Bushfire aftermath: the devastation a 'tornado of fire' wreaks on a community

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/oct/25/bushfires-aftermath-tornado-fire-devastation

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Number 23 Sunny Ridge Road, Springwood, is a burnt-out skeleton. Its bricked foundations remain intact, but the black timber strewn across the floor and the sheets of corrugated iron twisted in impossible directions allude to the quick, violent bushfire that engulfed it a week ago.

Adam Schweinsberg lumbers through the remains, detritus crunching under his feet. "I was five minutes too late," he says, "If I'd got back a little earlier, just as the flames were starting to burn the house, I would have been able to put it out."

The fire struck early afternoon last Thursday. Schweinsberg heard about it at work, a few kilometres down the road, and rushed back. He tried desperately to stop the flames but by the time he rigged a pump to the swimming pool it was too late. He filmed what happened next.

Michelle Smith, who lives across the road, describes "a tornado of fire" – she saw the Schweinsberg house go up and watched as the sparks jumped the road, engulfing her front garden and starting to run up the side of her house. Firefighters got to it in the nick of time. Her in-laws live next door; their shed burnt down.

Most of the homes on the right side of Sunny Ridge Road went up in flames. The street has become a poignant juxtaposition: seemingly untouched small-town houses on the left; on the right what looks like a war zone with a blackened bushland backdrop.

Many of the road's right-hand residents have left for the time being, but Schweinsberg, 41, comes back each day to restore what little order he can.

He has started stacking charred bricks, scanning the rubble hoping to salvage artefacts of a past life.

He lived at No 23 with his mother. His father designed and built the house four decades ago. "I definitely want the block to remain in the family," he says. "I tend to get over major traumas pretty easily. It's not the end of the world. Build another one; start again."

There is no doubt the entire area is in shock. There were 193 homes destroyed and 109 properties damaged in the Springwood fire, which was sparked by powerlines in strong winds.

By 5pm on Thursday eight emergency warnings – the highest level of alert – were issued for fires across the state. There were 100 fires – from the Blue Mountains to the central coast and into the Hunter valley – and 1477 firefighters. Those in the thick of the Blue Mountains fires described blinding winds and suffocating smoke. The sky over Sydney turned orange and ash fell over skyscrapers.

In the evacuation centre at Springwood Sports Club, staff and volunteers are coming to terms with what happened. The frantic pace of evacuations has slowed: 375 people passed through on Wednesday, compared with 1800 last Thursday. There is a tentative calm, albeit one that is constantly punctuated by the blare of sirens and the drone of helicopters.

Sue Roden, a Red Cross volunteer and Springwood resident, says everyone in the community knows someone who has lost a home. Her boss, the president of the local branch, lost hers earlier in the week. "She's too fragile to talk," says Roden, "but so many homes have been lost you wonder who'll be next. It's a long time since we've seen fires like this."

Authorities have described the fires as the worst in New South Wales in 45 years. They have also come unseasonally early, which has kicked up intense debate around the world about their relationship to global warming. A war of words has broken out between the Australian government, amid its attempt to repeal the carbon pricing scheme, and climate change experts.

The prime minister, Tony Abbott, has described talk of any link between climate change and the fires as "complete hogwash", setting himself in opposition to the UN climate change chief, Christiana Figueres. Figueres drew an indirect link between the two, saying it was "absolutely clear" that there are "increasing heatwaves in Asia, Europe, and Australia; that these will continue; that they will continue in their intensity and in their frequency".

It is fair to say many Springwood residents are not keen to talk about climate change. But one resident, Cameron (who would not give his last name), is happy to. He lives on another street where half the houses were destroyed last Thursday.

When Abbott visited to inspect the ruins Cameron decided not to see him.

"People from the Blue Mountains acknowledge where they live; we live in a sacred space," he said. I like to see myself as part of that environment, and part of that is fire.

"We're people who live within a risk. Once every 50 or 100 years we have a significant event and that's been the pattern. What needs to happen now is to make that link between this and the obvious questions involved: is climate change involved in that?

"The politicians are around for the easy events, where they show up and support people, and that's important because you need to reassure them in a time of need. The big picture is the harder picture, the longer time view …"

Some Blue Mountains residents appear unfazed. At 192 Chapman Parade, Faulconbridge – a frontline against the Springwood fire that still burns in the valley below – 72-year-old Tony Bles takes a walk in the bush around his plot.

Firefighters backburned the area that backs directly on to Bles's plot on Tuesday to get rid of bushfire fuel. Smoke lingers, some stumps smoulder lightly, but he insists we walk on so he can show me a vantage point overlooking the fires.

Both his next-door neighbours have evacuated, but Bles stayed put. He has lived in the mountains since 1962. "I've got used to the bush and the problems it may open up," he says. "When it gets in the trees, that's when you worry. The lower the impact the better."

Eventually we come to a cliff face and look down on the fire that throws up thick smoke. I would hazard a guess that it is no more than a kilometre away.

Authorities have used a range of tactics to tackle what was one of the largest firefronts ever faced in New South Wales, including joining two of the major blazes – the State Mine and Mount Victoria fires – to try to contain them and prevent them joining the Springwood fire.

Bles recalls the fires of 1968. "In those days there were no helicopters," he says. In 1994 "fireballs came off the house".

A helicopter flies past, dropping thousands of litres of water on the fire below. It is a deafening whirl. Bles looks up, unperturbed. The quiet returns and he turns to the scorched trees behind. "With a couple of days of rain in the autumn, this will be green," he says.

Further up Chapman Parade volunteer firefighters are assembled. They are briefed to protect the Norman Lindsay gallery, a building dating from the 19th century and the eponymous home of the Australian artist and writer's works. The exhibits have been removed.

"It's a historic, wonderful old building. It'd be a shame to lose it for sure," says Gary McQuade, a firefighter with the Country Fire Authority of Victoria.

McQuade and his Wonga Park brigade arrived on Monday. He had been itching for the call to help the rural fire service, NSW's volunteer force.

"It's like a mate helping a mate. These guys do it tough. We come up and help them. When we do it tough, they come [down] and help us," says McQuade, who is a journalist for local radio in Melbourne.

The NSW rural fire service members have been lauded as heroes. The volunteer brigade is made up of people from a range of professions: wakeboard instructors, shop assistants, security professionals. Even an adult store franchise owner. When asked why they joined up the answer is often the same: "The sense of camaraderie."

As the sun begins to set over the valley, the Springwood fire has been downgraded to watch and act – still a serious risk.

Further down Chapman Parade two trucks from the rural fire service line the roadside. It's the Faulconbridge brigade, weary from a day on the frontline where their local expertise is invaluable.

Sam Tucker, 19, is fighting his first fires. It is a deeply personal affair. His first job, earlier in the week, was to backburn behind one of his best friend's house. His grandparents have been evacuated, their home partially destroyed.

Does he think about that when he's on the job?

"Yes and no. You have to concentrate on the fire. The adrenaline takes over."

Tucker, an apprentice carpenter, is captained by 43-year-old Geoff Booth – who was also his woodwork teacher at high school.

That question again: what inspired you to sign up?

"It's a sense of community spirit," says Booth – the rest of the brigade are goading him, saying he owes them a crate of beer for talking to the media. He chuckles: "But sadly that's the honest truth. I live on Linksview, where last Thursday's fire began. It was on my road."

Booth's house survived. He was lucky this time.

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