Australian bushfires: a particularly primal terror

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/oct/23/australian-bushfires-terror

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When a horse smells a fire, her nostrils flare, she gets on her toes and trots around in a circle to assess where the danger is coming from.

Being herd animals, they seek the safety of their mob but then run as fast as they can away from the smoke.

Sheep, on the other hand, will turn inwards. They won’t run. They will stay in one spot and push into the middle. By accident or design, their trampling action beats down long grass fuel and makes the centre a safer place to be. Outsiders will burn while insiders can survive.

We human creatures are no less instinctual. Unexplained smoke of a fire sets my own nostrils flaring. It can wake me in the middle of the night quicker than the loudest thunderstorm, at which point I do my own circular trot around the perimeter of the house.

As disasters go, fire inspires a particular type of terror. It has to do with its speed and its capricious nature. Each fire is different. Like the devil’s children, each has its own evil characteristic, fuelled by circumstance, weather or stupidity.

My first experience with fire came in mid-70s, when I was growing up next to the bush in Sydney’s northern suburbs. Our local fire brigade, the Davidson Rural Fire Service now made famous by Tony Abbott, was out in force protecting our three-bedroom brick veneer project home.

The bush grew right up to our back paling fence, a great real-estate selling point. My parents were not home so someone helpfully rang the school and asked if my brother and I could be sent home as the house was in danger of burning. (What a 12 and 14-year-old were going to do, I was never sure.)

Nothing strikes fear into your heart like the deafening roar of fire heading towards your back fence. Our neighbour stood on the back fencepost, dribbling water from a flaccid garden hose onto an inferno while firefighters ran in all directions.

A lank tea towel left on the clothesline caught fire under ember attack and we stamped it out. But mostly we just shivered in the house, pulled all the blinds and hoped for the best. Firefighters saved the house and our street but I will always understand a horse’s instinct. I wanted to gallop in any direction.

In rural Australia, most farmers are members of the Rural Fire Service. You have to protect your own property and a fire on your neighbour’s place may as well be a fire on your own.

In January this year, a fire in Jugiong – 15 minutes from us – burnt out 14,000 hectares. Thousands of livestock died or had to be put down. Anyone in Sydney or on the coast will remember the heatwave at the time. Sydney had its hottest day ever at 46 degrees.

RFS crews from around the district were called in, including ours. Our house was as prepared as it could be but as my fire captain walked out the door, I was given another lesson on our own water truck.

“But what should I do if there is a fire here?”

“Put it out.”

Then, as now, the weather was predicted to display catastrophic fire conditions. The climate was one large fan-forced oven, baking heat accompanied by a howling gale. In the pit of my stomach, a stone had developed. As crews fought the fire south of us, another fire started north of us. Days of 12-hour shifts ensued but the fire captain returned.

So I can only send good vibes to the people whose nostrils are flaring right now, who have that same stone in their gut.

For there are people who are right now packing their most important treasures into the boot of the car. There are people who are shipping their kids out to far-flung relatives, taking their animals to shelter, leading spooky horses on to floats, taking one last look at their family home.

With bushfire, there are no guarantees but hopefully our own mob will provide for their safety. We are nothing if not herd animals. 

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