Elisha Humphreys spent Saturday cleaning up the cafe that she began operating on the Manning river in 2023 – two years after floods swept through the town of Taree. “We were told that the 2021 flood was a one-in-50-year event, so we didn’t expect this to happen four years later,” she says.
But during this week’s flooding in New South Wales’ mid-north coast, the Boat House cafe in Taree was half-submerged under water. The river rose to an unprecedented 6.5 metres, half a metre above the previous record from nearly 100 years ago.
“It took us two years to build it and just two days to lose it,” she says.
Humphreys is among thousands of people in NSW facing what the premier, Chris Minns, has described as a “mammoth task”. The sun was out on Saturday and the waters have begun to subside but an estimated 10,000 properties may have been damaged, about 50,000 people have been isolated, and five people have died.
Locals along the coast are assessing the damage and cleaning up with water still lapping at their feet – and some are still shaking off the shock.
Like Humphreys, Taree local Suzi – who did not give her full name – thought flooding as bad as 2021 wouldn’t return for another 50 years. She didn’t take out extra insurance for the Thai massage parlour she opened after that deluge.
Sign up for Guardian Australia’s breaking news email
But this time, “the water came up so fast, there was nothing we could do. In a matter of 30 minutes, it went from ankle-high to waist-deep,” Suzi says.
“We have lost everything.”
The Manning River only fell below flood levels on Saturday afternoon.
In Tinonee, inland from Taree, childcare workers and locals have begun demolishing the ruined daycare centre, staff member Karen Sterland says.
“So many houses here have gone completely, or three-quarters under. [Some people] can reach out and touch the water from their second storey in their house,” she says.
“It’s absolute devastation.”
As the rain bucketed down last week and Kempsey residents evacuated, Pia Kyre stayed home with her 17-year-old son. Days later, they watched as water lapped at their back steps.
Bunking down at the nearest evacuation centre would have been difficult for Kyre’s son, who lives with disability, and by Thursday it was no longer an option. The roads all around them were submerged and the water was higher than Kyre had ever seen.
“If we were to go to the evacuation centre … and he was dysregulated, we’d probably be asked to leave. It looks like bad behaviour, but the reasoning behind it is very real,” she says.
They stayed put but Kyre says she didn’t sleep well.
“I was running to check on the water levels all through Wednesday night and Thursday night, because it just came up so fast.”
“In 2022, we had [water] come to the back corner of the property, but never on the property. This was a completely different event.”
Although most of her home ended up untouched by floods and the power stayed on the whole time, she felt isolated because of a lack of local support services that understand her son’s condition.
“There’s no one actively here checking in on us who could help us with that stuff.”
She’s reached out to other locals with disability to build a support network to check in on each other in future floods.
As Tinonee grapples with unpredictable food supply, locals donated the food from their freezers, and the daycare centre and soccer club joined forces to cook all day.
“We’re a good little country town where everybody pitches in and helps and we’ll get it back,” Sterland says. “They’ve all done it before, unfortunately.”
With the internet down, Tinonee’s firefighters handed food out as they hosed down mud and silt caked on walls and floors.
Down the river in Glenthorne, Dave and Tracie Aylward were shocked to see the Manning River rise to 6.5 metres – they lived through the river rising to 5.7m in 1978 and nearly as high in 2021.
They were surprised again when an army of volunteers, mostly strangers, showed up in their front yard to help them out.
“We had people we’ve never come across, strangers to us, but they were happy to come and be told what to do,” their son, Trent, says.
“The community is unbelievable.”