The boat was floundering.
It was definitely taking on water. It was up to my ankles and flowing in fast. I was onboard by myself on a stricken vessel. In desperation, I tried to find something in the unfamiliar cabin to bail the water out with, but all I could find was an old coffee cup.
Just moments before Finchy had jumped overboard into the river. What was he thinking? I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I had to stay calm if I was going to be any help.
My heart was racing, we were in the middle of the river sinking. Of all the emergency situations in my life, nursing or otherwise, only once had I panicked to the point of not being able to function. That was quite a few years before on what was meant to be a lovely day out skiing with friends.
In the middle of a lake, my friend had been struggling in tangled ski ropes a distance behind our ski boat and unable to keep her head above water. Instead of diving in to rescue her or coming up with any ideas that could help the situation as I usually would, I stood paralysed in the ski boat, absolutely frozen with fear. Luckily for her, my brother and his mate acted instantly, and jumped overboard to rescue her. In a well-coordinated effort, they brought her safely back on board.
Back on the river aboard our boat Huck Finn, I glanced across at my best friend.
Finchy looked like a pirate. Long hair, long beard and a sparkle in his eyes.
He’d spent time on the Murray River every year since he was a child, he was a fantastic swimmer and had more than a keen sense of adventure. I was petrified of the river and was a poor swimmer. I didn’t know a thing about the Murray River except it was stronger than me, dark and deep down this end of its 3000 kms and that I couldn’t touch the bottom.
Months of planning had gone into our next adventure, a year of hard work and hard savings. Endless night shifts for me making Mills and Boon books in the paperback printing section of the book binders at Netley in Adelaide. And for Finchy, endless days in a windowless, soundproof booth making radio commercials and promos to go on air at the SAFM radio station on Greenhill Rd.
The two of us, like ships in the night, with visions of grandeur of what it would be like to travel the length of Australia’s longest river in a vintage wooden river boat.
And now our little boat was heading to its watery grave a second time.
I could see the twin ferries of Mannum, but they were no help to us at all.
Then Finchy’s voice echoed up from the rivers surface, “There’s a hole up the front on the left” he yelled.
After jumping overboard he’d obviously made it to the front of the old wooden cruiser looking for the cause of the incoming water and had discovered a hole by running his hands along the hull under the waterline.
“Linda”, he yelled at me, “What’s it look like in there?”
I couldn’t see Finchy, and although he was a strong swimmer, I was still worried he could get caught up in whatever we’d hit under the water.
“There’s lots of water, it’s covering all of the floor,” I yelled back. “Where are you?”
I didn’t want to be left alone in a sinking boat.
“I’m here,” he said, “I’m ok”. I left the cabin and went to the back of the boat and looked over the left side. I could see him completely soaked up to his neck in the river under where the boats registration numbers are painted on the side of the hull.
The boat had hit something under the water while underway. Not good for old wooden boat. Whatever it was it was pretty solid to bring the boat do a dead stop. No wonder we had a hole in the boat I thought. The bailing was pointless with only a coffee cup and the water was still rising. I could feel the panic rising again, but I forced myself to stay calm.
What if we didn’t make it? What if this was the end?
But Finchy had a plan.
Click the link below for the next Episode:
Or click on the tag below ‘Floating through River Life’ below to see all Episodes
