jumping aground

Dear weather and fishing gods,

Thankyou for listening to my request and arranging a perfect spring day for us to go fishing up near Marysville. And while it might seem absurd for someone who doesn't particularly like fish or fishing to choose to spend a day involved with said pass-time, it made sense at the time.

We wanted to do our bit for the region after the devastating Black Saturday bushfires nearly 4 years ago, so why not head up there and fish! The town is still doing it pretty tough, although the tourists have returned bringing lots of vibrant colour and joyous laughter! They were certainly making the most of the cafes, spilling out into the streets, chattering and enjoying the food and wine on a perfect spring afternoon.

However, I hadn't expected to be so deeply affected by the devastation. Blackened tree trunks, gaps where atmospheric old buildings used to be, bright sun where there used to be shade, forlorn  flowers in untended remains of gardens where not so long ago there was a home and family.


It's sobering to realise that lots of locals are still in dongas (a small relocatable hut often used near mines for temporary accommodation) nearly four years after the town was obliterated. Rebuilding is painfully slow for all sorts of frustrating and convoluted reasons. 

I can't even begin to imagine the terror of having a firestorm reduce your town and region to ash, and it's something I hope never to experience again, even from the sidelines. Can weather gods prevent horrendous weather events occurring? I suspect not.

I've described the weather conditions during the Black Saturday bushfires here
But back to the fishing!

I caught my first fish ever which took both me and the salmon by complete surprise. Foolish, foolish salmon. 

I know it's kind of cheating to throw a baited hook into a well stocked dam and call it fishing, but I felt a sense of achievement mixed with a good dose of stunned disbelief at my success. I'll refrain from referring to myself as a fisherperson, however, as that'd be stretching the truth a bit.

Slimy, icky salmon.

Here's the salmon that insisted on leaping energetically onto the hook I'd halfheartedly dropped into the dam at the Marysville fish farm. The first one got away - truly! It was big and heavy and flapping so vigorously that it snapped the line as I was reeling it in .... it was this big ..................................................... holds hands way apart in true fisherperson style ;-)

The proprietor gutted the fish, and after the long drive home, where they nestled snugly in the compact car frig, I put them in freezer bags and wrapped them in newspaper as per instructions, before making little nests in the freezer. No doubt they're now solid blocks of raw fish. We caught four between us, 3 trout and 1 salmon. This is going to present a bit of a challenge - what to do with them next?

The photo below is of one of the fishing ponds and the dead and blackened eucalypt trunks. Eucalpyts regrow from little nodules under the bark which are called epicormic shoots. You can see these epicormic shoots sprouting from around the trunks of some of the trees as well as revegetated areas at the fish farm.  

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I was in the process of writing about ethical paper use, got distracted by a link on FB about one of our major paper providers, and wrote the following Drabble in response:

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Officeworks is a trap for those susceptible to “shoppers vortex”. You know, the one where you get sucked in, and can’t find the exit? You wander aimlessly around the aisles mesmerised by glittery knickknacks, helpless to extract yourself from the vortex’s pull.

Unfortunately, Officeworks stocks Reflex paper.

Australian Paper, which makes Reflex, uses trees logged from native forests in our beautiful Central Highlands and Strzelecki Ranges to help make the paper. This impacts on waterways, plants and our endangered state emblem the Leadbeater’s Possum.

Reflex, it’s the International Year of Forests. Think of the future. Act ethically. Use plantation timbers.



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A 100 word Drabble might not be the best vehicle to share information, but it saved me getting too hot under the collar, and stopped me rambling on and on.

The ABC aired an amazing documentary "Out of the Ashes" last week about the devastation created by the horrendous bushfires 2 years ago. The footage is fantastic!  They refer to the fish, Leadbeater's Possum and other creatures affected, as well as the forests and people and show what has happened since the fires, and how they are recovering (from the fires, not the logging).

Yesterday was the second anniversary of the Black Saturday Bushfires in Victoria Australia.
It's hard to explain the weather on Black Saturday; the air was intense, searingly hot and dry and  sucked the moisture from your lungs painfully. It was hard to breathe normally - each in-breath was taken as shallowly as possible because the air was so dreadfully hot that it hurt to breathe it in. The moisture that you'd normally exhale on each out-breath simply didn't happen - it seemed to evaporate deep inside your nose or mouth as if the intense heat was dragging it, unwillingly from your body.

You don't sweat when the heat is so vicious, any hint of moisture evaporates even before it's had a chance to form on your skin. If, for some reason you need to move through an area without shade, it feels like your blood and all body fluids are going to fry immediately along with anything that could possibly contain even a drop of moisture.

Possums were dropping from their nests in trees, dead. Due to the prolonged drought, there had been strict regulations against watering gardens for years, but some suburban families used their hoses to spray possum nests to help them live - it was better to risk a fine than experience the distress of finding small furry bodies in the garden.

Eucalypts which usually cope relatively well in extreme conditions were stressed. The sparse leaves that remained were dropping, crisp and burnt at the edges from the extended period of unbroken heat.

Green grass, usually welcome and cooling in gardens, had long ago turned a crisp brown, or completely disappeared - not even the roots were left, completely exposing dry dusty earth. Nature seemed to be turning in on itself, dying - quietly, slowly, inevitably and we couldn't do anything to prevent it happening. It was painful to watch.

The weather conditions were dangerously ominous. A total fire ban covered the parched state of Victoria. Dams were dry, many rivers barely managed a trickle and some towns had completely run out of water and were trucking it in.  It was more a matter of "where and when will a fire begin", "how bad will it be", and "how long will it rage".  We knew we were waiting for the inevitable  Firefighters were on high alert, crews at the ready and there were constant warnings to be careful.

Temperatures consistently well over 40 degrees combined with wind gusts over 100kph, pyromaniacs, powerlines clashing together creating sparks dropping on to tinder dry eucalypt leaves, discarded cigarette butts on crisp roadside grasses and lightning strikes on tall trees, resulted in terrifying, massive firestorms that burnt out of control, across hundreds of thousands of acres for days.

Tragically 173 people were killed in the blazes, and over 2030 homes were destroyed. Many of those who lost homes are still in temporary accommodation. Bureaucratic red tape seems to be a real stumbling block, slowing the progress of rebuilding towns and communities. Grief and frustration are so evident in the faces of those still struggling with the after effects.

Along with this was the destruction of vast tracts of farm and bush land, massive numbers of livestock and countless native birds and animals. Creeks and rivers were chocked with ash affecting fish and other creatures reliant on fresh water - everything is touched in some way.

And now Western Australia is coping with out of control blazes on the outskirts of Perth (the capital city). 64 properties have been destroyed, some fires are believed to have been deliberately lit, others the result of sparks from an angle grinder.

And through all this hundreds of professional organisations joined forces with emergency services, volunteers, and everyday people to support, nurture and help others. Disasters are dreadful, and I'd never wish one on anyone, but through them, strong connections are formed and they can allow the best of humankind to shine.

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Two years on, fishing near Marysville: http://jumpingaground.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/dear-weather-and-fishing-gods-2.html

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