Flora of Central Australia, pp.21-6. Sydney: Reed. 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Records of fhe South Australian Museum 24:43-66. g$ Victorian offshore islands in a mainland coastal economy Denise ~aughwin'and Richard ~ullaga6 In English literature, the sea is often seen as a testing ground for the human spirit, and islands, like ships, provide a ready literary &vice for isolating people from society and their familiar activities. However, islands need not isolate people, but can be part of a broader economic and social system. We argue that Aboriginal exploitation of Victorian offshore islands was certainly part of a mainland economic system but question the degree to which island resources were integral to its operation. We examine the hypothesis that this mainland system focused not on marine resources but rather on the wetlands and forests of the coastal plains. This hypothesis can in part be tested from mainland coastal sites but as they are geographically located on the margin between terrestrial and marine resources it is difficult to isolate the marine component of technology and settlement. Islands, on the other hand, are surrounded by a marine environment and require a marine technology to visit and exploit. We suggest that the terrestrial resources of the small Victorian islands were not significant. In this paper we examine both historical and Department of Classics and Archaeology, University of Melbourne. Parkville, Vic 3052, Australia Division of Anthropology, ?he Australian Museum, PO Box A285. Sydney South, NSW 2000, Aushalia archaeological evidence in order to assess three aspects of the marine technology: frequency of and reasons for island visitation; watercraft; and stone tool production. This survey will provide data that will clarify the use of the islands in Victoria as well as further our knowledge of economies and settlement history on the adjacent mainland territories. Models Humans have exploited littoral resources from at least 300,000 years ago when shellfish were harvested from the Mediterranean coast (DeLumley 1969). At least 30,000 years of coastal exploitation on the margins of the western Pacific are documented in New Guinea (Allen et al. 1988), but evidence of marine exploitation in the Pleistocene is very rare (see also Godfrey 1989 on the Southern Ocean, and Morse 1988; O'Connor 1989 on the Indian Ocean). Although there is a wealth of evidence suggesting use of marine resources in Holocene prehistory from many parts of Australia, the importance of these resources in the overall system is not clear. Nevertheless, marine resources figure prominently in discussions of proposed cultural change during the mid- to late Holocene (e.g. Beaton 1985). Recent research into maritime and island Australian Archaeology. N umher 40. 1995
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