Welcome to the era of “Pyro Porn”.
The Jinks Creek Cottage
On Saturday evening possibly around 7.00 pm, Andrew Clarke’s vineyards winery, outbuildings, house, b and b cottage, fences, everything burnt to the ground. Everything he’s built has been turned to ash.
Andrew runs a successful winery. He’s passionate about his winery and his family, Abi, Charlie and Lucy are passionate about entertaining and welcoming all who visit and stay at Jinks Creek.
The Winery, Andrew built every bit of it himself.
Because of this he has established an enviable reputation for running one of those establishments that nurtures the local community. We enjoyed Christmas and New Years Eve there. Everyone in the district came along, and celebrated the kind of bond that keeps these tight knit, (I think that’s the expression) intact. As a sort of overarching bond the greater family who know their country and have a deep and empathetic attachment to the land. The sort of attachment the conservative press disparage native Australians for.
Andrew also has a priceless asset. A bloody big lake. The lake is breathtaking. Three or four MCGs could fit into it. The largest body of water in the entire district, and doubtless with the right optics could be “Seen from the Moon”.
Whilst taking water from his dam there was a photo opportunity to good to miss
Because of this, his lake is on offer to those brave heroic units of the airborne division (is there such a thing?) of the CFA. Like wasps or dragonflies they descend upon the lake, hover for a moment then fly off, their bodies distended with cool nourishing water, to then dissipate it on a field somewhere. To ensure us all that with the Air Wing in command we are ALL SAFE!
Since the horror of Black Friday we now have a calibrated scale of warnings to ensure public safety. Through Friday night Andrew and his family watched the flames getting closer. They watched the fires insidious creep. This was not the express train fire that destroyed Marysville. This was a creeping barrage of ash, sparks and smoke. Grapes don’t like being smoked. Andrew knew that the 2019 vintage was rooted.
But the storm was yet to come.
Note dear reader, the canopy is intact, Good thing they waited long enough to capture the lpg cylinder explode.
The surrounding bush was tinder dry, and though requested on numerous occasions, had never been treated to a controlled burn.
On Saturday about midday he was told to leave. For his own safety. The CFA would protect his assets. And so, realising that the children and family were the priority did so. He could not return. Police from as far away as Moorabbin, had blocked the roads. Blocked the roads to ensure public safety. As the family drove back to the Princess Highway they were confronted with a convoy. A near neighbour described “Dozens of trucks and “units” sitting by the side of the road, crews hanging around waiting for orders”. It puzzled him. It reminded him of one of those scenes of the BEF, listlessly hanging around whilst the Wehrmacht overwhelmed the defences and pushed them to the coast.
At this stage of the afternoon the wind had died down. The forest fire became a creeping undergrowth fire. Not a tumultuous canopy fire, but a steady encroachment.
GOLD for the Pyro porn industry. An explosion and a devastating aftermath.
Since Black Friday bushfires are considered worse than boat people. In the olden days (“Smiley gets a gun”) the community used to fight the fire. That’s how they came up with the CFA. Now the CFA is centralised, organised and has situation control managers. They work in offices in Melbourne. And have white boards. And nice offices with computers and situation maps. Bit like the War Rooms during the Blitz.
Any local would’ve said, “Hey fellas whilst you’re taking water from his dam, howsabout a load at the winery and around the house. They’re less than 100 meters from the dam. The dam that’s bigger than three or four MCG’s. The dam you’re using to save other people’s places”.
No such thing happened. As the units sat idle and the strategy was defined by dot points and white papers the winery burnt down. A boy with a mop and a bucket could have saved it
First thing Andrew knew was when he saw it on TV. Good thing the fire could be nuanced for a photo opp. Must’ve taken a day and a half to get to the winery but when it did it was worth waiting for. A cracker of a photo, and on cue the gas cylinders in the cottage BLEW UP!
So that those in uniform may march on ANZAC DAY, and ensure that their investments are ROCK SOLID
All awhile helicopters were taking water from the dam to service somewhere else. Somewhere defined as strategic on a whiteboard somewhere. And the fire crews, crews from anywhere else, knew that by standing by they were doing their bit…just as we dug slit trenches during the war to protects us rom the Japanese. Like Iraq, we’ve fooled ourselves that with air superiority the enemy is tamed.
The burning of the winery is not the CFA’s finest hour. It suggest an absence of initiative imagination and local knowledge on an abysmal scale. Fire policy dumbed down to draconian inflexible edicts and dot points. The common sense of sticking a head outside and sniffing the wind, lost to a corps of sinecurist managers who enact their professionalism by staying well behind the front. So that others may seek the glory in “keeping us safe”.
Christ… Its Peter Dutton’s half brother!!!. The amusingly named Mr Crisp… he deals with the PR after the fires have done their business.
It all could’ve been saved. This man makes his livelihood form the winery. He’s put thirty years of his guts into it. The irony is that whilst his water may have saved countless hobby farms, (tax minimalisation schemes, and some very nice expensive third or fourth investment properties), there was no water for his own buildings and his business. He has lost the lot. But there is a silver lining. He can now deal with the insurance industry. They’ve always had a sympathetic ear and are generous to a fault. In the end, just like mates in the CFA, banking, water and energy industries it all boils down to priorities. His water is “somebody elses”.
Decisions made from up high, that mere humans daren’t question. For our own good. That’s what defines the CFA these days. Gone the rough and tumble of a community organisation steeped in local knowledge and native intelligence. It is now 100 percent thoroughly professional. Nice uniforms and opportunities for stellar promotion in management. And with a bit of luck a medal to wear on Anzac Day.
There’s comfort in knowing that in keeping us safe, others may prosper.
The wash up from the CFA, is already a Whitewash.
