Coastal calamities are the last thing which come to mind as you wander the pristine beaches of the northern New South Wales. We live only 100 metres from the most beautiful stretch of coast. White sand as far as the eye can see, and the odd surfer cleaving the waves of the Pacific Ocean. Our little village is perched behind the sand dunes, created in the 1970’s after the sand miners left. It’s backed up by an artificial waterway created by a 70’s developer from Marshall’s Creek, a tributary of the Brunswick River. Wedged between these two waterways, what hope is there when the tail of a cyclone whips through the land before bellowing out to sea.
We insist on living in this wetland and think we can tame the water flows with drains and easements and kerb and guttering. The Council repairs the asphalt roads with ridiculous cupcakes of tarred gravel fill, which wash out in the next downpour and they think the weathering can be managed with swales and drainage pits. But nature has other ideas.
Having watched the Whitsunday Coast being battered by the 270km/hour winds of Cyclone Debbie earlier in the week, we prepared ourselves for heavy rains and wind. Rain lashed our windows and roof as we listened to the local radio flood alerts. As night fell, the rivers likely to breach their banks were listed by the increasingly solemn announcer – the Rous, the Tweed, the Brunswick, the Wilson and all the creeks feeding in. Occasionally the evacuation hooter boomed out over the radio, as little communities were whisked to safety – Billinudgel, Tumbulgum publicans put on a brave face as they moved their stock to higher ground and put beers on for the locals.
We went to bed thankful we had removed the giant Elaeocarpus grandis at our front gate last week. The E. grandis or Blue Quandong is a spectacular rainforest tree, which can grow to 40 metres. The little seedling our friends had propagated on their property was already half-way to this height and on windy days the branches brushed the roof line. It’s beautiful flowers attracted rainbow lorikeets and the branches were home to our family of kookaburras and occasionally Mad Max, the brush turkey and his harem. Somehow, the man of the house, always conscious of safety, had a premonition we needed to remove this tree.
Of course, human curiosity is irrepressible. Soon, we were out with the young kids across the road, wading through the water. In fact, the whole community was out and about, checking trees across the road and riding the river that had become our street. The Council in their wisdom had left open the valve shutting the canal water off from the street. The normal garbage collection would need to wait another day as the garbage truck stalled in the water. Cars lay marooned however we were thankful the evacuation hooter had not sounded.
2 thoughts on “Coastal calamities in the wake of Cyclone Debbie”
hi Sue, as usual you write with such graphic recording and let us all know not just what is happening in your neck of the woods during this recent Destructive ex Debbie, but also the pain of losing a beautiful tree that had given you and its resident bird life so much joy. I can just picture you there wading in the flood waters … but your home is high and didn’t sustain any injury.
Thanks for the images,
bless you and Fred,
Dear Denise,it’s always so good to hear from you. Thanks for the kind words. Hopefully we can chat sometime soon. X S