An occasional Australian Christmas

My next recollection is of the great day itself. I woke, with a very sore head, to the sound of my boss Paul yelling in the yard. I can see him now, wearing just his boxers and clutching a brown bottle of beer chasing the duck around and around the yard. Eventually the rest of us hungover mortals, me, Henry and his sister Caroline, emerged to help Paul catch lunch, and he plucked and butchered it, and Caroline shoved it in the oven. Meanwhile Paul's idea was to have a Christmas treat. I think he thought a duck would take hours to cook. So he decided we would all go water skiing.

I don’t know where the boat came from. I think it may have been his Dads which he kept at the farm rather than risk getting it nicked in his home town. But little did he know the risk he was putting it to. We had it, and we were going to use it. So we hitched it up to the Landover and set off for Coffin Bay.

So, on Christmas Day 1975, I learnt to waterski in Coffin Bay, S Australia.
I had never done it before, and was pleasantly surprised to be able to get up on the first go. Perhaps my snow skiing experience helped. Anyway, there I was cruising along in the wake on the blue blue water, in zillions of degrees of sunshine when I realised they were yelling at me from the boat. I could just make out their faint cries of ‘don’t fall in, whatever you do don’t fall in’.

This had what I now suspect was the desired effect and immediately I caught an edge and went head over heels, right into the biggest school of jellyfish I’ve ever seen. All I could hear was the blood rushing in my head, and a voice some miles away screaming ‘lie still’ and 'don’t move’. I tried that, and sank. I had to tread water, and in so doing got badly lashed by the jellyfish tentacles. Meanwhile they turned the boat around, although how they could see where they were going when they were doubled over in drunken laughter, I have no idea. Finally, rescue arrived and I was hauled into the boat and washed off. Possibly with a bottle of beer. Although I am not convinced Paul would have sanctioned that as a valid use of the amber nectar (no, really: he called it that). Anyway, whatever they did worked and, because I had been wearing a T-shirt and long shorts, the damage was confined to my arms and legs. My face escaped. Some may not perceive this as a bonus. In the end the effects were no worse than rolling into a bed of nettles. The marks had all but gone by the next day.

We returned for lunch. The journey back was me wet, stung and grumpy, and them collapsing into giggles whenever they looked at me. Nice. Lunch was horrid. I can remember it now, tough and inedible. I think Caroline cried. So we all got more drunk. What a surprise. I gave Paul and Caroline books. Luckily, as a University graduate and English, Caroline recognised them, and was able to show Paul and, later, other Australians visitors how they worked. These were the only domesticated examples of this rare species I saw in all my time in South Australia. I think I caught sight of some in a visit to Victoria. But I also saw Neil Diamond in concert, twice (a verdant oasis in the desert of cultural life in the nearly outback of the Eyre Peninsular in 1975).

The whole waterskiing event paled into insignificance when, a few days later, we tried again. This time we called in on our way at the village store in Coffins to buy something or other. Beer, I would venture. As always with Paul a quick stop turned into a 40 minute chat. During which the store keeper let it be known that a ten year old had been water skiing in the bay just a few days before, and had been taken by a Great White Shark. Christmas week, he said it was.

We went to the Coffin Bay Motel for few beers instead.



Footnote:
I’ve not been keen on sea swimming since then. And to top it all Jaws had just come out.

Great Whites still attack people in that area. And probably if you Googled for long enough you could find out more about the Great White and the attack in Coffin Bay. Let me know if you do. I failed to find it, but did discover that Dangerous Reef, just off the coast at Port Lincoln, is a famous breeding ground for Great Whites. And the town itself is now a centre for GW shark diving holidays. Eeek.



Doggy paddle, anyone?.