Life on the West Island - Unnatural disasters

You may have noticed that it’s been a bit damp along parts of the West Island’s east coast lately. Torrential rain has caused landslides, widespread flooding, road collapses, bridges washed away, food crops inundated and homes ruined. In our peaceful regional area, we received 400mm (16 inches) of rain in just two days over the weekend before last.

On the following Monday, your intrepid Life on the West Island correspondent was due to travel by train to the capital city in order to chair a monthly meeting of a book appreciation group. The weather forecast had improved and roads and railways to the city were all open, so the two hour inward journey was uneventful, taking just over two hours, as usual.

All went well for most of the day. Despite the heavy rainfall of the weekend, Monday in the city was mostly dry, with just a couple of light showers. Members gathered as usual in the CBD and had lively discussions of 19^th Century literary masterpieces over a “brown bag” lunch. (In the new “post-Covid” world we no longer share food with each other, but pack and eat our own lunch. This is officially described as “getting back to normal.”)

Following the meeting, we usually browse through the library and borrow books to read and discuss the following month. Then it’s a ten minute walk to the station, hop on the train and off home in time for tea. No problems so far – a friendly day in the big city, cuddling up with the newspaper’s cryptic crossword and/or a good book during a relaxing train ride home. And that process started smoothly in the normal way.

But at the main city station, it all began to unravel. Having arrived half an hour early and boarded the homeward train, we were convinced that the day would continue to unravel as expected. Then, five minutes before scheduled departure time, the cabin lights blinked and finally went out. Shortly after, the driver announced over the public address system that there would be a short delay because there had been a “small fire” in the front section of the train.

Another 20 minutes passed, then we were advised to quietly leave the train and wait on the platform for further announcements. Unfortunately, the doors jammed and we waited patiently until a railway official eventually appeared and escorted us through empty carriages and out onto the platform via the driver’s cabin. A little later, there was an announcement that the first four carriages were to be detached from the train and taken for repairs, but that the remaining four would take us on our way. But that apparently proved impossible and half an hour later we were advised to rush from Platform 11 to Platform 5 to jump on another train about to leave for our preferred destinations.

And so it did, and for the next hour we zipped south and all seemed well. Then the real problems began. Our train stopped dead at a tiny country siding and we all waited for further news. Eventually the driver announced that the service had been directed to stop and wait for further instructions because of weather conditions up ahead. This wait lasted for two hours, with intermittent messages from the discombobulated driver about what was the problem. He said that there might be a tree or trees over the track or that perhaps the sensors had detected water on the lines. But nobody was telling him…

Eventually, the driver announced that we would be going back about 20 km at reduced speed “because of the weather” and would have to change trains at another station to go back another 30km, when we would be transported by bus back south to connect with another train heading our way. We sprinted between trains in a heavy rainstorm at the first station and sat dripping in our new carriages, awaiting further news.

Hallelujah! The announcement came that all was well and that on arrival at the ominously named Waterfall station, a fleet of modern buses would be waiting to convey us on our way back to another connecting train to convey us swiftly back on our homeward journeys.

Regrettably, this advice was a little optimistic. 150 passengers were disgorged into an abandoned bus shelter, where we huddled together as a raging wind blew our umbrellas to bits and sent us unprotected into a downpour crashing horizontally into our freezing bodies. That was the worst of the night’s experiences, but our torment was not over.

Forty minutes later, three buses eventually arrived and carried us 40 km along the twisty coast road to another station, where a southbound service was due to depart. Dripping wet, was awaited the arrival of that train on another cold and windblown station platform. To make a long saga short, the train finally came and we had to make two further changes and endure delays while waiting on sidings for goods trains to pass before finally arriving at our home town close to 11pm. Our expected two hour trip had taken over 10 hours and we were soaked, tired and hungry but relieved.

After a couple of hours of thawing out, drinking hot soup and changing into warm dry clothes, our unnatural disaster was behind us. In the scheme of things, we had only experienced an uncomfortable and annoying delayed trip home involving seven trains (one of which didn’t leave the station) and a bus trip.

We could only reflect that so many other West Islanders living close to us were suffering much worse consequences of the rains, winds and floods, with lost homes, businesses and crops. Some will be hindered for months by closed roads and bridges, and even worse many were homeless. Is this the result of “natural disasters,” or could it be that human-induced climate change is plunging us into a world where destructive and unnaturally wild weather is becoming the norm?