Today I was a millionaire…well at least I lived how I’d live if I were a millionaire.
It all began with a
magnificent invitation to join Zara’s uncle aboard his sailboat for a
couple days. That was how we found ourselves heading out of Pittman Bay
under the beautiful, bright Sydney sun attempting to tackle the
challenging world of sailing aboard ‘Sail La Vie,’ Peter’s 37 foot Sea
Odyssey.
Initially the experience
reminded me of my early days as a theatre stagehand trying to remember
which was stage right and stage left or front and back of house. We
weren’t even out of the harbour before we were scrambling about the deck
like a herd of landlubbers, stumbling over winches and cleats, getting
tangled up in ropes and rigging. Peter tried valiantly to teach us some
simple nautical terminology like port, starboard, coming about and
tacking…but honestly, my affirmative head bobbing and grunts of
understanding were really just reflexive ‘learned behavior’ I’d acquired
growing up on a farm surrounded by burly, bearded men who wore tool
belts and carried wrenches in their pockets. As usual, I had very little
idea what was going on around me.
Amid the chaos I amused
myself by muttering piratey phrases to Zion in a swarthy brogue every
time we past; “why is the rum gone?” and “do we have an accord?” which
was all the Pirates of the Caribbean dialogue I had time to channel
between stubbing my toes and repeatedly drilling my head into the mast.
We headed out to Broken Bay
where the Pittman and Cowan Rivers meet the Pacific Ocean. “Hey Zion
and Riel,” I yelled over the sound of flapping sails and swelling waves
slapping noisily against the hull, “you might want to wave…just over
there on the other side of the world is Canada.”
We headed down the Cowan
River as a northerly came steaming toward us; dark eyes and stormy skies
intimating her harsh intentions. Oblivious to the impending deluge, I
stood slack mouthed and gaping like a swashbuckling idiot savant until
Peter nudged me to take the wheel. No sooner had he disappeared into the
cabin than the heavens opened up and nature started screaming like a
banshee. Wind and water stung my skin and blinded my eyes as I pointed
the prow of the boat toward nothing, deciding that under my command I
would prefer Sail La Vie run into nothing rather than something.
Just when I was starting to
suspect that Peter was engaging in some bizarre nautical hazing ritual,
he was back on deck in his rain gear and more than happy to take the
wheel from my incapable hands as he guided us expertly into Refuge Bay.
We arrived at low tide and
moored as near to the little beach as we could to make going ashore as
convenient as possible. Just behind the beach a picturesque waterfall
poured over a ridge from 40 feet up.
After securing the lines
the adult portion of the crew reclined on the deck to sip chilled wine
and dine on mango salad, ripe olives, Brie and crackers. (Only my
inability to speak with an exotic accent marred this moment) As the
winds died down we found ourselves looking out over the deep, dark
water, as still as glass reflecting the billowing clouds overhead.
Back in 1943 Refuge Bay was
known to a select few as Camp Z, a top secret training spot for the
Australian army. At a time when the Allies were looking for ways to
strike at Japanese strongholds in the Pacific, a twenty-something Brit
named Ivan Lyon, and a sixty-something Australian named Bill Reynolds
hatched a plan to attack Singapore harbour. Reynolds owned a beat up
Japanese wooden coastal vessel he had used to smuggle refugees out of
Sumatra. Their plan was to use the old ship to sail into Singapore
harbour under the cover of darkness carrying commandos who would attach
mines to the Japanese shipping vessels. In September /43 the ship headed
off carrying a crew of four British and 11 Australians. When they
reached Singapore, six men set off in three frail rubber and canvas
folboat canoes. They attached limpet mines to a number of vessels and
ended up sinking or damaging at least six ships.
I admit none of this was on
my mind when Zion and Riel said they wanted to go ashore and explore.
Having not quite finished my wine I personally wasn’t prepared to go
when they wanted to, but told them to take the dingy and I would join
them shortly by swimming to shore.
Soon my salad was consumed,
my wine was sipped and I was standing on the back of the boat in my
swimmers staring at the water. Refuge Bay suddenly seemed cold and
forbidding and anything but a refuge. Movie reels started to spin in my
mind, the kind staring sexy, rich kids languishing on yachts much like
the one I was on, suddenly being eaten by mammoth or genetically
modified sharks. Those movies always started with some dumbass dangling
his feet in the ocean, kicking back and forth and basically begging
great incisors to chomp them off. As soon as the thought crossed my mind
I stopped kicking and quickly pulled my feet out of the water.
I looked at the beach...it
seemed to have floated a lot further away than I had initially imagined,
it could have been the wine or possibly, some reverse mirage or
miscalculation in the space-time continuum. Whatever the case, the kids
where already pulling the Zodiac up on the shore and starting to scamper
around.
I thought of diving off the
side of the boat and gaining some forward motion toward the shore, but
the thought immediately seemed ill advised…I might as well ring a
doorbell if I wanted to alert all the sharks in Refuge Bay to my
presence.
I thought it would be
better if I just ‘slipped’ into the shark-infested waters quietly and
didn’t make a big deal about my presence. I was pretty sure that Planet
Earth said sharks could smell fear, so I tried to exude a strong aquatic
‘no-shark-bitches-better-fuck-with-me-’ persona as I crept down to the
water. Which was right about the time my foot slipped and I fell
unceremoniously ass first into the bay, committing the classic horror
movie blunder by broadcasting my presence to all the available killers.
‘Ah shit,’ I muttered and
thought I should get the hell out of the water, right frigging now! Only
that seemed like such a pussy thing to do. What would I say to Zara?
What would I say to the kids? “Sorry guys, I just didn’t want to be the
victim in the imaginary horror flick playing on the screen behind my
eyes.”
So…I started to swim…with
all my heart and soul. I kept my eyes forward on the beach before me…it
might be a bloody long way off, and things might get really bloody and
foamy and horrific before I got there, but I was going to stroke
purposefully toward the beach until the Devil or a Great White Horror
prevented me.
It didn’t take very long
until everything went horribly wrong. The movies have it all wrong,
there is no ‘duh, da, duh da, duh da’ sound track, there is no dorsal
fin slicing the water from 40 feet away, these creatures come from
below, fast and furious without warning, they don’t break the surface
until they arrive in a cascade of teeth and fury…
‘Oh dear god…’ I whispered as I felt the currents swirl, something was definitely moving under me.
As I swam I started to pray
‘oh god…oh shit…oh god…oh shit.’ My heart was pounding like a
jackhammer as my body and soul fell into the penitent rhythm only a
sinner such as myself can truly know. I tried to continue my purposeful
stroke all the way to shore only…I never really swim. I don’t have a
strong stroke to call upon in times of mortal peril, be it front crawl,
breast-stroke or frantic-flail…too late I realized, that when I’m in the
water, I’m just…bait.
I tried to push myself
harder and faster but as I drew shallow, ragged breaths I realized I had
put myself in an even more vulnerable position. The greatest predator
in the ocean was about to go postal on my ass and in my weakened
condition I wouldn’t have the strength for even token resistance.
I turned over on my back to
change the pace and give myself a chance to catch my breath. ‘Maybe,’ I
thought, ‘this is even a better position; maybe it will be harder to
grab me somehow if I’m not facing down.’ I realized I was swimming past a
cabin cruiser and looked up right into the eyes of a guy…The Guy…the
guy who later that night was going to be on the evening news. The guy
that saw IT happen. It will be the story he’ll tell friends for the rest
of his life.
“It was unbelievable,”
he’ll exclaim, “I was just standing on the back of my boat as he swam by
and the BHAM! that fucking shark came out of no where…it was FAR OUT!”
“What a dick” I thought as
his eyes slide off mine, “to use ‘far out’ as the adjective to describe
the death of another human being.” Oprah will probably have him on…shit
with the right publicist he’ll make the entire circuit…Conan, Letterman,
Regis and Kathy Lee.
“What an asshole… he’s
going to make a killing off my killing and the guy is so busy standing
there drinking beer he can’t even create a descent distraction. As I
swam off to my imminent demise I hummed Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight
and let my voice drift out across the water, “if you told me you were
drowning, I would not lend a hand…”
I pictured Phil hearing the
story and coming out of retirement to be the musical guest on Oprah the
day this jerk is on just so he could sing the song to him.
Then it hit me! What the
crap am I doing! I’m floating in shark-infested waters singing Phil
Collins! Disgusted with myself I flipped over and started swimming like a
man possessed. Zion and Riel saw me from the shore and started to wave.
‘Oh god no!’ I thought, ‘not in front of my kids…don’t let me be devoured in front of my kids!’
Instinctively I started to
pray again, matching each breath with each stroke I channeled the Little
Engine that Could, ‘oh god…oh shit…oh god…oh shit…’ I prayed and pulled
in unison. Glimpsing a shadow in the corner of my eye I went faster,
‘oh god oh shit oh god oh shit’ - a definite swirling of currents under
me and I went even faster, ‘ohgodohshitohgodohshit!’
I screamed with surprise
and relief as my flailing arms and legs suddenly made contact with the
sand. Zion and Riel waded into the water and start pulling on my
swimmers, eager to show me the waterfall as tears of relief and
inexpressible joy flowed through me…I was alive! Thank God above…I was
alive! With wine scented breath I kissed my children and looked around
at the world I’d never really seen. The air smelled fresher, the water
felt cooler, the sky seemed brighter as I strode purposefully from the
water…I was a man walking unscathed from the jaws of an over active
imagination.
I spared one backward
glance and the breath to whisper, ‘na, na, na, na boo, boo, you didn’t
catch me,’ oblivious for the moment to the return journey I would have
to make a few minutes later through the same waters…this time on an
inflatable raft with my kids.
