‘Every nerve jangling’: Queenslanders prepare for disaster as Cyclone Alfred nears

As Cyclone Alfred nears landfall, residents are resorting to increasingly desperate measures to prepare for the worst.

It started as a whisper, a passing headline we half-registered while making school lunches and yelling for someone to feed the dog.

But now, Cyclone Alfred is all anyone can talk about.

What was once a distant, swirling mass over the Coral Sea has edged ever closer, and with each update, the tension rises like the storm surge we’re all dreading.

Yesterday, the skies were that eerie shade of grey-blue that makes you second-guess if a storm is really coming.

Today, the wind’s picking up, rattling the windows and shaking the trees, and the first heavy drops of rain have hit the backyard.

According to the latest updates, Alfred’s set to make landfall late Thursday or early Friday, aiming for Brisbane – just 100 kilometres north of us here on the Tweed Coast. That’s close enough to set every nerve jangling.

And yet, while the news cycles are screaming disaster, the surfers are frothing.

The beaches are packed with boards, the usual suspects out there chasing the monster swells that only a cyclone can deliver.

Mick Fanning’s been spotted carving up walls of water, media cameras trained on him as he makes the impossible look effortless. It’s thrilling to watch – until you remember what’s coming for the rest of us.

In town, the panic is well and truly here.

Supermarkets are war zones.

Residents are boarding and taping up windows in their homes on the Tweed Coast. Picture: Belinda Johns

Locals are preparing for the worst. Picture: Belinda Johns

The bread aisle was stripped bare days ago, and good luck finding a torch or a pack of batteries.

The big fear is power outages and water contamination, so everyone’s stocking up on tinned food, bottled water and enough loo paper to last a decade (because we apparently learned nothing from 2020).

The SES has been urging people to fill bathtubs with clean water, prep emergency kits and make sure their houses are cyclone-ready.

At home, the prep is part survival, part exercise in stress management.

We’ve sandbagged, taped up windows and moved every bit of outdoor furniture into the garage.

The kids think it’s an adventure – sleeping downstairs camp-out style – but keeping their anxiety at bay is a whole other mission. I’ve cut back their exposure to the news, tried to keep things light, but they know something’s up. I’ll never let them know the real reason we’re moving downstairs is in case our roof blows off.

And then there’s the question that keeps looping in my head: should we stay or go?

Some families have packed up and headed inland or further south, away from the worst of it.

Every time I see another car loaded up and pulling out of the driveway, I second-guess our decision to stay put.

Supermarket shelves are stripped bare. Picture: Colin Bell

Empty shelves at Coles, Banora Point on Tuesday. Picture: Colin Bell

The community response has been nothing short of incredible.

Neighbours are helping each other secure properties, sandbagging driveways, checking in on the elderly.

Local Facebook groups have turned from their usual gripes about bin collection to real-time updates on where to find fuel, which roads are still open and who’s got a spare generator. It’s the kind of collective spirit that gets you through the waiting game.

Cyclones are ranked on a scale from one to five.

Category 1 means annoying, but manageable. Think blown-over bins and cranky pets.

Category 2 equals some damage, possible power outages and a lot of downed trees.

Category 3 is where things start to get serious – think structural damage, flooding, power failures.

During a Category 4, roofs go flying, houses take a hit and chaos reigns.

And Category 5 is catastrophic. The kind of storm that rewrites the landscape.

Right now, Alfred is sitting at a Category 2, but there’s a real chance it could intensify before it hits. The experts are telling us to stay glued to updates and be ready to move if needed.

So, we’ve ticked off the checklist.

We’ve secured everything that could turn into a missile.

We’ve parked cars away from trees and flood zones

We’ve charged phones, stocked up on fuel and tested the generator

We’ve packed a go-bag with essentials – documents, torches and enough snacks to last through Armageddon

We’ve set up the safe zone – a windowless, central space where we’ll ride it out if things get hairy.

Tweed Coast resident Chantelle Ellem has strapped down her pergola to save it from dangerous winds. Picture: Chantelle Ellem

Ms Ellem’s bath is full in case water supply gets shut off or contaminated. Picture: Chantelle Ellem

And now, we wait.

As the hours crawl by, the wind picks up, howling through the trees like a warning we don’t want to hear.

The rain intensifies, hammering against the roof in relentless waves.

Conversations around the dinner table are forced-light, jokes cracked a little too loudly to disguise the tension. We’ll play board games by torchlight, make blanket forts and pretend that everything is just a normal night.

But the fear is real. The memory of the 2022 floods still sits heavy on our community – water swallowing homes, people rescued by tinnies in the dead of night, lives forever changed.

That trauma never really left, and as the creeks rise and the gutters overflow, it claws its way back.

Yet, amid the fear, there’s strength.

Strangers are offering lifts to evacuation points, people are opening their homes and updates are rolling in by the minute.

There’s a deep, unshakeable understanding that we’re in this together.

The storm is coming, whether we like it or not.

We’ve done what we can, secured what we can, prepared as best we can.

And now, all that’s left is to hunker down, hold our loved ones close and hope that when the sun rises, our world is still standing.

Rebel Wylie is a freelance writer

Originally published as ‘Every nerve jangling’: Queenslanders prepare for disaster as Cyclone Alfred nears