by Kate McMahon
He continues to stare out to sea. The wind whips aggressively against the board tucked under his arm, so he steadies himself and tightens his sweaty grip on the bottom rail. The ocean looks as mean as she gets. Today, she hasn’t got one iota of mercy. Mountains of whitewater tear across the surface, clapping like thunder as the waves collide with rocks that protrude from the cliff like broken glass. Tyler jiggles up and down on his toes, looking north to see the faint outline of the Bonita Point headland that’s blanketed behind a haze of salty air. He’s craving the security of home while also feeling suffocated at the thought of returning. Tyler would normally only surf Kamikazes on a light offshore wind with swell half the size it is today – even then it lives up to its name. It’s the most challenging wave on the east coast, and today it seems like a death wish.
Sea urchins sway in the surrounding rock pools, their flower-like beauty belying the pain they can cause. Tyler prepares to take a step then hesitates, wondering how he’s even going to get 10 metres past the shore break, and whether he even really wants to. He could turn back now – no one would know. There’s nothing he needs to prove. A fresh tear trickles from his eye and is whipped away by the easterly wind. Tyler picks up the slack of the leg-rope that’s velcroed to his ankle and thinks, stuff it, hopping across the ledge and launching himself into the washing machine of water
#24
The text on the screen behind Mr Sampson reads: PRIORITY: what it is / how to get it / how to use it. He has spent the morning explaining to the class that while they might use priority or ‘right of wave’ positioning as amateur competitors – much as you do when free-surfing your local break – once you hit the big league and qualify for the main professional tour they use a different ruling for their two-surfer heats. The primary advantage of this is that the surfer who gains priority can take any wave they want, regardless of their position in the take-off zone.
‘How might you use this system to your advantage?’ Mr Sampson asks the class, then points to Mel, who immediately raises her hand.
‘If you’re in the lead towards the final minutes of your heat, you can sit close to your competitor and block any heat-winning waves,’ Mel answers, then sits back, ready to collect her praise.
‘That’s right, Mel. In fact, some of you might recall that’s exactly how Kazumi Hall secured his world title last year,’ Mr Sampson responds while typing Mel’s answer onto the projected iPad.
Jaspa glances sideways at Mel, who narrows her eyes and scrunches her nose.
‘Just pretend you didn’t hear that,’ Jaspa whispers, reaching around and placing her hands either side of Mel’s head to cover her ears.
Mr Sampson explains how Kazumi played priority tactics in the final event at Pipeline by blocking his competitor from using any waves to take the lead. Instead, Kazumi coaxed him into a monster set the surfer was far too deep to make, and while his opponent was left to pick reef bits out of a torn butt cheek, Kazumi celebrated like the champion he is.
Two girls at the back of the class whisper to each other as the teacher notes more of the students’ responses. The blonde leans in to her friend. ‘Apparently she was trailing Kazumi Hall everywhere on the weekend, like a pathetic puppy dog,’ she gossips, her eyes darting in Mel’s direction. ‘Right in front of his girlfriend.’
‘You think that’s lame, did you watch the final?’ the other girl asks out the side of her mouth. ‘Jaspa wouldn’t have even made it on tour if it wasn’t for her bosom buddy holding her hand.’
‘I know, right …’ The blonde stops mid-sentence, realising Carolyn is within earshot and firing a round of filthy looks their way. These two have developed a reputation for being bitchy around the comps lately, talking up their surfing far beyond their capabilities.
‘Do you have something to contribute, girls?’ Mr Sampson interjects.
‘No, sir,’ they mumble, avoiding Carolyn’s glare. Jaspa shoots Carolyn a questioning look, and she shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
Thomas claps his hands to regain the students’ attention. ‘Right up until the late nineties, the pro tour only used a priority buoy system.’ He brings up a diagram of two squares representing surfers, a circle further out to sea marking the buoy, and two dotted loops showing the surfers’ paddling path around the buoy. ‘In order to gain priority, a competitor would need to be the first one to paddle around the buoy. Eventually this system changed for the two-surfer heats; can anyone tell me how?’ A hand shoots up in the front row from a boy whose dead-straight sandy bob could see him star in Dogtown and Z-Boys.
‘Dylan?’
‘They started using jet skis?’
‘Correct. Jet skis were introduced to transport surfers after they catch a wave. It’s the same principle – the first surfer to arrive out the back of the line-up is granted priority.’ He pauses and points in the vicinity of the buoy on the screen. ‘But why do you think the jet skis were even introduced if the intention is the same?’ The class sits with a mix of blank, disinterested and thoughtful expressions.
‘The buoy kept moving with the currents?’ offers Jason Daniels, who’s sitting next to Carolyn.
‘No, but good answer. What do you think the main benefit of jet skis versus paddling would be?’ The teacher waits with an eager expression.
‘Less tiring for the competitors,’ Jaspa pipes up, removing her hands from Mel’s ears. She’d love to get carried into the line-up by a jet ski!
‘Exactly!’ he says with a pointing motion. ‘And why would this be a good thing?’
‘Because they would be less tired?’ Jaspa answers slowly.
Mr Sampson swallows back a guffaw at Jaspa stating the obvious, then props himself against the corner of the desk. ‘Yes … and being less tired means they can catch more waves, which would be good for …’
‘Us, watching online,’ Carolyn shouts without prompt. She doesn’t have unlimited data at home, so streaming surfers paddling 200 metres around a buoy at a break like Bells would be as exciting as watching resin dry.
The teacher nods and goes on to explain the many ways surfing has improved its format to be a spectator sport and why these changes were essential for commercial growth. Jaspa half-listens while replaying the assembly encounter with Cooper over in her mind. Maybe he was flirting and she just didn’t read him right. Her head is locked in a stand-off with her heart, wondering why she’s wasting her daydream hook-up scenarios on a guy who is clearly not interested. Her head says he’s a douchebag, but her heart counters that he’s just misunderstood. She begins scrawling two options on paper for how to solve the Cooper mystery when she hears her name being called. Jolting her head up to look at Mr Sampson, she’s confused to see he’s still posting notes on the projector. Mel gives her arm a gentle jab with her pen and points at the classroom door, where the school’s receptionist is waving Jaspa over.
Oh, this can’t be good. The last time she was called from class was when Grandpa Ryder died.
#25
Tyler clings to a rock and tries to ignore the excruciatingly painful throb pulsating through his left ankle. The cracking sound it made as he landed after freefalling into his first wave – an ugly, mutated, ten-foot monster – still rings in his ears, a sonic reminder of how much trouble he’s in right now. Surges of whitewater scrape him across a reef shelf and into the ascending cliff. He can’t work out which pain is worse: the cramping in his fingertips from clutching on for his life, which feels like it’s about to be washed away, or the gash on his thigh, which opens further each time he’s ripped across barnacles. Tyler knows he’s done plenty of stupid things in his life to fill up his cup of consequence, but this stunt has it overflowing.
***
At the river-mouth entrance, one beach south of Bonita Shores, the bottom half of a snapped surfboard has become entangled in a fisherman’s line. He reels it in and, being a local surfer, recognises it as Tyler’s by the half-torn sponsors’ stickers. He wouldn’t normally be concerned. It isn’t unusual t
o come across broken boards – they usually end up either dumped in beach bins or as ornaments in people’s front yards. But today is different. The sea is savage, and a snapped surfboard could signal something very wrong.
***
Jaspa waits at the school gate, picking at her fingernails. She draws in a sharp breath as one rips so far down it pulsates and threatens to bleed. Shaking it doesn’t help relieve the sting, so she sticks it in her mouth.
The receptionist’s words play over in her mind. The fact that her brother is missing doesn’t seem like such a big deal; he’s a seventeen-year-old boy, and disappearing for a night and a day isn’t out of the ordinary for Tyler. But the fact that her mum and dad are picking her up early from school is. They’re not worrywarts.
She looks at her phone to see another text message from Mel. She replies:
Hey, they’re still not here. I’ll fill you in as soon as I know the deets. Love you xxx
Loose bits of gravel crack under the weight of the bulky Dunlop tyres as the family car comes to a halt in front of Jaspa. She climbs into the back and rests her hands on the driver and passenger seats, pulling herself forward.
‘What’s going on? I’m kinda freaking out,’ she asks.
‘Hopefully it’s nothing, but Ned found Tyler’s broken board while fishing, and the car’s parked at Shellhaven,’ Anthony replies, easing into first gear and driving towards the highway.
‘What, no … he wouldn’t have gone out at Kamikazes today, would he?’ Jaspa flops back and clicks on her seatbelt. The only break any sane person would even consider surfing today would be kiddie corner at the Grove; it’s the only place that would be remotely protected.
‘We’re really not sure,’ Ellen says, her elbow propped against the window with her head resting in her hand. ‘We need to find out.’
‘I’m sure he’s probably just ditched one of his old boards into the ocean to ask Huey for some waves,’ Jaspa figures, referring to the old-school surfer ritual of sacrificing a busted surfboard by either burning it on the beach or throwing it into the sea as a prayer to the surf god for good swell. She’s never done it herself, though – either approach would be awful for the environment.
‘Possibly,’ Ellen responds. ‘Can you put something online, or anywhere you have the same friends, please?’
‘Okay, sure, Mum.’ She types a post:
Hey guys, if any of you have seen Tyler can you let me know asap? It’s urgent!!
She tags eleven of their mutual friends, including Cooper, who she’s never communicated with online until now. While she’s at it, she snoops around on Cooper’s page, checking for any trace of a female presence. A girl’s gotta keep informed, after all.
Ellen answers her phone. ‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ she says over and over. Hanging up, she mumbles to Anthony, ‘The police said not to panic just yet but to keep them updated.’
Jaspa hears her mum start to whisper to herself, begging for Tyler to please be safe. She reaches over the car seat and massages her shoulder. Jaspa doesn’t share her mum’s worry. He’s probably off in one of his mates’ cars somewhere, gone dirt biking or something.
The new Sandy Shores song comes on the radio. ‘Dad, can you turn it up please?’ Jaspa asks. She’s loved the singing siblings ever since seeing them at a free beach concert for Sea Shepherd last year. She sings along to the reggae groove, hoping it will lighten the mood.
‘I promise you in a moment I’ll come
to meet you at the setting sun
with a hand on my heart you’ll know for sure
my love for you won’t come undone.’
They’re one of her dad’s favourite bands, too. He relaxes his shoulders and taps his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel, giving Jaspa a smile and a wink in the rear-view mirror. Just as she’s about to text Mel to let her know everything’s probably going to be okay, that Tyler’s gone AWOL but she’s sure they’ll find him soon, she spots a handful of responses to her post. Most of them are Tyler’s mates being smartarses:
I hear he’s still looking for his dummy at the contest site.
He’s teaching Stanley Albert how to finally do a cutback.
More like he’s teaching your mamma.
But it’s the final comment, from Toby Lackey, that catches her eye:
He messaged me this morning to see if I wanted to go out at Kamas. Why?
#26
Tyler runs his tongue across his lips. Instead of experiencing wet, silky relief from the dryness, it’s like a scourer rubbing against sandpaper. He’s never regretted a night of drinking more than he does right now. The couple of spews he’s had have probably helped purge his hangover, but they’ve also fast-tracked the immense dehydration. Oh, the cruel irony; to be so parched while surrounded by water. His throat feels like a dried-up prune, and a throbbing starts knocking against the inside of his skull.
He opens his eyes briefly and the sun’s rays pierce his eyeballs. Judging from its position, it must be past midday. He manages to angle his hand, without losing his grip, to see his watch: it’s 1.50 pm. The tide has started to recede, and while the ocean is still creeping up to his waist, it’s no longer surging over his head and ping-ponging him against the cliff. It’s good to be grateful for the little things.
The closest thing he has to a plan for getting back to the beach is to wait and see if the swell subsides, then figure out how to make it to shore. The thing is, Kamikazes is not like your regular beach break. Even at low tide, the ocean meets the cliff around the entire bay. Equally challenging is that the shore isn’t sand, it’s a smothering of rocks. Getting in is twice as hard as the paddle out. With a mix of small round boulders and jagged obstacles of many lethal shapes and sizes, there’s only one paddle-in spot free of anything that might rip out your fins or flesh. Straining his neck, Tyler looks up at the cluster of shrub growing from the cliff that he needs to line himself up with. It’s hard enough negotiating this position on a surfboard and on a swell half this size, let alone swimming in the opposite direction, against the current, while tired, thirsty, hungry and in the most pain he’s ever experienced. He pushes himself closer to the rock and grimaces. Even if he miraculously makes it to the track, how is he going to handle the trek up the cliff with a busted ankle?
Lethargy weighs down on him at the thought of moving anywhere. His eyes close as he makes three wishes: that someone’s stupid enough to come out for a surf and spots him. That his parents realise he’s missing and call the police. That he wasn’t such a tool.
And then he passes out.
#27
Jaspa sets up a Facebook event titled Tyler Search Party, and types in 3.30 pm as the start time. She stares, blinking, at the spot for the finishing time and a coolness darts through her veins. There’s no way she’s leaving it blank. After a moment’s thought, she enters 5 pm. That’s a realistic compromise.
She sits on the end of her bed, unties the string of her notebook and rips out a piece of paper. In hurried scribble she writes an affirmation for Tyler and places it into her manifestation jar among the many bits of paper hosting her other hopes, such as passing exams, getting a tube for more than ten seconds and having Cooper fall in love with her. She’d give up all of them to have the wrath of her brother back in her presence right now.
She slumps, motionless, staring at the wall as her mind tries to get a grip on the situation. Not knowing how this scenario is going to end, or even how it began, is poisoning her mind. Where the heck is he?
Visions of Tyler struggling in the ocean keep popping into her head, leaving her short of breath. She hyperventilates the sadness in and out, in and out. Closing her eyes, she sucks a trail of air in through her nostrils, deep into her stomach, and holds it. Fighting back tears, she lets out an audible sigh, shakes her shoulders and visualises her brother sitting right beside her. She’s managed to suppress every urge to cry so far – surprising for someone who even blubbers during nature documentaries. But crying would mean admitti
ng that something is wrong, and seeing her upset is the last thing her parents need right now. Her mum collapsed onto the couch, heaving with sobs, when they returned from their first search along the Shellhaven clifftop, and she’s barely stopped crying since.
Jaspa shuffles down the stairs to offer her mum a cup of tea, only to see that she’s fallen asleep. A sense of peace has momentarily erased the crease that has etched Ellen’s brow since the moment she realised Tyler was missing. Jaspa wishes there was a way she could gather up all her mum’s worries while she slept, so she could wake up happy.
‘I’ve had over twenty people so far offer to come to help us look,’ Jaspa tells her dad quietly, tiptoeing into the kitchen to fill up her water bottle.
Anthony offers her a pained smile. ‘That’s great, button. I think we’ll leave your mum here to rest. I’m just writing her a note.’
‘Have you talked to Grandma yet?’ Jaspa asks, packing some apples and bananas into her backpack. Anthony’s mum lives half the time at Bonita Shores, in their backyard garden flat, and the rest of the time at her sister’s home on the Sunshine Coast. ‘I miss her,’ Jaspa says, picking up the soap from the sink and sniffing it, the lavender scent reminding her of Grandma Ryder. ‘It feels like she’s been gone forever.’
Anthony stands up from the table and scans the room for his car keys. ‘Yep, I called her a little while ago. She’s coming home tomorrow,’ he replies absently.
Jaspa studies the dark rings drooping beneath his eyes, the sadness weighing them down. ‘I guess we’d better get going huh, Dad?’ she suggests softly.
He nods and creeps across the floor to kiss Ellen’s forehead, then ushers Jaspa through the front door.