Waterproof

Bump, bump, splash, bumpity bump, splash, swerve. I was clutching the side of the boat for dear life as we roared through the ocean. Sometimes our dinghy rode the wave, as if on a surfboard, and other times we missed the mark and the waves crashed against the boat drenching those passengers facing forwards and causing the rest of us to lurch sideways. We were returning from a national church gathering in a PNG village just a short paddle ride from Australia’s Saibai island in the Torres Strait.

Our colleague's dinghy

The gathering had been an extraordinary experience for me and the couple I was with. Following a village visit a short dinghy ride from Daru where there was much dancing, ceremony and religious fanfare, we had set sail (so to speak) once again, and arrived at the Assembly venue as darkness fell, together with a fleet of other canoes. Over the next couple of days Church leaders and visitors shared their progress reports, a special bilateral contract was signed with the Cook Islands, policy decisions were made, gifts were exchanged, and there was plenty of dancing. We were billeted in the home of a local family, and generously fed and given their bedrooms while they slept under the house on mats on the ground. Our trips to the loo and shower were closely monitored lest we should come to any harm in the course of such an expedition.

Having been so well cared for during our stay, saying goodbye was an extended and emotional process. Laden with gifts, serenaded with gospel songs, and waved goodbye by what felt like the entire village, we had set off on our motorised dinghy. After one particularly intense bump where my bum parted company with the floor of the boat entirely, I began to wonder how much further away our destination was. As each large wave hit the passengers facing forwards, the drowned rat look made the rest of us laugh, until a fresh wave somebody else off guard, and amusement was redirected elsewhere.

It was not much later that we must have hit the fishing net. The engine made a funny sound, we slowly came to a halt, and waves began crashing into the boat rather than against the side. As the scene went into slow motion, it occurred to me that we were actually sinking. Gradually edging out of the now semi-submerged side of the boat, I found my foot caught in a section of fishing net. Once broken free, I began wading to shore, grabbing whatever floating luggage I could along the way and noticing an odd flapping feeling on one of my feet.

Two of us stood on the shore, still in our life jackets; shipwrecked amid mangroves and white sand, considering the remainder of our belongings. She had mislaid her phone, and I appeared to have lost a toenail. A few metres away in the ocean, our crew were joined by passengers and crew of two other vessels, and dozens of hands were busily redistributing our soggy luggage and fuel canisters to other boats. Eventually, once our boat was emptied of water and the motor checked, plans were made for us to recommence our journey.

This time, on a different boat, I found myself seated beside a woman clutching a newborn baby. As I pondered the possible damage to some of my cargo, I also wondered how I’d feel if I was responsible not just for my own belongings, but for the well-being of an infant as fellow passengers and cargo were bumped and splashed along, completely at the mercy of the ocean and dependent on the skill of the skipper.

The second half of the journey was less bumpy, and the jovial vibe was reduced as well. Acutely aware of how quickly and easily a boat situation can go wrong, I continued clutching the side of the boat, mentally planning a more effective rescue operation should it happen again. Each bump and splash was accompanied by a silent prayer that we safely reach the shore without incident.

Only one Birky survived

Back on dry land we were taken to a nearby house to dry off, shower, and examine the extent of the water damage. I was hopping along on one sandal, its pair somewhere in the Torres Strait. Happily my phone still worked, and I learnt later that Samsung Androids from the S7 onward are waterproof for up to 30 minutes submersion under water. Or is it 30 metres? Anyway, I guess they didn’t have the saltwater of the Torres Strait specifically in mind when testing this claim, but I was glad it was the case and made a quick call to my boss to report the incident.

Once drier and steadier on our feet, we were able to laugh at our circumstances and congratulate ourselves for not freaking out any more than we did. However resilient we felt we were, though, our Papua New Guinean colleagues were more so. They took the losses and delays in their stride, quietly dealt with damage and changed logistics, and focused attention on our well being ahead of their own.

Fishing boats in the morning light

I had my moment of falling apart when we tried to clean the grit from the place where my toenail used to be. I realised that, unlike my phone, I could probably not claim to be fully waterproof. While I am able to take most unexpected situations in my stride, and have experienced a few of them over the years, I do have my fall-apart moments when I don't feel particularly brave or strong. The trick, I think, is to prepare as best we can for disaster, notice our weaknesses and vulnerabilities when in the challenging situation, and then seek the support we need when back on dry land. In my case, I like to relax and regroup by writing, painting, and walking. Ironically, I find it calming to walk along the water. Still bodies of water, that is, rather than rough seas.