OPINION
Stubbornness has carried me through much of my life.
It’s amazing the situations I’ve been able to make my way out of through sheer determination – and, possibly, a touch of dumb luck. Or
Rip sign at Mount Maunganui Beach. Photo / Mead Norton
OPINION
Stubbornness has carried me through much of my life.
It’s amazing the situations I’ve been able to make my way out of through sheer determination – and, possibly, a touch of dumb luck. Or more than a touch.
I grew up in a small beachside suburb. The sound of the surf crashing on the sand was what lulled me to sleep at night, and the salt air was what eventually rusted my first bike.
Summer evenings were spent strolling on the sand, collecting shells and driftwood, riding waves on boogie boards, and eating sandy marshmallows roasted on a bonfire.
A blissful experience for the most part. And one that gave me perhaps unwarranted confidence in the ocean.
For, you see, despite my water-baby early years, I never formally learned how to swim.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete ignoramus. I can dive and collect rings from the bottom of a pool. I can hold my breath and paddle underwater for quite a distance. I can tread water, dog paddle, float on my stomach and back, and use flippers and a snorkel.
But actual swimming? That I can’t do.
Stubborn old me never let that hold me back, though. I loved the water and I could keep myself alive if anything bad happened. Right? Right.
Well, I certainly put that theory to the test.
One hot summer day, a day not unlike today, 13-year-old me was at the beach with some family members. And, of course, being a hot day, it didn’t take long until I was in the water, a little distance away from my family. Thirteen-year-olds can’t be seen in public with such uncool people as relatives, after all. Even on a near-empty beach.
There I was, having a jolly old time jumping through the waves and floating on my back in the brief lulls between sets.
All good fun. Until it wasn’t.
Suddenly, I felt myself being dragged out to sea. It all happened so fast.
One moment I was ducking my head beneath a particularly large wave. The next, I could no longer touch the bottom. A bit scary for someone who can’t swim.
Despite that flash of fear, I didn’t really feel any panic. That reliable old friend of mine, stubbornness, kicked in and I began to doggy paddle with all my strength, not towards the shore, but towards my family a little further down the beach. I can clearly remember thinking that the closer I got to them the safer I’d be. And I was right.
I reckon it was that instinct to get closer to people that saved me that day. If I’d tried to get to shore, it’s quite likely my meagre skills would have quickly been exhausted trying to battle the current.
But I managed to get out of it and make my way back to my family, where I never uttered a word of my experience. What if they freaked out and they tried to stop me from going back to the beach? Act cool and pretend nothing happened. Thirteen-year-old logic.
It’s always stuck with me though. I’m now a lot pickier about my choice of swimming destination – give me a set of those red and yellow flags any day. Or if they’re not available, I make sure I’m with a confident swimmer and do my best to identify any possible rip currents.
It’s also the reason I’ve enrolled my toddler in swimming lessons. Maybe one day he’ll be able to supervise Mummy at the beach.
We New Zealanders love the water. It’s in our blood. Our beaches, rivers and lakes are where we spend our summers, where we source some of our favourite foods, and where we choose to spend our leisure time.
And yet so many of us never learn to swim. A report commissioned this year by Water Safety NZ showed 48 per cent of Kiwi children weren’t having swimming lessons.
That is terrifying. No matter how much we love the water, it doesn’t change the fact that it can be dangerous. It kills. It killed 91 people last year.
It is up to us to do everything we possibly can to prevent our loved ones from contributing to that horrifying figure by making sure they learn to swim and know what to do if caught in a rip.
We can love the water while respecting its power. It is our duty. And a duty we, as a country, are currently failing to meet.
A rip is identified by
How to survive a rip
- Source: Water Safety NZ
Sonya Bateson is a writer, reader, and crafter raising her family in Tauranga. She is a Millennial who enjoys eating avocado on toast, drinking lattes and defying stereotypes. As a sceptic, she reserves the right to change her mind when presented with new evidence.
Anaru Rueben was involved in a $14,000 aggravated robbery of a Gull station.