The most temperate climate in Australia – yes that’s Merimbula!  Yet, even in this beautiful region, there are times when Mother Nature goes to extremes.

The two lakes surrounded by mountains have played a big part in my ongoing love affair with Merimbula.  My family came here for a holiday in 1967.  Why Merimbula?   A friend had finished building some holiday flats and there were no Easter bookings.  The holiday changed the course of our lives; within eighteen months, we had moved to live permanently in the area.

Looking back, it was the small country hospital, and the airport, which persuaded me to agree to leave the place where I was born and where I grew up. Being an oyster and fishing village, there was very little employment, except for the local bacon factory.  At that time, there were only a few owner operated shops, a primary school, churches and one doctor.  Tourism was beginning.   The population was 680.

Tourism, the new industry, provided the answer as to how we could support our family in a town with such a small population.  It was in the early 1960s that motels began taking over the accommodation role from hotels and guesthouses. Why not build a motel?  At that time, I had never stayed in a motel, and I had a young family. I was told it would just be like running a big household!  Would the family like country living?   How would the children settle down?  Despite these uncertainties, the decision was made.  We built a motel and created an income.

The weather was magnificent, sunny day after sunny day, but there was drought too.  Conditions were of a prime concern to all residents on the south coast.  Local bush fires seemed a regular occurrence and became an event just like any other happening in the town – however we were always on the alert.

The nearest fire to us swept through the valley below our motel.  At that time, sewerage lines were being installed.  At the top of the hill, the workers who had been burning off had gone home for the weekend leaving tree trunks smoldering.  The following day, high winds carried the fire down along the valley.  Late in the afternoon a couple of the motel guests booked out and left us to the fire and our fate. It was their panic and their choice.

Instead of cooking the dinners for the motel guests, we were down the hill fighting the fire as it sped along the valley.  These fires were bad enough for a city person to experience but the natural disaster following the drought left a feeling of helplessness.  We felt our lives were in the hands of a higher authority.

One February morning in 1971, I awoke to hear the rain falling; at last the drought was breaking.  Before I opened my eyes, I wondered how many guests would blame us for ruining their holidays.  None of us thought anything about the weather except that it was a wet, miserable morning, and how busy we were because we had no vacancies.

Our children had to go to school.  Bega high school children travelled by school bus to Bega, and our younger children attended Merimbula primary school.  Although it was raining, there was no reason for them to stay home.

Work around the motel continued.  Everything felt damp, even the clean sheets.
Most of the units checked out because of the weather, but seven stayed even though the clouds hung so low in the sky.

Normally the Bega school buses dropped the children at school and returned again at 3.30 p.m.  At 11 am, we heard a local radio announcement calling for the school buses to return to Bega.  We thought the announcement was unusual, and one hour later when the teenagers climbed off the bus, we had the answer.  The police had recalled the buses, and after the last bus crossed the bridge at Yellow Pinch, the Princes Highway was closed between Bega and Merimbula.

At the news of floods, all the staff left work while they still had access to their homes, picking up their children from Merimbula and Pambula primary schools along the way.   The news spread quickly and many parents arrived to collect their children before lunchtime.  Those children left behind were taken home by teachers.  The primary school grounds were under water; even the toilets were flooded.

Driving down the hill into town, it was frightening to see the large volume of water across the main streets. The area behind the Bowling Club was flooded, cutting off access to Tathra.  Later the same day, the highway south of Pambula closed as well as the airport, and Merimbula was isolated for four days and four nights.

The heavy rains came down and down.  The heavens had opened up.  Would it ever stop raining?  Was it time to build an ark?

For the next four days the telephone lines were down and there was one land line out of the township, so the radio was our only contact with the outside world.  Normal radio programs were suspended.  Broadcasts were news items and personal messages to and from worried families and friends.

Every morning and afternoon we would drive around the town to see if the water levels were receding, and if there was anything we could do to help others less fortunate than ourselves.   Only one water pipe remained in use to supply the town’s needs, and because we lived on a hill, the motel’s supply was reduced to a trickle.  Fortunately we had a water tank but were forced to ration its use.  Buckets were supplied to the motel units to flush toilets, and this water came from the overflowing swimming pool.

Although electricity remained available, we had a supply of candles on hand.

On Tuesday morning the sun had come out as if nothing had happened.  It was a beautiful summer’s day.  Even though still very wet, the airport opened in the afternoon to allow the landing of a Hercules to bring in much needed supplies.

The northbound highway opened on Wednesday, likewise the highway to south of Pambula.

There was devastation and sorrow in the wake of the flood.  Many bridges in the shire were washed away.  Livestock was drowned or lost.  Four people died.