There’s a storm shapin’ up; it’s been gettin’ to full on all day. It calms down for a bit, and we get ourselves sorted out, start drying our wet gear, hanging it along the side of the tinnie. We think everything is okay. It’s about nine o’clock, no moon, and it’s really dark. We relax, and Taea and me, we’re talkin’ away. My uncle, out of the blue, breaks into the conversation, sayin’, “Shhh! Can you hear that rumbling noise?”
We hear the rumbling noise. It sounds like the music of a didgeridoo, a kind of humming sound. So we think, what?
There’s no light. Just that bass sound, like goin’ up and down, “Wow! Wow!”
“What’s that noise? It’s getting louder.”
“It’s comin’ in our direction!”
I lean across one the side of the tinnie, trying for more reach, getting more of a feel for the noise. It’s coming from my side; there’re a couple of quick splashes on my face, followed by a rude jolt. One side of the tinnie tilts sharply, hits me hard on the side of the arm, and next minute there’s water everywhere. The tinnie continues rising like a piece of matchwood, with Taea goin’ one way, an’ Uncle goin’ in another. The wave grows into a giant bulge in the ocean, lifting us like in an elevator, and then begins to roll forward, not breaking, but bent on delivering us to eternity. It sucks back suddenly, turning us into a helter-skelter speedboat. We’re three men, goin’ to a certain death on the mother of all waves; three men in an elevator, riding on a boiling mass of water. The wave forms a curling lip in the middle of nowhere, like you’d find in any good surf. It must be ten metres high. The lip keeps rising, then suddenly collapses and buries us, rips at us, runs over us, like a train; the tinnie charges down a valley so fast I think my shoulder is busted from the impact. It can only be a freak from the tsunami, a one-off freak we never see coming. It lasts maybe seconds, but it feels like a lifetime, and the tinnie turns in the air, finishing upside down, with me spinning underwater.
Some part of my brain triggers me into overdrive, the red alert. Something tells me to swim until the last light goes out in my mind. It’s crazy, ’cause, all I want is to get out of the water before running out of breath. Which way am I facing – up or down? It’s black as pitch down here. It takes me further down, folding me in water, rolling me over and over. Which way is up? Stay calm. The drive to live is strong. I feel it now, like a command getting up steam in my chest. No good in panic. Toss a coin, and then swim like a bastard! Kick, kick, where’s the surface? Not sure. I close my eyes, remembering the first impact. Swim! Swim! This way has gotta be up! I’m all but out of breath as I break the surface. I’m there, out of the depths! Then comes a feeling, like, what the f—k happened? In the dim light from the moon I spot the tinnie, forty metres away, and turned over. Everything is, “F—k, this isn’t happening, this is a nightmare!” Everything is floating around me, my backpack … my backpack comes swimmin’ by … I grab my backpack. Another rush of common intelligence passes through my head … the water bottle … I grab the water bottle, and swim for the boat. Uncle pops up on the surface, and then Taea.
Something happens in a split-second, and your world is turned upside down. I won’t say our world was too comfortable, but we were on top of the game, and sittin’ pretty. I can’t believe this has happened. My uncle immediately starts blaming himself. I tell him nothin’ could stop a wave like that. Just then something clicks in my head – sharks, I’m out of here; my legs are dangling; there’s a fishy smell all over me. I have some exposed cuts. I think about the sharks, and how I can lose my life in a single snap; wild things are goin’ through my head. So many things goin’ on in my head, and me calling out, “Grab that goin’ past you!” The mood is outright panic; I go inside, instead of flipping the boat over, getting back into it, and bailing out the water. I’m negative, and start thinking we’ve had it, for sure. We had turtles and birds, all laid out an’ dryin’. If there are sharks, they’ll be drawn to the food. We swim for the tinnie, but the fast current in the wave carries it further away. Then it floats back on a wash, sweeps back so fast, it threatens to smack us in the head. We grab it straight away, and we flip it over; we can’t bail ’cause it’s still too rough, so I grab the water bottle, and shove it in the front of the boat. This is a moment when we think, what next? What do we do now? When is the shark coming? It’s dark. The mood between us is impossible to explain. We’re all in a state of pure fear and shock, we can’t even speak at first, and then it’s: “What was that, where did it come from? Did something run over us, or what?” We didn’t see anything, didn’t get the least warning. It just ran over us, and it was already rising. It wasn’t a wave that actually broke.
It’s pitch dark, and my uncle is refusing to get inside the tinnie, hanging onto the engine. His feet are dangling off the back of the boat, and I call to him, “Oi! What are you doin? You better come in here!”
“No, don’t worry about me. We should’a been prepared for that one!”
“What are you sayin’? Nobody could be prepared for that kind of wave – no one!”
My shoulder feels broken. Taea sits there, freakin’ out, but tryin’ to help me get uncle inside the boat.
“Don’t worry about me. You’re just young fellers. I’ve had a decent go at life. You two look after yourselves.”
I start cryin’, and carryin’ on, “If you don’t want to come in the boat, if you want to swim around, what good’s that gonna do?” We hear Uncle murmuring; he’s shivering badly. It’s the same with me, only I’m younger, and I’m not diabetic. So we finally get Uncle aboard the tinnie. We’re all in the boat, with just our head and shoulders free of the water. We can’t stand. We’re bein’ stung by little bitey things, and jellyfish.
Next morning we attempt bailing the water. That’s when the shark turns up, and when I pour petrol on myself, ’cause I have cuts on my legs, and the shark is stalking. It’s not a big feller, and it’s below the surface of the water, but we see it, swimmin’ round, stalking. It’s the way he swims, moving forward and then moving away. “What’s gonna happen here?” He’s gonna get game as he smells the blood. We have some petrol left, so I lift my legs out of the water, and pour more petrol over them. It feels tingly, the flesh is numb, and my skin turns really cold. Pouring petrol on myself isn’t such a smart idea. Maybe it’s better to be eaten by a shark. We start bailin the water, goin’ about our business, and that’s when the shark starts comin’ closer. We have the stick, and we keep whacking the water; the shark is three metres away, swimmin’ back and forwards. My uncle says, “If he wanted us, he would’a done it by now. He’s curious, but you boys go about your business, and we’ll see how things pan out.” We go on bailing ’cause my uncle can’t swim.
“Listen, fellers, I’m just holding you up. As I said before, I’m tired of suffering. Let me go. I want to let go.”
After spending the night in the boat, working till mid-day, I’m at the point of agreeing with my uncle. We get the water out of the tinnie, and then another wave comes, and fills it up. We’re wearin’ ourselves out. We’re half-drowned, and the shark’s gettin’ more curious, “F—k it, let’s give up!”
With my uncle sayin’ he wants to kill himself, we stop bailin’, and move him into the rear of the boat. Using a rope we found on a long line, we tie him in a position where he can’t move. Then it’s the hard thing of suffering through another day. The sun burns hot; I wish it would go down. Next, I’m absolutely freezing. I take off my shorts, drape them over my head, and that helps. My uncle doesn’t want to take off his shorts, because he can’t understand what we’re talking about. I pull off his shorts and place them in position on his head. He’s given up; he wants to be left alone. So we’re naked, with our shorts on top of our heads. All huddled up. Taea is on one side, I’m on the other, and Uncle is in the middle; we cuddle up. This is the saddest part, ’cause you feel tears comin’, and the message is we’re dead. Uncle’s not gonna make it through the night. The water bottle I rescued is punctured, and full of salt water. At two in the morning a good rain falls on our heads stickin’ out; we’re freezing, but the rain feels a little warmer. Using my shorts, I try letting some drops find their way into Uncle’s mouth, but he doesn’t want to even try. All I get from him is a low moan, and the chattering of his teeth.