By | 1 February 2020

If it were safe to press an ear to the earth surrounding a jack
jumper nest, you’d hear the liquorice hundreds simmering just
below the crust, forging, following through on lavish routes and

Hereabouts a nest swells up every ten or so metres, and
every mound boasts multiple vents. You might – but you won’t – be
forgiven for thinking that some of that subcutaneous pressure
must, of necessity, steam off.

Local farmers make no bones. One recently capped ‘the mother
of all nests’ – for years bullying the home paddock – with

But the whole post code’s precarious, hotspurred,
uninsurable as Iceland.

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