feet. This time it was not the cascading surf that was his enemy but the savage back-pull of the rip. Argus was helpless as it carried him, kicking and struggling, well out beyond the line of the breakers, so that he was floating in the big undulations of the swell. His head was an insignificant dot in the vast green movement of water.
Argus could swim; he and Sunday had swum many times in the dams and creeks of the farm, but this situation was very different. One of the dams at home â their favourite one â had been too deep in the middle for them to stand, but a few lazy strokes had always been sufficient to carry them to the shallows. And the water had always been passive â the swimmer was in control. Argus knew that he could float and tread water for a time, but he did not know if he could defeat the undertow, and he did not know how he would get through the surf again, assuming he could get that far.
As one of the swells lifted him Argus twisted around to get a glimpse of the beach. He was horrified to see how far away it was. He was also amazed to realise that he was being carried along to his left, and was now quite close to the headland. For the first time he became aware of cold, and could feel his limbs begin to tremble, not only with cold but also with fear. The boy strove to think clearly. What was he to do? Again his mind came close to being overwhelmed by panic. He had a momentary vision of his parentsâ faces when they heard the news that their other child was gone, and he recalled his fatherâs voice, as clearly as though the man were at his shoulder now. And he remembered his fatherâs favourite saying, one that had irritated the boy on many occasions in the past. âDonât bring me problems, bring me solutions,â his father would say when Argus tried to tell him of a sheep that had got out onto the road, or a tree that had fallen on a fence, or a heifer that had sunk into the mud of a drying dam.
Now Argus summoned up the last shreds of his fragmented mind. What was the solution here? He tried a few experimental strokes towards the shore but knew he was making no progress. Then he tried swimming at a less direct angle and found that he was able to make some headway. But his body was shivering so much it was hard for him to make his limbs move vigorously again. He started yelling at himself through chattering teeth, abusing himself in an effort to get a response, trying to tap the reserves of energy that he knew would be there. His arms and legs slowly began to function, and even as his chest and muscles cried out in protest he began to make some progress.
After about ten or fifteen minutes Argus was drawing close to the wall of breaking waves again, but new problems were looming on his left, as he drifted steadily closer to the rocks at the end of the beach. By now he was swimming in a kind of fog of pain and weariness, in which his mind continued to function but was unable to motivate or inspire him. He was aware of the need to get through the breakers before he was carried onto the rocks, but it was his reflexes rather than his will that made his arms move faster and his legs kick harder.
In the event it proved to be easier than Argus had anticipated. The point at which he was attempting to come in had little undertow and, when he swam into the surf, his heart riddled with fear, the waves picked him up and carried him, so that he involuntarily became a bodysurfer, if a rather awkward one. He spoilt the ride quite quickly by attempting to stand up; he went sprawling on his knees, then rolled over in the froth and foam, but so great was his relief at feeling sand again that he did not mind its abrasive texture. He staggered to his feet and ran out of the water, still afraid of the way it pulled and strained at him, even though he knew that the danger was over.
Argus collapsed onto all fours on the damp sand, panting and sobbing like an animal. He knew how lucky he
Argus could swim; he and Sunday had swum many times in the dams and creeks of the farm, but this situation was very different. One of the dams at home â their favourite one â had been too deep in the middle for them to stand, but a few lazy strokes had always been sufficient to carry them to the shallows. And the water had always been passive â the swimmer was in control. Argus knew that he could float and tread water for a time, but he did not know if he could defeat the undertow, and he did not know how he would get through the surf again, assuming he could get that far.
As one of the swells lifted him Argus twisted around to get a glimpse of the beach. He was horrified to see how far away it was. He was also amazed to realise that he was being carried along to his left, and was now quite close to the headland. For the first time he became aware of cold, and could feel his limbs begin to tremble, not only with cold but also with fear. The boy strove to think clearly. What was he to do? Again his mind came close to being overwhelmed by panic. He had a momentary vision of his parentsâ faces when they heard the news that their other child was gone, and he recalled his fatherâs voice, as clearly as though the man were at his shoulder now. And he remembered his fatherâs favourite saying, one that had irritated the boy on many occasions in the past. âDonât bring me problems, bring me solutions,â his father would say when Argus tried to tell him of a sheep that had got out onto the road, or a tree that had fallen on a fence, or a heifer that had sunk into the mud of a drying dam.
Now Argus summoned up the last shreds of his fragmented mind. What was the solution here? He tried a few experimental strokes towards the shore but knew he was making no progress. Then he tried swimming at a less direct angle and found that he was able to make some headway. But his body was shivering so much it was hard for him to make his limbs move vigorously again. He started yelling at himself through chattering teeth, abusing himself in an effort to get a response, trying to tap the reserves of energy that he knew would be there. His arms and legs slowly began to function, and even as his chest and muscles cried out in protest he began to make some progress.
After about ten or fifteen minutes Argus was drawing close to the wall of breaking waves again, but new problems were looming on his left, as he drifted steadily closer to the rocks at the end of the beach. By now he was swimming in a kind of fog of pain and weariness, in which his mind continued to function but was unable to motivate or inspire him. He was aware of the need to get through the breakers before he was carried onto the rocks, but it was his reflexes rather than his will that made his arms move faster and his legs kick harder.
In the event it proved to be easier than Argus had anticipated. The point at which he was attempting to come in had little undertow and, when he swam into the surf, his heart riddled with fear, the waves picked him up and carried him, so that he involuntarily became a bodysurfer, if a rather awkward one. He spoilt the ride quite quickly by attempting to stand up; he went sprawling on his knees, then rolled over in the froth and foam, but so great was his relief at feeling sand again that he did not mind its abrasive texture. He staggered to his feet and ran out of the water, still afraid of the way it pulled and strained at him, even though he knew that the danger was over.
Argus collapsed onto all fours on the damp sand, panting and sobbing like an animal. He knew how lucky he
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