River Murray floods: Morgan property owner Jodie Reynolds of Foxtale Houseboats faces a long road to recovery
Incredible before and after images from a gutted homeowner on the River Murray show the devastating impact of this summer’s historic flood. Read her heart-wrenching story.
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The slate-topped table went missing early in the floods. It used to live under the house and had been the centre of many family barbecues and catch-up sessions.
It’s a heavy old thing. It probably weighs in around the 50kg mark. But that didn’t stop the water picking it up and carrying it away when the river first burst its banks back in December.
Since then, its whereabouts has been a mystery – much like countless other household items that have been picked up and relocated by the water up and down the length of the Murray.
But today, as we wade through the mud and silt, Jodie Reynolds notices four table legs sticking out into the sunshine. The mystery is finally solved.
The table has found a home about 30 metres from where it once lived. It has come to rest near a boundary fence, under a tree whose branches are now home to a 15-litre blue water cooler and a couple of matching plastic cups a few twigs further up.
The discovery of the table, water cooler and cups offers a moment of light relief during a sombre, sometimes morale-sapping morning examining the damage this mighty flood has caused.
Ms Reynolds is the owner-operator of Foxtale Houseboats, and she’s showing us around her once-pristine property just downstream from Morgan proper. It’s a glorious summer’s day, and the river should be teeming with speedboats, skiers, kayakers and houseboats. Except it’s not. Not this summer. Not during this flood.
The water has dropped about 2.5m at Morgan since it peaked in early January. Most of Ms Reynolds’ two-hectare property is still under water, but it’s only a few inches deep. It’s shallow enough to walk around, and the level has dropped enough to reveal the devastation the flood has caused.
Her home was once serviced by two large water tanks. One of those tanks is now poised on an unnatural 45 degree angle, but at least it hasn’t moved. The other one is about 150 metres away, in a paddock out the back.
She is yet to start a list of items either missing, damaged or relocated, but it’s going to be extensive. The part of the property which is now above the water resembles some sort of post-apocalyptic moonscape.
“Devastation,” she says when she’s asked to describe the scene. “Like an armageddon, isn’t it, like one of those movies.” She laughs reflexively at the idea, but not for long.
“Laughing, not laughing,” she says, and drifts off to a moment’s silence as the daunting prospect of what lies ahead rises to the surface.
“When you think about how much you’ve done to get it there. to building it all up … it was just at a stage where it was all about to really happen.
“And now it’s just set me right back – devastation is the only word, really.”
It’ll be weeks, probably months before Ms Reynolds is able to get to her property by a road which remains under water. Today we arrive by tinnie. The water is still four metres higher than normal, so we moor touching a tree which is usually three metres back from, and four metres above, the river.
We alight onto a small patch of land above the current waterline. Perhaps only 10 per cent of the property is no longer under water but the scene is reminiscent of the aftermath of a bushfire. Except for the colours.
For while a bushfire leaves a trail of devastating black, here everything is brown. Where there was once green lawn, grey concrete, silver roadbase, black hoses, yellow signs or painted white fences, now there is just brown. The mud is omnipresent, slimy and treacherous.
We look inside a shipping container which, only a few weeks ago, neatly housed all of the linen and cleaning materials needed to run the houseboat operation and a shack-cleaning business which Ms Reynolds had gradually built up over the past few years. Until the flood.
The container is now home to a collection of discoloured and up-ended shelving, thrown about as if they were matchsticks by the water which reached almost to the ceiling and must have swirled around like in a bath with the plug removed.
We walk towards the property’s gates, perhaps 80 metres from the container. Along the way we pass the aforementioned long-lost table, under the tree which now houses the water cooler and those plastic cups. Oh, there’s also a pile of filled but unused sandbags that family and friends had helped stockpile in October – back when there was still hope that sandbagging might be a useful option.
All wire fences are now home to a thick nest of washed up weeds, pushed-over shrubs and even a couple of mattresses from further up the river. There’s a small shed with a couple of LPG gas bottles which have been, like the cupboards in the container, thrown about by the force of the water.
The water is mostly ankle deep as we make our way down the driveway towards the front gates, and it soon becomes clear the gravel road now boasts a few new water features.
The property sits on an outside corner of the river, and since the water first burst its banks here back in December, it’s spent about eight weeks carving out a new route out onto the flood plains.
Such has been the force of the current over the land, the water has created gullies and pools in the driveway which look up to a metre deep. We can still feel the strength of the flow as the water gushes past our ankles.
When we get to the property’s access road, the current subsides and the water becomes deeper, halfway up our calves. And the silt, which feels like it might be up 10cm thick, makes concentration critical for every step.
On our way back to the house we notice the fish. Schools of hundreds of tiny European carp part as we wade through. We can only imagine the stench these noxious creatures will cause when they are trapped and die in a stagnant backwater.
Back at the house, the water peaked about 300mm below the top storey of Ms Reynolds’ home. Hence her upstairs living area was spared and she won’t need to call in a demolition gang – a prospect facing thousands of home and shack owners along the length of the river.
Still, the downstairs area is a disaster zone. Insulation hangs from the washed-away ceiling of a bedroom, kitchenette, laundry and bathroom area. Electrical wires dangle precariously but are no cause for alarm – it will be months before the power can be turned back on. Most gyprock is washed away but, ironically, an old analog clock high up on one of the walls is still working. What do they say about surviving in turbulent times …
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Ms Reynolds is living a houseboat but isn’t sure what she’ll do once that boat is needed again for hire, which she’s hoping will be sooner rather than later.
She knows the recovery is going to be a long one. She doesn’t expect to be back living on her property until June or July, but wouldn’t be surprised if it was as late as October. Much of the recovery time frame will depend on when the road is open again, which could be months away. She can’t even get the damage assessed by her insurance company until the road opens and the assessor can get to the property by car.
“To keep my sanity, I’m not trying to get too far ahead, because that’s when you get overwhelmed,” she says.
“Everyone says ‘Oh my God, it’s so big and huge’ and it is, I know the magnitude of it, but it’s just one thing at a time. You can just deal with one thing at a time.
“Let’s get the boats sorted first and once they’re sorted, hopefully the land will dry out … hopefully the roads will get done. You know.”
It’s way too soon for her to have a long-term, or even medium-term plan, but her most immediate priority is ensuring the dozen or so houseboats moored on her property survive the declining water levels, which are dropping up to 150mm a day.
And so, along with staffer Grant Smith and a crew of family and friends, she’s spending her days adjusting ropes and manoeuvring boats to ensure they don’t become stuck on land as the water drops.
“One of the hard parts is not having an actual routine – you feel like you are just floundering around aimlessly,” she says.
“It’s like you’re in a vortex, it’s just mush. But every day goes so quick. You start out with a plan, and it all goes to shit and changes.
“Thank God I’ve got plenty of helpers around. They all come when I ask them to. The boat owners have been great. But it’s tiring and it’s scary – it can be scary and stressful moving the boats.”
Ms Reynolds doesn’t usually cry when she visits the property – that comes later at night when she’s reflecting on the destruction and the long road ahead. But in the past week, when the water dropped enough to be able to see the damage, her body’s initial reaction was to want to be physically sick.
The tears eventually do come though, often when someone reacts to the social live streams that regularly attract thousands of views from people all over the world.
She started the videos back in October, initially to let neighbouring shack owners see how their properties were faring. The videos have also been cathartic, and allowed her to put aside her emotions for a while because she is forced to keep things together while commentating on what she is seeing.
The response has been immense. Her Facebook page now has about 10,000 followers and she’s been inundated with goodwill, especially from the shackies, some of whom have even sent petrol vouchers and other gifts which have helped put food on the table.
Still, goodwill won’t pay the bills, and her emotions overflow when asked what she fears most about the next few months.
“That, financially, I won’t survive,” she replies, as her voice breaks and the tears well.
“Yeah. yeah … so that’s going to get me a bit emotional … You just work so hard for it all and it just … sorry.
“It’s very, very frightening. I’ve done it really hard for a lot of years and have come back from it being really bad. And then just to think you’re just on the cusp of yep, it’s all happening, you’ve paid a heap of bad debt, and this terrible thing happens.
“The thought of having to go back there again … But I’m just not going to let it take me down, I will fight until my last bloody dollar.”
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