Happy as Larry! ... Angie's Antics

Larry sure took us by surprise! Something went seriously wrong with our tried and tested Cyclone Alert System! Dad — our Weatherman — dropped the ball! It was his job to ring us up and alert us of the next tropical cyclone heading our way in Far North Queensland. We rarely bothered watching television and neglected tuning in to the News on the radio. Internet was slow, expensive and patchy at best. We lived our lives under a rock — as far as current affairs were concerned. Delightful days…except when a cyclone loomed without adequate warning or preparation time.

Cyclones never reach the Tablelands!

was a repeated assurance throughout my growing up years. Therefore, we weren’t overly concerned… cyclones always petered out after heading inland. None could penetrate the Great Dividing Range’s impressive defences. Spectacular views of their pinnacle, Mt Bartle Frere and sister range, Bellenden Ker graced our back verandah.

Despite experiencing numerous cyclones, three stick firmly in my mind.

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Round One: I vividly recollect — as a nine-year-old — weathering Category 4, Cyclone Althea, on Christmas Eve, in Townsville, Australia. That vicious lass decimated much of the city. Dad was a builder, with two uninsured houses at the time… thankfully, both survived, with only a few roof tiles taking flight. The house we lived in was built like a pillbox with thick concrete walls… probably the safest house around. Christmas morning saw us huddled in my uncle’s cramped basement flat… grateful for hot food and his gas appliances. Our modern, all electric house was an epic fail. We all shot through before the washing up as Ross River was rising fast and threatening our abode. We survived… and happily relocated soon after, to cyclone free, Atherton Tablelands — 350 km north.

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Round Two: Over three decades later… Category 5, Cyclone Larry suddenly loomed. We’d enjoyed a rare weekend away in Cairns and planned to stock up on groceries on Monday. Best laid plans! We barely made it home in time to get cyclone ready. The five of us hunkered downstairs in our rumpus room. Despite our home being built to withstand a high wind rating, I fully expected to awaken to a roofless house. We huddled together on a few mattresses, in a darkness thick enough to cut. Ever the realist — after committing our family into God’s safekeeping — I cheerily bid the family good night with…

Well, if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you in heaven!

My children will never let me forget that line! The wind raged, wailed and shrieked like a banshee throughout that interminable night… gusting up to 240 kilometres per hour. Mysterious random clanging roused and haunted me throughout the night, which stretched like elastic. Tossing and turning, I restlessly visualised the roof flapping; torrents of rain pouring through a gaping hole and becoming a gushing waterfall, flowing down to us as we sheltered on the ground floor.

It’s only stuff. I’ll just be grateful if we all survive.

Daylight finally dawned! We were alive! Unharmed! The only damage sustained was a couple of slats missing off our external blinds. Relieved, we settled in to survive on lean pickings the next few days. Living between crater lakes — surrounded by large tracts rainforest — we predicted our road would be cut for days.

Almost immediately, the air rang with chainsaws buzzing. Numerous neighbours banded together to clear a narrow track through the felled vegetation covering the road. Just a few hours later, we were astounded to see my dear Dad rattle up our driveway, riding his trusty white steed — his old, battered, work ute. What a hero! He came bearing food supplies and a petrol generator to cook them, heat water and brighten our inky black nights. My Mum also came to our rescue! Twenty minutes' drive down the road meant she had electricity — so she became our laundry lady. Our two sons were devastated to learn school was operating after only four days off without water and electricity. Two weeks after Larry’s visit, our household re-entered modern civilisation with electricity and telephones. Bliss!

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Round Three! Half a decade later, we were unsurprised when Category 5, Tropical Cyclone Yasi had the audacity to penetrate the Great Dividing Range’s defences. Thankfully, this time, we were very well prepared… laundry up to date; plentiful food supplies; batteries; water AND our very own petrol generator.

History repeated itself… again, the five of us crammed together in our tried and tested cyclone shelter, rumpus room. It was even more cosy this time around as our children were five years older and considerably larger. The destructive monster — Cyclone Yasi — had a massive 500 km diameter and a 30 km eye. With wind gusts up to 285 km/hr, we wondered what could withstand its devastation? Prior to attempting to grab a few winks of sleep while Yasi roared outside like a voracious lion, my Cyclone Talk made a reappearance:

Well, if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you in heaven!

Yasi travelled hard and fast and crossed the coast just after midnight, as all successfully sneaky, self-respecting cyclones seem to. Thankfully, Yasi passed by swiftly. Cyclone Yasi wrought $3.6 billion in damages and was Australia’s most costly cyclone. However, we were blessed to survive with only tree damage.

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Time hurtles by when you’re busy enjoying birthdays 🎉! I’ve celebrated fourteen birthdays 🎈since those adrenaline-fueled events. My Cyclone Talk now crops up before any important event such as: my son moving to Germany for who knows how long; major operations and cancer treatments. My kids regularly ask each other if Mum gave them — what they fondly refer to as — The Cyclone Talk! My daughter cheekily said it happens whenever they walk out the door!

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Thanks Hannah, for inspiring this story!

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