I remember the heat of Black Saturday in 2009 - we were in the hammock under gum trees with an esky of ice beside us which we were eating to stay cool. We had no where else to go since we were living in a bus at the time. The whole vibe was ominous - it was fucking hot and you just knew shit was going to happen. It had became Australia’s deadliest bushfire, killing 173 people and destroying over 2,000 homes, and was attributed to lightning, faulty power lines, and human sparks fanned by extreme heat and wind ignited the disaster. We read about in the paper for days, crying as we read of the horror.
When I was a kid, Dad picked us up from school on Ash Wednesday in 1983 - he drove us down the coast, not really realising how bad the fires were. We were evacuated even though the winds changed that night and the fires stopped just at Angelsea, where we live now. That fire was horrendous. It killed 75 and flattened more than 2,000 homes across Victoria and South Australia. Drought, scorching temperatures, and fierce winds turned sparks into a fast-moving inferno and locals around here still tell stories of narrow escapes. I remember the burning leaves falling all around.
Today they've preemptively shut the caravan parks on the Great Ocean Road and cancelled the Pier to Pub race which attracts thousands every year (the swim will go ahead tomorrow, fingers crossed for those excited about it) as well as shut down the national parks and tourist attractions. With one road in, one road out with many of these places, it's not worth the risk. A lot of businesses have shut for the day.
Ash Wednesday 1983, Great Ocean Road
The burning hill in the photo is about a fifteen minute drive from us. I hope that hill doesn't burn again.
Socials were going off yesterday about evacuation plans. Jamie and the neighbours have been clearing leaves yesterday. We don't think it'll be that bad - though it might be in other parts of the state. But we just don't know, and you do need a plan. Most people know now it's better to leave early than to defend. Lives are more important than houses, but I am putting my boards in the van this morning just in case.
We had a beautiful swim this morning. The skies were wild. I must take a go pro down to capture the majesty from the water. There certainly wasn't as many people on the beach this morning but plenty of people doing their fitness thing.
The morning was gorgeous - Jamie was working on the raised beds which is coming along nicely.
We had a king parrot come to inspect the garden and see if we had any food. Everything felt calm and quiet. We knew elsewhere wildlife would be fleeing fires. Three people had been killed in the central Vic fires. It's always really unsettling keeping an eye on fires.
To give you an idea of how big the catastrophic warnings are, check the image from the Vic Emergency App. Note Victoria is as big as the UK. The light grey is the state itself.
We are at Mums. Jamie had been messaging our friend who is rather autistic about things like weather. He flies a self built plane and often flies across to Cape Barren Island on the edge of Tasmania. If anyone knows about 🌡️ weather, it's Jamie and Dean. When they texted each other at the same time about the wind about to pick up, we spent five minutes packing some things and left - passports, a clothes basket of clothes each, my noise cancelling headphones, medicine and two moroccan rugs we can't replace. All the surf boards were already in the van. We took the Defender and the van. I felt a bit sick leaving. It reminded me of reading of all those horrific stories from Black Saturday.
Our plan was always to leave if things got anywhere near scary. Mum only leaves twenty minutes away in a safer area. In the old days people would stay and defend or think it wouldn't happen to them. These days we know better. Who cares about the house when your life is more important?
The temp had rocketed up from 28 degrees at 11 am to 43 degrees at now at 2 pm. It feels like an oven out there. Worse, the wind is busting hard to 100 kmph in some places - bark is flying everywhere, and dust.
We were shocked with how many cars were still coming into our town, including interstate caravans. We wondered wtf, with so many warnings around. Were they coming home? Visiting? Moving from bush sites to the beach to be safe? I don't know but it felt idiotic. There's still people out there camping, having a fucking Christian convention in the bush, lighting bbqs... People can be fuckwits.
There's lightning strikes hitting the forest near ours. Anyone can start an apocalypse. I start knitting with Mums cast on to stay busy. It's really, really windy. We open the door briefly, shut it again. It's like an oven out there.
The change has come. We go home. I refill the bird baths. The bees are grateful. Fish n chips for tea.
This time, we are lucky, for now.
In other places, people are still waiting to go home, perhaps to nothing at all. The CFA will be working late. There's still tension in the air, the expectation we are all in the eye of some bigger fucking storm, like the ICE man hasn't shot us just yet, but he's ready with his trigger finger happy and dancing.
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