Rocky Rescue

(Reader Digest November 2019)

I was the Easter long weekend in 1998. I was 28 years old and my partner,
Ros, and I drove down the coast from Melbourne to visit friends at Cape Otway along
Victoria’s beautiful Great Ocean Road. Arriving at Cape Otway lighthouse at about
10a.m, we joined our friends Ozzie, Tony, Sue and Al, who were going snorkeling for
crayfish along the beachfront. We made our way slowly down the rocky cliff face, with
rough rocks beneath our feet, waves crashing over the larger rocks and a beautiful
blue sky overhead. Ozzie got all the gear ready and was quickly in the water while
the rest of us watched from the shore. After a quick assessment revealed there were
no crayfish, he signaled us to move along the coastline.

So, we moved along the rocks, going from inlet to the next, looking for a
prime spot for crayfish-the rising tide and the change in landscape becoming
increasingly obvious. The rocks were becoming harder to get a footing on, the ledges
smaller and the crashing waves larger. This is not what I had planned for my
weekends! I thought.

Two hours later, we had reached a dead end. Our return route was
disappearing as the tide rose and the way forwards was even more rocky and
difficult. While we clambered around the edges of jutting rocks, the waves crashing
loudly, Ozzie climbed down below us to offer support. Despite the waves, Ozzie did
his best but eventually he could no longer help without putting his own safety at risk.
We needed to do something.

The only way out was up a vertical rock face-requiring a 50-metre climb. Tony
and I would climb it first, with the rest of the group waiting for us. The climb was
straightforward, and each step brought the top edge gradually closer. I was a few
metre in sight when I grabbed a large jutting boulder. I tested it before putting any
weight on it, then pulled myself up. Just as I did, the rock came away from the cliff-
with me holding on like a deranged footballer.

Afterwards, people asked what it was like dropping all the way. It felt as if I
was floating. Tony seemed to be racing away from me at a rapid speed, his face
buried into the rock as I plummeted past him. It was a moment of split-second visuals
with me moving in slow motion, waiting for the world to catch up.

When it did, I landed with a thud-my body stopped but my internals kept
going. I found myself in a surreal, dream-like state as I landed on rocks covered in a
few centimeters of water. I stood up and noticed that my right leg below the knee was
pointing backwards. Shock set in. There was no pain but rather a sense that
everything was wrong.

Ozzie reached me in a heartbeat, terror etched on his face. I felt as if my hair

and eyebrows were covering my eyes but when I brushed them away, I realised that
it was blood. “OK, this is bad,” I said to Ozzie. “I think we need to go back to the car.”
 Ozzie helped me to a more secure spot at the base of the rocks near the
others. My body was turning black and blue. I was that bloke you see on the news
who has done something stupid, wondering what to do next.

There we were, trapped up against the rocks with the tide rising. It was now
about four hours since we set off and with no phone coverage, Ozzie decided to
swim out to sea, around to a calmer beach to get help. Tony had made his way back
to the group and, as we sat huddled together, using beach towels to keep warm, I
calmly chatted away.

After dumping his wetsuit on the shore, Ozzie ran for a kilometre through the
scrub where eventually he found a man on a white horse-yes, a white horse-in the
middle of nowhere.

The rider shot off to get help, knowing we had limited time before the tide
would have been on top of us. After an hour-with the sun setting, and our spirit
battered-we looked across the horizon and saw helicopters; one, then two, then
three, hovering overhead.

Recued! Not so.

These were news helicopters, buzzing back and forth. Camera operators
hung out, filming every moment to report back for all to see. And then they were
gone, leaving us no wiser about what was to happen.

Hours passed before the rescue services team arrived at the top of the cliff,
only to assess the way down as too perilous. Then, the police rescue team arrived
with what looked like a team of “Tom Sellecks”, who abseiled down the cliff to us. I
was strapped into a safety basket and then hoisted above their shoulders.

They stroke out into the sea, waves crashing on their faces, while I was
hooked up to the now hovering rescue helicopter winch, raised into the air and taken
to the nearby Apollo Bay Hospital.

I never thought I would be that person on TV at the centre of a dramatic

rescue. What did I take away from this experience-apart from my older brother’s
bedside lecture and the weird dreams of falling? As corny as it may sound, I gained a
deep appreciation for those around me and for every single moment-and it only took
50 metres to work that out!