Statement Regarding Further Posts. Please Read!

Just a short note to make my several now-regular readers aware of something that I've had mentioned to me and also put a fair amount of thought into.

The nature of this blog is one I am writing for ultimately my own therapy. As I progress in my writings, I will - for my own sake - have to at least touch upon more sensitive matters. As I said, one reader has queried me to whether I will cover anything particularly graphic - and after considerable thought - my answer is NO.

I will NOT be discussing graphic or physical details regarding to casualties and the deceased of the fire. My reasoning is as follows...

I firmly believe there is, frankly, little benefit I can obtain from graphic descriptions of my dealing with the casualties. Quite honestly, although I can still picture it as clear as yesterday - I cannot find words to describe those encounters. There is no need for physical details in those events - it will not help me as I'll be forcing myself to speak of something I feel I may never be able to speak of.
That doesn't mean I don't think about it...every so often, there are some images that are permanently burned into my mind that make a reappearance. Sometimes triggered - for instance, by the smell of smoke or an event. Sometimes - these images, which you couldn't imagine in your most horrific nightmares - will just appear.

At first, I couldn't handle it. Now, several years on, I've learnt how to handle these flashbacks and fortunately they are a lot less common. If you happened to be talking to me in real life and I thought of something like this, I'd likely go a bit quiet but otherwise, I wouldn't hint at what is in my mind.

Why?

Because therapeutic as telling my story is, I do not wish to traumatise, disturb or scare those who are caring enough to read this or speak to me about the fires. It doesn't help me - it just makes me feel guilty. It certainly doesn't help you.

Three years on, the fact is, many of these images and events of the 33 days are so firmly locked away in my mind that I suspect I'll never be able to speak of them. I just can't. So I've come to peace with that.

So, graphic descriptions will be virtually non-existent and for the sake of those reading, I have nothing to gain discussing the physical facts of casualty handling and recovery - even though it was a part of my role.

I also want to be careful with this matter for personal sensitivity and respect to those who lost friends and loved ones. As an emergency services professional, I feel it is my duty of care to shelter - as much as possible - the community, from unnecessary trauma. This has nothing to do with covering my own identity - but is purely because the internet is a public forum. To discuss sensitive details that could - however slim the chance - be discovered by a family member - would, in my opinion, be grossly offensive, upsetting and traumatic - even given the casualty is not identified.

As a person who regards himself as a professional in this field - I can't do that. If I feel the need to discuss the graphic details at a later date, I shall do so with a counselling professional - possibly from within the fire service.

With regards to the above, I will from this point on need to be fairly vague to my exact geographic location(s). I will not be mentioning where I was operating, staying or or other details.

I have had one email from an occasional reader from interstate who asked me out of curiousity where I was operating as they had friends in the area. This, I am sorry, is precisely why I cannot say. It is a matter of privacy to those affected - and I also do not wish to provide myself as a source of potentially false information or open to such questions and assumptions that I must have been near a particular place. All I can say is, I was operating in direct response and combat to the primary destructive fire out of a number on this day. Please do not ask me any further specifics as I will politely have to decline answering.

Some subject matter I will touch on may be emotionally sensitive. Even though I'll be avoiding graphic material and descriptions, I will, for my own therapy, need to discuss some fairly emotionally intense matters - particularly when it comes to the discovery of casualties.

As I cannot know for certain what will be upsetting to whom - as a guesture of emotional protection to my readers - and to prevent further trauma - I will mark my articles that contain DIRECT references to discoveries of the deceased.

The marking will be as follows: "STRONG MATERIAL". If most of a post is clear of this subject but only one part affected, I'll leave that marking for later in the post - and when I get to it, I'll leave a paragraph space with that warning. At the end of the subject matter in question, I'll leave another paragraph space with the marking "STRONG MATERIAL CEASED" so you can skip the more emotionally sensitive paragraphs and read on.

If a whole post contains such direct references, I'll mark "STRONG MATERIAL" in the headline.

As I said though, the matters I want to discuss are more the emotional impact on myself. Thoughts, feelings, emotions, logic, actions and what I did. When it comes to the above, there will be little. I'll be much more focused on how I reacted to these matters as opposed to detailing them.

I just wanted to place this post though to warn those reading that as I progress, there may be occasional sensitive areas. It is your choice if you wish to read them or not.

But at the same time, I want to reassure you there will be NO graphic descriptions or material of casualties or places. I feel I owe that explanation so you do not feel uncomfortable reading on with the fear that you may read something you wish you had not.

Please, feel free to email me if you have any questions or concerns.

Thankyou again for taking the time to read this. You are helping more than you know.

Especially thankyou to the one special person I know is reading this. I won't name you - you know who you are. You give me the strength to carry on. Thankyou. xox

Black Saturday - 3 Year Anniversary Today

7-2-2012

Today marks the third year anniversary since the Black Saturday bushfires ignited.

I'm breaking my ongoing posting just to highlight this day and the memories it brings forward for me and many.

I have little I feel capable of talking of right now and part of me still wishes, three years on, that it had been all just a bad dream. Today is naturally not an easy day for me. But...

All I want to say is...

May we never forget that day, and the weeks that followed.

May we never forget those who died.

My own thanks to my fellow crewmembers who stuck by me, and to ALL of our fire service for sticking together and looking after our own through it all and through the inevitable media backlash of "why didn't 'they' do more?".

May all who fought the fires be forever proud - whether you are still serving, resigned or retired. We all need to proud - we did ALL we could.

May the State of Victoria, and, by extension, any state threatened by wildfires, remember to NEVER assume the worst cannot happen.

May the lessons learnt that day have not been learnt in vain or forgotten and may they be passed on for many years to come.

May those now in threat of fire PLAN, THINK and DECIDE what they are going to do - and stick to it. Houses are replaceable. Cars, caravans, sheds, ditto. Lives are gone forever.

May the young girl, who I discovered in the aftermath and who's smiling face from media photos still haunts me daily, rest in peace forever under God's care.

May those who lost loved ones know they won't be forgotten. Let us NEVER FORGET.

~ RIP ALL 177 VICTIMS OF BLACK SATURDAY ~

Day One - From Bad to Worse...

It was, by this point in the late afternoon, unfathomable that things could get worse. But they did. Up until now, the blaze had been steadily pushing south. In fact, there was a rising fear it might even reach the city of Melbourne - God forbid because - as we all knew, once we were in a dense urban firefight with many close houses involved, it would become infinitely more dangerous - for us and the population.

So perhaps the change was a good thing? Sometimes I lay awake at night - over two years on now - wondering - what would've happened if the winds hadn't changed? To us, the wind change made things infinitely more difficult - but we have NO way to know if, had they not changed, if more lives would've been lost. What if the fire HAD reached the outer suburbs of Melbourne? What if it'd pushed on and on - destroying countless metropolitan houses and buildings and inflicting itself on people, who, by virtue of location, were not prepared? How many more lives would've been lost? Would we have been hindered by utter traffic chaos and accidents? We all knew full well that the MFB, good as they are, are not equipped for wildfire fighting - so we knew they'd be little help except with individual structures - their vehicles are made to pump massive quantities of water from a direct source like a hydrant. By virtue of this, they are great in a fixed location - like a house fire. But they are not able to move and fight a running fire like a tanker can. In fact, I dare suggest, with no disrespect intended, that the MFB may have even been endangered - unable to move fast enough to keep up with a fire and protect themselves. Their vehicles are not equipped for self-protection as there is little need. They have a couple of pumper-tankers - equipped with a small amount of tanked water for small grass fires (say, at local reserves) or car fires on a freeway - but with no real design to allow them to still fight while moving.

This, I will touch on later when I discuss why we didn't rely on MFB assistance greatly...more then.

But at this point, it was plainly apparent that conditions were changing. But without a reliable update, we had no idea how much. THIS itself led to a life-threatening situation...the subject of my next post.

As it happens, the state control units knew the wind change was coming. They did all they could to alert us. Pager messages were sent - but these didn't arrive for over 12 hours due to the massive congestion in the system. Maybe this gives an indication of how many calls and alerts were being sent - that a system that sends instantaneous messages across the state daily, 24 hours a day, was behind to the effect of over TWELVE hours...

Radio alerts were sent. But we were monitoring several channels that were flat out - and we were trying to listen for Mayday and immediate life threat calls first - namely, other crews in trouble, trapped residents and finally, "red flag" alerts - the alert sent for a wind change. Several maydays were received from crews in the line of fire or even caught between fronts - the fire was spotting (ie, throwing embers forward that light into new fires) for multiple kilometres and crews were becoming trapped between multiple fronts. In each case, we were trying to work out, as quickly as we could, if we could help them or not - a delicate balance between risk ourselves getting there, or leave our own to possibly die...risk being a congestion or crowding the area...or not do anything and live with the guilt.

It was an unspoken, forgone conclusion that at least one member of the fire service would die in this campaign. It happened almost every other year - and sadly, before the campaign was over, one firefighter was dead. But...amazingly...whole crews weren't. This itself is simply nothing short of a miracle. Again, more on this later - including how it was LUCK as opposed to any action, yet was hijacked as a political point...

It is an awful situation to be put in. It's a common code in the fire service that we help our own first. If a fellow firefighter is in trouble - you go straight to him or her. Some people outside criticise that - but think about it...to do this job, we need to know everyone has our backs. If we can't rely on that, what can we rely on?

So it was a horrible situation - wanting desperately to help the number of "Mayday" calls received - but having to weigh that up with the other logic of "a dead hero is no help to anyone" - meaning that we can't help anyone if we doom ourselves in the process.

The wind was swirling now. It felt like we'd been in it for days. I started to become aware of the odd flash here and there and, to my utter horror, realised that it was LIGHTNING - but not a storm. The fire itself had become so incredibly powerful that it was generating massive convection - this convection and evaporation of any trace of water on the ground - not to mention the tonnes being dropped on the fire - was actually creating it's own weather front.

I have never seen anything like it. I knew it was theoretically possible - but to see a fire front actually creating its own STORM clouds was just unbelievable. But there, in the mass of smoke rising above the sea of inferno - was lightning, striking down in front of the fire and now, creating further spot fires.

Literally, things had gone from as bad as possible - to worse. I seriously started to feel I was seeing something straight from Hell itself. Not only was this monster fire invincible, but it was creating it's own dry storms - regenerating itself with lightning...of it's OWN creation. Like a self fulfilling prophecy. You can forgive me for wondering if Satan himself was creating this - it was positively demonic.

We rose to the top of a slight ridge and looked out across the valley. Inside there...it was engulfed. There was no longer a firefront as such - the ENTIRE valley was a literal sea of flames. It was a firestorm. Massive trees were just exploding into flame, burning, then crumbling to ash in moments. What was left of the trees was swaying frantically, like some wind was battering them from all directions. There was no fire FRONT and blackened behind - the whole valley was alight....

But what was worse was peering through the trees - and realising I could see houses. Several houses...deep in the valley. In the absolute heart of this fire storm, being utterly engulfed. At this point, I was physically sick and it took an enormous effort to stop myself from vomiting. I knew there were people still down there - we had been told minutes before in a general message to respond to calls from people in the valley who were trapped by a "ring" of fire around. Now we were there - it was engulfed.

I couldn't close my eyes or even look away. But as I stared, tears formed and stung deep in my eyes as I bit my lip to hold them back. Staring at the houses - knowing there were people still there being incinerated. I will never forget that moment...standing there like an idiot...motionless, silent, holding myself up against the truck and holding back nausea that was hitting me in waves now. It was like something out of a movie. I found myself mumbling "this cannot be real...this isn't real..." over and over and over. But I knew it was. And there wasn't a thing I could do. All I could hope now was that they had died quickly - because I knew there was no way they'd lived. As I watched, the fire started climbing the hills on both sides. One group came flying up the hill on our side in an open-roof 4WD. Four on board and clearly panicked - yelling at us "there's people still down there!!" before taking off again...

Up until this point, I'd held a tiny shred of hope that lives wouldn't be lost but staring down into that valley...seeing the flames engulf the whole thing at once...that hope in my heart died.

At the same time, multiple crews were suddenly running into dire danger - and little did I know it, but within the hour, we would be fighting for our own lives.

Day One - Five Minutes to Focus...

It's been a matter of months since I've got around to updating...

I've been procrastinating, somewhat. This journey itself has been cathartic - but as I explore, rehash and in a sense, relive the experiences, it's been challenging to say the least. In some ways...I haven't been able to write more yet. Writers' block, in a sense - but more psychological. There are distinct parts of the whole event my mind has blocked out for good reason. Some, I have recalled. Others - there are just gaps, like temporary amnesia.

Frankly, it terrifies me to wonder what was in those gaps. I cannot for the life of me remember, so my mind puts it down to being best to not know. Like I blocked them out for my own personal protection. There are some things one is simply best not to remember.

In the time that has past since I last wrote, I've finally been getting some help to deal with all this. That itself has been an intensely private journey. I can still only speak to a select number of people personally about it. People find out I was there - and they ask me "how was Black Saturday?" and I just find myself...failing to find the words. Sometimes...I can't say anything at all. I don't know if that'll always be the case or not - but some things that happened that day, I just cannot repeat verbally.

This is why writing about it is so helpful for me. I can release here what I cannot find in me to talk about. Some of the absolute horrors - whether graphic or whether more psychological (such as general vibes). By writing...I let it out of the box...and learn to let go. I'll never forget. This event has defined a part of me. Changed a part of me. Forced me, at a young age, to come to horrendous terms with the realities of life and death. Forced me to perhaps grow up much faster than others my age. But...such is life. I am digressing now.

So...to move on.

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As I slumped back in my seat on the tanker, my mind felt paralysed. Like...I was utterly incapable of processing what was happening to me. Everything was moving around like a whirlwind - images of what I'd seen so far...images of those I cared about and who I felt I was "protecting" by doing this for my state. The physical pain of the day was punishing - I was, as we all were, severely dehydrated. Burning from the heat of the fire and the 50 deg day. My face windburnt from searing heat and my throat burning from smoke. That overpowering smell of just smoke.

I became...acutely aware that the smell of the smoke wasn't normal. When one fights fires for a while, you start to know what things smell like. A house fire smells different to a bushfire, which smells different to a car fire. But this didn't smell like just a bushfire. It was a shocking conglomerate of many, many smells. I never quite worked out what - but I think I know. There was so much being burnt. Later that night, I worked out what I could smell so acutely - and that smell...will never leave me. The only way I can describe it is the smell of death on an unimaginable level. Human death...animal death. The environment was turning positively apocalyptic and more than once, the thought crossed my mind that this is what the end of the world would be like.

Only really now, I was starting to come to grips with the fact that this fire was not only out of control - but literally unstoppable. In my years of fire and rescue before, NO event, no fire, had been unstoppable. Out of control, certainly, but there was always a quiet, unspoken knowledge that we could control it. Not this. I was finally starting to understand - this event was beyond ANY human control.

There was a helplessness about it all. I felt so small all of a sudden. Just....one man, on one truck. When helicopters dumping thousands of tonnes of water a seconc cannot control or even slow a fire - what can one truck...what can two hundred trucks - expect to do? For the first time ever...I felt truly out of my depth. As the paradoxically youngest, yet most experienced firefighter on my crew (most of the rural guys, and no disrespect to them, get to maybe one, two fires a year - I managed an average of a callout or two a day for several years) - they were turning to me for some kind of unspoken guidance but during my five minutes of focus, I couldn't muster it.

No words would do justice. My face betrayed no emotion. No sadness, anger or anything. I was totally neutral and silent. Stunned into silence.

We drove only a short distance, but it felt like forever. We felt hopelessly deep in the forest even though I knew we weren't. My captain was driving, and he obviously knew were we were - I had no idea. I'd given up even bothering to try. At that point, we could've been in New Zealand for all I'd known. We were supposed to, by rights, go through the burnt land to find a place to draw water but it was just too dangerous - it was impossible. The front now stretched for kilometres.

Little did I know at the time but in the coming hours, the combined fire fronts across the state would be spanning HUNDREDS OF KILOMETRES OF FIRE FRONT. It's still mind boggling.

So we withdrew into the just-as dangerous unburnt forest. Stately gum trees and small shrubs drew back to a small clearing, marked with a single white post at a slight lean, and a red "Fire Water" sign. A murky dam lay in front.

But something was wrong. Normally this part of the forest would be serene. Peaceful, quiet, harmless. But today - it was like everything knew. There wasn't a bird in sight or animal. The only sound was the wind, howling through the trees - a ghostly sound. An ominous sound. The smoke was blanketing the sky again - billowing across the sun and blocking it out. The sun itself was now more like an eclipse - a yellowish ring, flickering through the dense black smoke that was not so much billowing as positively flowing south, forced on by 100km/h northerly winds.

The whole thing was unnatural - but there was no time for reflection. Just work. We silently, efficiently, offloaded the draughting hoses and without a word amongst us, starting putting them together. I remember getting irrationally frustrated that the connections wouldn't quite sit right; evidently they hadn't been used in a while and I remember silently swearing at "whichever c--t" was supposed to have checked them. In my frustration at the lack of utter control of the situation, I just about wanted to drop the two hoses and kick the coupling as hard as I could, as if somehow (?!) that would help. But I resisted the urge and forced them together...

We finally got the hose hooked up to the truck too. I grabbed the greasy piece of drag rope and started dragging the suction end to the water. Losing my footing a little, suddenly, my arms started to sag and I felt myself running out of energy. Like I just wanted to drop them. I closed my eyes for a moment - mentally taking myself to a happier place - but all I could see was frustration, fear, anger. Fear manifesting as a blind rage at the situation as a whole and the feeling I could do NOTHING about it at all. But I composed myself.

I finally got the hose into the water, after what felt like a massive feat. In reality, it wasn't - it was a routine refilling task. I realised this and started to get a grip on myself. I stood back, lit a cigarette and silently offered one to my captain who silently accepted.

The wind was swirling, gusting and howling and the sun becoming more and more obliterated. It must have been later afternoon by this point - and little did I know, but the north winds were starting to shift and be combated by a south-westerly. The pagers were incessantly alarming to the point I was blocking them out - I just didn't want to know. Again, the irrational anger as I felt a sense of injustice that the triple-zero (our emergency number, for anyone from overseas reading) dispatchers were just loading us up with more. I closed my eyes...hoping it was all just a bad dream...

At this moment, I found a calming image deep in my troubled mind. Somewhere there, I went back, just for a moment, to when I was younger. I remembered a book my parents had given me - King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I had always loved medieval times - for all the primative conditions, there was something fascinating and captivating about the stories and legends.

At this point, I for some reason thought of this story. Thought of the bravery of men who may never have existed - and how those knights would face this. Resolved to be brave too. Then I remembered one of the images - beautifully drawn - from the book. It was the "lady of the lake" - for those who aren't familiar with the story, King Arthur throws his sword, Excalibur, into a lake - from which a lady's hand emerges, holding the sword high. The sword was his saviour - and I imagined my hose to be my own personal Excalibur - my weapon, my saviour in this crisis. I briefly imagined the beautiful lady in white - in my mind, tall, svelte, kind. Long, flowing blonde hair. In no way did I imagine her sexually - but as some kind of bizarre comfort. Like a guardian angel.

I came back out of my brief daydream somewhat renewed. Resolved. Ready to fight on. Feeling I had a sword to battle this unimaginable evil - and a guardian somewhere. Maybe this sounds like the "castles in the clouds" of a madman (excuse the Les Miserables reference) - escapist fantasy. Perhaps it was. But I needed it.

I am a firm believer that in our minds, under major duress, we regress to younger times - or at least, happier times. I believe much of our life is shaped by our childhood - hence why, I believe, those who turn inherently violent, abusive or evil have unstable, violent and broken childhoods. Me though, I was very lucky to have a loving, caring, disciplined and focused upbringing with many happy memories - so my temporary regressions were to a more carefree time when my biggest worry was whether I could stay up to watch TV or play cricket outside after dark.

It's funny what you think of under major trauma...

During this time, we'd finished filling the tanker. We all seemed to move so painfully slowly to undo the hoses - but I don't believe we were. Just the calm professionalism of a good crew. Tempered from rushing by shock. Adrenalin completely overridden by shock, fear and revulsion.

Finally, we climbed aboard the truck and began making our way back to the Gates of Hell - the firefront itself.