2020 Bushfire Story 05: The Flood
This is the fifth and final post in a series on the bushfire. Start with the first post here.
Kim and Helen organised a catch up at their place two weeks after the fire. Most of the valley turned up along with a few visitors to stand around a barbie and burn some sausages. There was a collective sigh of relief early in the night as we told our stories, or kept them to ourselves, or reported unauthorised incursions by white vans, or made plans for the recovery of the valley. It was apparent that despite the irreparable damage and trauma, Bumbalong was still its people.
The mood lifted further with the sound of rain on the roof. Welcome moisture to soak into the dehydrated earth and extinguish the ‘smokers’, timber still burning in inaccessible rugged country.
The rain steadily intensified driving us off the veranda and inside. The volume of precipitation rapidly passed the threshold at which everyone in Bumbalong thinks ‘The Bridge’. The bridge across the Murrumbidgee is the gateway to the Bumbalong Valley and as gateways tend to do, it can close. Significant rain in the upper catchment or in the Numeralla or Bredbo river tributaries can cause the river to rise within a few hours, cutting off the crossing.
Those who had lost their houses were in emergency accommodation in Canberra or Cooma and needed to get across the bridge before it flooded. One visitor was a diabetic without insulin. The gathering dispersed and as we walked to our vehicles we could hear something big. I think Justin said it sounded like the fire, but it was coming from the gully just north of Kim and Helen’s.
C and I returned to our place to find our shed flooded and a creek running through our carport. We stood under cover on the front veranda and watched the line of red taillights making their way towards the crossing. They stopped just short of the crossing, turned around and headed back to Kim and Helen’s place.
C and I jumped in the Jeep and drove through the rain to see what had gotten in the way. A few hundred metres down the road we came across some drifts of deep black mud but with the vehicle only moving a touch sideways at slow speed they were not a problem. Further down the road as we approached Liz’s place near the crossing the impediment to forward motion came into view. The road and everything either side had been completely submerged under black mud, sticks, large rocks the size of microwaves, a microwave the size of a large rock, a stove top espresso maker, Liz’s barbed wire fence, a washing machine, sheets of galvanized roofing and charred tree trunks. There was no getting through that.
Not without a front-end loader to clear the road anyway, and Justin happened to have one up at his place. Justin and Lynette had defended the loader from the fire in a heroic effort against unimaginable danger and now it would save us from the flood. C had chatted to Liz and she was ok despite her shed washing away. We drove back to Kim and Helen’s where everyone had gathered once more and proposed an expedition a few kilometres to the north to retrieve Justin’s loader and clear the road.
Four of us left in two vehicles while Kim and Helen prepared to put everyone up for the night at their place in case we couldn’t get through, a very real possibility. Michael was driving his Toyota Landcrusier 70 series Troopy with Paul and twin diff lock traction aids on board while Justin and I lead out in the Jeep.
One hundred metres out the gate we saw the source of the noise we had heard as we left. What was once an elevated creek crossing two metres or more above culvert pipes down at the little creek was now a level crossing. Sand, sediment and a jumble of boulders and trees had filled either side and covered the road. A small shed near the road was gone along with piles of tailings from the mining days. The water was still flowing but nothing like it must have been. It was low enough to get across without getting too wet so we checked out the other side. The base seemed firm enough but a 600mm wash out had formed on either side of where the water was now flowing. I’d have to drop into the waterway, navigate across and then climb the sandy step up on the other side. Not a problem, but I attached my snatch strap to a rear recovery point so it was accessible just in case.
The Jeep has a short wheelbase which is an advantage in an obstacle like a wash out and the soft sand deformed on any underbody contact so I didn’t have any trouble getting down into the now subsiding flow of water. I stuck to my line and found a couple of soft spots but liberal application of right boot got me to within a few metres of the other side. I approached the washout on a slight angle so one tyre contacted after the other and this standard practice for step ups worked a treat. I felt the rear end of the Jeep pop up over the washout and we knew the first obstacle was achievable.
Michael in the big 70 series found cause to reach for the diff lockers button as he bottomed out on the washout while dropping in. But, with the magic button delivering equal drive to all four wheels he was through like it was the Bunda Street shareway. That is to say, carefully, minding people and obstacles but not without a smile.
We continued north in convoy with spacing between the vehicles. Completely cut off from outside assistance we needed one vehicle to recover the other if either got stuck so we tackled muddy sections one at a time. We stuck to this arrangement as we passed the remnants of Tony’s place lying crumpled in the dark.
As we descended the hill past Tony’s quarry, I could see a big burnt log across the road at the dam. This part of the road crossed a deep gully and the six or seven metre deep void had been filled in, creating the dam uphill and a steep slope downhill. The dam was now completely filled with sand, rocks and sediment. The water had flowed up and over the road and the log had snagged as it floated across leaving it blocking our path.
I lashed a tow strap around the blackened log and dragged it out of the way before continuing up into the charcoal pine forest and past another burnt out home, the pile of warped corrugated iron harbouring shadows where the headlights didn’t reach.
The northern end of the valley narrows sharply and the steep slopes that descend into the river corridor were gouged by gullies draining water from the mountain above into the Murrumbidgee. Moving through the dark into this rugged section I noticed water was still draining down from the higher elevations.
Driving past Paul and Sue’s place we approached the creek crossing between their place and Justin and Lynette’s. It was unrecognisable. A huge gully had formed on the downhill side and the uphill side was level with the crossing and packed with rocks, sand and sediment. Part of the triangular steel structure of the crossing was exposed on the downhill side. With water still draining and the structure uncertain we left the vehicles and walked the few hundred metres into Justin and Lynette’s place.
While we walked, Paul checked in with everyone making sure we were still on the ball. It was after midnight, and we were all processing the second disaster to hit the valley in two weeks. We called partners back at Kim and Helen’s place. We had good news, we’d made it to the loader. The news from their end was less positive. The visitor without insulin was becoming increasingly anxious about being trapped. The flood had been reported to the SES and insulin requested as a contingency in case our trip down the valley was unsuccessful.
With the loader fired up and on the move Paul and I checked out the low road around the previous creek crossing. The high road had suffered significant damage and we couldn’t be sure the loader’s weight would be supported. The low road was slick, but at least it was solid.
It took a few attempts for the loader to make it up the other side of the low road crossing with Justin manhandling the controls to navigate a rut on the lower side of the off-camber track. The rut sucked the four-wheel drive loader in every time. Justin did a little track building and opened a new line on the uphill side and that did the trick.
That got us back to the passenger vehicles and the convoy of three progressed back towards the crossing. The loader handled the washed-out track well but its weight and high centre of gravity caused it to drift on a narrow sloping muddy section. Justin pulled it up and reversed out to have another run. Michael, Paul and I had stopped just ahead to make sure he’d make it through and we watched as the loader moved into the thick mud and slid diagonally downhill, two wheels dipping into a gully while the loader sickeningly lurched sideways at an angle not usually conducive to continued forward progress.
Teetering there for a moment, the loader leant on a well-placed strainer post and with some rapid work on the controls Justin regained the favour of gravity and the higher ground.
Getting back in the Jeep, I called ahead to let C know that we were most of the way back. After navigating the waterway before Kim and Helen’s place once more Justin headed straight for the crossing, and I dropped into our place on the way to get an angle grinder to clear the fence.
Justin worked the loader through the slop and debris. Lifting buckets of black muck off the road by the incandescent lights of the loader. It was after midnight, but this was the final hurdle. I moved ahead to clear the fence. The fence, a length of forty metres or so, had been pushed into an arc across the road, catching sticks and rocks until it leant right over releasing the dam it had made and a few stretches of horizontal fencing were now submerged. It would cause issues for the loader if it got caught in mechanical or hydraulic parts. I used the grinder to cut the fence from star pickets bent over into the shape of allan keys and reefed out of the ground by the flow. I moved all the unsubmerged sections of wire off the road making way for the loader and vehicles to follow.
Liz had walked down from her place to say hello. Items from her shed that had washed down the creek were emerging: catering supplies, her grandfather’s desk, a computer, a lounge and all the other objects we could see half submerged in the mud. We salvaged what we could but between the water and the mud most of Liz’s belongings from the shed were destroyed or washed away.
The next area that required attention was the crossing itself. Branches, tree trunks, sticks and debris had piled up across the roadway. It’d need to be moved before vehicles could cross so I went over with Paul and Michael to clear it.
Just as we had most of the timber removed a vehicle pulled up on the other side of the crossing. Three sets of reflective disco pants emerged. It was the SES. They left the vehicle on the eastern side and walked onto the crossing. I recognised one of the crew. He’d provided Kim and I with a lift back to the fire shed when our fire truck broke down in early January.
We were explaining the situation when in the direction of their vehicle a silhouette emerged from the shadows. As the shape made its way bipedally into the torchlight I could see it was human and dressed in head to toe black, skin-tight wetsuit. All I could say was ‘mate, I didn’t know this was that kind of party’.
While they were fully prepared for a swift water rescue the SES crew had not been able to access the insulin. They had just come down for a look at the crossing. After they were up to speed on the plan they agreed to escort the vehicles out from the other side of the Murrumbidgee but they didn’t want to put their vehicle onto the bridge.
By this time, Justin had cleared a channel through the muck. The road surface was 600mm below the surrounding sediment and still very soft. Those who needed to get out began to arrive and one by one they made it through and across to the other side. Sheryl, who lives further to the south on the western side, didn’t need to get across the bridge but had to cross a few more creeks before her place. Just in case of any issues an escort was a good idea. The flood had deepened the two major creeks on the way to Sheryl’s place, but she was able to navigate these without a problem. I waved her off at the second crossing and made my way back.
Coming through Liz’s gate I could see Justin had continued to work on the road, he was down on the far side of the muddy section. The cleared area was one lane, one bucket width, so there was no line to choose but I’d been through a few times and wasn’t expecting an issue. I’d been through, but so had eight other vehicles and a loader with huge tyres. I got about ten metres in and sunk to the diffs, totally bottomed out.
Shifting from forward to reverse, turning the wheel and mashing the ‘forward please’ pedal just put more mud on the roof. So I called Justin on the UHF: “Ahhh, a little help?”
“Oh, so the Barbie™ car needs a tow from the loader hey?”
“Ha! Yes, it does”
With the mission to retrieve the loader and clear the road about complete, the Jeep took a short rest with its belly on the mud as the loader made its way over. I attached a short tow strap to the bucket and the loader leant its mass while I gave the jeep some combustive encouragement. The jeep popped up out of the mud hole like an excited puppy let outside. We were done. It was 1am but those who needed to get out were out. It was time for a frosty sports recovery drink, a Coopers as I recall.
We all regrouped at Kim and Helens and debriefed, what a night. What a couple of weeks.
The effects of the flood were amplified by the destruction caused by the fire. There was no vegetation left to slow water down or hold soil together and the heat of fire will sometimes change the chemistry of the soil, causing it to become hydrophobic. The mountains were like a porcelain toilet bowl and instantly shed precipitation. Thousands of tonnes of sand and sediment flushed down into the upper Murrumbidgee river, home to endangered Macquarie Perch . The creeks are still choked with sediment yet to wash down. Justin and Lynette’s place was severely impacted by the flood and they are working with Rivers of Carbon to remediate and protect the Murrumbidgee River.
As the fire approached two weeks before, my sphere of interest and information gathering zoomed from something approaching global to regional to local and then hyperlocal. During the fire we operated on what we could see, hear, smell and feel. That was the signal, everything else was noise. The fire was a fight that we fought alone and this experience was replicated in the others doing the same through the valley. We were a community isolated from the outside world and from each other. We all fought individually to save whatever we could. That was the plan.
The flood destroyed some of what the fire hadn’t and we would have been much better off without it, but the flood also restored things. It was an opportunity to bridge some of the distance fighting the fire as isolated individuals created. In the flood, we responded and recovered face to face and side by side. Everyone fell into their roles, did whatever they could, and we helped each other overcome another disaster. This small, mighty community got through once more.
Recovery
Since the floods and fire the Bumbalong valley has progressed an informal self-recovery program. Justin organised a relocatable building for Tony and Nina and we all pitched in to build foundations for it. Sue organised a scrap metal company to come and clear hundreds of tonnes of burnt material while we waited and waited for the NSW Government clean up. Paul made detailed submissions to the Commonwealth and NSW bushfire enquiries ensuring our voice was heard. Liz organised and housed a group of superhero backpackers to help with the recovery effort. Graham taught them how to fence and supervised as they replaced kilometre upon kilometre of critical fencing in conjunction with Blaze Aid. Charlie and Danielle hosted catch ups and continued work in the Bumbalong Progress Association dealing with the Council, State and Federal Government. Kim and Helen have supported the essential mental health recovery through organised events and are also coordinating a project to record and document the stories from the fire. Others have donated clothing, protective equipment, food and tools to the volunteers, made and donated nesting boxes and there is much more I am forgetting or unaware of. We’ve seen the greatest humans.
There is still a long way to go but this is where I’m going to finish this part of the story. I’ve left a lot out, and Charlie might say I put a bit extra in, but that is the story of the bushfires and the floods on Rollick Farm in 2020.
I have corroborated and cross-checked key facts with others who were in the valley or at our place. As part of that, Charlie and I discussed the singed chicken that I remember him cradling during the fire. He does not remember it. I remember it as if he was standing before me now in avian embrace. Memory is far from infallible, especially under those conditions. Whether Charlie forgot or my exhausted mind confabulated it, ‘seeing’ Charlie there demonstrating strength and empathy helped me dig a bit deeper. We both agreed that it should stay in the story.
