Praker

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Lifeguarding in the ’80’s was a different thing.

Today, with a staff of almost 130, a strict policy and procedure manual, and a very long, intense, and comprehensive training course, we run one of the most professional beach guarding organizations in the country. The guards that make it through are reliable, committed, and professional. Of course it’s fun, but there’s not a lot of monkey business.

Back in the “pre-liability” 80’s it was a different story. We worked hard, but there were only around 20 or so lifeguards in, say 1985. We were a family that worked and played together. Our “headquarters” was a trailer parked on Stewart Beach and our Dispatcher/Office Manager was there every day, all day. Unlike today, where our staff is roughly 50% women, it was a very male dominated culture. There were a few very exceptional women that worked for the Beach Patrol and we respected them because they more than held their own. With such a small staff and only two peace officers that helped with security on the weekends (thank you Donny and Albie!) the lifeguards dealt with wild, drunken Texas crowds often. I remember women lifeguards jumping in with the men to break up large fights often.

None of the women (or men) were tougher than Diana Praker, who we knew simply as “Praker”. Praker was a very good triathlete who trained constantly with a couple of other Beach Patrol athletes. She partied as hard as she worked.

After work we used to go to an outdoor blues bar called the Patio Bar that was attached to a waterslide on Stewart Beach. It was a biker bar and very few bikers were of the modern urban fashionista variety. But the guards fit in and they served a drink called that “lifeguard special” for an obscenely cheap price for the guards, so we were regulars.

On one Saturday after an especially grueling day on the beach, a bunch of lifeguards, friends, G-town locals, and bikers were there. Praker walked in with her friend Brit. Brit was gorgeous and instantly got the attention of the crowd. They sat with the group and joined in whatever the smack talk was of the moment.

Praker got up to get a round for everyone and a drunk biker sat down next to Brit and started saying all kinds of obscene things to her. We all watched, amused at the diversion, until he started pawing at her. Before any of us could react to help Brit, Praker was there with a serious right cross. Drunky Biker Guy went down, knocked out cold.

His friends came up and I personally think my life flashed before my eyes. But the main guy that approached suddenly started laughing and shaking Praker’s hand. As we got some oxygen to revive Drunky, the bikers bought us a round and joined us at the table.

I vaguely remember Praker and Drunky Biker Guy toasting to Brit somewhere in there as the evening wore on.

 

 

Dolphin Story

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I met a guy the other day who had an interesting story about a dolphin.

He grew up as a surfer/swimmer/lifeguard in Southern California. Life happened- he blinked and he found himself married and working 70 hours a week as a very successful stockbroker in LA. Big parties, big money, drugs, fake friends, the entire package.

One day he woke up so sad and sick that he realized this was not how he wanted to live, not how he wanted to be. He gave up the job, which quickly led to the loss of the money and lifestyle and, subsequently, the wife.

He drifted. At one point he was a river guide in Wyoming who got into riding this big river wave. He was depressed though and kept doing self destructive things to fill the void where his former life and wife had been. He still partied too much, still used some, and took extreme physical risks.

He ended up in Kona, Hawaii. The lifeless black lava rock seemed like a physical manifestation of his broken soul. He wound up in a state park. An older hippy woman approached him and said, “You’re here to be healed by the dolphins?'”. He replied that he wasn’t sick. She said, “Sure you are. Your heart.” She pointed to his chest briefly and walked off saying, “Go swim.”

He swam out about 200 yards from shore. He said he was in such a dark place that he considered swimming out so far that he couldn’t get back. Suddenly, a huge shape moved next to him in the water. He jolted straight up and down thinking it was a shark. Two dolphins circled him and one came right up to him looking him in the eye. It was vertical in the water. He felt the deep bass feeling of being blasted by its sonar. He froze. Then the big dolphin dropped in the water and blasted him again in the chest. The other did the same from the back.

Something happened in the water. When he returned to shore he still felt sad, but it was manageable. He later found out that people come from all over to swim with the bottlenose dolphins, who are very tame, and claim they are healers. He said he’s never gotten to that dark place since, and when he is down it is a normal kind of sadness.

He told me the story in a very matter of fact way. Nothing else we talked about had spiritual overtones. The rest of our conversation was about surfing, lifesaving, etc.

He has returned to his roots and has worked as an ocean guard on the Big Island for the past 10 years. He seems really content. He says he’s never been as happy as now. He swims regularly with the dolphins at the park but hasn’t felt the deep sonar blast him since that one day that they saved him and altered the course of his life.

Lapse of Judgment

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My daughter Kai and I were perched at the top of the drop-off laughing uncontrollably. She was in my lap and we were about to slide down the algae covered surface into a swirling pool of water. The water rushed past us as we barely kept ourselves from shooting down the natural slide. She is good at letting me know when I’m pushing her too far and too fast. She said she wanted me to go first and then let her know how it was. We’d watched an older local man slide down numerous times with no problems, and he’d even gone head first a few times. I was confident it would be nothing but fun, but still acquiesced and went down alone.

After an exhilarating drop I landed in a small pool. Laughing, I waved at Kai and started to climb out. The surface was steep and covered with algae and I slipped back in. Suddenly, I was pulled by a current back to where the water entered the pool in a small waterfall. It pushed me down for a moment and I popped up back near the rock. I motioned for Kai to hold off until I was out and made a second unsuccessful attempt. Suddenly, it wasn’t so funny. I felt like I could get myself out eventually after trying some other strategies, but wasn’t at all sure that Kai could. And I was pretty sure I’d have some trouble getting both of us out if we circled around and around together in the hydraulic.

On my fourth attempt the older gentleman appeared on the side of the pool and nonchalantly extended a helping hand so I could scramble up on the dry rock. All I could think about was Kai, with her little body being pushed by the water into the slide. I looked up and she was barely keeping herself from sliding down. Running the calculation through  my head I motioned for her to stay in place and asked the man to stay where he was in case I didn’t get to her in time. I could hear her laughing and yelling that she couldn’t hang on. I scrambled up the steep, rocky surface and got to her just in time to see her manage to pull herself over the back of the rushing water to the safety of the pool behind it.

After several very vivid nightmares about this I’m coming to terms with how close a call this was. I’ve spent most of my life honing rescue and prevention skills and have saved several hundred people. But, in this case, I did what we always advise tourists who visit our beaches not to do. We were having so much fun hiking and swimming and playing that I let my guard down and took a risk that could have caused something serious to happen to either my daughter, me, or the man who pulled me out.

A momentary lapse in judgment around water can be a big deal.

Zanzibar

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I wound my way through the 6 foot high coral heads looking at all the beautiful animals in the tidal pools. There were starfish of every imaginable color, really big sea urchins, and colorful fish trapped in the pools by the receding tide. The bright African sun shone down from a blue sky speckled with wispy clouds.

I was young, maybe 23 or so. I looked up and was surprised to see a thin, beautiful woman about my age wearing a batik wrap, white t-shirt, and a yellow headdress. And she had an enormous octopus draped over her shoulders with tentacles brushing her ankles. She smiled and asked me in Swahili if I wanted some of it. Back then I spoke enough to refuse politely. She asked me where I was going and I pointed out towards the edge of the reef, maybe half a mile further out. I couldn’t make out what she said, but it was pretty clear she thought that was a bad idea. So I did what any 23 year old male would have done.

Making my way to the edge of the reef I couldn’t believe how beautiful the ocean was. I’d been traveling for some time inland and Zanzibar was the first beach I’d been to in almost a year and a half. I couldn’t resist and set my clothes on the top of a large coral head and picked my way gingerly to the edge of the reef and dove in. The water was perfect and I swam out and caught a few body surfing waves. After a bit I noticed the dry area I’d entered from was no longer dry. I suddenly realized why the young woman was so concerned. Even though I was basically right on the equator, meaning that the tides don’t vary that much, the flat long beach was starting to fill with water. I was almost a mile from the beach.

Slipping on my sandals, shirt, and pack I started wading back to shore. At first it was pretty easy. The water was so clear I could easily avoid the sea urchins and, as long as I was careful, it was easy to find a foot hold. But progress was slow and the water kept rising. Eventually it was up to my waist and was rushing like a river through barnacle encrusted coral and rocks. By then I couldn’t see where I stepped and had already gotten caught by sea urchins a couple of times.

I stopped and breathed and thought for a minute. I still had half a mile to go. Something from a Red Cross lifesaving class came to mind, so I pulled out my rain jacket and tied knots in the sleeves. Inflating it, I lay on top of it. I steered my makeshift raft through the coral without touching the ground until I was close to shore.

I noticed some villagers laughing. I was glad to provide entertainment, but was really happy to have had that lifeguard training!