Escape from the Kangaroo Island inferno
Idyllic Kangaroo Island turned from paradise to hell on earth in just 20 minutes, Sean Fewster writes — The Advertiser reporter was just one of the hundreds of people trying to escape the inferno.
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The skies were clear, the waters were glassy smooth and the temperature was perfect for an evening swim.
Just 20 minutes later the skies were black, the temperature had dropped and the winds flung dust and ash in every direction.
That sudden change, from idyllic tourist spot to potential danger zone, brought home how terrifyingly quickly things can change in a bushfire zone.
My family and I went to Kangaroo Island on Thursday, with our overseas relatives, for a three-day trip that had been planned months in advance.
In the days prior we had watched the CFS alerts and Advertiser coverage like hawks, ready to cancel everything if need be.
For a time it seemed like we had threaded the needle - the bushfires were in the western third of the island and, if we stayed east, things would be okay.
Our first day was uneventful - our second, Friday, was anything but.
We travelled south to Seal Bay and, while my nephews were captivated by the wildlife, the adults were focused on the visible plume of black smoke in the west.
Our mobile phone reception was spotty but, whenever we were in service, panicked messages came through from family in Adelaide and friends overseas.
“Are you still over there? Are you getting off the island? Have you seen the news reports?”
Back in Kingscote at 5pm, and with full service, we caught up on the enormity of the changing weather and the disastrous potential of the northerly winds.
My family and I wanted to leave as soon as possible while our Canadian relatives were less pessimistic, confident that distance would provide safety.
That’s when we encountered the mixed narrative making its way through the island that day.
The owner and staff of our holiday villa insisted all was well, there was no need to change our plans and we should stay and “keep enjoying” ourselves.
About 25km down the road, at a caravan park to which west coast evacuees were being directed, another operator had a very different approach.
“If you don’t need to be here, and you can leave, then go,” he told me.
“That’s one less group of people for the CFS to have to worry about.”
My family and I rebooked ourselves on the 10.15pm ferry from Penneshaw, then met the Canadians at Emu Bay for a last swim.
We watched in awe as a flock of pelicans swam past us, inches away - and then in concern as the skies darkened above us.
In the time it took to walk from the shore to the car park, smoke and dust had conspired to create a false dusk.
It was night, well before time, when we reached our accommodation - where, again, staff tried to convince us to stay, insisting we were in no danger.
Our relatives were satisfied with that assurance but encouraged my family to do what we felt was right, so we joined the dozens of cars making the trek to Penneshaw.
On the way we passed the caravan park whose owner had advised me to leave - it was full, with cars and vans lined up in its driveway seeking shelter.
At one of the turn-offs we could see what looked like a spotlight in the distance.
Upon arrival at Penneshaw, we’d learn it was another bushfire, much closer, whipped into a frenzy by the shifting winds that some had claimed would pose no danger.
The mood in Penneshaw was calm but grim as people lined up for the ferry.
Sealink’s amazing crew did a fantastic job of cramming in as many vehicles as could safely be carried, parking us at odd angles to use every inch of space.
Many families turned up as walk-ons just in the hope they could get off the island - cars had to wait for morning, but foot passengers were welcomed aboard.
One of my strongest memories of the night is a young, obviously exhausted woman carrying her terrified child aboard, both ducking their heads against the wind and dust.
Everyone aboard was solemn - there were no obvious tears, but couples clung to one another and parents slumped in clear relief.
Wi-fi let us catch up on the news again, including the disconnect between the CFS’ plea for people to stay away and Mayor Pengilly’s insistence the island was open for business.
That latter stance was at great odds with the scene around us at that point.
We were halfway across Backstairs Passage when we read the alert urging people to head for Kingscote and Penneshaw, which had been deemed the only safe places on the island.
There was nothing to do but hope our relatives had received that same advice and make our way home.
Fortunately they had - in the early hours of the morning they had moved first to Kingscote, then Penneshaw, with the assistance of the villa’s owner.
They’d joined the line for the 5.30am ferry and benefited from the wonderful hospitality of the locals, who knocked on car windows offering families places to sleep.
The ferry’s captain offered free drinks to all passengers to soothe the nerves and, by 10am, we were all reunited in Adelaide.
We’re tired, we’re heartbroken for the people and animals of that beautiful island, and we’re more than a little concerned by the conflicting signals we encountered.
Tourism is obviously the island’s lifeblood, but safety - and the needs of the CFS and its brave volunteers - must surely take priority over economics.
Our relatives are also very, very angry with politicians who have refused to accept international assistance and, especially, waterbombing aircraft.
The senseless destruction of so much natural splendour becomes all the more tragic when you consider our leaders could do more to arrest it - and have chosen not to.
Originally published as Escape from the Kangaroo Island inferno