At sea: Lifeguards face unprecedented crisis

Lifeguards are facing an unprecedented crisis with a shortage of funding and increasing demands. Now they are warning they may be forced to close our favourite summer beaches, writes Kelly Dennett.

As the sky turned black, a yellow- and red-clad group dotting Muriwai's shore carefully began pulling the drowned up to where the tide couldn't swallow them.

The dead had lain for hours. Police and coastguard circled in daylight, but eventually the whirr of helicopters stopped. By nightfall, still on their own, the lifeguards wondered what to do.

"We were thinking, we can't leave these bodies," longtime Muriwai volunteer lifeguard service committee member and past president Tim Jago says. "The helicopters had gone home and there were no police on the beach. By this time there was a trail of debris spilled all down the beach."

In November last year fishing vessel the Francie went down in treacherous conditions on the Kaipara Harbour. Eight men died.

It was the worst marine disaster in recent times.

Forty-five minutes from Auckland's centre, Muriwai, with its unforgiving surf and precipitous coastline, became the unexpected scene of efforts to find survivors.

By chance, the lifesaving crew at Muriwai that weekend was bigger than usual, thanks to a training session. Rather than choosing between patrolling the flags or helping with the rescue the group was able to do both. Volunteers scoured the beach, two went out in an inflatable rescue boat.

"The Francie situation was one of a kind," Jago says.

The tide, he says, defied logic. Typically north-flowing, on this day everything travelled south.

Bits of Francie washed up. A porcelain toilet was discovered, and four bodies.

"We were finding bodies and debris well away from where the search zone was supposed to be.

"The police were gearing up for a rescue and body retrieval mission in the Kaipara Harbour itself. This was outside the harbour, up along the coast," Jago says.

"They were in one spot. We were in another. We just happened to have the bodies at our feet, if we can put it that way."

For a long time, nobody came. High tide trapped the vehicles, now with the bodies on board, and to evacuate them the Defence Force opened up its land for access.

"[Volunteers] were there well after midnight, essentially sitting there with bodies, waiting," Jago says.

"That's played on the minds of a couple [of people], I can tell you. A couple guys my age are saying, 'I did not sign up for that'." After the Francie tragedy "there was a blame game going on," Jago admits.

Muriwai Lifeguards' Tim Jago. Photo / Michael Craig

"A couple of guys were angry they were left up the beach in the darkness with the bodies, and the authorities who probably should have been there running the show, weren't there."

The irony of the volunteers waiting for emergency services to arrive, was that Surf Life Saving Northern Region (SLSNR) has become the emergency service, its members and chief say.

SLSNR covers the busiest beaches in New Zealand, comprising 17 clubs stretching across 24 patrol locations from Raglan in the Waikato, to remote spots in the Far North.

SLSNR chief executive Matt Williams is calling for a public discussion about what communities expect from lifeguarding services, and a subsequent review of its funding structure. Ideally, central Government would intervene and throw its support behind surf lifesaving just as it did with Fire and Emergency, Williams says.

This year, then-Internal Affairs Minister Peter Dunne announced that local government would no longer fund the cost of rural fire services and the newly unified Fire and Emergency would draw funding from insurance levies and Government contributions for non-fire-related rescues.

Dunne said the change was necessary to bring the fire service into the 21st century.

It's that modern thinking that Williams says needs to be addressed in surf lifesaving. Population growth, urban sprawl, heightened mobility and changing technology is all having an impact on the charity, he says.

SLSNR has 1500 volunteer lifeguards, who clocked more than 60,000 volunteer hours last season between Labour weekend in October, and Easter.

It's not a 9-to-5 operation: lifeguards are on call long after official patrol has finished - most drownings happen outside those hours - and are available for rescue response year-round.

Williams says lifeguard roles have widened and beaches are busier than ever, but their funding isn't matching their output.

Surf Life Saving Northern's Matt Williams.

Without a sustainable funding model, alternatives could be significant. Measures like shortening the lifeguard season, cutting patrols, not participating in rescues - like the Francie disaster - and even closing dangerous beaches have to be considered, Williams says.

"I think we're going to get to the stage where the funding we receive is no longer adequate to deliver the current services which means we'll start to move backwards. We will have to ask, where will we not be?" he says.

"It's hard to have the conversation [but] we want to be having as much impact as we should.

"There's going to be more drownings than there needs to be if we're not out there."

In a country where our busiest and best beaches are in remote, craggy ranges kilometres from hospitals and adequate cellphone reception; where the shore is home not just to swimmers and surfers, but paragliders, horse riders, quad bikers and walkers, the service's volunteers say its role has moved on from the good old days of just watching the beach with a reel and line at the ready.

Now Williams says there is an expectation lifeguards will lend their expertise to land rescues, and perform first aid in non-water related incidents, in addition to their education and prevention work in the community.

"We've spent 80 years growing lifeguard services but also, at the same time, the community continues to ask more from them. There's a tacit expectation that they're the guys you call."

Surf lifesavers are busier than ever. Figures from SLSNR's annual reports show that last summer 292 people were rescued- 152 per cent higher than their five-year average - 461 people received assistance on or near the beach, and there were 881 first aid jobs.

In July, concerns were raised after Tourism New Zealand launched a campaign encouraging tourists to visit in off-peak times of the year. The tourism industry also puts a strain on the country's beaches, SLSNR says, particularly with many tourists being unable to swim.

Figures showed there had been a 61 per cent increase in visitors to popular Coromandel beauty spot Cathedral Cove last year and Hot Water Beach club's head guard Gary Hinds said the million-dollar tourism campaign should cut off a slice for surf lifesaving.

Then-Tourism Minister Paula Bennett said she was "open" to talking to the surf lifesaving community about their concerns but said funding for surf lifesaving wasn't her domain.

In 1910, when New Zealand's lifeguard tradition began, lifesavers were treated like gods, former Waitakere council mayor Sir Bob Harvey says: just like the All Blacks, he laughs. A life member of the Karekare Beach Surf Lifesaving Patrol, Harvey's very first rescue with the reel pulled in a grateful woman, who later married his friend, also a lifeguard.

People are still grateful, but, Harvey says, "very rarely send us a cheque [afterward]".

The tide has turned, he says. Where once the people who saved lives at the beach were revered, now there is a perception the charity will always be there when needed, with little thought to who is paying.

Harvey, who was knighted for his services to surf lifesaving, chooses his words carefully.

"That's deeply ... not upsetting, but we are taken for granted, as beach furniture. People think, 'they will save me if I get into trouble'.

"I'm bewildered why we haven't had absolute commitment from the Government to the work we do. The number of people unnecessarily drowned in this country would soar without surf lifesavers. They're paramedics. Highly trained, sophisticated professionals.

"It asks an enormous amount of young men and women. I think, in many ways, we're probably our own worst enemy. We're so proud of what we do, and we do it relentlessly, and we're not an activist organisation. We don't protest."

Auckland, Waikato and Northland regional councils make up the majority of funding for SLSNR, but the funding is discretionary and can vary.

Life-long surf lifesaver Bob Harvey at Karekare Beach.

Auckland Council's environment and community committee chair Penny Hulse says its contributions to SLSNR have increased through its amenities funding board, and the council had committed an extra $1.9m for upgrading club rooms.

The amenities board distributes grants to 10 organisations including various arts groups, the New Zealand Maritime Museum, Coastguard and Auckland Rescue Helicopter.

In the 2007-2008 financial year it funded SLSNR $430,000, and its donations began topping $1m in 2012. Estimated funding for the 2017- 2018 financial year is $1.26m.

According to its draft report for this financial year (2017 to 2018), the amenities board has $16m to disperse. The Auckland Festival Trust, Auckland Philharmonia Trust and New Zealand National Maritime Museum Trust Board are set to be the top beneficiaries, with an indicative grant for those organisations being $3.3m, $3.1m, and $2.1m respectively.

Coastguard Northern Region and Auckland Rescue Helicopter received indications for 2017-2018 of $712,000 and $450,000.

Hulse declines to comment on whether funding should come from Government.

"That's a question for the new Government, and a conversation for all New Zealanders who enjoy our beaches," she says. "What we can say, however, is that keeping people safe on our beaches is vital."

In a separate statement from Auckland Council, a spokesperson said the Auckland Regional Amenities Funding Act 2008, which sets out funding principles for groups like SLSNR, is unique.

"As far as Auckland Council is aware, no other local authorities in New Zealand have specific statutory requirements or are compelled by law to contribute funding to surf lifesaving organisations elsewhere in New Zealand.

"[The amenities board is unique and the establishment of this legislation was largely to ensure fair costs contribution to a combined funding pool by the several local authorities in the Auckland region at the time."

A recent Waikato Regional Council report on its new dedicated emergency fund for rescue helicopter services, surf lifesaving and coastguard notes two district councils (South Waikato and Matamata-Piako) didn't support the move to create a dedicated fund for rescue services.

The report notes: "Submissions opposed to the proposal said it was not a core responsibility of Waikato Regional Council and funding should be considered at a national level."

Suggestions by opponents of more worthy causes for local funding included Women's Refuge, St John and Landsar.

Lifeguard roles have widened and beaches are busier than ever

The report says the council would agree to "push" central Government to take surf lifesaving funding on: "Councillors felt the regional council should only be considered a contributor, not an underwriter of their sustainability."

The rest of SLSNR's income comes from donations from the community and whatever they can generate from education and sporting programmes. It's unsustainable, Williams says. An emergency service saving lives daily shouldn't be operating hand-to-mouth. The real kick in the guts came after the Francie disaster, Jago says. After being swamped by waves and getting stuck in the sand, Muriwai's vehicles needed repairs costing thousands. Police offered them $800.

"It was just pathetic," Jago says.

Dave Ross, president of Far North Surf Rescue at Ahipara, laughs when asked about his land rescues. "How many do you want?" Last summer, a call went out. There was a motorcycle accident in the sand dunes, quite a bit back from the water. They didn't know exactly where the victim was. It was nightfall.

"We found him at 9pm and were able to medi-vac him out. We couldn't get the helicopter in there so we had to transfer him around the rocks to Shipwreck Bay. And that's not an isolated incident. We'd have four, or five of those [in the season]."

Ross knows when he's being hauled into duty. The 62-year-old is also a firefighter, and the siren goes up in Ahipara at all times of the day when there's an incident. Sometimes he doesn't get home until the early hours.

That's how it is in small communities, he says. The locals know the area best and he's often called on for expertise in various accidents and searches.

He says when the money dries up, lifeguards are quick to put their hands into their own pockets. Their club recently needed a redo. A kitchen was donated by an Auckland company and the guards, including a 70-something club patron, forked out to get to the city to pick it up, splashed out on paint and tools, and spent weeks sanding and painting.

"We put in a bunk room, new ablutions and a kitchen. But we only had enough to build the room for the kitchen, we didn't have any money to build anything else. When everybody had time, we had a list of work.

"People look at [the club] and think, 'that belongs to us', but they don't realise the hard yards that have gone in to get it there."

At Karioitahi beach near Waiuku, in rural Franklin, the sand is black and the surf is choppy. Horseriders meander on the beach, hang gliders swing on the cliff. Surf lifesaving patrol captain Tara Coe, 24, says in the five years she's been with the club she's noticed an exponential growth in beachgoers.

At its peak Karioitahi would have 200 or 300 strong crowds on the beach. Now it's closer to 700, she says. Last year the surf club won an award, for a complex rescue involving five people who needed rescuing at the same time.

While lifeguards performed CPR on someone on the beach, a frantic woman approached them saying two children were missing. A search was launched. The beach was cleared. Then two motorbikes crashed on the beach, and someone was injured. Finally, a fifth person got into trouble in the water and needed assistance.

The children were found. Multiple people were hospitalised. Nobody died.

"It was just a massive, massive rescue," Coe says. "It was all positive outcomes but it can show anything can happen, even things like accidents in the car park and cars backing into each other, or someone going for a walk down the beach and having a heart attack. There are so many variables. Nine times out of 10, most of the stuff we're dealing with is out of the water."

SLSNR's sister organisation Surf Life Saving New Zealand, which covers the lower North Island and the entire South Island, agrees it's busier than ever. Volunteer patrol hours have increased by 20,000 annually and the administrative workload is increasing to find funding, comply with health and safety policy, and run clubs.

Chief executive Paul Dalton says people "wrongly" think the service is Government funded, but doesn't see eye to eye with Williams when it comes to calling on the Crown to intervene.

"[It's) not something we are considering and would be a massive change to our volunteer culture," he said. "More realistic would be more support for 'priming the pump' to keep the volunteer networks in place. We don't want hand outs, just a hand up."

Water Safety New Zealand chief executive Jonty Mills says without surf lifesaving clubs and volunteers, the drowning toll in New Zealand would be "catastrophic". Drowning prevention is a neglected public health issue despite the social cost of drowning estimated to be $400 million annually, he says.

In 2016 there were 78 recreational and non-recreational drownings, and Northland, Waikato and Auckland had the most fatalities.

Surf lifesaving patrol season began on Labour Weekend. Williams says this is not a finger pointing exercise, and SLSNR is grateful for what it does receive. But he believes it's time for Ministers to have a look at what role Government could play.

Surf lifesaving could naturally fall under the portfolios of community and voluntary, sport and recreation, or even tourism and workplace safety, he says.