Authorities are taking a watch and wait approach to an apparent underground peat fire that has burnt on the Guyra golf course for more than a week.
Guyra Bowling and Recreation Club vice-president David Wilcox said he had consulted National Parks and Wildlife Services, who were worried about the adjoining Mother of Ducks Lagoon.
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"We're looking at some ideas on how to fix it, but the next couple of weeks, we're just going to wait and see whether it burns itself out."
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The now-10 metre patch of blackened ground has smouldered and smoked for 10 days. The fire started on Sunday, April 7, during the Westpac Rescue Helicopter Service's annual fund-raising golf day. A group of men saw the smoke coming out of the ground as they finished their ninth hole.
Although the burnt area has doubled since then, Mr Wilcox said the fire is not a hazard at this stage.
"We thought it might come towards the golf ground just here, but it's going the other way. There's no real threat to anything at the moment - but if it starts to threaten anything, we'll have to look at it then."
"It's obviously very hot under the ground somewhere, but we don't know where, or how deep, or anything else, so we're playing it by ear. We're hoping Mother Nature's letting us take her course, and we'll see what happens."
National Parks and Wildlife Services believe the fire is caused by underground peat combusting. (More lurid speculations included hellfire, ghosts, and volcanoes.) The golf course is built on a drained part of the Mother of Ducks Lagoon, which, unlike other upland wetlands, has a deep layer of peat underneath.
This is not the first time the phenomenon has occurred. The lagoon's peat fire bed burnt for 3 months in 1901; during a drought from 1917 to 1919; and again in 1966, 1985, and 1986.
Guyra resident Gwen Williams remembers seeing a peat fire when she was a girl, more than 70 years ago, she estimates.
"I didn't actually go across to it because it was over the other side, but I used to see the smoke. Obviously when the lagoon filled up, which it did on its own accord, it must have put the fire out, because it wasn't there later on."
In those days, Mrs Williams said, the lagoon was a common where locals could keep cows and horses for sixpence a week; when the lagoon filled, animals would graze on the reeds.
Mrs Williams used to go down in her lunch hour, and watch the water birds.
"I spent a lot of time around that lagoon, then I watched it being drained," she said. "That broke my heart."
Nicholas Fuller
The exciting thing about journalism is the variety; one can explore the world, meet interesting people and write about it. I've sat in the caravan of an African circus ringmaster; I've squatted on my haunches in a plastic-sorting factory in the Mumbai slums, talking to the workers and drinking hot chai in plastic cups the size of thimbles; and I've interviewed Chinese cultural attachés, Danish football stars and Japanese drummers. Now I’ve come to the Northern Tablelands as a group journalist working across six of Fairfax’s mastheads. Living in New England is a return to country. My father’s side of the family lived here since the 19th century. My great-great-grandparents are buried in Ben Lomond. My great-grandmother and grandmother spent most of their lives in and around Glencoe and Glen Innes, and are both buried in Tamworth. My grandfather isn’t; his ashes are in a cupboard until we throw them in the Macdonald, near Bendemeer, where he used to fish. And my father cut his teeth as a cadet journalist on the Northern Daily Leader, before moving to Canberra, and studied history at UNE. Moving here is following in the family footsteps. Armidale seems charming: up here, in Australia’s highest city, one feels close to the sky. And the mixture of 1830s historic buildings; green, rain-washed hills, crowned with conifers; and one of the country’s leading universities give it a unique appeal. I completed my journalism qualifications last year, while freelancing for newspapers and magazines, and holding down a full-time job. I spent the end of last year in Sri Lanka, where I reported on visiting Buddhist dignitaries (from exotic Perth), UN development programs, Italian food weeks, and hotels in former war-zones. Previously, I worked as a writer and editor for the Australian Government in Canberra for a decade. In my day job, I briefed members of parliament about international relations, and wrote about agricultural aid programs to developing countries. Journalism, though, is where my heart lies. I want to experience life, rather than sit behind a desk. And, having grown up in Belgium, I want to be Tintin. I hope to get to know and love the region where my ancestors lived, while reporting on issues important to the Tablelands.
The exciting thing about journalism is the variety; one can explore the world, meet interesting people and write about it. I've sat in the caravan of an African circus ringmaster; I've squatted on my haunches in a plastic-sorting factory in the Mumbai slums, talking to the workers and drinking hot chai in plastic cups the size of thimbles; and I've interviewed Chinese cultural attachés, Danish football stars and Japanese drummers. Now I’ve come to the Northern Tablelands as a group journalist working across six of Fairfax’s mastheads. Living in New England is a return to country. My father’s side of the family lived here since the 19th century. My great-great-grandparents are buried in Ben Lomond. My great-grandmother and grandmother spent most of their lives in and around Glencoe and Glen Innes, and are both buried in Tamworth. My grandfather isn’t; his ashes are in a cupboard until we throw them in the Macdonald, near Bendemeer, where he used to fish. And my father cut his teeth as a cadet journalist on the Northern Daily Leader, before moving to Canberra, and studied history at UNE. Moving here is following in the family footsteps. Armidale seems charming: up here, in Australia’s highest city, one feels close to the sky. And the mixture of 1830s historic buildings; green, rain-washed hills, crowned with conifers; and one of the country’s leading universities give it a unique appeal. I completed my journalism qualifications last year, while freelancing for newspapers and magazines, and holding down a full-time job. I spent the end of last year in Sri Lanka, where I reported on visiting Buddhist dignitaries (from exotic Perth), UN development programs, Italian food weeks, and hotels in former war-zones. Previously, I worked as a writer and editor for the Australian Government in Canberra for a decade. In my day job, I briefed members of parliament about international relations, and wrote about agricultural aid programs to developing countries. Journalism, though, is where my heart lies. I want to experience life, rather than sit behind a desk. And, having grown up in Belgium, I want to be Tintin. I hope to get to know and love the region where my ancestors lived, while reporting on issues important to the Tablelands.
