At times it could be seen in the very public face of the then NSW Rural Fire Service chief when he stepped in front of the microphones - a voice of calm, comfort and clarity in the midst of a disaster of unprecedented magnitude.

There were also open displays of emotion, frustration and fatigue as he stoically shouldered the weight of people's trust, their safety and their lives during those darkest days.

And Australians loved him all the more for it.

In private, there was "absolute grief", he admits ahead of a special address to the 2020 Albury-Wodonga Winter Solstice on June 21.

Day after day of relentless destruction during a catastrophic 'Black Summer' was always going to take its toll.

"In some ways I didn't cope well," Mr Fitzsimmons says.

"It hurt enormously.

"I was absolutely devastated throughout the fires but I had a responsibility to help get us through."

He almost wasn't at the helm that fire season.

Mr Fitzsimmons, who had spent 12 years in the top job during a distinguished 35-year career with the state's RFS, had actually made the decision to leave before the start of summer.

"I didn't want to outstay my relevance or welcome," he reflects.

But when all the signs were shaping up to be a "busy season", he decided it might be best to stay on rather than throw his replacement into the deep end.

"I didn't realise it would be as bad as it was," he concedes.

"I am pleased I stayed; notwithstanding the utter devastation of the fire season, it would have been worse if I had left ... like I had deserted my post."

No one could accuse Mr Fitzsimmons of that in the days, weeks and months that followed.

In the end 34 lives would be lost, 3094 homes destroyed, more than 10 million hectares burnt out and an estimated 1 billion animals killed during the unprecedented bushfires that swept across the country during the 2019-2020 summer.

Old hands had feared this was coming. Long months, in some places years, of drought had sucked the last vestiges of moisture from forest and farm, coastal hamlet and urban fringe. The landscape was one vast tinderbox, wrote the Sydney Morning Herald's Deborah Snow.

In remote country, searing winds fanned strikes from dry lightning, giving birth to the megafires - infernos of previously unmatched intensity.

The winds carried the stench of charred bush into the hearts of cities. Thousands sheltered where they could as fire ringed holiday destinations and choking smoke turned day to night.

Ordinary men and women, the firefighters of the Rural Fire Service, became the nation's heroes.

Mr Fitzsimmons unequivocally agrees those who fought to protect lives were heroes - none more so than the volunteers "who paid the ultimate price".

He admits to deep heartbreak at having to tell the families of firefighters Andrew O'Dwyer, Geoff Keaton and Holbrook's Samuel McPaul, who died in the Green Valley fire at Jingellic, they would not be coming home.

"You carry a lot of these things personally; you feel a responsibility because it's happening on your watch," he says.

"These volunteers died trying to protect others. We owe it to their kids to tell them their dads left them because they were trying to save lives.

"They are absolute heroes."

HIs anguish was palpable at the funerals of the trio.

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Somehow the grief was magnified by the children: Mr McPaul's widow pregnant with their unborn child; Mr O'Dwyer's little girl wearing her dad's fire helmet beside his coffin; and Harvey Keaton, dressed in a miniature RFS uniform, accepting his dad's service medal with a dummy in his mouth.

At the time, the NSW RFS released a poignant photograph of Mr Fitzsimmons pinning Mr Keaton's medal to his young son's shirt.

"That photograph captured a very powerful moment," he says.

"It summed up the price of what's been paid."

Mr Fitzsimmons, who left the RFS in April to take up a new post as the inaugural Resilience NSW Commissioner, will never forget the sacrifices made last summer - and not just by those on the frontline.

During the height of the crisis, he joined Premier Gladys Berejiklianon on more than 40 trips to bushfire-ravaged communities and undertook at least another 20 on his own.

Even a man with as much experience fighting fires as Shane Fitzsimmons could not have imagined the scale and magnitude of the devastation he encountered.

Entire streets and towns razed to the ground, burnt-out homes, the charred remains of livestock and the haunted faces of those who had lost everything huddled in recovery centres ... he saw and felt it all.

It became a powerful reminder of the face of trauma.

"I met people who lost everything they'd worked for and were openly emotional," Mr Fitzsimmons says.

"I'd ask how they were going and they'd say, 'Shane I can't even prove to you who I am; I've lost my identity'.

"They had no wallet, no identification; they had money in the bank but no keycard and no way of proving who they were."

But even as tragedy unfolded, Mr Fitzsimmons witnessed the extraordinary capacity for kindness.

People cooking meals, offering beds to strangers and rallying to collect donations and supplies.

"The very worst of the season brought out the best of humanity," he says.

"I saw the relentless nature of goodwill in community, of people desperately making a difference every day.

"I saw people united with the common goal of saving as many people as possible.

"And in our darkest times, I saw the best of people standing up."

It's that hope and tenacity he wants to harness in his new role driving the state's disaster preparedness and recovery.

In announcing his appointment, Premier Gladys Berejiklian acknowledged the next six months would be difficult as the state turns its mind to recovery.

"The NSW community has shown extraordinary resilience in the face of many disasters - bushfires, drought, flood and now the COVID-19 pandemic," she says.

Mr Fitzsimmons "agonised" over the decision to take on the role; in the end it was a deeply personal one, supported by his wife LIsa and their daughters, Lauren and Sarah.

It was a decision born from decades of caring for people during crisis - both for those he has led and those "who have lost their livelihoods in the most horrendous circumstances".

It was a decision born from a wayward teenager's rise through the ranks of the RFS "family" and the loss of his experienced firefighter father George during a routine backburn "that went horribly wrong" in 2000.

"The enduring recovery and rebuilding efforts will be something never seen before," he says.

"With the overlay of COVID-19, the challenge is on a scale and complexity that was not imagined in January but I've never wanted to be that person on the sidelines pontificating."

Much of his efforts are being directed to ensuring the right resources and scaffolding is in place to rebuild communities - from fences, bridges and roads to community halls and mental health programs.

Mr Fitzsimmons sees a lot of synergy between his previous and current roles.

"You can rebuild, you can repair things but you can't replace people," he says.

"My focus has always been on the preservation of life as the highest priority - everything follows that."

That philosophy is why he says he felt honoured to join the Border's Winter Solstice.

"If you want to learn something from despair and loss then what better way," he says.

"My observation and experience is there is something so enormously powerful and healing in shared community.

"And what underpins that is hope - to know you are not alone and there is a tomorrow."