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
- Calm stretches of water between waves
- Fewer breaking waves
- A smoother surface with much smaller waves, with waves breaking on either side
- Discoloured or murky brown water caused by sand stirred up off the bottom
- Debris floating out to sea
- A rippled look, when the water around is generally calm
How to survive a rip
- Don’t panic. A rip will not suck you under the water. But it will take you out, away from the shore
- Raise your hand for help
- Swim towards white water, across the rip current, but not against it
- Float or swim with the white water. It will take you back to shore
- 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.
