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".
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