Again I apologise for anyone following, for this delay.
I'm sure you will understand...but the honest truth is, I've been procrastinating and putting off facing this.
As I said when I first started writing, this is not just an account of the disaster but a form of ongoing therapy for me too. The reality was, leading up to this point, I have now got my thoughts and mental processes in order.
But this point here that I'm about to write about - the moments - hours - of first contact and actually fighting the fire at it's absolute maximum force and intensity - took a bit of mental preparation before I was ready to write about it.
I wanted to think it through again - bring it back into my mind. The WHOLE experience. Not just parts...but the whole thing.
Reality is, this is one of the key points of the hardest experience I've dealt with - and I wanted to be on the ball with what I'm saying...
That all said...time to face it. Share this key part of the story.
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The briefing complete, our driver and navigator were assigned the details of where to go and following whom. I didn't frankly care about those details - they weren't my concern. I was fully engulfed in my own world...a split between trying to comprehend what the fuck was really happening and get a grasp on it, accept that yes, it IS reality and not a dream. Second most was the pragmatic stream of thoughts - the comprehensions of detail of what I was going to do and how I was going to protect myself and my crew.
I was deeply focused. You could have come to me then with a suitcase full of $100 notes and given to me and my attention would barely have flickered away from the task at hand. That's one of my both strengths and weaknesses - sometimes it can take a lot to fully engage my focus but once it's engaged - it stays that way until the problem is solved.
I was seated under the protective shelter on the back of the truck. I even remember clearly that I was on the left...my crewmate on the right. Half mindedly adjusting my fire gear again for probably the millionth time...but this time now, knowing I was heading into it, I was endeavouring to cover every last possible patch of exposed skin that I could. Tightening up cuffs around my wrists and ankles, firmly securing the jacket's broad collar around my neck as high as I could draw it. Trying to spread the smoke mask as far over my face as I could to minimise how much skin I exposed to the fire - knowing that all I needed was a simple barrier between myself and the savage radiant heat to, well, at least, hold off burns. Nothing was going to stop me getting burnt all together but if I could hold it off somewhat and prevent how much. I knew from past experience even small grassfires can throw up a stinging amount of radiant heat and you quickly figure out if you have left any skin exposed, so, preparing to face this, I knew it was vital to my own safety...
In reflection, I think I was trying to focus as much as I could on micromanaging what little I could control because the whole situation - the whole day - was just so unbelievably out of control.
Kind of a primal response...
Like how they say that when a human is badly injured or ill enough, they devolve to a primal existence and communication.
Well similarly...I think...faced by something so threatening and uncontrollable, it seemed natural to retract into myself and try to "block it out" mentally.
There was an undeniable lump of dread in my stomach though as we travelled. The waiting...growing tension was killing me. I just wanted to GET there and get started already...
Suddenly the truck lurched, the driver braking hard and skipping gears down as he swung us hard off the road and down a small side track. Either side of the track were modern brick houses, spaced in a semi-rural manner with moderate trimmed yards. Some were empty - abandoned. Others, the occupants stood out the front - or even on the roofs. All were busy watering down frantically and packing cars and barely glanced at us as we accelerated quickly up the road.
A booming roar was further ahead but it was hard to pinpoint where. It seemed to be everywhere at once.
I didn't realise at that moment but that was the fire itself.
The atmosphere around was now rapidly turning ominous. What was previously higher level smoke blanketing the sky was quickly becoming dense, billowing clouds, enveloping the truck and blocking the road more than a few metres ahead...cutting visibility down to like dusk, despite being only mid afternoon.
It was disturbingly apocalyptic...
The actual moment of first "contact" with the fire itself is kind of hazy. It sounds cliche, but it literally just happened so fucking fast.
One minute, there was a cloud of opaque smoke billowing through the trees, then suddenly...everything was alight. The fire didn't so much "run" across the low grass and vegetation beneath the trees as just engulf it whole - like tsunami of heat and flame.
Everything seemed to slow to virtually stopped. The heat searing through my clothes and feeling like it was soaking into my skin. The sudden clearness of the smoke in it's absence with the flames right there. My bulky hands in their fire gloves, fumbling with the small buttons on the panel of the fire pump, desperately struggling to engage it - forcing the starter button so hard it hurt. For a split second I was almost tempted to punch it but fortunately, my rational brain stopped me.
If you are still reading, forgive me but...I'm really struggling to describe this.
I just can't.
There aren't enough words to do the whole thing justice.
Despite being a baptised Catholic, I'm trying to steer clear of religion. I know the thought crossed my mind several times that there surely cannot be a God in the face of this destruction - and right now, facing the fire itself, it was as if whatever we imagine Hell itself to be had just opened up right there and then.
Frankly, it was terrifying. None of my training and experience could prepare me - or any of us - for it.
I seemed to...shut down somewhat I think. All emotion just vanished from my mind and only a path of clarity remained. I'm not sure if I blocked out the radio or I just couldn't hear it over the chaotic noise. But the only thing that seemed to make sense was to try to stay on my feet despite being thrown forcefully around the back of the truck and try to hang onto one of the two short wildfire hoses and attack the flames.
I didn't even seem to register straight away that we'd pulled up in a cleared area around a house. There was no sign of life at the house, just three tankers from our group - and our driver was doing his best to get to the rain of embers and spotfires, give myself and my partner a chance to extinquish them - then back up to the house and try to protect it.
I started to be overcome with a wave of helplessness. Looking at the sheer size of the fire and the fact that I couldn't seem to see the "top" of it - it just rose up into the sky like a monster. By now, everything was as black as night. The embers weren't just occasionally dropping but were falling like rain and wherever I looked, things all around were igniting, small fires accelerating fast away from the main front, leaving a progressively widening cone of black behind them. The heat was sickening and I had to physically hold my stomach for a few seconds at a time to prevent myself vomiting. Virtually "yelling" at myself mentally that if I gave in to the desire to just pass out that it'd put my whole crew in massive danger.
I think in retrospect it was that desire to a) look after my own guys - and b) to not be defeated that stopped me giving into to the physical torment.
It was a worse pain than I've ever felt. Heat so intense I was no longer sweating. My head pounding and ears in pain from the noise. Yet knowing there was no way I could stop and look after myself - even when I tried, it failed; I spared one hand from the hose to grab a plastic water bottle rolling around on the deck of the truck but as soon as I brought it up to drink from it, it just disintegrated in the heat - the plastic melting over my (fortunately) gloved hands - and I could do little but try to catch what water fell out. When I look at it later it shows how hot it was but I didn't even stop to think about that at the time.
I was concentrating the stream of water in constantly changing directions. Knowing that pointing it at the front was just a waste of time - the spotfires where the threat - and where I could, splashing some water over the house and even down the side of the truck where paint was starting to blister in the inferno.
It feels so surreal to recall it now. For a moment or two, I had a glimmer of hope...that inner voice telling me "it's okay...we're going to save this house" - then a second later - gone...the windows of the house literally EXPLODED outwards but virtually silently - the sound all but masked under the fire. I saw what looked like...well, it's hard to describe but it was like a semi-transparent cloud of vapour - hazy, like fumes at a petrol station...it lasted probably 2, maybe 3 seconds...then seemed to be sucked back into the house and replaced by what can only be described as a fireball. The whole house just ignited - spontaneously combusting immediately.
In hindsight again, I realise now what the vapour was. The thing is, when ANYthing burns, the solid object itself doesn't actually BURN. But it heats to the point of vapourising - and it's that vapour that ignites. Hold a match next to a piece of furniture - the burning that starts is as that little point next to the flame heats to the point of combustion, it breaks down into vapour.
That vapour I saw was the literal vapourisation of the interior of the house - as it heated inside to flashpoint - then exploded as one.
I don't know quite what I felt. Shocked. Numb. I wasn't even distressed or disturbed anymore - I was well and truly past that point where now my mind was numbing the emotions and this horror show to protect my sanity, I honestly believe.
What else could it be...? A perfectly normal, single storey bungalow just exploding into flame a matter of fifty metres away...? Watching the fireball rage - the roof collapsing inwards in a matter of less than a minute - then the walls were gone - engulfed - and all that was present was a ghostly frame, surrounded by fire. Being incinerated.
I tried so hard not to think about it more. Took comfort knowing no-one was home - but trying not to think that I'd just witnessed someone's home...someone's safe place be vapourised and destroyed in just seconds.
Time really seemed distorted. Slowed down. Forcing myself to look away...look back to the ground where the fire was now spreading out, spotting outwards in a ring from the house...trying again to knock down the flames but it just felt so fucking futile all of a sudden...knock one line down, more appear.
Rage built up in me - catching me unaware. I realised I was cursing, virtually bellowing out loud in frustration - catching myself or grunting in pain as the truck lurched over rough ground or changed direction and I slammed again into the protective frame at the front. Feeling a tenderness in my chest and fleetingly, wondering if I'd broken my ribs - the pain numb but shooting out at every movement.
"So fucking what" I thought. SO FUCKING WHAT if I have! A few broken bones won't kill me...and what am I going to do here about it? Fuck all. That's what. Telling myself over and over...building up the wall of anger as resiliance against the pain that'd peak, make me gasp again as I tripped or was thrown around on the back of the truck, sometimes hitting the frame or my colleague. The captain had his window down - pointing and screaming about something - but I couldn't hear what so I mustered all the verbal strength I could to yell back for clarification but it was just no use. My throat burned - every time I spoke or tried to yell, inhaling another lungful of hot smoke and gases then choking on it and feeling it burning inside me.
Knowing it was doing God-knows-what harm to me - but frankly, beyond the point of caring. My body was beyond the point of giving up and I even thought to myself that right then, I couldn't care if I'd died. I just couldn't care anymore. Shouting back to say I couldn't hear was unbearable and my voice started to choke and break in the smoke so I gave up...trying hard instead to expell the hot gases from my lungs and shield my body from being thrown around.
I wanted so badly to tell them to just stop moving but I knew we had to keep going. The firefront itself was imminently there - the leading fires passed and now it was crowning above our heads, a steadily heavier rain of embers and ash falling now - dropping down the back of my collar and burning my neck...starting fresh spot fires.
We had one escape path that would take us to the flank of the fire and we had to get out along there...the other tankers leading, myself and my partner trying to throw as much water as we could at the fire in some futile attempt to do something.
I looked up but then had to look away - what I saw is still burned in my mind. Literally - a horizontal sheet of flame was spanning out across the small clearing - leaping and twisting away above our heads. I threw one arm up so briefly...hoping somehow the aerial bombers would come soon and ease the threat. Please...for the love of God...fucking DO something, I silently willed them...
Our water reserves were running low and the audible low water alarm started sounding. You could barely hear it over the noise. Like a car horn vs a jet engine.
But I knew then too, as did my partner, that what we'd done here was done. Our first confrontation with the front was through and we'd have to back off to comparitive safety, refill the tank and tend to our own welfare before we did any more. We still had a couple of hundred litres - enough for the crew protection sprays. Enough, I idly thought, to "just splash a little on me...just soak my jacket a bit...ease the burning. I could tell my partner was thinking it too. Just one look at him, holding the nozzle towards his face...wanting so badly to drench himself - but we both knew all too well that in this heat, or if we were caught by the fire, being soaked would be a horrific death sentence - it would mean, as we'd been taught, that the water would boil on us, and literally boil you to death.
It seemed like obscene torture. The promise of just a quick spray of water to cool off...a fleeting memory of being a young child at home, running in front of a hose to cool off in summer - but now here, knowing that same soothing treatment could kill me in a way so unimaginable it beggars belief.
It seemed so unjust. All I want is to ease the heat...ease my burning skin...I want to sweat for fuck's sake! Want to be cool...but I can't. Trap that water on me and I'll be cooked. It is not a word of a lie to say it took every last reserve of self discipline to force myself not to take the risk. The promise of instant relief vs the threat of something unimaginably grotesque.
We were accelerating away now. I have no idea how fast - I had no perception. On both sides of the road, flames were racing up the small embankments, licking up trees, and tree tops just bursting alight. The light was bizarre. Knowing it was not past 4pm on a summer afternoon but it might have been midnight - the sky was blacked out to the point of absolution by the smoke and the only light came from the fire. We passed a burning car on the road. It looked like it'd stopped in a hurry and run partly of the road. I couldn't bring myself to look inside...for I just knew somehow that it would haunt me.
I found out several days later, two people were in that car. Both deceased at this point. They'd fled the house we'd been trying to defend but left it far too late...lost their way in the smoke...and in the end...it just looks like they'd given up trying. Who knows what their last thoughts were?
If I ever meet them at the crossroads one day...I'd like to ask them. I somehow believe, even though I don't know them, whereever they are now they can know what's happening in the world and to this day, I wish they'd know that I am so sorry we couldn't get there in time...we couldn't save them.
To that couple, dead in the car - I'm sorry I couldn't look at you. I knew you were there...my mind refused to accept it but my heart knew. I'm so sorry.
The threat slightly diminished, we set off in search of water...and I slumped down on the bench on the back of the truck, physically and mentally exhausted already but knowing there were many, many hours ahead.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Day One - All Just a Blur..
I apologise for some delay in further updating...
Primarily, this has been because from this point onwards onto the first day, my memories and recollection have become somewhat of a blur. A messy collage of images, sounds, sights, thoughts - without any real reference point as such. When I think carefully...I can put it into sequence - but for the first day, when the firefighting commenced - it was just so intense that it is difficult to remember specific timelines.
It seemed in a way as if not just Saturday, but multiple days after, blurred into one another. There was no distinction - day turned to night by smoke and night turned to day by endless walls of onward flames. There was, strangely, a small amount of rain on Sunday - but where I was operating, we did not feel it. The fire was so intense, the rain did NOTHING but evaporate before it even touched the ground.
Given that rain is the best blessing one can seek in a wildfire...it was another morbid reminder of the pure force of what we were facing - and how the "normal" did not apply...
I was, in all truth, not entirely away of specifically where I was at this point. The situation was developing with such frightening speed that we were being constantly changed around, as the high-level incident controllers did their best to calculate which of the multiple fire fronts was highest priority to attend to - and then again had to recalculate as calls to triple-zero were passed on by ESTA and the police to indicate locations of people trapped.
I had lost all perception of time at this point. I could've sat on the back of that truck and driven another 10 hours and I wouldn't have known better. Some people have asked me since if that was like a "drug" - the fusion of time into what felt like nothing.
I would say, yes and no. I feel it was like a drug in the respect that, now, I think it was a psychological defence - shutting me down from accepting what was happening around me and allowing me to focus every last resource on planning my actions and ensuring my own survival too. Time and location did not matter! All that mattered was what was around me.
At this point though I became aware of changes.
We had initially been tasked to respond to a smaller fire front in an isolated area, well clear of townships. But with the reports of entrapment further afield but not that far away, we were promptly re tasked.
This in itself was a shock. I was numbly aware of what was happening in the central district fires - which were the most destructive, claiming well over 100 lives. At this point, both these fires were active as two separate - but massive - fronts.
Suddenly, I was not to go to the comparative "safety" of an isolated fire front - but aware that I was to divert immediately to the location of highest risk statewide - where the largest, most life-threatening fire was and where the highest number of entrapment were happening. It was a sobering and cold realisation that I would quite likely have to deal with them.
It's at this point that some people claim that a firefighter should feel "like a hero" - going in to rescue others lives.
I firmly dispute that. Why?
Because I became a firefighter to ensure people's safety. A huge part of our work is fire prevention. Popular culture has made it seem like we are a group of gung-ho adrenaline junkies who live to risk our own necks. NO. At least, the smart ones of us, no. Those who think like that when they join are sorely disappointed and tend not to last - they tend to lack the self-discipline to train and develop essential base skills - not to mention the self discipline to last at what can be hours or more of hard labour when we are "mopping up and blacking out" - that is, literally going through the fire scene (building or wildfire) with hand tools and hose, dousing the last hot spots and turning things over...
So, what I am getting at here - was that I - and indeed, NONE of us - relished the idea of potential rescues. In fact, it sickened me. Partly because the realist in me knew the chance of a successful rescue from this fire was slim - by the time the average person accepted they were trapped, made a call to triple zero, and then we were located, paged and dispatched - they would be past it. Yes, there was a possibility of a successful rescue - right place, right time. But ultimately, my mind kept coming back to one thought. Every person trapped is someones loved one - father, mother, sister, brother, child, partner, friend. I don't want to see a SINGLE person's life at risk for the sake of my own ego - and ANYone who ever "wants" to be in a situation where rescue is necessary - needs their head checked. We do it for necessity - not desire to see it happen.
I know that's a morbid and grim assessment. But when a fire is moving with a speed greater than 100km/h and with more power than a nuclear explosion, it's also realistic. We're not made of steel...and as I always say, it's not selfish to accept one fatality at a fire scene rather than rushing in and making it three.
Of course, what I am saying may disgust some people. I know the public perception, especially in some countries, is that firefighters are fearless and virtually infallible.
WRONG. We're not fearless - we just use our skills and experience and minds to negate or control fear while we work. As for infallible - we're human. Flesh and blood like everyone else. Flesh burns - no matter who's it is.
Experience and maturity have taught me the importance of realism in this role. Other genuine emergency service workers will understand - that you can't save everyone and if you believe you can, you're setting yourself up for heartbreak. It just can't happen.
I think this is both a difficult issue to discuss though - and one I've kept most quiet about in my experiences - especially under close public scrutiny.
That is, ultimately, the above, and the difference between reality and public perception.
To the public, we're supposed to be able to, you know, stop ANYthing. Save everyone. That's just what we do - apparently. (??) I'm sure the media is partly to blame for that. Not to mention movies, and a general, wide-spread dumbing down of society.
I hate to say this, but media have much more social impact than they realise. In times of major crisis - people turn to the media for understanding - to grasp the facts of what is happening.
So in my mind, the media have the power to play God! There's a reason the Soviets and Nazis used to rely on media propaganda - people listen and soak it up. So whatever the media says, people take it as Gospel. Particularly in this day and age of inherent distrust of authority - if the police say one thing (or the fire service, even) but then the tabloid newspaper says another - everyone assumes the official line from the police (etc) is flawed or lying and the paper is right.
There is no critical analysis applied - we all want to believe our media sources, our news feed, is right and truthful. Add to this the belief that government agencies will manipulate and lie - and voila. Two clashed views - the public go with the news.
So the point I'm trying to make here is that, during the fires campaign, no amount of releases and commentary from our service or the government mattered - what mattered was what the "trusted reporters" told the world.
But what is the reporter's motivation? Get noticed. Other than sex, what sells and grabs the eye well? Drama. So, the media have a field day on a disaster...
The fires began and the media were all over it, extolling our wonderous virtues to a needy public who were junkies for reassurance that it'd all be okay.
Suddenly, days later, the body count is climbing and the fires show no sign of control. The fire service can say little but "we're working on it" and suddenly, the public feels that their trusted media has let them down - "how dare they make me feel it would be okay - it's not!".
Far from risking losing faith, what do the media do? Turn on us. It wasn't their ignorant fault for saying it'll all just go away and promoting false hope. No. It's now OUR fault. The firefighters and emergency workers should be doing more! They're letting us down! How dare they! How dare they not save lives! They are supposed to be heroes - what are they doing?!
I'll be revisiting the above topic a lot, lot more over time. It's a big part of my angst and pain regarding the fires - the way the public shunned us afterwards. The pull the media had, so much so that even loved friends came to me, confused, to ask me "if this was true...had the firefighters failed?".
(What a slap in the face from friends whom I loved unconditionally, to believe that my work was for nothing - that somehow, by twisted logic, I and my comrades were to blame. What an absolute fucking slap in the face. Needless to say, I worked out who I didn't have the time for, fast).
But I felt I wanted to discuss it now. Because it's important...for people to understand that, at the end of the day, firefighters are all still human. We still have the same fears and concerns as everyone else - we're not some kind of robot.
We're certainly not invincible. And to me, any firefighter who proclaims his bravery is a fraud. Why? Because they haven't ever faced a fire like this then. Or anything more than a rubbish bin alight or a smoke machine at controlled training.
It's not about bravery and heroism - but simply controlling your fears and thoughts.
This post might seem a tad rambling - as it isn't following a story and events timeline. But it's one of my more intimate revealings - as I'm sharing with you not just events and stimulus-response, but my deepest, perhaps darkest, emotional responses and mental processing in regards to this event. How my logic shakes up what people expect of us - and how that, in truth, was a stinging wound that took a bit to forgive.
I'd like to now think I've forgiven the public for their attitudes. Without sounding arrogant...poor, ignorant fools couldn't know any better. They clung to what they were fed - and never thought to challenge it. When they were primed for anger and backlash to us - they did it without truthfully realising what harm they were doing. Ironically, what harm they have now done to themselves - because "their" fire service is wallowing in horrendously low morale and faith now.
All I wanted to get across by this post really was, approaching the fires, what my psychological response turned to. How I stopped caring about the finite and dealt with it. How what the public believe was so very wrong and misguided - and how the media turned on us so fast - what led to that.
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I realised, as we travelled further into the risk area...that I was still dwelling on some of the above. That is, not so much the media side of things, that fury came later when all was said and done and I had time to reflect. No, I was focusing on what was expected of us. The split between facing natural human responses like anxiety and fear - and yet remaining impassive. Being strong enough to be the one on the crew, if necessary, to say "let's back off, this is too dangerous" but be of wise enough counsel to realise when was the right time for that - not too early but of course, not too late.
All around, everything seemed to get more ominous. The sky darkened and the heat remained oppressive. The wind was virtually drowning out all noise at this point and I felt a strange feeling, like if I just sat still and shut my eyes for a minute it would all go away. But no.
I realised despite the heat that a cold sensation was growing in my stomach. I was consciously trying to block out the incessant and growingly urgent radio chatter - the constant flow of it seemed to just wander off in my mind. I believe this was primitive, almost child like defence - just as a child covers his or her eyes and believes then that s/he is invisible or not present - my mind did the same - blocking out the harsh realities of what was being spoken over the radio - as if somehow it would all just stop.
I kept wishing to myself that this was some cruel joke or lucid dream. Knowing full well it wasn't but wishing it was. Suddenly, angry with myself - why did I think I could do this? Self doubt and frustration - punching into me. Feeling my muscles tense and my hands ball tight with the absolute lack of control I felt over the situation. This is not supposed to happen!
My intensive focus stopped suddenly as I realised we were slowing down - a police roadblock again ahead, a number of cars passing out of it, loaded up like they were on holiday - and driving away. I looked over the side of the truck, into the eyes of passing families - fathers, mothers, children, teenagers. Each face looked the same though - like some kind of middle class refugee - clean, well dressed, "normal" everyday people but a look also of wide-eyed fear and concern. Clinging desperately to some kind of hope that we could help them. Abandoning all but a few possessions behind them and just running away. Part of me wanted to look away and not have to see the fear in their faces but I couldn't. It felt wrong. If nothing else...I brought myself to gently smile at them. Wave slightly to the kids. Try as best as I could to non-verbally bring reassurance and comfort - "it's ok".
But at the same time, realising that with what I was hearing on the radio - it was far from okay. Realising that no reassurance will settle the minds of those fleeing, knowing their neighbours, friends, family are still left behind there. A flicker of guilt - do they know?
Did they know about the entrapments? Where they associated with those people or not...? I felt as if I were hiding a horrible secret. Trying to bring reassurance to terrified people - yet knowing in the back of my mind that already it was too late for some.
But there was no more time for deep reflection. I realised as we stopped and I saw a group control car at the front of our convoy with a high-ranking officer walking around, pointing and barking orders - that we were effectively at a staging point.
Not far away, through the ambient smoke and strangely sepia light, I saw what can only be described as monstrous columns of smoke, billowing into the sky. Thick, black, dense smoke. Blotting out all. Forcing myself to look down to the treeline - I saw it for the first time - and not for the first time that day, I felt my heart almost stop.
Fire. Leaping up through the trees. Not one spot - but a whole LINE - a veritable WALL - of just fire. Higher, wider, brighter than I'd ever witnessed - and although several kilometres away...I knew it wouldn't be long. The dark sky as we'd travelled had been bearable - it was ambient smoke, drifting away from the fire. The first small blaze we'd been sent to, then diverted from, was a bonfire compared to this.
It still unsettles me to this day to think of that first moment, when I stood, looked over the roof of the truck's cab into the sky - after observing the smoke, looked down to it's source.
I couldn't have begun to imagine fire of such size and fury - but there it was.
All I knew then was that I'd be going into it. I grabbed my crewmate by the shoulder - but could seem to barely raise my voice above a whisper..."mate...look at this" - was all I could muster.
His face said it all. He turned positively white then looked at me in shock. We sat back down together - focusing our energy for a minute now on preparing ourselves physically - goggles on, smoke masks on, covering every last inch of exposed skin to protect against the burn of radiant head.
Already we could feel the heat, kilometres from the fire front. There was a distinction - all around was the oppressive, revolting heat of the day. But when you stood - it was like opening an oven door - a blast, for lack of a better word, of heat, would hit you from that north easterly direction. Heat, pushed on by wind from the fire. Blistering radiant heat, KILOMETRES away.
All I could think was "fuck".
Primarily, this has been because from this point onwards onto the first day, my memories and recollection have become somewhat of a blur. A messy collage of images, sounds, sights, thoughts - without any real reference point as such. When I think carefully...I can put it into sequence - but for the first day, when the firefighting commenced - it was just so intense that it is difficult to remember specific timelines.
It seemed in a way as if not just Saturday, but multiple days after, blurred into one another. There was no distinction - day turned to night by smoke and night turned to day by endless walls of onward flames. There was, strangely, a small amount of rain on Sunday - but where I was operating, we did not feel it. The fire was so intense, the rain did NOTHING but evaporate before it even touched the ground.
Given that rain is the best blessing one can seek in a wildfire...it was another morbid reminder of the pure force of what we were facing - and how the "normal" did not apply...
I was, in all truth, not entirely away of specifically where I was at this point. The situation was developing with such frightening speed that we were being constantly changed around, as the high-level incident controllers did their best to calculate which of the multiple fire fronts was highest priority to attend to - and then again had to recalculate as calls to triple-zero were passed on by ESTA and the police to indicate locations of people trapped.
I had lost all perception of time at this point. I could've sat on the back of that truck and driven another 10 hours and I wouldn't have known better. Some people have asked me since if that was like a "drug" - the fusion of time into what felt like nothing.
I would say, yes and no. I feel it was like a drug in the respect that, now, I think it was a psychological defence - shutting me down from accepting what was happening around me and allowing me to focus every last resource on planning my actions and ensuring my own survival too. Time and location did not matter! All that mattered was what was around me.
At this point though I became aware of changes.
We had initially been tasked to respond to a smaller fire front in an isolated area, well clear of townships. But with the reports of entrapment further afield but not that far away, we were promptly re tasked.
This in itself was a shock. I was numbly aware of what was happening in the central district fires - which were the most destructive, claiming well over 100 lives. At this point, both these fires were active as two separate - but massive - fronts.
Suddenly, I was not to go to the comparative "safety" of an isolated fire front - but aware that I was to divert immediately to the location of highest risk statewide - where the largest, most life-threatening fire was and where the highest number of entrapment were happening. It was a sobering and cold realisation that I would quite likely have to deal with them.
It's at this point that some people claim that a firefighter should feel "like a hero" - going in to rescue others lives.
I firmly dispute that. Why?
Because I became a firefighter to ensure people's safety. A huge part of our work is fire prevention. Popular culture has made it seem like we are a group of gung-ho adrenaline junkies who live to risk our own necks. NO. At least, the smart ones of us, no. Those who think like that when they join are sorely disappointed and tend not to last - they tend to lack the self-discipline to train and develop essential base skills - not to mention the self discipline to last at what can be hours or more of hard labour when we are "mopping up and blacking out" - that is, literally going through the fire scene (building or wildfire) with hand tools and hose, dousing the last hot spots and turning things over...
So, what I am getting at here - was that I - and indeed, NONE of us - relished the idea of potential rescues. In fact, it sickened me. Partly because the realist in me knew the chance of a successful rescue from this fire was slim - by the time the average person accepted they were trapped, made a call to triple zero, and then we were located, paged and dispatched - they would be past it. Yes, there was a possibility of a successful rescue - right place, right time. But ultimately, my mind kept coming back to one thought. Every person trapped is someones loved one - father, mother, sister, brother, child, partner, friend. I don't want to see a SINGLE person's life at risk for the sake of my own ego - and ANYone who ever "wants" to be in a situation where rescue is necessary - needs their head checked. We do it for necessity - not desire to see it happen.
I know that's a morbid and grim assessment. But when a fire is moving with a speed greater than 100km/h and with more power than a nuclear explosion, it's also realistic. We're not made of steel...and as I always say, it's not selfish to accept one fatality at a fire scene rather than rushing in and making it three.
Of course, what I am saying may disgust some people. I know the public perception, especially in some countries, is that firefighters are fearless and virtually infallible.
WRONG. We're not fearless - we just use our skills and experience and minds to negate or control fear while we work. As for infallible - we're human. Flesh and blood like everyone else. Flesh burns - no matter who's it is.
Experience and maturity have taught me the importance of realism in this role. Other genuine emergency service workers will understand - that you can't save everyone and if you believe you can, you're setting yourself up for heartbreak. It just can't happen.
I think this is both a difficult issue to discuss though - and one I've kept most quiet about in my experiences - especially under close public scrutiny.
That is, ultimately, the above, and the difference between reality and public perception.
To the public, we're supposed to be able to, you know, stop ANYthing. Save everyone. That's just what we do - apparently. (??) I'm sure the media is partly to blame for that. Not to mention movies, and a general, wide-spread dumbing down of society.
I hate to say this, but media have much more social impact than they realise. In times of major crisis - people turn to the media for understanding - to grasp the facts of what is happening.
So in my mind, the media have the power to play God! There's a reason the Soviets and Nazis used to rely on media propaganda - people listen and soak it up. So whatever the media says, people take it as Gospel. Particularly in this day and age of inherent distrust of authority - if the police say one thing (or the fire service, even) but then the tabloid newspaper says another - everyone assumes the official line from the police (etc) is flawed or lying and the paper is right.
There is no critical analysis applied - we all want to believe our media sources, our news feed, is right and truthful. Add to this the belief that government agencies will manipulate and lie - and voila. Two clashed views - the public go with the news.
So the point I'm trying to make here is that, during the fires campaign, no amount of releases and commentary from our service or the government mattered - what mattered was what the "trusted reporters" told the world.
But what is the reporter's motivation? Get noticed. Other than sex, what sells and grabs the eye well? Drama. So, the media have a field day on a disaster...
The fires began and the media were all over it, extolling our wonderous virtues to a needy public who were junkies for reassurance that it'd all be okay.
Suddenly, days later, the body count is climbing and the fires show no sign of control. The fire service can say little but "we're working on it" and suddenly, the public feels that their trusted media has let them down - "how dare they make me feel it would be okay - it's not!".
Far from risking losing faith, what do the media do? Turn on us. It wasn't their ignorant fault for saying it'll all just go away and promoting false hope. No. It's now OUR fault. The firefighters and emergency workers should be doing more! They're letting us down! How dare they! How dare they not save lives! They are supposed to be heroes - what are they doing?!
I'll be revisiting the above topic a lot, lot more over time. It's a big part of my angst and pain regarding the fires - the way the public shunned us afterwards. The pull the media had, so much so that even loved friends came to me, confused, to ask me "if this was true...had the firefighters failed?".
(What a slap in the face from friends whom I loved unconditionally, to believe that my work was for nothing - that somehow, by twisted logic, I and my comrades were to blame. What an absolute fucking slap in the face. Needless to say, I worked out who I didn't have the time for, fast).
But I felt I wanted to discuss it now. Because it's important...for people to understand that, at the end of the day, firefighters are all still human. We still have the same fears and concerns as everyone else - we're not some kind of robot.
We're certainly not invincible. And to me, any firefighter who proclaims his bravery is a fraud. Why? Because they haven't ever faced a fire like this then. Or anything more than a rubbish bin alight or a smoke machine at controlled training.
It's not about bravery and heroism - but simply controlling your fears and thoughts.
This post might seem a tad rambling - as it isn't following a story and events timeline. But it's one of my more intimate revealings - as I'm sharing with you not just events and stimulus-response, but my deepest, perhaps darkest, emotional responses and mental processing in regards to this event. How my logic shakes up what people expect of us - and how that, in truth, was a stinging wound that took a bit to forgive.
I'd like to now think I've forgiven the public for their attitudes. Without sounding arrogant...poor, ignorant fools couldn't know any better. They clung to what they were fed - and never thought to challenge it. When they were primed for anger and backlash to us - they did it without truthfully realising what harm they were doing. Ironically, what harm they have now done to themselves - because "their" fire service is wallowing in horrendously low morale and faith now.
All I wanted to get across by this post really was, approaching the fires, what my psychological response turned to. How I stopped caring about the finite and dealt with it. How what the public believe was so very wrong and misguided - and how the media turned on us so fast - what led to that.
-----------------------------------
I realised, as we travelled further into the risk area...that I was still dwelling on some of the above. That is, not so much the media side of things, that fury came later when all was said and done and I had time to reflect. No, I was focusing on what was expected of us. The split between facing natural human responses like anxiety and fear - and yet remaining impassive. Being strong enough to be the one on the crew, if necessary, to say "let's back off, this is too dangerous" but be of wise enough counsel to realise when was the right time for that - not too early but of course, not too late.
All around, everything seemed to get more ominous. The sky darkened and the heat remained oppressive. The wind was virtually drowning out all noise at this point and I felt a strange feeling, like if I just sat still and shut my eyes for a minute it would all go away. But no.
I realised despite the heat that a cold sensation was growing in my stomach. I was consciously trying to block out the incessant and growingly urgent radio chatter - the constant flow of it seemed to just wander off in my mind. I believe this was primitive, almost child like defence - just as a child covers his or her eyes and believes then that s/he is invisible or not present - my mind did the same - blocking out the harsh realities of what was being spoken over the radio - as if somehow it would all just stop.
I kept wishing to myself that this was some cruel joke or lucid dream. Knowing full well it wasn't but wishing it was. Suddenly, angry with myself - why did I think I could do this? Self doubt and frustration - punching into me. Feeling my muscles tense and my hands ball tight with the absolute lack of control I felt over the situation. This is not supposed to happen!
My intensive focus stopped suddenly as I realised we were slowing down - a police roadblock again ahead, a number of cars passing out of it, loaded up like they were on holiday - and driving away. I looked over the side of the truck, into the eyes of passing families - fathers, mothers, children, teenagers. Each face looked the same though - like some kind of middle class refugee - clean, well dressed, "normal" everyday people but a look also of wide-eyed fear and concern. Clinging desperately to some kind of hope that we could help them. Abandoning all but a few possessions behind them and just running away. Part of me wanted to look away and not have to see the fear in their faces but I couldn't. It felt wrong. If nothing else...I brought myself to gently smile at them. Wave slightly to the kids. Try as best as I could to non-verbally bring reassurance and comfort - "it's ok".
But at the same time, realising that with what I was hearing on the radio - it was far from okay. Realising that no reassurance will settle the minds of those fleeing, knowing their neighbours, friends, family are still left behind there. A flicker of guilt - do they know?
Did they know about the entrapments? Where they associated with those people or not...? I felt as if I were hiding a horrible secret. Trying to bring reassurance to terrified people - yet knowing in the back of my mind that already it was too late for some.
But there was no more time for deep reflection. I realised as we stopped and I saw a group control car at the front of our convoy with a high-ranking officer walking around, pointing and barking orders - that we were effectively at a staging point.
Not far away, through the ambient smoke and strangely sepia light, I saw what can only be described as monstrous columns of smoke, billowing into the sky. Thick, black, dense smoke. Blotting out all. Forcing myself to look down to the treeline - I saw it for the first time - and not for the first time that day, I felt my heart almost stop.
Fire. Leaping up through the trees. Not one spot - but a whole LINE - a veritable WALL - of just fire. Higher, wider, brighter than I'd ever witnessed - and although several kilometres away...I knew it wouldn't be long. The dark sky as we'd travelled had been bearable - it was ambient smoke, drifting away from the fire. The first small blaze we'd been sent to, then diverted from, was a bonfire compared to this.
It still unsettles me to this day to think of that first moment, when I stood, looked over the roof of the truck's cab into the sky - after observing the smoke, looked down to it's source.
I couldn't have begun to imagine fire of such size and fury - but there it was.
All I knew then was that I'd be going into it. I grabbed my crewmate by the shoulder - but could seem to barely raise my voice above a whisper..."mate...look at this" - was all I could muster.
His face said it all. He turned positively white then looked at me in shock. We sat back down together - focusing our energy for a minute now on preparing ourselves physically - goggles on, smoke masks on, covering every last inch of exposed skin to protect against the burn of radiant head.
Already we could feel the heat, kilometres from the fire front. There was a distinction - all around was the oppressive, revolting heat of the day. But when you stood - it was like opening an oven door - a blast, for lack of a better word, of heat, would hit you from that north easterly direction. Heat, pushed on by wind from the fire. Blistering radiant heat, KILOMETRES away.
All I could think was "fuck".
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Day One - The Sky Darkens...
As our convoy wound through the streets, I found myself in a strange mental daze.
I was recognising where I was - but not, at the same time. I had limited idea where I was going and virtually no idea what I'd face or how long it would take.
It was a strange, disconnected feeling of a different reality - a twisted, vicious nightmare come suddenly to life.
I found strange thoughts crossing my head. Noticing the town was virtually deserted - probably due to the extreme weather (the winds now steadily above 100km/h and gusting far, far more, and the heat over 50 deg C) - it felt strange. Like suddenly myself and my crew were the only ones left on some ghost planet or post nuclear apocalyptic wasteland; like a movie where all life was gone and just structures remained along with a harsh wind and new atmosphere.
The oppressive heat remained but the sky was darkening. A mixture of dust and smoke - SMOKE - I realised. The smoke was a harsh shock to the system. Like a confirmation...as if some part of my subconcious psyche was holding out on the hope that this was all just a big mistake, a big false alarm...
It's acrid smell tracing across the city as we travelled out now through the highway, gaining speed and literally feeling the truck being buffeted hard by the north winds - as if God himself was trying to push it over. The smoke was not dense - just traces and the majority high above and being wound up, thrown around the sky with minute traces of black ash. But all it took was the trace of a smell to smash my hopes - and feel my heart sink as I accepted my final defence against this growing horror had failed.
A smell I couldn't pinpoint, I realised...
Each fire has it's own unique smell. Several years of unfortunate practice have given me the innate ability to detect whether smoke smelt of a grass fire, forest fire, the strange, plastic-fuel combination of a vehicle fire, or what I felt was the distinct smell of a house fire (particularly, weatherboard). I don't know really how to describe the difference. Little more I can say but I just know - just as any person experienced in his/her field can tell you things that they just "know". The smell was there but it was...different. Like a conglomerate. I think at the time I realised this was because of a mixture of burning textures - buildings, vehicles, forest, grass, scrub - and, I hate to say this - but flesh. But right at this point I didn't realise or didn't WANT to realise that. So I just tried, pointlessly, to ignore it...
As the truck picked up speed along the highway, the mixture of the winds blowing against us and of course, the forward speed momentum and natural noise generated when one is sitting under an open canopy on the back of a truck seemed to grow rapidly in intensity - virtually drowning out my thoughts. It was a strange peace - I was finding it too hard to think on account of the noise and took the moment's solace to reflect.
Suddenly, I felt cripplingly tired. Weary before the battle had even begun...(if only I'd known).
I found myself alternating between the occasional glance to my right to my companion - his stony silence and ashen-looking face reflecting my own concerns - then to my feet as if fixated by my boots - then skyward - to the sun, which was becoming an eerie shady of blood red - then to the surrounds.
We passed a police roadblock - the officers standing silently and respectfully as we passed, their faces impassive. I looked them in the eyes as we slowed by...I think, now, attempting to glean some kind of support from fellow responders. Animosity about being caught speeding and silly stunts in my younger days aside, I have the upmost respect for the police. They do an incredibly difficult job, day in, day out - dealing with the absolute scum of society. They remain calm under enormous pressure and constant criticism from the arm-chair cops who seem to know it all and write into the paper daily about their misguided views. They face some of the situations I'm not sure I could bring myself to face - that is, having to break news to families of their loss. I looked to them, I think, hoping to draw some of that strength from their reserve but all I saw in their faces was the same concern - and indeed, what was expressed to me later by a young constable; respect for US for doing the frontline work of tackling the fire itself.
I'll be saying more at a later date about the role of the police in the response to Black Saturday...but for now, let it be known that my personal view is that of utmost admiration. I can laugh or gripe about getting caught speeding or told to turn my house stereo down by them, but when push came to shove, I believe they did a remarkable job - and I still feel empathy to this day for outed Chief Commissioner Christine Nixon who was crucified by an angry public and misguided media looking to ride the wave of pain and rage.
As we passed the road block, I realised suddenly how alone we were. A highway normally constantly flowing with dense traffic - absolutely still and silent. Houses we passed were gradually thinning out as we left the urban density behind and reached the edge of town/country. All around though, there was not a sign of life.
Strangely, it reminded me suddenly of medieval castles - closing the drawbridge and battening down the gates for a war. This image brought a flicker of a smile to my face, imagining my town in feudal times...but the pleasant thought was tempered by the realisation that people were taking shelter against the catastrophic threat - or had already evacuated, as evidenced by empty driveways and open garages...
The seating arrangement in the older tanker I was on meant that myself and my companion were facing rearward - our backs to the cabin and looking back down the road. Occasionally, I strained against my belt and the wind to look around the edge of the ROPS and see up the road ahead but found myself blinded each time by wind and dust. It served to increase the tension - as I knew every passing second, the firefront was growing and we seemed to be travelling so slowly. In reality, I knew we were well over the 120km/h mark, as fast as we could safely push the truck - but it might as well have been a crawl. I just wanted one glimpse at what was approaching - just a few moments to prepare myself mentally and psychologically. It was borderline torturous not being able to see! At least when I responded to jobs in my usual vehicles, I was seated in the cab and could see forward - see a rising plume of smoke or flame and prepare myself. Here...I had no idea.
I took stock of the situation and my nerves. Realising I couldn't feel any sweat, I knew I must be dehydrating fast and attempted to drink - finding holding down water a struggle against the insistent fluttering of butterflies and the ominous lump in my stomach. I tried hard to distract myself with positive thoughts but my attention persistently returned to the pending doom. I attempted to focus then on my actions. Realising I was only going to be efficient fighting the fire if I focused on what I was going to do and resolved with my mind to "deal with the emotions later".
Focusing hard on the pump control panel directly in front of me...running over and over in my mind of the basics - when we pull up and see the fire, I will stand. Ensure my own personal protective equipment (PPE) is comfortable and fitting. Activate the pump and run it up to optimum output. Open the hose feed valves. Grab my appropriate branch (that is, the fire name for a hose connection basically). Remembering my basic wildfire tactics - both of us on one side of the truck facing the fire - the driver would advance slowly and the one with the first-attack branch would attempt to simply knock down the flames with a strong jet of water while the second one would follow up with a fog-spray pattern, attempting to douse the remainder. The objective being to move in a line, constantly parallel to the firefront and knock it down as it moves.
Over and over in my mind it raced. Knock down - move on. Knock down - move on. My partner and I had agreed that I'd take the first branch. He quietly admitted to me that he wasn't comfortable on the first attack and, due to a weaker shoulder and several years age advanced on me, had less upper body strength to maintain a firm grip on the jet. I was happy with this agreement. I felt useful and I liked being on first-attack. I found it comfortable to brace myself up against the forward most corner of the work area on the truck and lean into the fire, and satisfaction at knocking it down.
My biggest weakness was remembering to keep my hose focused on the fire in front - I tended, especially in my early days, to turn to the side and try to mop up too - effectively, doing both our jobs for us but earning me regular bellowing from the driver to "keep the fucking water FORWARD!" - until I learnt and overcame my habit to attempt to do it all.
Yet with all this in mind I was not comfortable. I had already surmised in my mind that while the tactics that make the Victoria fire service a world leader in wildfire firefighting are great, this would be no normal grassfire. Speed alone would mean we would struggle to keep ahead of the flame front - and the above tactics would only be safe if the fire were to "break out" from the forests and race away through the grasslands, in which case we could try to pursue it and knock it down.
I realised too what a Catch-22 was being presented. The fire could be best and safest fought on the grasslands - that is, moving quickly in a line along the front, knocking it down at multiple points. A team of five tankers would fan right out - each taking on several hundred metres of front, and this could knock down up to a kilometre of firefront FAST.
However, forest firefighting is a whole different ballgame. Forest firefighting was heavily reliant on aerial bombers, and I simply had no idea if they were coming. Plus, it was slow and heavy - the fire world equivalent of trench warfare; with a lot of effort for limited progress. A crew would move very slowly through forests - with the focus being a joint effort between stopping the fast moving firefront that was on the ground, burning up "fine fuels" (grasses, branches, leaves) and then alternating to the trees themselves - spraying them up and down several times before moving forward.
Additionally, forest firefighting is DANGEROUS. In a grassfire situation as the fire races across open land, if it's getting too hot and dangerous, you can withdraw easily - just find the quickest route out or to the sides to flank the fire. In a forest, you can only safely work from rudimentary tracks - whether logging paths, fire water paths (e.g. tracks that lead to dams), national parks maintenance roads or just campers paths.
It was very risky to stray from the path - simply as you don't know when it will just stop at a dead end (first rule of fire survival - know your way out BEFORE you find a way in). This was then not counting the risks of a rollover on soft or unsafe terrain (often hidden under dense grass) - or being struck by falling trees and branches. I know these two sound silly to non-firefighters. I know because I've been asked. But they are both killers and have killed numerous CFA members in the past 20 years. Partly because to fight wildfire, we are STANDING on the back of a MOVING truck. If it rolls, frankly, you're fucked. If you get thrown, you're lucky - you might get clear. If not, you are crushed. As for falling trees - the only firefighter death in the Black Saturday campaign was due to exactly that - burnt and damaged trees are LETHAL.
There's a reason all tankers carry a can of pink spray paint - with which, during the mop up, we'd paint trees rated as dangerous with a bright "K". K = killer. K = keep away until chainsawed down! Look up and live applies equally to trees as it does to powerlines when it comes to firefighting...
Not to mention the other obvious threat in a forest fire - the fire itself. While a grassfire builds up rapid speed and consumes it's "fine" (i.e., light) fuel fast - a forest fire burns more slowly but far more intensely - drawing enormous energy from the trees. If it is right up to the level of crowning fires as I previously discussed, the fire can be literally "overhead". Otherwise, though, it is burning a fron that is many metres high, hot and intense. Not as fast but...you'd be surprised.
This is a fact that was sadly hammered home in the 1998 fire campaign at Linton, near Ballarat. A Geelong West crew were working in dense forest, became trapped on the dead end path and were burnt out and died. RIP to those five men. Your sacrifice, let it be known, has not been in vain.
So in "modern" times, the CFA is cautious about fighting fires internally in a forest for the above reason. But that also depends on lives under threat.
These thoughts rolled around in my mind. What would it be? I knew it'd be a mixture of both by the local geography. We were always told to speak up if you felt unsafe - and the whole crew will back down (e.g., going into a forest fire, if one member is unhappy, the tanker must withdraw). But I did not want to be that one person...especially if lives were at stake.
It hit me hard, suddenly, what a decision I would have to make. I did not want blood on my conscience - but I knew too that many heroes are dead heroes...and a dead hero helps none. Would I speak up if I was unhappy? Or stay silent and see what happened?
We grew closer. I realised I'd been vacantly staring off down the road, oblivious almost to the fact that the smoke was intensifying, FAST. It was becoming thick, rolling clouds of smoke, obscuring roadway vision and, I realised, getting to the point that at times, all I could see of the tanker close behind was it's headlights and beacons through the murky grey. It was ethereal - unworldly. No sign yet of the fire but billowing smoke and the sunlight was turning a strange mixture of orange and blood red.
Quite frankly, it was disturbing. I felt my limbs tension, my back and neck stiffen...knowing that with the quantity of smoke present, the fire was likely to be fierce. Any hopes of some kind of wind abatement were gone - whisked away with the floating black ash and soot that too was intensifying.
If I remember nothing else, it was the striking feeling of looking up again, focusing on the world around and seeing the change of colour. I realised, suddenly, that the sky was no longer showing a single patch of blue - and the sun was virtually invisible - now too, just a blood red orb. The world had taken on the blood red/orange/yellowish tint - and I was NOT liking it.
In the background, I tuned in as the radio noise intensified. Constant and unrelenting calls and directions being given by leaders to strike teams - stop here, turn there, go there, etc, etc, as well as calls for clarification. All urgent but calm and in a still official but controlled tone of voice. I listened closely for details - morbidly hoping to get a glimmer of genuine feeling from one of the crews - a sworn outburst, mentions of what was actually HAPPENING. I didn't, honestly, give a fuck where I was going - all I cared was what was happening there. I listened intensely for mentions of structures or people...
Then it seemed to begin out of nowhere. I short, sharp message from a local tanker crew advising as calmly as they could muster that "multiple houses are fully involved - estimate up to ten - nil signs of life...*pause*...we're trying to...trying to get close enough to look but the front is too strong, too fast". This call cut short by another crew leader advising of cars on fire.
Then again, I felt my skin crawl and blood go cold as I heard a call noone wanted to hear - directed to a tanker crew - "crew ****, if you are at **** Road, please proceed to numbers *** through *** - Vicfire advises triple zero calls from these houses approximately 90 second ago indicating people are TRAPPED. Repeat...people trapped at...". For obvious reasons, I cannot say where I was.
Suddenly, I realised how serious this was getting. It truly had gone from bad to worse.
My crewmate turned to me. Looked me in the eye...and in a deadpan tone, spoke.
"Mate...I think we've just stepped into fucking Hell here."
I was recognising where I was - but not, at the same time. I had limited idea where I was going and virtually no idea what I'd face or how long it would take.
It was a strange, disconnected feeling of a different reality - a twisted, vicious nightmare come suddenly to life.
I found strange thoughts crossing my head. Noticing the town was virtually deserted - probably due to the extreme weather (the winds now steadily above 100km/h and gusting far, far more, and the heat over 50 deg C) - it felt strange. Like suddenly myself and my crew were the only ones left on some ghost planet or post nuclear apocalyptic wasteland; like a movie where all life was gone and just structures remained along with a harsh wind and new atmosphere.
The oppressive heat remained but the sky was darkening. A mixture of dust and smoke - SMOKE - I realised. The smoke was a harsh shock to the system. Like a confirmation...as if some part of my subconcious psyche was holding out on the hope that this was all just a big mistake, a big false alarm...
It's acrid smell tracing across the city as we travelled out now through the highway, gaining speed and literally feeling the truck being buffeted hard by the north winds - as if God himself was trying to push it over. The smoke was not dense - just traces and the majority high above and being wound up, thrown around the sky with minute traces of black ash. But all it took was the trace of a smell to smash my hopes - and feel my heart sink as I accepted my final defence against this growing horror had failed.
A smell I couldn't pinpoint, I realised...
Each fire has it's own unique smell. Several years of unfortunate practice have given me the innate ability to detect whether smoke smelt of a grass fire, forest fire, the strange, plastic-fuel combination of a vehicle fire, or what I felt was the distinct smell of a house fire (particularly, weatherboard). I don't know really how to describe the difference. Little more I can say but I just know - just as any person experienced in his/her field can tell you things that they just "know". The smell was there but it was...different. Like a conglomerate. I think at the time I realised this was because of a mixture of burning textures - buildings, vehicles, forest, grass, scrub - and, I hate to say this - but flesh. But right at this point I didn't realise or didn't WANT to realise that. So I just tried, pointlessly, to ignore it...
As the truck picked up speed along the highway, the mixture of the winds blowing against us and of course, the forward speed momentum and natural noise generated when one is sitting under an open canopy on the back of a truck seemed to grow rapidly in intensity - virtually drowning out my thoughts. It was a strange peace - I was finding it too hard to think on account of the noise and took the moment's solace to reflect.
Suddenly, I felt cripplingly tired. Weary before the battle had even begun...(if only I'd known).
I found myself alternating between the occasional glance to my right to my companion - his stony silence and ashen-looking face reflecting my own concerns - then to my feet as if fixated by my boots - then skyward - to the sun, which was becoming an eerie shady of blood red - then to the surrounds.
We passed a police roadblock - the officers standing silently and respectfully as we passed, their faces impassive. I looked them in the eyes as we slowed by...I think, now, attempting to glean some kind of support from fellow responders. Animosity about being caught speeding and silly stunts in my younger days aside, I have the upmost respect for the police. They do an incredibly difficult job, day in, day out - dealing with the absolute scum of society. They remain calm under enormous pressure and constant criticism from the arm-chair cops who seem to know it all and write into the paper daily about their misguided views. They face some of the situations I'm not sure I could bring myself to face - that is, having to break news to families of their loss. I looked to them, I think, hoping to draw some of that strength from their reserve but all I saw in their faces was the same concern - and indeed, what was expressed to me later by a young constable; respect for US for doing the frontline work of tackling the fire itself.
I'll be saying more at a later date about the role of the police in the response to Black Saturday...but for now, let it be known that my personal view is that of utmost admiration. I can laugh or gripe about getting caught speeding or told to turn my house stereo down by them, but when push came to shove, I believe they did a remarkable job - and I still feel empathy to this day for outed Chief Commissioner Christine Nixon who was crucified by an angry public and misguided media looking to ride the wave of pain and rage.
As we passed the road block, I realised suddenly how alone we were. A highway normally constantly flowing with dense traffic - absolutely still and silent. Houses we passed were gradually thinning out as we left the urban density behind and reached the edge of town/country. All around though, there was not a sign of life.
Strangely, it reminded me suddenly of medieval castles - closing the drawbridge and battening down the gates for a war. This image brought a flicker of a smile to my face, imagining my town in feudal times...but the pleasant thought was tempered by the realisation that people were taking shelter against the catastrophic threat - or had already evacuated, as evidenced by empty driveways and open garages...
The seating arrangement in the older tanker I was on meant that myself and my companion were facing rearward - our backs to the cabin and looking back down the road. Occasionally, I strained against my belt and the wind to look around the edge of the ROPS and see up the road ahead but found myself blinded each time by wind and dust. It served to increase the tension - as I knew every passing second, the firefront was growing and we seemed to be travelling so slowly. In reality, I knew we were well over the 120km/h mark, as fast as we could safely push the truck - but it might as well have been a crawl. I just wanted one glimpse at what was approaching - just a few moments to prepare myself mentally and psychologically. It was borderline torturous not being able to see! At least when I responded to jobs in my usual vehicles, I was seated in the cab and could see forward - see a rising plume of smoke or flame and prepare myself. Here...I had no idea.
I took stock of the situation and my nerves. Realising I couldn't feel any sweat, I knew I must be dehydrating fast and attempted to drink - finding holding down water a struggle against the insistent fluttering of butterflies and the ominous lump in my stomach. I tried hard to distract myself with positive thoughts but my attention persistently returned to the pending doom. I attempted to focus then on my actions. Realising I was only going to be efficient fighting the fire if I focused on what I was going to do and resolved with my mind to "deal with the emotions later".
Focusing hard on the pump control panel directly in front of me...running over and over in my mind of the basics - when we pull up and see the fire, I will stand. Ensure my own personal protective equipment (PPE) is comfortable and fitting. Activate the pump and run it up to optimum output. Open the hose feed valves. Grab my appropriate branch (that is, the fire name for a hose connection basically). Remembering my basic wildfire tactics - both of us on one side of the truck facing the fire - the driver would advance slowly and the one with the first-attack branch would attempt to simply knock down the flames with a strong jet of water while the second one would follow up with a fog-spray pattern, attempting to douse the remainder. The objective being to move in a line, constantly parallel to the firefront and knock it down as it moves.
Over and over in my mind it raced. Knock down - move on. Knock down - move on. My partner and I had agreed that I'd take the first branch. He quietly admitted to me that he wasn't comfortable on the first attack and, due to a weaker shoulder and several years age advanced on me, had less upper body strength to maintain a firm grip on the jet. I was happy with this agreement. I felt useful and I liked being on first-attack. I found it comfortable to brace myself up against the forward most corner of the work area on the truck and lean into the fire, and satisfaction at knocking it down.
My biggest weakness was remembering to keep my hose focused on the fire in front - I tended, especially in my early days, to turn to the side and try to mop up too - effectively, doing both our jobs for us but earning me regular bellowing from the driver to "keep the fucking water FORWARD!" - until I learnt and overcame my habit to attempt to do it all.
Yet with all this in mind I was not comfortable. I had already surmised in my mind that while the tactics that make the Victoria fire service a world leader in wildfire firefighting are great, this would be no normal grassfire. Speed alone would mean we would struggle to keep ahead of the flame front - and the above tactics would only be safe if the fire were to "break out" from the forests and race away through the grasslands, in which case we could try to pursue it and knock it down.
I realised too what a Catch-22 was being presented. The fire could be best and safest fought on the grasslands - that is, moving quickly in a line along the front, knocking it down at multiple points. A team of five tankers would fan right out - each taking on several hundred metres of front, and this could knock down up to a kilometre of firefront FAST.
However, forest firefighting is a whole different ballgame. Forest firefighting was heavily reliant on aerial bombers, and I simply had no idea if they were coming. Plus, it was slow and heavy - the fire world equivalent of trench warfare; with a lot of effort for limited progress. A crew would move very slowly through forests - with the focus being a joint effort between stopping the fast moving firefront that was on the ground, burning up "fine fuels" (grasses, branches, leaves) and then alternating to the trees themselves - spraying them up and down several times before moving forward.
Additionally, forest firefighting is DANGEROUS. In a grassfire situation as the fire races across open land, if it's getting too hot and dangerous, you can withdraw easily - just find the quickest route out or to the sides to flank the fire. In a forest, you can only safely work from rudimentary tracks - whether logging paths, fire water paths (e.g. tracks that lead to dams), national parks maintenance roads or just campers paths.
It was very risky to stray from the path - simply as you don't know when it will just stop at a dead end (first rule of fire survival - know your way out BEFORE you find a way in). This was then not counting the risks of a rollover on soft or unsafe terrain (often hidden under dense grass) - or being struck by falling trees and branches. I know these two sound silly to non-firefighters. I know because I've been asked. But they are both killers and have killed numerous CFA members in the past 20 years. Partly because to fight wildfire, we are STANDING on the back of a MOVING truck. If it rolls, frankly, you're fucked. If you get thrown, you're lucky - you might get clear. If not, you are crushed. As for falling trees - the only firefighter death in the Black Saturday campaign was due to exactly that - burnt and damaged trees are LETHAL.
There's a reason all tankers carry a can of pink spray paint - with which, during the mop up, we'd paint trees rated as dangerous with a bright "K". K = killer. K = keep away until chainsawed down! Look up and live applies equally to trees as it does to powerlines when it comes to firefighting...
Not to mention the other obvious threat in a forest fire - the fire itself. While a grassfire builds up rapid speed and consumes it's "fine" (i.e., light) fuel fast - a forest fire burns more slowly but far more intensely - drawing enormous energy from the trees. If it is right up to the level of crowning fires as I previously discussed, the fire can be literally "overhead". Otherwise, though, it is burning a fron that is many metres high, hot and intense. Not as fast but...you'd be surprised.
This is a fact that was sadly hammered home in the 1998 fire campaign at Linton, near Ballarat. A Geelong West crew were working in dense forest, became trapped on the dead end path and were burnt out and died. RIP to those five men. Your sacrifice, let it be known, has not been in vain.
So in "modern" times, the CFA is cautious about fighting fires internally in a forest for the above reason. But that also depends on lives under threat.
These thoughts rolled around in my mind. What would it be? I knew it'd be a mixture of both by the local geography. We were always told to speak up if you felt unsafe - and the whole crew will back down (e.g., going into a forest fire, if one member is unhappy, the tanker must withdraw). But I did not want to be that one person...especially if lives were at stake.
It hit me hard, suddenly, what a decision I would have to make. I did not want blood on my conscience - but I knew too that many heroes are dead heroes...and a dead hero helps none. Would I speak up if I was unhappy? Or stay silent and see what happened?
We grew closer. I realised I'd been vacantly staring off down the road, oblivious almost to the fact that the smoke was intensifying, FAST. It was becoming thick, rolling clouds of smoke, obscuring roadway vision and, I realised, getting to the point that at times, all I could see of the tanker close behind was it's headlights and beacons through the murky grey. It was ethereal - unworldly. No sign yet of the fire but billowing smoke and the sunlight was turning a strange mixture of orange and blood red.
Quite frankly, it was disturbing. I felt my limbs tension, my back and neck stiffen...knowing that with the quantity of smoke present, the fire was likely to be fierce. Any hopes of some kind of wind abatement were gone - whisked away with the floating black ash and soot that too was intensifying.
If I remember nothing else, it was the striking feeling of looking up again, focusing on the world around and seeing the change of colour. I realised, suddenly, that the sky was no longer showing a single patch of blue - and the sun was virtually invisible - now too, just a blood red orb. The world had taken on the blood red/orange/yellowish tint - and I was NOT liking it.
In the background, I tuned in as the radio noise intensified. Constant and unrelenting calls and directions being given by leaders to strike teams - stop here, turn there, go there, etc, etc, as well as calls for clarification. All urgent but calm and in a still official but controlled tone of voice. I listened closely for details - morbidly hoping to get a glimmer of genuine feeling from one of the crews - a sworn outburst, mentions of what was actually HAPPENING. I didn't, honestly, give a fuck where I was going - all I cared was what was happening there. I listened intensely for mentions of structures or people...
Then it seemed to begin out of nowhere. I short, sharp message from a local tanker crew advising as calmly as they could muster that "multiple houses are fully involved - estimate up to ten - nil signs of life...*pause*...we're trying to...trying to get close enough to look but the front is too strong, too fast". This call cut short by another crew leader advising of cars on fire.
Then again, I felt my skin crawl and blood go cold as I heard a call noone wanted to hear - directed to a tanker crew - "crew ****, if you are at **** Road, please proceed to numbers *** through *** - Vicfire advises triple zero calls from these houses approximately 90 second ago indicating people are TRAPPED. Repeat...people trapped at...". For obvious reasons, I cannot say where I was.
Suddenly, I realised how serious this was getting. It truly had gone from bad to worse.
My crewmate turned to me. Looked me in the eye...and in a deadpan tone, spoke.
"Mate...I think we've just stepped into fucking Hell here."
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Day One - "ALERT F0902...."
13:24 - 7/2/2009.
I had literally stepped one foot inside my friend's front door, when I froze.
I felt the vibrations begin on my right hip...waited for what seemed like forever...waited for it to just be me "feeling things" again...but...no, that piercing, urgent "emergency" tone on my pager began again.
I just stood frozen. I remember - because my friend was off her couch and looking at me with alarm. Over to me in a moment - gripping my left arm and staring unblinking into my eyes. She'd been with me enough times before when my pager had gone off for a callout that she knew the sound. I'd confined my concerns in her in the leadup - and she instinctively knew...all was not well.
"Ohh...fuck"...I just whispered, virtually inaudible. I knew without looking - my luck was out. Something had started. It was just a matter of seconds but the entire process ran through my head - my pager was active because SOMEone, somewhere nearby, had sighted smoke or fire - rung triple zero - and we were being dispatched.
I grabbed it, fumbling it slightly, willing it to just tell me it was another alarm...or a kitchen fire...or ANYTHING!! I remember the crushing feeling of near-panic...willing it to be lying, to be a mistake!!
But no. Luck was out.
I read it. The message began with the title above - then the job code. Then the words I'd dreaded. Strike team to assemble at the station. No details on where or what the fire was - but I knew well enough that strike teams (groups of tankers) are not called to formally assemble until a fire IS happening. A radio channel for fireground control was provided, along with a list of other brigades in the area who were coming in to join our strike team.
I looked her in the eyes and just said "it's fucking started. It's on. I have to go...I'm sorry. I have to go - right now".
She seemed to not know what to say - so she just grabbed me in a quick hug - kissed me and told me to stay safe. I couldn't bring myself to say I would...so I mumbled "I'll...try". Then swore to myself.
It'd started. What I was dreading and fearing.
I ran for my car. Couldn't control my hands well enough to put the key in the ignition so I had to physically stop...grab my face with both hands and spoke to myself firmly - telling myself "JUST STOP. You've been a firey for several years. You've been to countless fires. You don't react like this. You're calm, and in control - that's why they made you a crew leader. Keep calm. Don't fucking crash on the way to the station or something stupid like that."
I controlled my breathing - then took off, swinging my car out into the quiet suburban street.
I flew through town. There was barely anyone around. A police car passed me the other way - but the constable glanced over, and recognising fire uniform, waved me onwards and didn't slow down. My mind was running at God-knows-how-many miles per hour and I found myself physically having to slow down and focus on the road and driving. Every second, my mind jumping ahead. Scanning the sky for signs of smoke plumes and trying to work out how close the fire really was. Outside, the wind seemed to reach crescendo pitch - physically buffeting the car as I drove.
No sign of smoke. The sky now grey...sweat dripping down my face despite the best efforts of my car's air-conditioner to keep up, it just couldn't - the heat was too extreme. Another knot formed in my stomach as I realised, if it's this hot here in town - how fucking hot will it be at the front?
A thought crossed my mind...asking myself if it'd be wrong to back out now. Reminding me...I don't have to do this. I do this because I want to. I could go home and relax...but as quick as I thought it, my internal voice kicked in - told me - "you're committed. Just do it. Now is your time to step up and face your challenge".
With this in mind I pushed on...the short drive back to the station seeming to take forever.
I pulled in. Already several rural tankers from the adjoining brigades had assembled out the front, on the street and in front of the engine bay. The police had arrived too, directing traffic around the station and allowing us room to move. The look on the young officer's face; he would've been younger than me; said it all...it's bad.
As I literally ran into the station, the atmosphere had gone from tension to positively electric. Everyone was talking - and other brigade members had now arrived. A number of out of town firefighters were present too, and I felt a twinge of irritation at their appearances - jackets open, some minus smoke goggles. Unprofessional...
I took the initiative - looking around and seeing the station officer and operations officer were earnestly talking and too busy - I went to the protective gear room, grabbed my own, then boxes of smoke masks, goggles and assorted gloves. Coming back into the commotion of the engine bay, I grabbed one of the rural crew leaders - and told him to get what he needed, make sure all his men had goggles, gloves and masks. Most were good and thankful - one objected, saying he wasn't going to "wear a fucking smoke mask on a day like this" - and before I knew it, I'd grabbed him by the collar. We were equal height and build, but him a tad older than me. Before he could protest, I'd grabbed a mask with my spare hand and thrust it into his jacket pocket with force - then got up in his face and growled "for fuck sake. NONE of us want to wear them. But you know fucking what??? You'll end up in hospital with lungs full of smoke. So get with the fucking team, mate!!" then walked away, to have a cigarette and calm myself.
As I stubbed it out, he came and apologised, then shortly after, the regional officers joined the operations officer. While they were talking, I went to our brigade leader - the station officer - but I didn't even need to ask.
The look on his face has stayed with me to this day. It was one of helplessness. For an experienced, dedicated firefighter whom I respected, looked up to and liked, the concern showed. In a low voice, he spoke.
"It's started. Fuck. Fuck...mate, it's on, everywhere. Statewide. Bunyip has jumped control lines and is out of control. A fire has started 30km out from here. It's already into the town (the town shall remain nameless - but it's a small country town). Houses are burning. Another one is further out. I don't know who is going to what yet. Where do we start? There's more going - the towers are spotting smoke and it's getting thick, fast. It's in the forests and moving. Where do we start??!!"
His eyes seemed to plead with me...as if somehow, I'd be able to provide comfort or reassurance. A plan. I was stunned into silence. I'd somehow assumed one single fire. Not multiple. The fact houses were already burning shocked me into disbelief - already? We hadn't even been dispatched and already people's houses were on fire.
It never struck me at this point that while I stood in the station, rooted to the spot in shock...that people were already imminently about to die.
I grabbed his shoulder. All I could bring myself to say was "mate...let's sort out who's doing what, hey? Get out there. Do what we can. Stay tough. We'll do this. K?"
The orders were bellowed by the operations manager - four firefighters per crew, everyone get on a truck if you are ready to do. It didn't matter which brigade. A new order was shouted - "houses are burning, urban-trained firefighters, try to pair up with the rural boys so they have backup! Get going!".
A rural crewleader grabbed me, asked me if I was urban trained - when I replied that I was, he told me to grab his bag and through it on their tanker - one of the typical rural style, with a two man cab and a two-man ROPS (rollover protective structure) exposed, but to ride on, outside. I grabbed my structural jacket and helmet as an afterthought - deciding that if I was to tackle a housefire or several, I wanted it. So glad I did...
I walked to the comms room first. To get an idea of what was happening. C's face was positively white. She pointed to the situation report on the computer and I felt the blood drain from mine. The report was indicating between 30 - 52 SEPARATE FIRE FRONTS HAD NOW BEEN PHONED IN TO TRIPLE ZERO.
30 - 52 SEPARATE FIRES. I couldn't believe it. It'd started now...everywhere. State wide, fires were raging - with a massive concentration of fires around the centre. All of the calls so far had been received in the past thirty minutes.
When I think back on it...it was kind of eerie. Unsettling. That...the calm had been shattered...so swiftly and abruptly - so violently - and on such a massive scale in a time frame most people would take for morning tea...
The horrible realisation dawned on me. Victoria was on fire. Not just "A" fire...but a massive, massive campaign had just started. I think I realised that this was going to be like nothing I'd seen before. Looking at the little orange flame symbols on the map, I was suddenly choked. They looked so innocent - just a tiny symbol. But out there...fires had ignited - up to 52 SEPARATE FRONTS - and were being pushed by 100km/h winds in heat up to 50 deg C. Such unimaginable force...represented on a screen by a mass of little icons.
I took control of myself. Realising I had to go - I left, moving to the truck. I briefly remember shaking hands with the three crew I was joining - remembering one from some time before and the other two, new faces. Climbing aboard the back and seating myself on the hard plastic bench next to my new offsider who'd remain with me through the campaign - fighting this fire literally shoulder to shoulder...and facing what we felt was imminent death, shoulder to shoulder. A man I'd never seen in my life. We barely spoke - a cursory smile, quick few words of reassurance. It was good - it didn't matter than I didn't know any of the three, I was now part of their team and THAT is what mattered.
The truck shuddered to life and again I felt an icy grip in my stomach - knowing I was past the point of no return. I was going into something that I could not begin to imagine but would test me more than anything has ever tested me, physically, mentally, emotionally. I found myself distracting myself with adjusting my gear - pulling tight my bootlaces, fiddling pointlessly with my gloves...adjusting my helmet and goggles until I took them off and sat them in my lap - half hugging them for some kind of strange "support" - which felt bizarre until I realised my offsider was doing the same. The strike team leader vehicle passed us, and I stared straight at it but barely registering the two group leaders on board - barely noticing the emergency beacons. As the first truck swung out to join it, ours followed suit, and the ear-splitting noise of the siren, right above my head, jolted me back to reality and a realisation that this was it. My nightmare was coming true.
Little did I know at that point, they were a crew who'd I'd go through 33 days of hell with - forge a lifelong blood bond with - face near death with - and actual death. Go through a gauntlet of emotions and experiences that most normal people couldn't imagine in their nightmares.
Yep...little did I know.
I had literally stepped one foot inside my friend's front door, when I froze.
I felt the vibrations begin on my right hip...waited for what seemed like forever...waited for it to just be me "feeling things" again...but...no, that piercing, urgent "emergency" tone on my pager began again.
I just stood frozen. I remember - because my friend was off her couch and looking at me with alarm. Over to me in a moment - gripping my left arm and staring unblinking into my eyes. She'd been with me enough times before when my pager had gone off for a callout that she knew the sound. I'd confined my concerns in her in the leadup - and she instinctively knew...all was not well.
"Ohh...fuck"...I just whispered, virtually inaudible. I knew without looking - my luck was out. Something had started. It was just a matter of seconds but the entire process ran through my head - my pager was active because SOMEone, somewhere nearby, had sighted smoke or fire - rung triple zero - and we were being dispatched.
I grabbed it, fumbling it slightly, willing it to just tell me it was another alarm...or a kitchen fire...or ANYTHING!! I remember the crushing feeling of near-panic...willing it to be lying, to be a mistake!!
But no. Luck was out.
I read it. The message began with the title above - then the job code. Then the words I'd dreaded. Strike team to assemble at the station. No details on where or what the fire was - but I knew well enough that strike teams (groups of tankers) are not called to formally assemble until a fire IS happening. A radio channel for fireground control was provided, along with a list of other brigades in the area who were coming in to join our strike team.
I looked her in the eyes and just said "it's fucking started. It's on. I have to go...I'm sorry. I have to go - right now".
She seemed to not know what to say - so she just grabbed me in a quick hug - kissed me and told me to stay safe. I couldn't bring myself to say I would...so I mumbled "I'll...try". Then swore to myself.
It'd started. What I was dreading and fearing.
I ran for my car. Couldn't control my hands well enough to put the key in the ignition so I had to physically stop...grab my face with both hands and spoke to myself firmly - telling myself "JUST STOP. You've been a firey for several years. You've been to countless fires. You don't react like this. You're calm, and in control - that's why they made you a crew leader. Keep calm. Don't fucking crash on the way to the station or something stupid like that."
I controlled my breathing - then took off, swinging my car out into the quiet suburban street.
I flew through town. There was barely anyone around. A police car passed me the other way - but the constable glanced over, and recognising fire uniform, waved me onwards and didn't slow down. My mind was running at God-knows-how-many miles per hour and I found myself physically having to slow down and focus on the road and driving. Every second, my mind jumping ahead. Scanning the sky for signs of smoke plumes and trying to work out how close the fire really was. Outside, the wind seemed to reach crescendo pitch - physically buffeting the car as I drove.
No sign of smoke. The sky now grey...sweat dripping down my face despite the best efforts of my car's air-conditioner to keep up, it just couldn't - the heat was too extreme. Another knot formed in my stomach as I realised, if it's this hot here in town - how fucking hot will it be at the front?
A thought crossed my mind...asking myself if it'd be wrong to back out now. Reminding me...I don't have to do this. I do this because I want to. I could go home and relax...but as quick as I thought it, my internal voice kicked in - told me - "you're committed. Just do it. Now is your time to step up and face your challenge".
With this in mind I pushed on...the short drive back to the station seeming to take forever.
I pulled in. Already several rural tankers from the adjoining brigades had assembled out the front, on the street and in front of the engine bay. The police had arrived too, directing traffic around the station and allowing us room to move. The look on the young officer's face; he would've been younger than me; said it all...it's bad.
As I literally ran into the station, the atmosphere had gone from tension to positively electric. Everyone was talking - and other brigade members had now arrived. A number of out of town firefighters were present too, and I felt a twinge of irritation at their appearances - jackets open, some minus smoke goggles. Unprofessional...
I took the initiative - looking around and seeing the station officer and operations officer were earnestly talking and too busy - I went to the protective gear room, grabbed my own, then boxes of smoke masks, goggles and assorted gloves. Coming back into the commotion of the engine bay, I grabbed one of the rural crew leaders - and told him to get what he needed, make sure all his men had goggles, gloves and masks. Most were good and thankful - one objected, saying he wasn't going to "wear a fucking smoke mask on a day like this" - and before I knew it, I'd grabbed him by the collar. We were equal height and build, but him a tad older than me. Before he could protest, I'd grabbed a mask with my spare hand and thrust it into his jacket pocket with force - then got up in his face and growled "for fuck sake. NONE of us want to wear them. But you know fucking what??? You'll end up in hospital with lungs full of smoke. So get with the fucking team, mate!!" then walked away, to have a cigarette and calm myself.
As I stubbed it out, he came and apologised, then shortly after, the regional officers joined the operations officer. While they were talking, I went to our brigade leader - the station officer - but I didn't even need to ask.
The look on his face has stayed with me to this day. It was one of helplessness. For an experienced, dedicated firefighter whom I respected, looked up to and liked, the concern showed. In a low voice, he spoke.
"It's started. Fuck. Fuck...mate, it's on, everywhere. Statewide. Bunyip has jumped control lines and is out of control. A fire has started 30km out from here. It's already into the town (the town shall remain nameless - but it's a small country town). Houses are burning. Another one is further out. I don't know who is going to what yet. Where do we start? There's more going - the towers are spotting smoke and it's getting thick, fast. It's in the forests and moving. Where do we start??!!"
His eyes seemed to plead with me...as if somehow, I'd be able to provide comfort or reassurance. A plan. I was stunned into silence. I'd somehow assumed one single fire. Not multiple. The fact houses were already burning shocked me into disbelief - already? We hadn't even been dispatched and already people's houses were on fire.
It never struck me at this point that while I stood in the station, rooted to the spot in shock...that people were already imminently about to die.
I grabbed his shoulder. All I could bring myself to say was "mate...let's sort out who's doing what, hey? Get out there. Do what we can. Stay tough. We'll do this. K?"
The orders were bellowed by the operations manager - four firefighters per crew, everyone get on a truck if you are ready to do. It didn't matter which brigade. A new order was shouted - "houses are burning, urban-trained firefighters, try to pair up with the rural boys so they have backup! Get going!".
A rural crewleader grabbed me, asked me if I was urban trained - when I replied that I was, he told me to grab his bag and through it on their tanker - one of the typical rural style, with a two man cab and a two-man ROPS (rollover protective structure) exposed, but to ride on, outside. I grabbed my structural jacket and helmet as an afterthought - deciding that if I was to tackle a housefire or several, I wanted it. So glad I did...
I walked to the comms room first. To get an idea of what was happening. C's face was positively white. She pointed to the situation report on the computer and I felt the blood drain from mine. The report was indicating between 30 - 52 SEPARATE FIRE FRONTS HAD NOW BEEN PHONED IN TO TRIPLE ZERO.
30 - 52 SEPARATE FIRES. I couldn't believe it. It'd started now...everywhere. State wide, fires were raging - with a massive concentration of fires around the centre. All of the calls so far had been received in the past thirty minutes.
When I think back on it...it was kind of eerie. Unsettling. That...the calm had been shattered...so swiftly and abruptly - so violently - and on such a massive scale in a time frame most people would take for morning tea...
The horrible realisation dawned on me. Victoria was on fire. Not just "A" fire...but a massive, massive campaign had just started. I think I realised that this was going to be like nothing I'd seen before. Looking at the little orange flame symbols on the map, I was suddenly choked. They looked so innocent - just a tiny symbol. But out there...fires had ignited - up to 52 SEPARATE FRONTS - and were being pushed by 100km/h winds in heat up to 50 deg C. Such unimaginable force...represented on a screen by a mass of little icons.
I took control of myself. Realising I had to go - I left, moving to the truck. I briefly remember shaking hands with the three crew I was joining - remembering one from some time before and the other two, new faces. Climbing aboard the back and seating myself on the hard plastic bench next to my new offsider who'd remain with me through the campaign - fighting this fire literally shoulder to shoulder...and facing what we felt was imminent death, shoulder to shoulder. A man I'd never seen in my life. We barely spoke - a cursory smile, quick few words of reassurance. It was good - it didn't matter than I didn't know any of the three, I was now part of their team and THAT is what mattered.
The truck shuddered to life and again I felt an icy grip in my stomach - knowing I was past the point of no return. I was going into something that I could not begin to imagine but would test me more than anything has ever tested me, physically, mentally, emotionally. I found myself distracting myself with adjusting my gear - pulling tight my bootlaces, fiddling pointlessly with my gloves...adjusting my helmet and goggles until I took them off and sat them in my lap - half hugging them for some kind of strange "support" - which felt bizarre until I realised my offsider was doing the same. The strike team leader vehicle passed us, and I stared straight at it but barely registering the two group leaders on board - barely noticing the emergency beacons. As the first truck swung out to join it, ours followed suit, and the ear-splitting noise of the siren, right above my head, jolted me back to reality and a realisation that this was it. My nightmare was coming true.
Little did I know at that point, they were a crew who'd I'd go through 33 days of hell with - forge a lifelong blood bond with - face near death with - and actual death. Go through a gauntlet of emotions and experiences that most normal people couldn't imagine in their nightmares.
Yep...little did I know.
Day One - Black Saturday...
"Victoria's worst fears have been realised today..." - Ch 7 News.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7klZ3_F6ekI)
I woke up suddenly at 6am. Despite a restless night sleep, I wasn’t tired though…I think adrenaline and fear had started.
I’m not ashamed to admit fear. Fear is human and natural. Only a born imbecile would not be afraid to face what I felt was coming – and anyone who claims they were not afraid is either lying or very psychiatrically unwell. I don’t want either to ever fight a fire with me.
I felt a strange mix of emotions that morning as I sat on the edge of my bed, deciding what to do after having decided sleep was no longer an option. I was told I didn’t “have” to standby at the station for the day – as long as I could respond – but I knew I’d do little else all day but be on edge. Needless to say, I wouldn’t have been very nice company this day – withdrawn and anti-social to say the least and probably short tempered and tense at best. Understandable, really...at least, I think.
I wandered through my house completely aimlessly for a while...I don't know how long, all I could think about was a deep feeling of dread - that today was "the day" that this time bomb would finally explode. I looked outside regularly, quietly noting the wind was picking up constantly, trees bending and loose items flying everywhere - like a storm but, without a hint of rain. The sky was perfectly blue and clear - no hint of smoke anywhere. YET. But the heat was incredible...for early morning, the sun was already blazing down.
I tried to force myself to relax...talking to myself, telling myself just to get through today and a cool change should come - that "you know what it's like, we get worked up about nothing in the fire brigade...it's all preparation for a non-event." I tried to rationalise my concern - comparing it to a post terrorist attack exercise I'd been in, in Melbourne - preparing for a massive worst case that "never" happens.
But...I'm not stupid. I knew deep inside that I couldn't compare it to the risk of an isolated attack. What I'd practiced for in Melbourne could be headed off by the diligent work of the police and national security. But what I knew was looming today was at the mercy of Mother Nature - a major terrorist attack for instance would require planning, logistics, all manner of things. Today? All today's disaster would require was a spark and I was acutely aware of that.
I must admit, I was concerned out of cynicism. My several years in fire/rescue had shown me how...frankly, blatantly STUPID people can be.
I'm going to go out on a limb here but I need to state this, as it's going to be something I'll be saying a LOT about later on. It's an unresolved issue that resulted in many of the deaths from this disaster and, I believe, will strike again.
It's an unresolved, infuriating issue that fucking politicians and a too-sensitive public refuse to face head on. We live in a strange world now, where we'd rather risk deaths as opposed to publicly offending someone.
The issue is - public ignorance and poor preparation.
There are only so many ways we, as firefighters, and jointly, as a fire service and with government and media, can spread the message. There is only so much we can dumb it down. The point is - if you live in a bushfire prone area, you need to be READY yourself. You need to know whether you will stay or go - without being told. If you are to stay, you need to be ready to defend yourself. If you go, you need to work out where to and when to leave without being told. You need to be able to be aware of the threat without internet/radio/television.
And most of all...as I feel like saying so many times, for Christ's fucking sake, be careful with fire. Yes, a single match might not start your gas stove - but on the right day, it CAN start a bushfire. (Yes...someone actually argued that point with me once - how can a match start a bushfire when my stove won't start with one. She was dead serious...)
But, I'll drop that for now - much more on it later...
However, my mind was running fast with all kinds of thoughts. Knowing that there were thousands of people out there - if not hundreds of thousands - in direct threat on this day. Knowing that only a few of us, or at least, I believed, inherently understood the very REAL threat.
Knowing that as a weekend, many of those living in the high risk areas were not in towns and cities at work or school but at home.
Knowing that as a weekend, there was a higher chance of some DIY handyman taking his tools outside to do a "quick" job that might well create sparks...
Knowing there was a higher chance that the idiots would be out on country roads, ignoring all warnings to not travel - and with this, a higher risk of a loose cigarette butt out a window...
Knowing every hour, a passenger train left from both ends of the train lines to Bendigo, Ballarat, Geelong and Traralgon alone - and further afield, trains to Adelaide, Sydney, Warrnambool, Ararat & Echuca were running, as normal, all day.
(Why trains? Simple. Sparks. Trains are notorious in Victoria for having started grass fires).
Knowing that a hot summer day in Victoria with a pending cool change often, if not nearly always, means thunderstorms and lightning strikes.
Knowing that there were children out there free of school for the weekend...and previous experience had proven that simply, fires started by children peak on the weekends...
Knowing there were who-knows-how-many unhinged individuals and previous arsonists who've never been caught and charged - out there. Some of them, sadly, previous firefighters. I hoped to God that those who had any appreciation for the day would know that even for them, it was just too horrendous a day to consider such a crime...but then again, that thought of mine was from a rational brain and their brains are not so...
Knowing that so many people in the state were STILL ignorant of what a total fire ban (TFB) actually meant, and how it meant NO barbecues.
Knowing especially how many people out there just simply underestimate fire. I have lost count of how many "innocent rubbish burnoffs" I was called to, that got out of hand and burnt down sheds, houses, land - all because the person responsible was so sure he'd be able to control it - after all, he's only lighting one single pile of rubbish...no? And how some people just think, frankly, that a TFB doesn't apply to them. (Yes...it happens. More on that later).
Most of all knowing...there is no way to stop these factors. Some are human. But some were completely beyond our control too...and even the human ones, well, imagine the public outcry if we decreed a complete curfew?
No...I decided. There is no way I can stop this. I found strange solace in this thought - my anxiety melted a little. A fatalism - if it is to be, it is to be...I cannot stop it. So I must accept it.
I cannot stop it starting - I just have to do what I can when it does.
After all, I rationalised, trying to prevent this is like being Atlas! Trying to carry the world on my back...
But who says it will happen? Just because the potential is there...I rationalised this thought again by thinking such thoughts as "every time I drive, there is a potential for a fatal road accident but I'm still alive. Every time I flick a light switch I could be electrocuted - but ditto. So just because there is potential today..."
Yet my mind just wouldn't accept no as an answer!
I tried to distract myself. A friend rang me, somewhat anxious about the day so I channelled my energies into reassuring her. Television couldn't hold my attention. Even simple pleasures like a weekend game of golf were unappealing and not just due to the foul weather.
I seemed subconsciously attached to my pager. Strange, really...it was like this little black electronic box, just the size of my palm and with a small orange-lit screen...sitting there silently.
Like some prophet of doom, I thought to myself, half smiling at the abstract thought of how some mass-produced, inert, unthinking electronic box could hold such a grip on me on this day.
Be the herald angel of disaster with its tone?
Or stay silent...and let the world sleep safe that night...?
I couldn't let go of the thing! I had set it for a distinct tone for different messages - a piercing shriek for emergencies, a less urgent warble for "non emergencies" (such as SES flood/storm assistance - I'm an SES member too) and a different tone again for the daily flow of administration - the mundane "meeting tonight" and "who the fuck lost the fire truck keys" messages. I'd also set it to vibrate on emergency only - an extra feature to grab my attention. It tended to vibrate a few seconds before the tone became audible...on this day, the person I was talking to when the call came through said my face changed from normal to a look of shock and concern just before she heard the tone too...(I felt it start vibrating and just knew).
It was strange that day. Every few minutes of silence, I was compelled to look at it until I forced myself not to. I kept thinking I felt it vibrating on my waist - freezing for a moment until no tone was heard and I knew it wasn't so. I guess now, symptoms of how tense I was. On the day though, it was just frustrating - emergency callouts were a daily (usually, several times a day event) so to hear the emergency tone sounding was normally akin to hearing a phone ring - just a matter of "ah, fuck it, not again". Nothing to stress about...not after several years of daily callouts.
I decided in the end that misery loves company, so I'd head to the station. Being home alone was not its usual therapeutic joy but instead decidedly frustrating - and I decided being ready at the station and partly dressed in my fire gear was the way to go - cut down response times. Maybe I could do something useful there...?
So along I went. I remember the ominous feelings growing as I drove through town. It was so quiet - a normally busy city on Saturday morning, it seemed to be running at one-fifth of normal - and I knew that partly, it was the oppressive heat and - by this point - howling winds - keeping people inside. The other part, I instinctively felt, was fear of the unknown...but whatever it was...people were not out.
The wind was unbelievable at this point. Waiting at the traffic lights, I could hear it howling and whistling outside and into the tiniest gap in my car, shrieking through it like the car was a sieve. Leaves and dust flew down the street and the sky was gradually seeming to loose its charming blue and turn a lacklustre greyish-red as dust and topsoil from farms literally hundreds of kilometres away in the Mallee region of the state was whipped into the air and blown ferociously southwards by the unrelenting north winds. Even traces of reddish sand were appearing which I knew was from as far north as Mildura and New South Wales - being just forced south by the wind. The few people walking in the street were struggling against it, holding hats down with both hands and clutching at handbags.
As I drove through the CBD to the fire station on it's south east side, I looked out at people just trying to overcome the weather and go about their business. Children taking innocent joy and curiosity at the wild winds and blowing dust. I felt a strange pang of jealousy...thought to myself "how simple life used to be as a child." I mean...did I ever think of fires then? Never, except when the firemen visited school or kindergarten.
I smiled for a moment, thinking of how I could never have known I'd be one of them, after years ago, looking at them with some kind of trepidation and wondering who these strange men were?
It was a strange feeling. A mixture of jealousy for their innocence and freedom...but then, a wave of sympathy - thinking "they have no idea what might be literally hours from hitting us..." and a desire to do my best to help protect the people I was passing. After all...that was why I joined the fire service. To push myself and protect the public...look after them.
I liked being an anonymous guardian.
I reached the station and as I parked, was not greatly surprised to see the engine bay doors already partly open, a few fellow members going over the truck with checklists and stocking up extra bottles of water, protective blankets, pulling down the window fire shields in the cab to make sure they worked, testing sprays and low water alarms.
All wildfire based preparation...all of which had been done but was being double-checked.
Interestingly enough...the men completely ignored the platform, two pumpers and BA van...but I knew why. The platform (ladder truck), pumpers and BA van are for urban structural firefighting and hazardous materials incidents. On this day...these were not the concern. A normal day would entail checking over each of them, making sure BA sets were online and your personal mask was clean. and free of leaks. But I knew on this day that if houses were burning - there would be no using BA - as we wouldn't have a chance to even get inside...
I greeted one of my colleagues - a new, young and rather enthusiastic guy. I won't use his name, just D. We've stayed in touch to this day and for a new firey, I was impressed at his drive and motivation - and his maturity and abilities. He had been assigned to my care for the day should something start...so I took him aside. We both went to a quiet end of the engine bay and simultaneously lit up cigarettes.
D spoke first...asking me quietly what I was thinking.
I responded with "Mate.......I really don't know. All I hope is today is over sooner rather than later".
He pushed a little...asking what I thought would happen. How bad it would get. I didn't know how to answer so all I said was..."mate...just stick with me if it kicks off, okay? If you end up on a different crew...say I sent you and you are new. If you come with me, I'll make sure you're looked after. We're all brothers in this service. All I want you to remember is - safety first. If you're not comfortable...speak up. Say so. Look after yourself - because in the real world...a hero is usually a dead hero. Remember...none of us HAVE to be here. We are because we want to. But we have the right to go home". I paused.
"A dead hero saves no one" I finished off, bluntly.
Outside, it was now mid-morning. The wind was still increasing in strength to the point at which it was literally forcefully rattling the heavyset steel/perspex doors to the station engine bay. Looking outside, the sky had turned strangely darker - like cloud but not quite - it was too...off colour for that.
I quickly realised again it was massive clouds of dust and dirt. Whipped up from the parched top soil of failing farms hundreds of kilometres north and being THROWN south by the shrieking winds. Shrieking might sound like an overstatement - but it was how they sounded. High pitched and intense.
The temperature was steadily rising despite the strange cloud cover and was intensely hot - the ground baking outside. You'd step outside for only a short time and not even sweat - it was just evaporated. Stepping outside in full fire gear was an invitation to feel nauseaous in minutes.
I left the engine bay and went to the watchroom. Our comms operator, C, was there as always - with her usual unwavering dedication and professionalism. I looked over her shoulder at several computer screens, bringing up up to the minute weather reports, reports from fire towers around the state and our region and continuous links to regional offices, Vicfire dispatchers and the like...
C turned around, half smiled - but I could see the worry in her face. "So far...so good" she reported softly - but I could tell she wasn't confident in that staying that way.
We chatted briefly about the situation statewide. A still out of control bushfire was burning in the Bunyip state forest, south east of Melbourne but information on it was unclear and although the day had pushed it - there was no report (yet) of further spread. The fires the previous week in Gippsland had not yet flared up...and the state incident summary was so far reporting little except the usual occasional false alarms, a road rescue in the outer metro area and a controlled structural blaze in west Melbourne.
So far...so good...but it's only 10:15am.
That thought came as a bit of a shock. Realising the day hadn't even reached it's hottest point yet. The fire station's own weather station was reporting winds now steady around 80km/h and gusting up to 120km/h...and the temperature was over 46 degrees Celsius. The pressure was mounting...
At 10:21 am, the steady movement around the fire station ground to halt with the piercing squeal of 20 pagers sounding for an emergency in unison. No one wanted to be the first to look...fearing that this was "it", it'd started. But fortunately, C was game to observe hers and called out almost with tangible relief that it was "just an alarm, guys!". Still a job - a fire alarm activation at a large complex on the south west edge of the city.
But...Christ, did I feel the relief run through my chest. I could swear to this day my blood ran cold when I first heard the pager...and my heart only restarted with news that it was "just an alarm". Of course, an alarm could still signal a potential real fire...and a heavy firefight in a seven-story building on this day was hardly going to be easy - but at that point in time, ANYthing was better than the breakout of wildfire. I changed quickly, hands still slightly shaky at the shock of the pager and the relief, into my structural gear and we responded as normal to the alarm.
It was only on the way out of the station, under Code One conditions, we could see the look of genuine concern in people's faces as they stared at the three trucks rolling out. Drivers were remarkable considerate, more so than usual, and people stopped in the streets with a mixed emotion of curiousity and outright worry evident. It only struck me at this point - looking out the window and trying to look reassuring, smile reassuringly to children, that the public was feeling the fear too...
The alarm turned out to be, as we'd expected, false. A smoke detector activated by the blowing dust and grit in the air. We took the usual precautions and searched the building cautiously - aware that, given the alarm had activated on an upper floor, a sudden outbreak of fire there would not only be very difficult to contain but - with the prevailing winds just getting worse, embers would likely spread...but, fortunately, nothing sighted and we returned to the station.
The tension seemed to be getting worse amoungst the crew. Not a word was said on the way back to the station - everyone in their own personal worlds. The driver and I, as senior firefighters in our truck, tried to make small talk and relax the others...but we were met with little more than forced smiles, nods and one-word answers.
Back at the station, time seemed to slow to an absolute grind.
I don't know if you've ever been in a situation like this - but it was hard to describe. I found myself almost laughing at it - gripped with fear and dread of a situation that didn't even yet exist! At least, I thought, it's not public speaking!
Come midday...the tension around the station was unbearable. I was being tempted to virtually chain-smoke and knew there was nothing else I could do. The odd passer by would pull in, walk in and ask questions but I was finding myself becoming impatient and short tempered with them - especially the aggressive farmer who swore and carried on - because - in his view, we should be out preventing fires rather than waiting for them! I didn't have the energy to argue any more than the fact that, well, where would we start? Try to jump on lightning, hey? Spot an arsonist and beat him senseless? So I decided lunch and maybe a visit to a good friend was a good idea.
I partially undressed from my gear - leaving on fire trousers, boots and suspenders and a light shirt. The heat outside was oppressive - I gathered at this point, from our station's weather system, that at the station it had risen to over 50 deg C. The winds were now steady northly at over 100km/h and gusting to 140km/h. I rang my SES controller, to ask him how his day was - but they were similarly tense. Several callouts for roof damage, courtesy of the gale force winds, and waiting to be called to assist for any fire outbreak. I sought my lunch and took it over to SES HQ to join my "other" colleagues - swap stories. The mood was certainly lighter and the relief was just enough for me to settle for long enough to ingest food and a bottle of water...despite the gnawing, gripping tension in my stomach still rising to the point at which I wanted to almost be sick.
I don't know what time I left them to it - somewhere around 1pm, I think - and headed to a friend's house. When I arrived, she was inside and when I knocked, was invited to just "come straight in".
The time was 13:24. Know how I remember...?
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7klZ3_F6ekI)
I woke up suddenly at 6am. Despite a restless night sleep, I wasn’t tired though…I think adrenaline and fear had started.
I’m not ashamed to admit fear. Fear is human and natural. Only a born imbecile would not be afraid to face what I felt was coming – and anyone who claims they were not afraid is either lying or very psychiatrically unwell. I don’t want either to ever fight a fire with me.
I felt a strange mix of emotions that morning as I sat on the edge of my bed, deciding what to do after having decided sleep was no longer an option. I was told I didn’t “have” to standby at the station for the day – as long as I could respond – but I knew I’d do little else all day but be on edge. Needless to say, I wouldn’t have been very nice company this day – withdrawn and anti-social to say the least and probably short tempered and tense at best. Understandable, really...at least, I think.
I wandered through my house completely aimlessly for a while...I don't know how long, all I could think about was a deep feeling of dread - that today was "the day" that this time bomb would finally explode. I looked outside regularly, quietly noting the wind was picking up constantly, trees bending and loose items flying everywhere - like a storm but, without a hint of rain. The sky was perfectly blue and clear - no hint of smoke anywhere. YET. But the heat was incredible...for early morning, the sun was already blazing down.
I tried to force myself to relax...talking to myself, telling myself just to get through today and a cool change should come - that "you know what it's like, we get worked up about nothing in the fire brigade...it's all preparation for a non-event." I tried to rationalise my concern - comparing it to a post terrorist attack exercise I'd been in, in Melbourne - preparing for a massive worst case that "never" happens.
But...I'm not stupid. I knew deep inside that I couldn't compare it to the risk of an isolated attack. What I'd practiced for in Melbourne could be headed off by the diligent work of the police and national security. But what I knew was looming today was at the mercy of Mother Nature - a major terrorist attack for instance would require planning, logistics, all manner of things. Today? All today's disaster would require was a spark and I was acutely aware of that.
I must admit, I was concerned out of cynicism. My several years in fire/rescue had shown me how...frankly, blatantly STUPID people can be.
I'm going to go out on a limb here but I need to state this, as it's going to be something I'll be saying a LOT about later on. It's an unresolved issue that resulted in many of the deaths from this disaster and, I believe, will strike again.
It's an unresolved, infuriating issue that fucking politicians and a too-sensitive public refuse to face head on. We live in a strange world now, where we'd rather risk deaths as opposed to publicly offending someone.
The issue is - public ignorance and poor preparation.
There are only so many ways we, as firefighters, and jointly, as a fire service and with government and media, can spread the message. There is only so much we can dumb it down. The point is - if you live in a bushfire prone area, you need to be READY yourself. You need to know whether you will stay or go - without being told. If you are to stay, you need to be ready to defend yourself. If you go, you need to work out where to and when to leave without being told. You need to be able to be aware of the threat without internet/radio/television.
And most of all...as I feel like saying so many times, for Christ's fucking sake, be careful with fire. Yes, a single match might not start your gas stove - but on the right day, it CAN start a bushfire. (Yes...someone actually argued that point with me once - how can a match start a bushfire when my stove won't start with one. She was dead serious...)
But, I'll drop that for now - much more on it later...
However, my mind was running fast with all kinds of thoughts. Knowing that there were thousands of people out there - if not hundreds of thousands - in direct threat on this day. Knowing that only a few of us, or at least, I believed, inherently understood the very REAL threat.
Knowing that as a weekend, many of those living in the high risk areas were not in towns and cities at work or school but at home.
Knowing that as a weekend, there was a higher chance of some DIY handyman taking his tools outside to do a "quick" job that might well create sparks...
Knowing there was a higher chance that the idiots would be out on country roads, ignoring all warnings to not travel - and with this, a higher risk of a loose cigarette butt out a window...
Knowing every hour, a passenger train left from both ends of the train lines to Bendigo, Ballarat, Geelong and Traralgon alone - and further afield, trains to Adelaide, Sydney, Warrnambool, Ararat & Echuca were running, as normal, all day.
(Why trains? Simple. Sparks. Trains are notorious in Victoria for having started grass fires).
Knowing that a hot summer day in Victoria with a pending cool change often, if not nearly always, means thunderstorms and lightning strikes.
Knowing that there were children out there free of school for the weekend...and previous experience had proven that simply, fires started by children peak on the weekends...
Knowing there were who-knows-how-many unhinged individuals and previous arsonists who've never been caught and charged - out there. Some of them, sadly, previous firefighters. I hoped to God that those who had any appreciation for the day would know that even for them, it was just too horrendous a day to consider such a crime...but then again, that thought of mine was from a rational brain and their brains are not so...
Knowing that so many people in the state were STILL ignorant of what a total fire ban (TFB) actually meant, and how it meant NO barbecues.
Knowing especially how many people out there just simply underestimate fire. I have lost count of how many "innocent rubbish burnoffs" I was called to, that got out of hand and burnt down sheds, houses, land - all because the person responsible was so sure he'd be able to control it - after all, he's only lighting one single pile of rubbish...no? And how some people just think, frankly, that a TFB doesn't apply to them. (Yes...it happens. More on that later).
Most of all knowing...there is no way to stop these factors. Some are human. But some were completely beyond our control too...and even the human ones, well, imagine the public outcry if we decreed a complete curfew?
No...I decided. There is no way I can stop this. I found strange solace in this thought - my anxiety melted a little. A fatalism - if it is to be, it is to be...I cannot stop it. So I must accept it.
I cannot stop it starting - I just have to do what I can when it does.
After all, I rationalised, trying to prevent this is like being Atlas! Trying to carry the world on my back...
But who says it will happen? Just because the potential is there...I rationalised this thought again by thinking such thoughts as "every time I drive, there is a potential for a fatal road accident but I'm still alive. Every time I flick a light switch I could be electrocuted - but ditto. So just because there is potential today..."
Yet my mind just wouldn't accept no as an answer!
I tried to distract myself. A friend rang me, somewhat anxious about the day so I channelled my energies into reassuring her. Television couldn't hold my attention. Even simple pleasures like a weekend game of golf were unappealing and not just due to the foul weather.
I seemed subconsciously attached to my pager. Strange, really...it was like this little black electronic box, just the size of my palm and with a small orange-lit screen...sitting there silently.
Like some prophet of doom, I thought to myself, half smiling at the abstract thought of how some mass-produced, inert, unthinking electronic box could hold such a grip on me on this day.
Be the herald angel of disaster with its tone?
Or stay silent...and let the world sleep safe that night...?
I couldn't let go of the thing! I had set it for a distinct tone for different messages - a piercing shriek for emergencies, a less urgent warble for "non emergencies" (such as SES flood/storm assistance - I'm an SES member too) and a different tone again for the daily flow of administration - the mundane "meeting tonight" and "who the fuck lost the fire truck keys" messages. I'd also set it to vibrate on emergency only - an extra feature to grab my attention. It tended to vibrate a few seconds before the tone became audible...on this day, the person I was talking to when the call came through said my face changed from normal to a look of shock and concern just before she heard the tone too...(I felt it start vibrating and just knew).
It was strange that day. Every few minutes of silence, I was compelled to look at it until I forced myself not to. I kept thinking I felt it vibrating on my waist - freezing for a moment until no tone was heard and I knew it wasn't so. I guess now, symptoms of how tense I was. On the day though, it was just frustrating - emergency callouts were a daily (usually, several times a day event) so to hear the emergency tone sounding was normally akin to hearing a phone ring - just a matter of "ah, fuck it, not again". Nothing to stress about...not after several years of daily callouts.
I decided in the end that misery loves company, so I'd head to the station. Being home alone was not its usual therapeutic joy but instead decidedly frustrating - and I decided being ready at the station and partly dressed in my fire gear was the way to go - cut down response times. Maybe I could do something useful there...?
So along I went. I remember the ominous feelings growing as I drove through town. It was so quiet - a normally busy city on Saturday morning, it seemed to be running at one-fifth of normal - and I knew that partly, it was the oppressive heat and - by this point - howling winds - keeping people inside. The other part, I instinctively felt, was fear of the unknown...but whatever it was...people were not out.
The wind was unbelievable at this point. Waiting at the traffic lights, I could hear it howling and whistling outside and into the tiniest gap in my car, shrieking through it like the car was a sieve. Leaves and dust flew down the street and the sky was gradually seeming to loose its charming blue and turn a lacklustre greyish-red as dust and topsoil from farms literally hundreds of kilometres away in the Mallee region of the state was whipped into the air and blown ferociously southwards by the unrelenting north winds. Even traces of reddish sand were appearing which I knew was from as far north as Mildura and New South Wales - being just forced south by the wind. The few people walking in the street were struggling against it, holding hats down with both hands and clutching at handbags.
As I drove through the CBD to the fire station on it's south east side, I looked out at people just trying to overcome the weather and go about their business. Children taking innocent joy and curiosity at the wild winds and blowing dust. I felt a strange pang of jealousy...thought to myself "how simple life used to be as a child." I mean...did I ever think of fires then? Never, except when the firemen visited school or kindergarten.
I smiled for a moment, thinking of how I could never have known I'd be one of them, after years ago, looking at them with some kind of trepidation and wondering who these strange men were?
It was a strange feeling. A mixture of jealousy for their innocence and freedom...but then, a wave of sympathy - thinking "they have no idea what might be literally hours from hitting us..." and a desire to do my best to help protect the people I was passing. After all...that was why I joined the fire service. To push myself and protect the public...look after them.
I liked being an anonymous guardian.
I reached the station and as I parked, was not greatly surprised to see the engine bay doors already partly open, a few fellow members going over the truck with checklists and stocking up extra bottles of water, protective blankets, pulling down the window fire shields in the cab to make sure they worked, testing sprays and low water alarms.
All wildfire based preparation...all of which had been done but was being double-checked.
Interestingly enough...the men completely ignored the platform, two pumpers and BA van...but I knew why. The platform (ladder truck), pumpers and BA van are for urban structural firefighting and hazardous materials incidents. On this day...these were not the concern. A normal day would entail checking over each of them, making sure BA sets were online and your personal mask was clean. and free of leaks. But I knew on this day that if houses were burning - there would be no using BA - as we wouldn't have a chance to even get inside...
I greeted one of my colleagues - a new, young and rather enthusiastic guy. I won't use his name, just D. We've stayed in touch to this day and for a new firey, I was impressed at his drive and motivation - and his maturity and abilities. He had been assigned to my care for the day should something start...so I took him aside. We both went to a quiet end of the engine bay and simultaneously lit up cigarettes.
D spoke first...asking me quietly what I was thinking.
I responded with "Mate.......I really don't know. All I hope is today is over sooner rather than later".
He pushed a little...asking what I thought would happen. How bad it would get. I didn't know how to answer so all I said was..."mate...just stick with me if it kicks off, okay? If you end up on a different crew...say I sent you and you are new. If you come with me, I'll make sure you're looked after. We're all brothers in this service. All I want you to remember is - safety first. If you're not comfortable...speak up. Say so. Look after yourself - because in the real world...a hero is usually a dead hero. Remember...none of us HAVE to be here. We are because we want to. But we have the right to go home". I paused.
"A dead hero saves no one" I finished off, bluntly.
Outside, it was now mid-morning. The wind was still increasing in strength to the point at which it was literally forcefully rattling the heavyset steel/perspex doors to the station engine bay. Looking outside, the sky had turned strangely darker - like cloud but not quite - it was too...off colour for that.
I quickly realised again it was massive clouds of dust and dirt. Whipped up from the parched top soil of failing farms hundreds of kilometres north and being THROWN south by the shrieking winds. Shrieking might sound like an overstatement - but it was how they sounded. High pitched and intense.
The temperature was steadily rising despite the strange cloud cover and was intensely hot - the ground baking outside. You'd step outside for only a short time and not even sweat - it was just evaporated. Stepping outside in full fire gear was an invitation to feel nauseaous in minutes.
I left the engine bay and went to the watchroom. Our comms operator, C, was there as always - with her usual unwavering dedication and professionalism. I looked over her shoulder at several computer screens, bringing up up to the minute weather reports, reports from fire towers around the state and our region and continuous links to regional offices, Vicfire dispatchers and the like...
C turned around, half smiled - but I could see the worry in her face. "So far...so good" she reported softly - but I could tell she wasn't confident in that staying that way.
We chatted briefly about the situation statewide. A still out of control bushfire was burning in the Bunyip state forest, south east of Melbourne but information on it was unclear and although the day had pushed it - there was no report (yet) of further spread. The fires the previous week in Gippsland had not yet flared up...and the state incident summary was so far reporting little except the usual occasional false alarms, a road rescue in the outer metro area and a controlled structural blaze in west Melbourne.
So far...so good...but it's only 10:15am.
That thought came as a bit of a shock. Realising the day hadn't even reached it's hottest point yet. The fire station's own weather station was reporting winds now steady around 80km/h and gusting up to 120km/h...and the temperature was over 46 degrees Celsius. The pressure was mounting...
At 10:21 am, the steady movement around the fire station ground to halt with the piercing squeal of 20 pagers sounding for an emergency in unison. No one wanted to be the first to look...fearing that this was "it", it'd started. But fortunately, C was game to observe hers and called out almost with tangible relief that it was "just an alarm, guys!". Still a job - a fire alarm activation at a large complex on the south west edge of the city.
But...Christ, did I feel the relief run through my chest. I could swear to this day my blood ran cold when I first heard the pager...and my heart only restarted with news that it was "just an alarm". Of course, an alarm could still signal a potential real fire...and a heavy firefight in a seven-story building on this day was hardly going to be easy - but at that point in time, ANYthing was better than the breakout of wildfire. I changed quickly, hands still slightly shaky at the shock of the pager and the relief, into my structural gear and we responded as normal to the alarm.
It was only on the way out of the station, under Code One conditions, we could see the look of genuine concern in people's faces as they stared at the three trucks rolling out. Drivers were remarkable considerate, more so than usual, and people stopped in the streets with a mixed emotion of curiousity and outright worry evident. It only struck me at this point - looking out the window and trying to look reassuring, smile reassuringly to children, that the public was feeling the fear too...
The alarm turned out to be, as we'd expected, false. A smoke detector activated by the blowing dust and grit in the air. We took the usual precautions and searched the building cautiously - aware that, given the alarm had activated on an upper floor, a sudden outbreak of fire there would not only be very difficult to contain but - with the prevailing winds just getting worse, embers would likely spread...but, fortunately, nothing sighted and we returned to the station.
The tension seemed to be getting worse amoungst the crew. Not a word was said on the way back to the station - everyone in their own personal worlds. The driver and I, as senior firefighters in our truck, tried to make small talk and relax the others...but we were met with little more than forced smiles, nods and one-word answers.
Back at the station, time seemed to slow to an absolute grind.
I don't know if you've ever been in a situation like this - but it was hard to describe. I found myself almost laughing at it - gripped with fear and dread of a situation that didn't even yet exist! At least, I thought, it's not public speaking!
Come midday...the tension around the station was unbearable. I was being tempted to virtually chain-smoke and knew there was nothing else I could do. The odd passer by would pull in, walk in and ask questions but I was finding myself becoming impatient and short tempered with them - especially the aggressive farmer who swore and carried on - because - in his view, we should be out preventing fires rather than waiting for them! I didn't have the energy to argue any more than the fact that, well, where would we start? Try to jump on lightning, hey? Spot an arsonist and beat him senseless? So I decided lunch and maybe a visit to a good friend was a good idea.
I partially undressed from my gear - leaving on fire trousers, boots and suspenders and a light shirt. The heat outside was oppressive - I gathered at this point, from our station's weather system, that at the station it had risen to over 50 deg C. The winds were now steady northly at over 100km/h and gusting to 140km/h. I rang my SES controller, to ask him how his day was - but they were similarly tense. Several callouts for roof damage, courtesy of the gale force winds, and waiting to be called to assist for any fire outbreak. I sought my lunch and took it over to SES HQ to join my "other" colleagues - swap stories. The mood was certainly lighter and the relief was just enough for me to settle for long enough to ingest food and a bottle of water...despite the gnawing, gripping tension in my stomach still rising to the point at which I wanted to almost be sick.
I don't know what time I left them to it - somewhere around 1pm, I think - and headed to a friend's house. When I arrived, she was inside and when I knocked, was invited to just "come straight in".
The time was 13:24. Know how I remember...?
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The night before...
Friday was hot and dry. Nothing unusual there. I was off work until Monday and had little to do – at the time, I was splitting my time between two towns, my home and this second town in which I still reside…and was a joint member with both urban fire brigades.
Late that afternoon, I received a simple administrative pager message. Requesting all crew leaders and senior firefighters to attend the fire station that evening for a “crisis awareness meeting”.
I had been…blissfully ignorant. I guess in a way I wanted to stop thinking about it and face the facts as they arose. I was already losing sleep over concern of fire or losing my rented flat here– which was in an area under massive threat (with a national park literally two streets back from me) and in a city ranked as one of the highest risk in Victoria – which as a state is rated as highest bushfire risk in the world. My city prides itself on being a “City in the Forest” and I had an ominous feeling that was not something to be happy about in February, 2009…
So I hadn’t even looked at the weather for the next day. I just didn’t want to know anymore. I guess I was fatalistic – if it was going to happen, it was going to happen – and no amount of stress was going to stop it. I’d already been to several refresher training sessions in Nov/Dec in preparation for a horror fire season – and these sessions reinforced my wildfire training and tactics – and, as a dark reminder, went through procedures for survival in a “burn over” – e.g. when the fire truck is trapped and we stop fighting the fire and focus solely on survival. Later on, how glad I was that I refreshed it.
Survival training in fire is something that is, of course, essential but we all secretly hope to never use it. For wildfire, it was basically take cover on the floor of the truck/cab, cover yourself with a blanket and keep your face and body low. If possible, exposing one hand to direct a fog-spray over the top of you but you had to be careful with that that you didn’t risk drenching yourself and boiling. Literally. For structural fire, survival is a matter of taking cover and activating an alarm on your breathing apparatus. Both essential but not things I’d had to use before, thankfully.
Refreshing it though reminded me of the cold, hard facts – it was a serious risk.
I went along to the meeting. A huge role in a modern fire brigade, especially the major urban brigades like mine, is prevention and community awareness so I was reasonably light spirited, assuming it was just an update on the situation in Gippsland, mayyyybe a request for crews, and a general overview.
That attitude quickly changed and any smile vanished from my face when I met the region’s operations officer when I stepped into the meeting room and saw the look of genuine concern on his face. My station officer was poker faced – and I knew that wasn’t good. There was an atmosphere of foreboding in the room before the meeting had even started…no one spoke, even as the others arrived.
I sat silently wondering why. A nasty fear gripped me – the fire situation in Gippsland was that of heavy, dense forest and hills – the worst-case environment in which to fight a fire. Heavy fuel load, high temperatures, great entrapment risk – my mind instantly thought of the Geelong West fire crew of four men who were killed in the Linton bushfires in 1998. Surely, that hadn’t happened again…had it? Or was this about something else. Either way, the regional command knew something bad.
I’ll never, to the day, I die, forget the tone of our regional officer as he stood up and started with the following simple statement in a voice one would expect to hear at a funeral.
“Gentlemen…tomorrow, we as a service, a brigade, a city…a state – will be facing our greatest fears and challenges. Tommorrow, February 7th – has been predicted this afternoon to be the WORST fire conditions EVER on record in the state of Victoria. If…*pause*…when…it happens…we will be in for a firefight of the likes NONE of us have ever seen – including me, and I’ve been in the service for over 35 years.”
The room was dead silent. Like a tomb…as everyone processed this shocking thought. The Ops Officer gave us the chance to think about it for a good minute, before moving on.
“If…*again, a pause*…when it happens…I need you men to remember the following. Lives will be in danger. Including yours. Lives before property. Take no stupid risks. Do your best to save anyone trapped – but…and I don’t like to say this…we need to band together and look after ourselves first. It may well be this means there are people we cannot save. It certainly means properties will be lost. But we are not to leave anyone behind or risk ourselves. Mark my words…rest well tonight and be nice to your loved ones. When tomorrow comes, we will see. We can only hope it will pass without event but…” – and he stopped. Letting that thought sink in – knowing full well that all of us would be processing that comment – the BUT. Always a but…
Thing is, I thought….there are too many risk factors. Power lines can fall. Idiots throw cigarettes out windows. A car stops on grass and it’s exhaust starts a fire. Stupid, stupid children playing with matches. A lightning strike. People who ignore total fire bans. Or, worse, those who forget that total fire ban means NO machinery that can start a fire…(it was later shown, an angle grinder started the Murrindindi complex fires – which killed the vast majority of the 173).
He went on…
“Those familiar with the fire danger index, FDI, will know, that a theoretical worst-case scenario will be reached at a ranking of 100. The scale is supposed to be 0 – no fire risk, through to 100 – and comprised, as you know, of fuel load, heat, wind, all risks combined. The fact it is a weekend and people are out and about more – at home – doesn’t help. But…tomorrow has been rated differently. Unofficially, tomorrow, Saturday, has a fire index rating of over 800.”
He let that sink in.
Eight hundred! Eight fucking times the theoretical maximum?! How was it even possible? But I knew…the absolute extremes had reached a point of climax. A perfect brew for the perfect storm.
“Tommorrow, we are forecast to have a maximum temperature that will most likely beat all previous state records. It could be as high as 50 degrees in some places. As you all know, we have not back burned for some time – and the months in the lead up to this summer have been very wet. There is a massive fuel load of grass and bushland that is now tinder-dry and needs just a spark and it will not just burn but explode into flames…the winds, however…*long, pained pause*…we are forecast to receive winds over 100km/h. Hot, strong north winds that will fan a blaze out of control in MINUTES.”
I knew all too well that the wind was the killer. The heat was a focus of the public but it didn’t matter – the fuel was dry, and all the heat did was contribute to the dryness and make the firefighting terrible for us. But a fire will not spread without wind – and a wind of gale force on such a hot day was, frankly, catastrophic.
I stood. “If I may ask…how much of this do you want us to tell the crews? I have a number of new starters with little experience who are under my care at the moment – do I tell them and terrify them, or leave them oblivious? And…I hate to ask this, but what will be our strategy? A fire starts – what the fuck will we do, if you’ll excuse my French?”
My station officer spoke to me next – and to the rest, who were nodding in agreement. His statement was simple. “Tell your guys the facts. We’re paging them now to come in next for a meeting. We have to be honest – they need to know the risk is just…phenomenal. As for strategies…asset protection. If a fire starts, it is going to be unstoppable. We cannot fight it with ground resources – the aerial bombers will come in and attack the front, us on the ground will have to split our time three ways – prioritising community safety, of course, then asset protection – get up to the buildings and houses under attack and try to protect them. If we have to, we’ll pull back and protect groups of evacuees – and if we get word of entrapments, we’ll move straight to them. Last of all, we’ll try to get in, attack a fire where we can and pull out. But I suspect that will be futile”.
A single nod of solemn agreement from the Ops Officer…
I felt physically sick. This was just so much to try to take in. If it started, and odds were, it would, it wouldn’t be a single incident, it would be a massive scale of emergency that I’d never dealt with – and as much as I stuck my hand up voluntarily to fight fires, I could NOT walk away. It never even occurred to me. No, I resolved, I’d just find the courage I needed as I went.
We moved onwards. Never have I paid such close attention in a meeting in my life, might I add…!
But next was a video address from Russell Rees, the CFA Chief Fire Officer at the time. I’ll refer back to CFO Rees at a later date, for the record, I personally believe he was unfairly crucified by the state, media and government – and to this day I forever maintain my faith in him.
The “Chief” addressed us all in a similar way to our Ops Officer had. Outlining the threat and stressing the need for firefighter safety, drink plenty of water and object if something seems unsafe. I was listening but my head was spinning – I couldn’t focus properly. His address was brief and sharp, and we then moved on to taped transcripts of the evening news – which was, I felt, not firm enough. The risk was stated as “extreme” and people were urged to refrain from all travel for the day, review their fire plans and keep alert for signs of fire or smoke. I was frustrated though – I felt they downplayed it, perhaps to avoid public concern, but…facts are fucking facts. Frankly, fuck public sensitivity – I’d rather they be on edge. Also frustrating was the focus on “keep an eye on the CFA website, radio news and television for updates” – because I thought, soon as the whole fucking state logs onto a website, it will jam, whilst radio and TV are fine, but…delayed, by the time they get information “officially” and can broadcast it. On a day like Saturday was forecast to be…that delay was just too much. I shook my head thinking “why not tell the public, stick your head outside your door once in a while and, you know…LOOK for yourselves? Look for smoke. Smell for smoke. Look for a dark plume! Jesus Christ…it’s not rocket science. I must admit, it was infuriating – that people are so reliant on someone else to think for them, they couldn’t take the initiative and LOOK. I mean, it was a total fire ban anyhow so there could be no excuse for confusion as there will be no burn offs or other fires allowed.
I maintain this point to this day…think for yourself. You live in high risk – get off your fat arse, look out the window and observe your surrounds. Don’t wait for someone to tell you.
Also was the warning to contact police immediately for suspect activity…something I didn’t want to think about. That someone – people – could be low enough to even consider arson on a day like that.
How naïve was I…? Very, looking back. Very naïve to think people would think for themselves, and very naïve that some sick, sick animals would refrain from their disgusting fire lighting actions. On an aside, I think arsonists should be put to death for the good of the nation – there is NO excuse, mental illness, low IQ, no matter what. They are the most destructive criminals…
The remainder of the evening passed in a bit of a blur. We addressed our own crews after this meeting…to a mixture of concern and some, I hate to say, misguided macho-ism (those who reacted with anything resembling a gung-ho attitude were taken aside by myself and other crew leaders to be counseled into realising this was not a movie script – and if they weren’t going to see the importance, they’d be kept behind to run radios and fuel incoming trucks. Most saw the sense.)
We checked the trucks again…focusing on protection mainly…and I went home to pack my deployment bag of spare fire gear and clothes, water, burns cream and anything I thought I might need for a sustained, long deployment away from home – then went to bed to try to get some sleep.
A very restless, uncomfortable night ensued – and not because of the heat outside…
Late that afternoon, I received a simple administrative pager message. Requesting all crew leaders and senior firefighters to attend the fire station that evening for a “crisis awareness meeting”.
I had been…blissfully ignorant. I guess in a way I wanted to stop thinking about it and face the facts as they arose. I was already losing sleep over concern of fire or losing my rented flat here– which was in an area under massive threat (with a national park literally two streets back from me) and in a city ranked as one of the highest risk in Victoria – which as a state is rated as highest bushfire risk in the world. My city prides itself on being a “City in the Forest” and I had an ominous feeling that was not something to be happy about in February, 2009…
So I hadn’t even looked at the weather for the next day. I just didn’t want to know anymore. I guess I was fatalistic – if it was going to happen, it was going to happen – and no amount of stress was going to stop it. I’d already been to several refresher training sessions in Nov/Dec in preparation for a horror fire season – and these sessions reinforced my wildfire training and tactics – and, as a dark reminder, went through procedures for survival in a “burn over” – e.g. when the fire truck is trapped and we stop fighting the fire and focus solely on survival. Later on, how glad I was that I refreshed it.
Survival training in fire is something that is, of course, essential but we all secretly hope to never use it. For wildfire, it was basically take cover on the floor of the truck/cab, cover yourself with a blanket and keep your face and body low. If possible, exposing one hand to direct a fog-spray over the top of you but you had to be careful with that that you didn’t risk drenching yourself and boiling. Literally. For structural fire, survival is a matter of taking cover and activating an alarm on your breathing apparatus. Both essential but not things I’d had to use before, thankfully.
Refreshing it though reminded me of the cold, hard facts – it was a serious risk.
I went along to the meeting. A huge role in a modern fire brigade, especially the major urban brigades like mine, is prevention and community awareness so I was reasonably light spirited, assuming it was just an update on the situation in Gippsland, mayyyybe a request for crews, and a general overview.
That attitude quickly changed and any smile vanished from my face when I met the region’s operations officer when I stepped into the meeting room and saw the look of genuine concern on his face. My station officer was poker faced – and I knew that wasn’t good. There was an atmosphere of foreboding in the room before the meeting had even started…no one spoke, even as the others arrived.
I sat silently wondering why. A nasty fear gripped me – the fire situation in Gippsland was that of heavy, dense forest and hills – the worst-case environment in which to fight a fire. Heavy fuel load, high temperatures, great entrapment risk – my mind instantly thought of the Geelong West fire crew of four men who were killed in the Linton bushfires in 1998. Surely, that hadn’t happened again…had it? Or was this about something else. Either way, the regional command knew something bad.
I’ll never, to the day, I die, forget the tone of our regional officer as he stood up and started with the following simple statement in a voice one would expect to hear at a funeral.
“Gentlemen…tomorrow, we as a service, a brigade, a city…a state – will be facing our greatest fears and challenges. Tommorrow, February 7th – has been predicted this afternoon to be the WORST fire conditions EVER on record in the state of Victoria. If…*pause*…when…it happens…we will be in for a firefight of the likes NONE of us have ever seen – including me, and I’ve been in the service for over 35 years.”
The room was dead silent. Like a tomb…as everyone processed this shocking thought. The Ops Officer gave us the chance to think about it for a good minute, before moving on.
“If…*again, a pause*…when it happens…I need you men to remember the following. Lives will be in danger. Including yours. Lives before property. Take no stupid risks. Do your best to save anyone trapped – but…and I don’t like to say this…we need to band together and look after ourselves first. It may well be this means there are people we cannot save. It certainly means properties will be lost. But we are not to leave anyone behind or risk ourselves. Mark my words…rest well tonight and be nice to your loved ones. When tomorrow comes, we will see. We can only hope it will pass without event but…” – and he stopped. Letting that thought sink in – knowing full well that all of us would be processing that comment – the BUT. Always a but…
Thing is, I thought….there are too many risk factors. Power lines can fall. Idiots throw cigarettes out windows. A car stops on grass and it’s exhaust starts a fire. Stupid, stupid children playing with matches. A lightning strike. People who ignore total fire bans. Or, worse, those who forget that total fire ban means NO machinery that can start a fire…(it was later shown, an angle grinder started the Murrindindi complex fires – which killed the vast majority of the 173).
He went on…
“Those familiar with the fire danger index, FDI, will know, that a theoretical worst-case scenario will be reached at a ranking of 100. The scale is supposed to be 0 – no fire risk, through to 100 – and comprised, as you know, of fuel load, heat, wind, all risks combined. The fact it is a weekend and people are out and about more – at home – doesn’t help. But…tomorrow has been rated differently. Unofficially, tomorrow, Saturday, has a fire index rating of over 800.”
He let that sink in.
Eight hundred! Eight fucking times the theoretical maximum?! How was it even possible? But I knew…the absolute extremes had reached a point of climax. A perfect brew for the perfect storm.
“Tommorrow, we are forecast to have a maximum temperature that will most likely beat all previous state records. It could be as high as 50 degrees in some places. As you all know, we have not back burned for some time – and the months in the lead up to this summer have been very wet. There is a massive fuel load of grass and bushland that is now tinder-dry and needs just a spark and it will not just burn but explode into flames…the winds, however…*long, pained pause*…we are forecast to receive winds over 100km/h. Hot, strong north winds that will fan a blaze out of control in MINUTES.”
I knew all too well that the wind was the killer. The heat was a focus of the public but it didn’t matter – the fuel was dry, and all the heat did was contribute to the dryness and make the firefighting terrible for us. But a fire will not spread without wind – and a wind of gale force on such a hot day was, frankly, catastrophic.
I stood. “If I may ask…how much of this do you want us to tell the crews? I have a number of new starters with little experience who are under my care at the moment – do I tell them and terrify them, or leave them oblivious? And…I hate to ask this, but what will be our strategy? A fire starts – what the fuck will we do, if you’ll excuse my French?”
My station officer spoke to me next – and to the rest, who were nodding in agreement. His statement was simple. “Tell your guys the facts. We’re paging them now to come in next for a meeting. We have to be honest – they need to know the risk is just…phenomenal. As for strategies…asset protection. If a fire starts, it is going to be unstoppable. We cannot fight it with ground resources – the aerial bombers will come in and attack the front, us on the ground will have to split our time three ways – prioritising community safety, of course, then asset protection – get up to the buildings and houses under attack and try to protect them. If we have to, we’ll pull back and protect groups of evacuees – and if we get word of entrapments, we’ll move straight to them. Last of all, we’ll try to get in, attack a fire where we can and pull out. But I suspect that will be futile”.
A single nod of solemn agreement from the Ops Officer…
I felt physically sick. This was just so much to try to take in. If it started, and odds were, it would, it wouldn’t be a single incident, it would be a massive scale of emergency that I’d never dealt with – and as much as I stuck my hand up voluntarily to fight fires, I could NOT walk away. It never even occurred to me. No, I resolved, I’d just find the courage I needed as I went.
We moved onwards. Never have I paid such close attention in a meeting in my life, might I add…!
But next was a video address from Russell Rees, the CFA Chief Fire Officer at the time. I’ll refer back to CFO Rees at a later date, for the record, I personally believe he was unfairly crucified by the state, media and government – and to this day I forever maintain my faith in him.
The “Chief” addressed us all in a similar way to our Ops Officer had. Outlining the threat and stressing the need for firefighter safety, drink plenty of water and object if something seems unsafe. I was listening but my head was spinning – I couldn’t focus properly. His address was brief and sharp, and we then moved on to taped transcripts of the evening news – which was, I felt, not firm enough. The risk was stated as “extreme” and people were urged to refrain from all travel for the day, review their fire plans and keep alert for signs of fire or smoke. I was frustrated though – I felt they downplayed it, perhaps to avoid public concern, but…facts are fucking facts. Frankly, fuck public sensitivity – I’d rather they be on edge. Also frustrating was the focus on “keep an eye on the CFA website, radio news and television for updates” – because I thought, soon as the whole fucking state logs onto a website, it will jam, whilst radio and TV are fine, but…delayed, by the time they get information “officially” and can broadcast it. On a day like Saturday was forecast to be…that delay was just too much. I shook my head thinking “why not tell the public, stick your head outside your door once in a while and, you know…LOOK for yourselves? Look for smoke. Smell for smoke. Look for a dark plume! Jesus Christ…it’s not rocket science. I must admit, it was infuriating – that people are so reliant on someone else to think for them, they couldn’t take the initiative and LOOK. I mean, it was a total fire ban anyhow so there could be no excuse for confusion as there will be no burn offs or other fires allowed.
I maintain this point to this day…think for yourself. You live in high risk – get off your fat arse, look out the window and observe your surrounds. Don’t wait for someone to tell you.
Also was the warning to contact police immediately for suspect activity…something I didn’t want to think about. That someone – people – could be low enough to even consider arson on a day like that.
How naïve was I…? Very, looking back. Very naïve to think people would think for themselves, and very naïve that some sick, sick animals would refrain from their disgusting fire lighting actions. On an aside, I think arsonists should be put to death for the good of the nation – there is NO excuse, mental illness, low IQ, no matter what. They are the most destructive criminals…
The remainder of the evening passed in a bit of a blur. We addressed our own crews after this meeting…to a mixture of concern and some, I hate to say, misguided macho-ism (those who reacted with anything resembling a gung-ho attitude were taken aside by myself and other crew leaders to be counseled into realising this was not a movie script – and if they weren’t going to see the importance, they’d be kept behind to run radios and fuel incoming trucks. Most saw the sense.)
We checked the trucks again…focusing on protection mainly…and I went home to pack my deployment bag of spare fire gear and clothes, water, burns cream and anything I thought I might need for a sustained, long deployment away from home – then went to bed to try to get some sleep.
A very restless, uncomfortable night ensued – and not because of the heat outside…
Calm before the storm...
I will start from the start…try to hold some order to my story so it can be followed.
A very important friend suggested that to me after reviewing my initial posting (thankyou, you know who you are!) and it makes sense.
Some periods in this time are as clear as if it happened today. Others became a blurry mess – days and nights literally running into one another like I was riding some hallucinogen rollercoaster of the mind…
So some of my chronology may be…inaccurate. I know though the start, everything.
So…here it begins.
When people ask me if I can sum up my experience – I am stuck for words. Truly, no words CAN do it justice. Sometimes I wish I could project the images and deep emotions in my mind into another’s mind so they can “see it”. Because words cannot describe. All I can say is…we knew it would be bad…but no one on the right side of sanity could have seen HOW bad.
It started, really, a week before. Victoria was gripped in a shockingly long and hot heat wave, the likes of which had never been seen. Mid to late January temperatures were daily in the early to mid 40’s – when the odd 40 degree day is considered the summer norm in this state.
There was a silent and building tension within the fire brigade. We knew the heat and tinder dry conditions were turning the state into a funeral pyre…and it was just a matter of time.
Every time my pager sounded it’s all too familiar “emergency” tone to indicate a fire callout, I dreaded seeing the words “grass”/”scrub”/”wildfire”/”bushland”/”forest”. Perversely, I could almost relax to see a call was “just a car fire” or even, horrible as it is to admit, “just a house fire” – because that meant it was contained to one place.
It was like being trapped between a rock and a hard place. It was just too late in the year to do a thing about it. Back burning and vegetation clearing was desperately needed but impossible to do safely in those conditions. The state’s environment department, DSE, had attempted it in early January and just lost control of their burns (much to our chagrin, as we had to control their mess) so that was halted. It got to a point where the heat was so dangerous, farmers were not venturing into grasslands and machine operators who’d be normally clearing fire breaks were banned from working – in case they sparked or were trapped in a fire.
It was like knowing there was a ticking time bomb…but when was it going to go off?
Where? How?
Several bushfires started in late January. I was back home in the south west of the state and responded on one 44 deg afternoon to a call of “undefined fire/black smoke” approximately 15km from town – this was a bushfire that had started inexplicably (it was never resolved…I personally suspect stupidity or arson) and rapidly took off. It quickly cut a major highway and I remember standing on the back of the truck, in the middle of this highway, watching as the fire “crowned” – that is, roared through the crowns and tops of trees and just JUMPED the highway – our trigger to attack it from behind. It is mildly intimidating to say the least.
That fire went on for 3 days and burnt several hundred hectares and one building. It took a fair effort but it was like a drop in the ocean compared to Black Saturday.
Elsewhere, I was receiving daily updates on a bushfire burning in dense forests in Gippsland in the state’s east…but that was it…so far.
Each day leading up to it was just worse and worse. I normally love summer but this summer I hated the paranoia – waiting for a spark. For it to all come undone. I for one have vocally protested the government’s pandering to green groups – frankly, this was the problem – “urban greenies” from Melbourne had demanded for years that back burning and fire control cease to protect the environment – and the government gave it. Suddenly, in the past two years to 2009, we’d been banned from back burning in all but the most controlled small areas – a token and useless gesture.
All this had combined to create a MASSIVE fire risk.
I was being phoned several times a day by concerned friends, asking me to come to their houses and review their fire plans and readiness, assist them – all non-firefighters and even they knew it was getting bad. I stayed positive and smiled for their sake, assured them the risk “wasn’t so bad”…at least, it felt like the right thing to do. Reassurance? Even though I had to firmly direct a lot of them to clean up – especially those on farms – move fire risks, cut grass, clear gutters, etc…
I still to this day wonder if I wasn’t harsh enough. If the fire service (CFA) as a whole wasn’t harsh enough about it all.
But there was an undeniable tension growing within the ranks of the service – that sooner or later, things would go wrong.
We were anticipating perhaps a major fire campaign like the Grampians in 2005/06…or the North East in 07…the previous fire season had passed without a major campaign fire.
But no one expected a firestorm of simply unforeseeable force.
How wrong we were…
A very important friend suggested that to me after reviewing my initial posting (thankyou, you know who you are!) and it makes sense.
Some periods in this time are as clear as if it happened today. Others became a blurry mess – days and nights literally running into one another like I was riding some hallucinogen rollercoaster of the mind…
So some of my chronology may be…inaccurate. I know though the start, everything.
So…here it begins.
When people ask me if I can sum up my experience – I am stuck for words. Truly, no words CAN do it justice. Sometimes I wish I could project the images and deep emotions in my mind into another’s mind so they can “see it”. Because words cannot describe. All I can say is…we knew it would be bad…but no one on the right side of sanity could have seen HOW bad.
It started, really, a week before. Victoria was gripped in a shockingly long and hot heat wave, the likes of which had never been seen. Mid to late January temperatures were daily in the early to mid 40’s – when the odd 40 degree day is considered the summer norm in this state.
There was a silent and building tension within the fire brigade. We knew the heat and tinder dry conditions were turning the state into a funeral pyre…and it was just a matter of time.
Every time my pager sounded it’s all too familiar “emergency” tone to indicate a fire callout, I dreaded seeing the words “grass”/”scrub”/”wildfire”/”bushland”/”forest”. Perversely, I could almost relax to see a call was “just a car fire” or even, horrible as it is to admit, “just a house fire” – because that meant it was contained to one place.
It was like being trapped between a rock and a hard place. It was just too late in the year to do a thing about it. Back burning and vegetation clearing was desperately needed but impossible to do safely in those conditions. The state’s environment department, DSE, had attempted it in early January and just lost control of their burns (much to our chagrin, as we had to control their mess) so that was halted. It got to a point where the heat was so dangerous, farmers were not venturing into grasslands and machine operators who’d be normally clearing fire breaks were banned from working – in case they sparked or were trapped in a fire.
It was like knowing there was a ticking time bomb…but when was it going to go off?
Where? How?
Several bushfires started in late January. I was back home in the south west of the state and responded on one 44 deg afternoon to a call of “undefined fire/black smoke” approximately 15km from town – this was a bushfire that had started inexplicably (it was never resolved…I personally suspect stupidity or arson) and rapidly took off. It quickly cut a major highway and I remember standing on the back of the truck, in the middle of this highway, watching as the fire “crowned” – that is, roared through the crowns and tops of trees and just JUMPED the highway – our trigger to attack it from behind. It is mildly intimidating to say the least.
That fire went on for 3 days and burnt several hundred hectares and one building. It took a fair effort but it was like a drop in the ocean compared to Black Saturday.
Elsewhere, I was receiving daily updates on a bushfire burning in dense forests in Gippsland in the state’s east…but that was it…so far.
Each day leading up to it was just worse and worse. I normally love summer but this summer I hated the paranoia – waiting for a spark. For it to all come undone. I for one have vocally protested the government’s pandering to green groups – frankly, this was the problem – “urban greenies” from Melbourne had demanded for years that back burning and fire control cease to protect the environment – and the government gave it. Suddenly, in the past two years to 2009, we’d been banned from back burning in all but the most controlled small areas – a token and useless gesture.
All this had combined to create a MASSIVE fire risk.
I was being phoned several times a day by concerned friends, asking me to come to their houses and review their fire plans and readiness, assist them – all non-firefighters and even they knew it was getting bad. I stayed positive and smiled for their sake, assured them the risk “wasn’t so bad”…at least, it felt like the right thing to do. Reassurance? Even though I had to firmly direct a lot of them to clean up – especially those on farms – move fire risks, cut grass, clear gutters, etc…
I still to this day wonder if I wasn’t harsh enough. If the fire service (CFA) as a whole wasn’t harsh enough about it all.
But there was an undeniable tension growing within the ranks of the service – that sooner or later, things would go wrong.
We were anticipating perhaps a major fire campaign like the Grampians in 2005/06…or the North East in 07…the previous fire season had passed without a major campaign fire.
But no one expected a firestorm of simply unforeseeable force.
How wrong we were…
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