Sometimes you just can’t anticipate how things might turn out. Even when you set out to do something quite ordinary and usual, events can take an unexpected course. The human imagination just can’t take in all the possibilities the universe can throw at you, which means there’s always the potential for a surprise, even if you’re popping down the shops for a pint of milk.

So today started with a sense of anticipation at Corner Cottage – at least, in my corner of the cottage it did. Thunderstorms have been forecast for days, and the urge to chase has grown like weeds on my freshly-mown lawn. The chance of a chase last weekend never materialised as the storms swirled away to the north of us – but today the weather app predicted a 60% chance of lightning in Braidwood by 2pm; the radar showed two waves approaching.

All was prepared: camera, tripod, lenses, filters, batteries, gadgets, doo-dahs and widgets all obsessively charged, polished, fettled and fiddled. With the morning’s tasks more or less completed, I fired up the 4×4 and chugged up Mount Gillamatong to see what was approaching. Then came a short foray out toward Major’s Creek, with a stop or two to set up in likely spots. Every time this happened, rain would descend in sheets within minutes, forcing a retreat in confusion.

Eventually I gave up, returning home for some lunch. And, just as I stepped out of the house to return to take out the trash or some such drudgery, a big flash lit up the peripheral vision. I stopped – could it . . . had it . . .? And yes, a huge thunderclap! A missed opportunity – rubbing salt in the wound of an unproductive chase.

Late afternoon and apathy descended. Why bother when the gods – Thor himself, apparently – were determined to toy with my hopes? And it’s tiresome setting up, full of anticipation, then getting rained on and having to pack it all up again. But you know, hope springs eternal. So back to the mountain it was – and things were looking up: a very nice-looking storm was looming on the horizon.

You know the drill: set up, all anticipation. And wait. It was a lovely afternoon, with sunshine filtering through the clouds and lighting the area’s softly-rolling hills, studded with windbreaks planted a hundred years ago; but there was no lightning. A car passed; then a guy on an enduro bike; then a woman out for a walk who said, “lovely sky!” and passed  on her way. But lighting there was none.

Getting bored and wondering if there was more action, electrical-storm wise, elsewhere, I scanned the horizon. And saw something odd. Looked again. It was still there. This was the unplanned thing – unplanned and unanticipated, because it was not the kind of thing you expect in country New South Wales. It was, children, a twister – a bona fide, dyed-in-the-wool, twenty-four carat tornado!

It was far away and I was ill-equipped; but my birding lens was in the car and it was the work of seconds to seize it and jog down the road a bit for an unrestricted view. Shot some shots. They weren’t beautiful but they captured the phenomenon in its prime and as it decayed. Of course, I wasn’t sure it really was a twister – it wasn’t very windy where I was, and there just didn’t seem to be much chance of such a thing happening so far from the home of tornados, the American mid-West.

This evening the local Facebook group hosted a lively discussion that finally confirmed that what I saw was indeed a twister – and because others had seen it, this came as welcome confirmation that I hadn’t been hallucinating for half the afternoon. It also told me that the hill in the background is Mt Narranghi.

Now get this – I posted one of my pics on the Braidwood group and within minutes was contacted by the media, wanting to use my work! Yes, the Braidwood Bugle itself will run my photo . . . Surely the start of a glittering career in photojournalism. I also contacted Tim the Yowie Man, offering some pics, and received an enthusiastic yes from the cryptid hunter himself.

So there you have it: you get up in the morning expecting – nay, hoping – for a few bolts of lightning and some funky light, and end up witnessing a rare and mysterious phenomenon. There are people who dedicate their lives to chasing twisters; in Braidwood you get one in passing on a Thursday afternoon. No lightning, mind, but the unexpected surprise every now and then is OK by me. Especially if it leads to untold riches from the exposure my photos will gain in the Bugle.