The latest & greatest in my fire planning saga
Number of fires I decided to start on my new property yesterday to control the long grass: 1
Time I started fire: 5:30 pm
Minutes it took for things to get kind of hard for me and my completely fantastic mother (in her early 60s) to control: about 10
Length of fire front at its widest: 150 metres
Number of times I went up my steep, rocky hill and over a fence as fast as I could carrying 20 litres of water from the trough at street level (75 - 150 m distance): 40 or 50?
(And that's on top of) Cross country runs taken that morning with old athletics club, after not attending for months: 1
Number of moments of mild panic: quite a few
Number of moments of moderate-to-severe panic as the fire got into my favourite area of trees and became SUDDENLY MUCH BIGGER: 1 There's only so fast it's possible to run uphill with buckets of water, no matter what's on fire. But I got that one under control (though I had to leave Mom short of water at the other corner to do it).
Number of times it occurred to me that I was probably nearing the end of my physical capacity for hauling water uphill: 1. (Then I carried on for a further 3 hours, so what would I know)
Number of times I fell over a rock in the dark: 1 (a very low number considering the number of rocks)
Number of times Mom fell over a rock in the dark: 1 (ditto)
Number of large stand-alone trees partially consumed by flames after numerous efforts to keep it safe: 1
Number of buckets melted: 1
Number of backpacks (containing water, snacks, extra clothes, gloves, phone numbers) melted: 1
Acres burned: about 4-5
Total hours firefighting: 8 (!!!)
Number of times I managed to dash back to my house (across the street) for drinking water, apples and a box of crackers: 2
Time we finally ate dinner: 1:45 am
Time we got to bed after a final check: 2:15 am (Mom had been planning to leave by 10 pm)
Despite things being a little hair-raising, so far, so good except for the tree I really didn't mean to injure. Then:
Time we got up and, after forcing aching bodies up hill, found more spots smouldering away: 6:30 am. Body *loudly* protesting having to carry any more water.
Breakfast, Mom went home, I resumed the happy task of carrying water to the smouldering spots. Thinking everything was under control, I changed into more appropriate clothes and ducked into town for the Anzac Day service.
Driving home an hour later: see smoke reaching high into the sky from the highway. Yes, it's definitely coming from my trees. No!!!! Add "1" to "number of moments of moderate-to-severe panic".
Speed down road, leap out of car, change clothes, grab phone, RUN across road and up hill with more water for the nth time. Line of flames creeping down through trees. Apply water. Manage to put out most of the flames, but a big area is smoking and sizzling; it's clearly not a 1-person job. Call 000 for the first time in my life. Contain flames with more trips down to the trough for water until the fire brigade arrives 15 minutes later.
They apply 4,000 litres of water and leave me to deal with everything that was still smoking.
All day up until now, tonight and probably all day tomorrow: haul more water to discourage smouldering spots. The ground gets so hot, so far down, in places with a lot of organic material that this is extremely difficult. I've put some of them out, or thought I had, eight or ten times. Apply water, dig down, apply more water, feel water to check temperature - OUCH, hot. Think it's out, come back an hour later to find it smouldering (or, with a little wind, actually in flames) again.
Aching muscles and joints: more than I can count. However my body is kind of resigned to the task now and has given up complaining.
Additional hours of sleep I've managed to catch today: 1/2 hour
How much I want a shower and to get out of these clothes: a lot, but there's no point as I have to go back up there in a minute.
I felt obliged to offer to join the local fire brigade, so have promised to attend their next meeting. I'd considered doing it before, but decided I was too often away and that my work hours are too unusual to be of much use. Joining worries me less because it involves fighting fires than because my experience is that the best way to get along with people (especially small-town country people) is to keep my distance. My mostly very enjoyable year as a volunteer with the NSW State Emergency Service came to an end when I decided to lock horns with the local branch captain over his comments about some gay men while we were in Sydney repairing rooftops after the big 1997 hailstorms. I hope my conflict resolution skills are better now as I can't afford to be on bad terms with too many people here.
Off to check my hill again.