Volunteer life savers do actually save lives, but mostly they give up their time ensuring that people involved in the most mundane of accidents come to as little harm as possible. I know from previous experience of surfers needing help – myself and others that I’ve helped – that this was not an isolated incident. They needed a lame old surf dog patient who should have known better like they needed a hole in the head, and yet nothing was too much trouble.Īnd when I was finally feeling okay, they drove me to my car in the car park, made sure I was comfortable behind the wheel, shook my hand and wished me the best for the holidays. For these young volunteers this was one of the busiest days of the year, with just enough swell to cause havoc up and down the beach. I told them I was recovering from a heart attack (several months prior) and that I needed to sit tight until my heart rate was normal again. They sat me down in the shade of their vehicle while they dressed the wound and iced the fast-swelling leg. Within seconds two patrolling clubbies had jumped out of their buggy up the beach and rushed to my aid. I was nevertheless shaken and a little wobbly on my feet as I picked up my board. I floated into the shallows and gingerly put some weight on the leg. I looked down at my left leg and was shocked to find a deep crease across the shin.
Bondi rescue dunno full#
The other surfer seemed to be unhurt and full of unnecessary apologies (I figured since I hadn’t seen him until I was on top of him, I was at least as much, and probably more to blame).
Bondi rescue dunno cracked#
Not a turd but a young man on a log, looking a little concerned as I kicked my board away and landed on top of him.Ī very heavy object cracked across my shin with full force and I was seeing stars as I floated to the surface. Let’s say I caressed the lip rather than smacked it, and there, below me and the foam, was a floater. The last one lined up beautifully and I cruised across the inside section to the channel to link up with the right and do a gentle old guy reo into shore.
I chatted to a few mates, nodded welcomes to a few well-mannered strangers and thoroughly enjoyed my six or eight waves and figured I’d call it a session. Strangely though, the shoulder-high peak I had chosen was almost civilised, with just a handful of mixed all-sorts sharing the glassy offerings ahead of the lunch-time onshore. It was a couple of days after Christmas and the beach I was surfing – one of the most popular in Australia – was ridiculously crowded.
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