Mount Tomah and the Goblet of Fire: a summer I’ll never forget

Greg Bourke, Curator Manager, Blue Mountains Botanic Garden Mount Tomah

The Blue Mountains Botanic Garden Mount Tomah is unique in many ways. Not only is it one of the few botanic gardens within a world heritage area, but it is also surrounded by large areas of national park, much of which is prone to bushfire. The garden is considered remote by many, yet it’s just two hours’ drive from the Sydney CBD. There is only one road that passes by the garden (Bells Line of Road) and it winds through the foothills of the Blue Mountains, through the small town of Bilpin, up to the 1000-metre peak of Mount Tomah, then on to the town of Lithgow.

Bells Line of Road is both scenic and treacherous. It is regularly closed in both directions due to car and motorbike accidents as motorists speed along its picturesque but winding way, and occasionally by snow, black ice and, of course, fire.

During my first week as Curator Manager at the garden in October 2013, I was confronted with the challenge of managing operations as a fire approached from the west. The State Mine Fire travelled 25 kilometres in just a few hours, burning over 55,000 hectares of bush to the north of the garden. We were fortunate that winds slowed after the second day and that the wind’s direction didn’t push the blaze into the garden’s land. It was an incredibly valuable experience for me though, as it gave me the opportunity to build critical relationships with emergency services, local residents (of which I was one), and members of my own team, which would help us prepare for future events. At least, that’s what I thought at the time…

In August 2019 I had my first meeting with the Mount Tomah Rural Fire Service (RFS) regarding the season ahead of us. We knew it was going to be a bad one — our annual average rainfall is over 1400 mm but 2018 saw just 976 mm and 2019 was predicted to be much dryer.

Working with the RFS, we cleared fire trails to the west of the garden and cut backburn lines. The garden’s team cleared around assets, prepared and tested fire suppression systems and performed evacuation drills. By October, I was satisfied that we were well placed to evacuate, should the need arise.

Gospers Mountain fire as seen from the garden’s deck two hours prior to impact. Photo: Blue Mountains Botanic Garden Mount Tomah.

On the 26 October 2019, a lightning storm ignited a tree on the remote Gospers Mountain, 50 kilometres north of the garden. Throughout November we monitored its progress, meeting regularly with the RFS to discuss the details. By this time, there were dozens of active fires along the east coast of Australia.

In early December, backburning commenced to the northeast of the garden with the aim of protecting the western suburbs of the Sydney basin. This increased the risk of cutting access to the garden and became my sole focus. If access was to be cut in one direction, I was not prepared to have the public in the garden. The conditions were like none I had experienced or even heard of. The ground was incredibly dry, and the usually resilient eucalypts were both wilting and dry.

On Friday 13 December, following a meeting with the RFS where it was confirmed a backburn was to be implemented to the west of the garden the following day, the decision was made to close the garden to the public. We had a single horticulturist on site on Saturday morning to water some critical plants but besides that, the garden was empty.

Mid-afternoon on 14 December I was advised that the backburn to the west had failed and fire was expected to impact the garden within the next two days. The road was to be closed to the west of the garden and residents were advised they should prepare to evacuate.

At approximately 10 am on the 15 December, I received a phone call from the captain of the Mount Tomah RFS requesting the garden be re-opened as a place of refuge for local residents as the fire was progressing more rapidly than anticipated and was expected to impact the garden in a few hours. As I headed to the garden, my family headed in the opposite direction and to the safety of Sydney’s suburbs.

I arrived at the garden, opening gates, toilets and the visitor centre, and isolating fuel tanks, and began briefing the various RFS crews that were staging in the garden’s main carpark. This may seem odd, but the reality is that local RFS crews know the garden well, where to find hydrants and how to navigate the estate’s internal roads, but visiting crews do not. While a plan can be provided with critical assets and hazards such as fuel tanks marked, emergency services are often appreciative of local knowledge to ensure their effectiveness. This was to prove critical in saving areas of the garden and the local community.

By mid-afternoon, the fire had progressed through the valley just to the north of the garden, placing my private residence directly in its line. This was inconvenient to say the least as I had to leave the site to protect my home before I could return to the garden. By the time I was able to return some four hours later, the road was strewn with fallen, burnt and burning trees so access was only possible with an RFS escort.

I arrived to find a few residents, including one staff member (Chris), and several cats and dogs sheltering on site and RFS crews fighting fire in and around the garden. Sprinkler systems and fire crews had little effect on the progression of the fire front — it was simply too intense to slow in some areas. Chris had done additional work to prevent embers blowing under doors and had put out several spot fires around key assets. Not part of the job description but as many of you will understand, when you’re passionate about plant conservation, you’ll do what you can to protect them.

By sundown, the main front had passed the garden but there was still much to do. The garden provides the only reliable water supply to fire trucks who were filling from a hydrant near our entrance gate. Water tankers usually ferry water to these trucks but by this time, the road was blocked in both directions. We were the only water supply for several hours that night.

The fire front as it enters a neighbouring property. Photo: Blue Mountains Botanic Garden Mount Tomah.

As the night progressed, Chris and my roles varied from that of cooks feeding fire crews, to tour guides, visitor entertainment, fire fighters, and worried onlookers. The view from the garden deck was incredible with seemingly countless glowing spots from inside the garden to beyond the horizon.

I think it was about midnight when Chris tried to get some sleep. We had decided to work shifts with me taking the first night shift. It was at this point I took the opportunity to grab the camera and walk the site to see just how much had burned. I walked most of the 2-kilometre perimeter of the garden, much of which was burnt, taking notes and photographs of damaged infrastructure and plants. Needless to say, it was not a good sight.

Returning to the works depot around 2 am, I thought it wise to get some rest. Everything seemed pretty quiet and there was at least one RFS truck in the car park. I’m not sure if I dozed off or not, but at 3 am I was alerted to the noise of fire burning close by. Sure enough, a section of the garden was ablaze and there were no fire trucks to be seen.

With one of the garden’s utes fitted with a 1000 L tank, it’s easy for us to get around the site and deal with small fires and after two tanks, I had the fire under control, or so I thought. The area to the south and west of the depot was to be the source of flare-ups for a further 45 days.

It wasn’t long after the depot fire was contained that I was alerted by a member of the RFS that there was no water to fill their trucks. The communications line that controls our dam pump had been burnt through. This meant I had to go to an area surrounded by active fire to manually reinstate the pump. This was possibly the only time I really felt uncomfortable, as 35-metre trees all around were burning, and strangely, despite the RFS needing to wait for me to reinstate the water supply, there were no staff available to assist me.

Once the supply was reinstated, still no water! Of course, a dead possum had been sucked into the main intake in the header tank. This has NEVER happened before so of course it’s going to happen now! With a milk crate taped to a pole saw, I eventually retrieved the body and water was once again flowing. But of course, there was more, much more, to come.

Eucalypt on fire. Photo: Blue Mountains Botanic Garden Mount Tomah.

Throughout day two Chris and I repaired several fire abatement lines and tackled flare-ups across the site. I lost count of how many tanks of water we emptied out that day.

I was able to get two additional staff in on day three, and for 15 days straight, we rotated shifts day and night to contain flare-ups across the site. It’s worth noting that none of us are trained fire fighters so fighting fire is not part of our usual role. In the case of

View from the garden’s deck as the moon rises. Photo: Blue Mountains Botanic Garden Mount Tomah.

this fire, and most bushfire situations, residents often play a vital role in managing spot fires and what’s often referred to as ‘mopping up’. This is what we did, and I think I can confidently say that had we not been there to do so, the outcome for the garden’s living collection would have been quite different.

The last day of fire in the garden was the first day of February 2020. Just six days later we received our first rain and 9 February saw half of 2019’s rainfall come down in one event.

Of course, there is much to share with regards to how the garden’s infrastructure performed, the lessons learned and how the garden’s living collection and strategic direction may change as a result of the fire.

As Ian Allan recounts in the following article, the garden has risen from the ashes. The review process is, as of November 2020, ongoing, but will be communicated to member gardens once complete.