The Scrub Fire

Te Ao Hou, March 1969, Page 49

The Scrub Fire During the May holidays my friend Joseph and I were caught in the Rangimatea Ranges between the swift flowing Tauma River and a raging scrub fire. We were out tramping and were unlucky to have chosen a day when a ‘firebug’ was on the move. The fire was a raging inferno; tongues of yellow and red flame leapt from tree to tree like the swift cougar in pursuit of its prey. Smoke swirled in blankets of dark, sooty cloud. The sky darkened as the fire spread its grasping, hungry fingers over the horizon. My friend and I were on the verge of panic: fear had taken hold of us. My heart was racing and I seemed to feel it pounding in the air about me. Animals were charging past us in hordes. Others were unlucky and were engulfed in the deathtrap. Wherever we looked there was danger. Old massive Kauri and Puriri trees were being flattened. First a flame would catch a branch, then next moment the whole tree would be alight. Cinders of dying wood were flying everywhere. My eyes were watery and very sore from the dense smoke. Charred logs were burning crazily and were adding to the heat. I told my friend that there was only one means of escape: the dreaded Tauma River, which was just as dangerous. ‘Isn't there any alternative?’ he gasped. ‘Oh yes!’ I replied. ‘Absolute cremation in the fire … And of course there is the river with its pitless bottom!’ He shuddered with fear, Consoling him, I told him to jump into the river and make for the other side as he was being swept along. The situation was getting out of hand. The fire was too close for comfort and I, too, jumped into the river. I found myself caught up in a swirling dream and my head was reeling feverishly. I felt hard ground but I was too weak to move. About a week after the incident my friend

and I returned to the scene of horror. There was no work of Mother Nature to be seen. All that was left was a plain of twisted, charred logs and stumps. Patrick Newson, Form V