I had dropped the boys off at their mum's place and was on my way back to the mountain -'Mount B.', as I have mentally started referring to it in honour of the B. family. My friends were on a three week overseas trip and I had been asked to look after their place and their two little dogs. The way to Mount B. is fifteen kilometres of increasingly windy road, followed by one and half kilometres of all-terrain gravel road cut into the side of the mountain. The creek crosses the road in maybe a dozen places, some floodways presenting a dip in the road steep enough to warrant a momentary reduction in speed in dry conditions.
I came to the first crossing. The creek flowed over the road with a certain, shall we, say, attack. I stopped the car, a station wagon with a solid six-cylinder engine that had so far served me well on trips to nearby national parks, up and down to Canberra through the New England tablelands and around the hills of Brisbane. After a quick scan of the crossing, I decided to go for it. With a bit of a surge in speed, I pushed the car into the muddy-looking creek. The engine seemed to respond well, giving me confidence even though the water gushed over the bonnet and splattered onto the windscreen. I felt the creek gently nudge the car sideways just before I reached the other side with no more strength than a couple of mates leaning on the car.
'That was probably the worst of it', I said to myself as I picked up a bit of speed. 'Interesting, but nothing to be really worried about'. The windscreen wipers kept up their clacking and squeaking in the heavy rain. 'I must fix those wipers – next time when the rain stops', I promised myself.
I noticed a few branches on the side of the road. It had been windier earlier in the day, but it had not been enough to shift the heavy rainclouds. There had been a few well-covered crossings already on the way down several hours earlier, the spray feathering out from the sides of the car at the crossings as I took the boys down from the mountain. Highlight of the sleepover with Dad, no doubt.
Having negotiated the first crossing gave me sense of achievement. It had definitely been a buzz. The second crossing incorporated a slight bend right in the bottom of the dip. Once again I stopped the car several metres away from the waters edge. I judged the crossing, looking at the length of the road covered by water and the speed of the flow. Seems all right. I drove into the water.
Same thing again: water surging onto the bonnet, splashing on the windscreen, spraying sideways. This is almost fun. Same sense of a gentle sideways nudge – no, wait: this one is stronger. More power. The engine growls in response. I feel the back lifting now I am drifting sideways I am off the road in the creek oh s**t at least I am not sinking can't be that deep the car will just settle down and I will walk out I am still floating down the creek! This is not good! Calmdowncalmdowncalmdown.
Ok. Breathe. Breathing? Check. I am floating. In a creek. In a car. Do I want to keep floating? Negative. I want to get out. How do I get out? Easy. Open the door and step out. Door won't open. Is it unlocked? Yes. OK. Try again. Ah - water pressing on the door. Now what? I wonder if I can open the tailgate. Water leaking into the footwell. Please God please God |thunck| now climb between the front seats over the back seat over all the stuff in the cargo area that I had left there from my last sleep-in-the-car -stint: the mattress, a backbag with spare clothes, bits and pieces. At least the back end of the car is up, the engine in the front weighing the car down like the 'Titanic' in the early stages of sinking. I push the hatch open. A quick look – still floating downstream at a rate of knots. Not far from the shoreline. I roll into the water, feet first and immediately pushing off the car towards the shore. Not so deep that I have to swim.Half- scramble, half-swim. I can feel the bottom. A bit rocky, mostly heavy gravel. Overgrown bank. Thick scrub. Push through. Mud. Stalks. Leaves. Rain. Nothing that I hadn't met before on my previous excursions off the beaten track. I stand up in the shallow mud and try to identify the direction to high ground. Roughly that way. The jungly bank become less jungly. There is the road. I can see a house. House is good. I am soaked – hang on! Yes - that is a dry patch of T-shirt! However. I am mostly wet, it's rainy and evening approaching. I am tough but Bear Grills I'm not. Besides. No need to be Bear Grills. Besides, I don't know how far that car is going to float. Eventually someone will see it and call the emergency people and I am actually all right, I don't need to be rescued from the car. I hope I can find a landline phone.
Part II ...later. suffice to say that car most likely a write-off, but I am ok.
