Floods

Richmond River Floods of the 1860s.

Courtesy of Trove The Richmond River Herald Nov 1922

The greatest Richmond River flood within the white man’s memory occur-red in 1858 or 1860, writes James Ains-worth in the course of his reminiscences. With the press of cedar it broke the big chain at Lismore and swept several hundred thousand feet of log timber down stream and over the bar to sea. Much of it was afterwards recovered from the coastal beaches. This flood also cut a new wide, straight, and deep channel (a 22ft. pole found no bottom in it) through the South Beach in the vicinity of the present day refreshment rooms. The sea breaking in through this opening, whipped up by the accompanying gale, flooded and smashed down a number of tenements at West Ballina, which were also carried out by the rushing torrent. It was possible during this visitation to row a boat from Woodburn to Coraki in a direct line across country and in the same way over to Evans River. The next extra-heavy flood was in 1864, when, in fact, there were no less than eight inundations rap-idly following each other in the one year. Henry Cook had erected the framework of a house at Dungarubba when the first of the ’64 floods came down. The cattle on the plains rushed the temporary floor of this structure for shelter, and the whole being bodily swept away by the current the carcases of the dead beasts were afterwards found packed in the wrecked building like sardines in a tin. This flood resulted in heavy losses of cattle as well as timber. Clark Irving and William Yabsley were exceptionally hard hit, and Henry Wilson, of Lismore Station, scarcely ever recovered the blow. While no record of the height of the ’58 flood was kept, so far as is known, the flood in’ ’64 rose 38ft. in Lismore. In ’64 I was engaged in hauling cedar into Skennar’s Creek, and at the time of the flood, was busy salvaging the wrecked tallow washed up from the foundered schooner Volunteer on Tallow Beach and in Byron Bay. A terrific easterly gale and blinding rain set in, which in many places battered down the protecting terraces behind the beaches and thus allowed the ocean to flood the low lands beyond. In this way the sea penetrated to where the creamery now stands, and filled the swamp opposite all the way to Bilongil Creek with salt water. The foam churned up by the agitated surf and lashed by the gale covered the old track between Tallow Beach and the Bay to a depth of 10 feet in spots, and generally was higher than the horse’s back. No vessel could have survived in the roadstead, and be it sadly stated, many river ships off the coast at the time were never heard of again.