Flood of calls a cause for alarm

Regular columnist Andrew Gale talks about being a policeman and dealing with floods

Andrew Gale talks about being a policeman when the floods come. Photo courtesy of the State Library. Picture: Contributed

I READ the plea from Warwick police last week to not ring them to ask for flood conditions when that information is easily available on various websites and purposed phone numbers.

It reminded me of the same sorts of events we used to experience when I was stationed in the Mount Isa Police District a few years ago.

I feel sorry for them but I suppose, like me, a lot of people were taught if you need a hand in a crisis, call the local policeman.

My little station was perched along the Flinders Hwy, halfway between nowhere and the back of beyond.

Although it was almost a desert, the nature of the country up there, flat and full of flood channels, was such that it would flood every time it rained anywhere within about a 500km radius.

As such, any time between December and April, the highway would close at a moment's notice.

Sometimes it was for days, varying between two dozen different spots on "my” 160-odd kilometres of highway, let alone the countless other places it would flood that were off the bitumen.

Working out the topography and watersheds of the area was quite difficult at first, with a maze of tributaries flowing this way and that off the mighty Flinders River.

It was not unusual to watch the river running "uphill” as it back-flooded up the various channels, and branches and bayous, then downhill again a few hours or days later as the Flinders peaked and settled back down.

When the river crossed, and blocked the highway at this place or that, (sometimes up to 140km from town, but before the next little dot on the map), the local council or Main Roads guys would dutifully put out the road closed signs at the edges of town.

ALL IN THE JOB: Former cop Andrew Gale was understanding for police fielding calls about roads closed to floods when he recounted his time serving at Julia Creek. Picture: Contributed

The tourists would then dutifully drive up to the signs and seeing no water over the road, would then drive east or west until they came across the impasse. Sometimes, they would even stop before the water engulfed the car and swept them off towards the Gulf of Carpentaria.

Quite often I would find that they would only have enough fuel in their vehicles to make it to the next town, having not liked the high price of fuel in our little hamlet and so not filling up there. Returning from "whence they came” was out of the question.

I would usually make twice-a-day trips to these little "out-camps” on the highway. While there I would have the same conversations for days on end with different people.

"Ah - officer - when's the road going to be open?” they'd ask.

"When the water goes down,” Constable smarty-pants would say.

"When will the water go down?” they'd then ask hesitantly, afraid of more sarcasm, but having to ask anyway

"Dunno Sir. I'd drawl "I haven't got my crystal ball with me.”

"What am I supposed to do?” they'd plead.

"Not drive round the road closed signs,” I'd reply.

"Oh yeah - here's a ticket for disobeying a road closed sign.”

It was more of the same in town and at home.

It seemed that every person travelling between the east coast and Uluru or Darwin would ring me and ask if the road was open.

I think they all had an atlas that had my little town right in the middle of everywhere, so to save money they'd just ring me.

I used to have an answering machine, it was the only thing that kept me sane.

I'd update the road status on it once a day or so you'd hear the phone in the office ringing until 3am and start again at sun-up.

If any locals or Mount Isa needed me there was the mobile.

Maybe I missed a call in there from the Sunrise "cash cow”.

But by a few weeks into the flood season, I wouldn't have cared if I missed a call from King Wally Lewis himself.

Originally published as Flood of calls a cause for alarm