SHORT STORY: BUCKLE

Buckle

"Mark, we'd better head in for lunch soon, mate. We've been out here about two hours," I called to my ten year old son. "One more wave, Dad," he called back, but I knew that one wave would probably turn into seven. He'd been getting the hang of the surfboard only in the last couple of days and he was obviously reluctant to come out of the surf just for lunch.

I called back that I was taking a wave into the beach and steered the wave ski into the take-off area. "Kids everywhere ... all trying to get their slice of the action," I grumbled to myself. "Aren't they lucky these days - wetsuits, surfboards, boogie boards, flippers? In my day we were lucky to be allowed into the surf at all and always between the flags!"

My mind turned back lazily to my first few times in the surf at North Steyne Beach in Manly when I was only a little younger than my son. Dad and Mum were close by of course never daring to leave our side. Tales of sharks and rips and a myriad of other possible dangers scarcely dampened my enthusiasm for cracking a wave nor my longing for the freedom of surfing without a minder.

The surf this day at Blue Lagoon on the Central Coast was miniscule - perhaps two feet at best. The swell would build up gently and unleash its 'fury' on the reef that created a lagoon at low tide. On a reasonable day you could get a fifty metre ride at best over the reef itself and, if lucky, you might stay with the wave till it built back up again on the sandy area closer to the beach. A ride of some 100 metres was the best you could ever hope for but it was a great place to learn to surf for all the budding Mark Richards and Kelly Slaters.

Occasionally the surf could really 'rip' over the lagoon but only when it was impossible everywhere else on the open beaches. Knowledge of the rock platform formed by the reef was a distinct advantage because the reef consisted of three sections. If you sit on the either edge of the reef, you can usually pick a wave on the shoulder and avoid the inevitable 'dumper' on the rocks. At mid-tide this can provide some pretty 'hairy' rides when the surge of the wave sucks most of the water covering the reef in front of you just as you take the drop. Great sections of jagged rock are suddenly exposed right below you and a 'ding' in the board is unavoidable and a bruise or two as well. Bleeding from a cut foot in the surf was never my idea of fun especially having been told at North Steyne about the sharks with incredible senses of smell just waiting to pounce on the some hapless surfer.

On this particular day, the surf was benign, and two feet at best. All the kids from 5 to 50 years of age were out there hassling for the best take-off spot. All manner of surf craft dotted the lazy sea. Kids paddled around frenetically on boogie boards, dads less so on malibus and 'goat boats'. I drifted around in the take-off area trying to outwit the opposition and find a half decent two footer that would take me to shore for one last ride.

My mind cast back to this exact same spot some 30 years beforehand. The surf that day was a little bigger, about a metre or s, but the weather was overcast. The surface of the water over the reef is always somewhat turbulent and the sudden swirls and eddies close to the surface can be rather spooky because they can give the impression a large fish has just surfaced nearby - a very large fish maybe with very large teeth. The sky and water were a dullish grey and with a light sou'easter whipping up an irritating chop, the surge of the waves at mid-tide just gave me an uneasy feeling.

"I'm going in, I don't like the feel of things out here," I said. My mate, Ron, just ten metres away, was manic about sharks. Sitting with another mate a further 5 metres away, Ron came to the conclusion I was just trying to 'pull his leg' because he knew that I was aware of his fear of sharks. If the truth be known, I wasn't too keen on them either but Ron really did have a problem to the extent that I couldn't believe he could ever find the courage to venture out the back.

 I picked the board up slowly and headed up the beach. I'd gone not 5 metres when I looked around to see Ron and Boo scurrying towards the shore with arms and legs flailing in the water.

"What's up?" I called out. "Christ!" said Ron as he hit the beach. "On the wave behind the one you caught in to shore a fin appeared and followed you in for about 50 metres. I thought you were just crapping on as usual!" We all had a laugh about it going back home in the car that afternoon but nobody was laughing on the beach at the time!

A two-foot 'monster wave' somehow managed to escape all the kids around me and I quickly pulled onto the wave and headed for shore. The wave steered me left and began to peter out in about a metre of water. A slight gust of wind and a surge of backwash suddenly tipped me sideways into the water. A choppy swell can get up to tricks like that if you aren't paying attention. I rolled to my left and under the water started to slide out of my safety belt backwards. I had done this 50 times before without a problem but on tis occasion I twisted slightly and the belt buckle became locked around my knees in a perfect rugby tackle. I tugged at the safety clip - no go! Being now submerged under the water I was also wedged under the ski. I tried to stand up, got my feet on the sand and pushed upwards. This secured me a second's breathing space before the weight of the board pushed me back below the surface of the water.

The next time I tried to push the belt further down over my knees - no go! I pushed back onto my feet again to try to get another second's breathing space and once again I was soon pushed back under the water.

"Don't panic!" I told myself. "Go right back under, stay down longer and have a decent crack at the buckle." All to no avail! The awful truth started to dawn on me- "you're going to drown here, mate!" Ten more times up and down ... "this can't bloody be! I have been swimming here since I was about 5, I can't possibly drown where I first learnt to swim!" I cursed.

The short breaks above the water were getting briefer and briefer and my heart started to race. "I'm going to have a heart attack here for sure, before I drown even, I just can't keep this up," I thought

In one fleeting moment when I surfaced I caught sight of my wife Robyn standing with a friend in front of our cabin some 300 metres away chatting idly. "Help, Darl, I'm drowning, and you can't even possibly know. She's looking in my direction, Christ Darl, I'm drowning!"

I came up again, gulped for a precious breath of air and suddenly saw Mark coming my way. Down again and up I came. "Mark, help me," I gasped. Quickly he paddled over and near the end of my physical endurance, I blurted out on the next time up, "flip me over, mate!"

When he did so, I was able to untangle the belt and unclip the buckle. I slipped back into the water, hung limply on the board and sucked in deep breaths while trying to regain some measure of composure. My heart was still pounding, racing, surely just a minute away from a certain heart attack.

Soon after I paddled ashore and made my way slowly to the cabin. By now Robyn had sensed that something had almost gone dreadfully wrong and was standing aghast beside me. I mumbled to her that I needed to lie down, dried myself with a beach towel and flopped on the bed. I soon drifted off into fitful sleep.

I awoke about an hour later and unscrewed the buckle from my wave ski.