On Sunday afternoon, a bushfire swept through my hometown, devouring houses and bushland.
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Tathra residents and most of my family evacuated as the catastrophic fire took hold of a NSW coastal town many remember from their family holidays.
My dad was not one of them.
Instead he helped evacuate our older neighbours and stayed around our street, putting out spot fires.
As my dad faced what he described as a "wall of fire" near our backyard, I was glued to my computer in Tasmania.
After moving to the Apple Isle to work as a journalist, the Tathra I last saw was one filled with family, Christmas feasts, and frequent dips at nearby Kianinny Bay.
The camping areas were filled with tents and it was rare to see a vacancy sign outside of holiday accommodation for the several weeks of the summer school holidays.
The population appeared to swell three-fold as the tourists arrived to relax by the ocean.
The photos and videos I saw on Sunday afternoon were far from the picturesque seaside village I remembered, which more than 1500 people call home.
It wasn’t a news story that alerted me to the bushfire.
Instead I saw a Facebook post from a family friend describing how they fled their Tathra home after seeing flames take hold of the bushland in the gully below.
Frantic calls to my parents, grandparents and aunt, who all live at Tathra, yielded no response.
Mobile phone reception could be described as patchy at best in many areas of Tathra and the power was out between noon and 10pm on Sunday.
As images and videos began to filter through, so did recognisable houses and streets battered by high winds, thick smoke and, in many instances, flames. The extent of the destruction was still unknown.
Not knowing if your family is safe leaves you in a state of limbo, on the cusp of hope and mourning.
It’s frightening to experience a catastrophe through the writings of other journalists, frantic phone calls and social media posts.
Every snapshot of a house or people fleeing, you zero-in for a familiar face, letterbox, anything to find out more.
While it was a relief to speak to my mum, who was out of town, and aunt after a couple of hours of searching, neither could confirm where my dad and grandparents were.
The night was spent calling family, checking the NSW Rural Fire Service website, social media and news websites.
Reports about my grandparents reaching an evacuation centre were eventually confirmed, but no-one knew where my dad was.
When faced with missing family members two flights away, I turned to social media to find him.
In desperation I posted photos and information to Facebook.
He was last seen leaving Kianinny Bay, less than five minutes’ drive from our house, to help our neighbours evacuate.
Within minutes, friends and people I’d never heard of were sharing the post, sending messages of support.
At 10pm, an email broke the news that my dad was OK.
He sent it from our still-standing house soon after power returned late on Sunday night.
No one died during the catastrophic bushfires.
We were lucky, many families were not, as they discovered their homes had been reduced to ash.
Watching the media coverage in the following days has been eye-opening as it provided one of the main sources of information about the bushfires.
As my dad filled in the details from the ground, it became apparent what an impact the NSW Rural Fire Service and other fire crews, including helicopter staff, made in protecting the seaside town from further destruction.
Just over 10 per cent of the houses fire crews sought to protect were destroyed.
Speaking to my dad on Thursday, he commended the fire crews who have been busy fighting and controlling the blaze since Sunday.
Many of the Tathra residents who stayed to protect their homes turned their hoses towards spot fires near their neighbours’ houses, likely saving them from burning down, he said.
He hoped the bushfires would not keep the wave of Easter holiday tourists from making memories at the seaside town.
Tess Brunton
I recently returned from across the ditch where I worked at New Zealand Fairfax paper The Timaru Herald and developed a love of mountains. Originally I'm a mainlander from an area known for cheese, the Bega Valley, who also dabbled in radio at ABC RCAFF before finding a place in newspapers. I can often be found hiking, caving or climbing when I'm not cursing at my work computer or technology in general.
I recently returned from across the ditch where I worked at New Zealand Fairfax paper The Timaru Herald and developed a love of mountains. Originally I'm a mainlander from an area known for cheese, the Bega Valley, who also dabbled in radio at ABC RCAFF before finding a place in newspapers. I can often be found hiking, caving or climbing when I'm not cursing at my work computer or technology in general.
