In the rolling hills of Victoria’s high country, where the Tarcombe Valley once echoed with the soft calls of rescued koalas, the gentle rustle of wallabies, and the healing cries of orphaned wombat joeys, silence now reigns. A ferocious wildfire tore through the property of Dr.

Robyn Coy, founder of the Tarcombe Wildlife Conservation Centre, in the early hours of January 7, 2026. The blaze claimed the lives of nearly every animal she had spent decades rescuing, rehabilitating, and preparing for release back into the wild.

Dr. Coy herself narrowly escaped with her life.

At approximately 2:17 a.m., when the fire front surged over the ridge line with terrifying speed, Robyn was alone on the 120-hectare sanctuary. She had spent the previous afternoon moving animals into the reinforced emergency shelter—a concrete bunker she had built herself after the devastating Black Saturday fires of 2009.

But the fire moved faster than anyone anticipated. Winds gusting over 80 km/h drove flames through dry eucalyptus and thick undergrowth, turning the once-lush landscape into an inferno.

“I heard the roar before I saw it,” Dr. Coy told emergency services later, her voice barely above a whisper. “It sounded like a freight train coming straight for us. I ran to the shelter, but the heat was already unbearable. I could hear them… the animals screaming.”

She managed to open several enclosure gates in a desperate attempt to give some animals a chance to flee, but the speed of the fire left no time for more. Robyn retreated to the shelter, sealing herself inside as embers rained down and the sky turned an apocalyptic orange.

She remained trapped for nearly four hours while fire crews battled to reach her remote location.

When the first responders finally broke through at dawn, they found the centre in ruins. Every major enclosure had been destroyed. The koala hospital, the wallaby paddocks, the wombat burrows, the raptor aviaries—gone.

Of the 187 animals under Robyn’s care at the time of the fire—many of them long-term residents too injured or orphaned to ever be released—only seven survived. Three were badly burned; the rest succumbed to smoke inhalation, heat, or the flames themselves.

The loss is not merely numerical. Each animal at Tarcombe carried a story of survival that Dr. Coy had personally witnessed and nurtured.

There was Matilda, the blind koala who had learned to trust Robyn’s voice after being found with severe burns from a previous bushfire. She died inside her specially adapted tree hollow.

There was Joey, the orphaned eastern grey kangaroo joey who had been bottle-fed by hand for months and had just begun to hop independently. His body was found near the fence line, too young and too small to outrun the flames.

There was Luna, the powerful owl who had recovered from a broken wing and was due for release next spring. Her aviary cage melted around her.

Dr. Robyn Coy, 68, has dedicated the last 32 years of her life to wildlife rehabilitation. She founded Tarcombe in 1994 on a small parcel of inherited land, using every dollar from her veterinary practice to build enclosures, plant native vegetation, and hire volunteers.

The centre became one of Victoria’s most respected wildlife hospitals, treating thousands of animals each year and successfully releasing hundreds back into the wild.

Friends and volunteers describe her as tireless, compassionate, and quietly fierce. “Robyn didn’t just rescue animals,” said long-time volunteer Sarah McAllister. “She gave them back their dignity. She never gave up on the ones everyone else said were hopeless. And now… she’s lost almost everything she built.”

The emotional toll is visible. In a brief statement released through the Victorian Wildlife Rehabilitation Association, Dr. Coy wrote:

“I have spent my life trying to give these creatures a second chance. Watching them die in the fire I couldn’t stop is the hardest thing I have ever endured. But I will not give up.

As long as there is one animal left who needs help, I will keep going.”

Community support has begun to pour in. Donations to the Tarcombe Wildlife Conservation Centre Emergency Fund have already surpassed $180,000 in the first 48 hours. Local farmers have offered temporary paddocks for surviving animals, and wildlife groups from across Australia are sending trained carers and supplies.

Yet the tragedy underscores a painful reality: wildfires are becoming more frequent, more intense, and more devastating to Australia’s unique wildlife. The 2019–2020 Black Summer fires killed or displaced an estimated three billion animals.

Smaller, localized fires like the one that destroyed Tarcombe often receive less attention, yet they inflict deep, personal wounds on the people and creatures who call these places home.

Conservation centres like Tarcombe are often the last line of defence—quiet, volunteer-run, underfunded, and utterly dedicated. When they burn, entire lifetimes of care and hope burn with them.

As the smoke slowly clears over Tarcombe Valley, the charred remains of enclosures stand like silent tombstones. Dr. Robyn Coy, still recovering from smoke inhalation and shock, has already begun walking the scorched ground, searching for any sign of life.

She says she will rebuild.

But the animals she loved—the ones who trusted her hands, her voice, her care—are gone. And that loss, more than any building or fence, is what breaks the heart of everyone who knows her story.

In the end, perhaps the greatest tragedy is not the fire itself, but the knowledge that so many more like it are coming—and that the quiet heroes who fight to save what’s left are running out of second chances.

For donations and updates: Tarcombe Wildlife Conservation Centre Emergency Fund (link in bio or official website).

Rest in peace, little ones. You were loved beyond measure.