By Linden Emmerson
It all started with a tropical cyclone called Filipo and a bunch of frothing storm chasers. They were brave enough to tame the 18-foot bombs that breathed flames upon the Ponta do Ouro line-up during a calamitous week in which Filipo tore through the Mozambican coastline, leaving coconut palms unrooted, skippers without their boats and families without their homes. It was a truly devastating event and I wish all of those affected by the cyclone a life renewed through God’s grace.
“Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.” Job 1:21
The mist off the lip of those offshore cannons had barely settled before Windguru started sending off alarms of a four-metre swell upon yonder horizon. After waiting out the storm during the week and hustling some fun little inside beach breaks, we were all waiting for the moment that the 3 elements of Arken – the holy trinity of Ponta surf would fuse to create the Holy Grail of Mozambican surf: The Arkenswell.
On Friday 12 April at exactly midday, the holy trinity amalgamated:
… And so the Arkenswell was resurrected, but little did the storm chasers know that the resurrection had woken a sleeping beast from the deep, The Zambezi Smaug.
The three elements of Arken united to cook up a Panarotti’s all-you-can-eat special unlike any other I had ever laid my eyes upon at the Golden Point: The Arkenswell had returned. Walking around the point and watching these rolling 12 to 15-foot cannons fire through the line-up was truly a site to behold. It was fast, powerful, barreling, relentless and churned up like a beetroot smoothie. It was breaking out to sea much further than usual and the paddle out seemed as if broken boards were an inevitability.
The Froth Queen and I had prepared with a dedicated yoga session that morning to manifest some internal peace amongst the chaos, but yet still the relentless bombs kept firing through the line-up without any sign of hesitation or pause. Just consistent, huge, angry walls that had arrived as the gatekeepers to the truest of storm chasers. After standing in awe for about 20 minutes with a paddle-out strategy still begging, we were pleased that a fellow warrior, Alfonso, had joined the battle lines with his weapon waxed and armed for battle. Without hesitation, Alfonso leapt onto the battlefield with bravery and courage, however, after taking multiple beatings, our warrior friend had drifted around the point within minutes, with no promise of clearing the impact zone. Pessimistic and nervous, I tried to be brave, remain calm and time the sets. I chose my moment and leapt courageously forward, knowing fully well that getting worked as a guarantee.
After timing my first two duck dives effectively, I was in a good position to clear the backline until a clean-up set emerged from over the horizon and unleashed the true wrath of the Arken upon my head with great vengeance and furious anger. At this point, Warrior Filipe bravely launched himself into battle behind me and charged forward, fueled by nothing but valour and optimism.
After 10 minutes and possibly more than 10 duck dives, I was still caught firmly within the impact zone but had drifted possibly 700m around the point in front of Pinto’s Beach Bar. I made one last valiant effort to race for the horizon only to find another clean-up set was already descending upon me from the heavens. In an attempt to minimize damage to my board and turbulence, I ditched the board and dived under the wave as deep as possible to try and come out the back of the wave, which seemed to work better than planned, however, I was still not out of the impact zone and needed to recover my board quickly. After reeling it in, I pulled myself on top of it, only to receive an electric shock of 10,000 volts through my right leg that had put my entire body into spasm. My first thought was that I had been stung by a sting ray like Steve Irwin, however, after attempts to move my leg failed, I then started considering the option of a shark attack. After laying down on my board horizontally and lifting my right leg out of the water, I was then able to identify the familiar scenes of flapping calf muscles and gaping open wounds that are usually reserved for victims of war.
At this point my frame of mind was not that of panic, terror, or fright, but rather a sense of how inconsiderate this animal was to kick a wounded dog while it’s down on the ground. How rude!
In happier times. (c) Sarah Kennan
I had quite literally taken a beating to the head for 10 minutes straight in the impact zone and regardless of how my yoga training had allowed me to remain calm in chaotic situations, fatigue was starting to set in and oxygen levels were being depleted by wave after wave of the relentless white water. And now, over and above all this turbulence, I had to deal with a shark attack! Are you serious?
I remember thinking at the time, “Ah well I guess that’s the end of my surf session” and being quite irritated that this ill-mannered animal who doesn’t even consider me as food had just ruined my day. I mean, this childlike behaviour of just taking a piece of my leg and spitting it out like a piece of manky broccoli is simply unacceptable!
Although I did receive some comfort in the idea that I couldn’t see vast amounts of blood being expelled from my body, I could not be completely sure about the extent of the damage and whether or not any arteries had been compromised. In hindsight, if I had to relive the experience, I would have given my leg a thorough inspection and possibly used my rashy as a tourniquet to prevent major loss of blood. Nevertheless, I knew blood in the water would attract more predators and I still had about 200 meters to paddle before I reached the shoreline. I made sure that my wounded and bloody leg was elevated on top of my board out of the water and that my arm strokes were as efficient as possible to get to shore without elevating my heart rate excessively. At this point, I had no means to tell the rate at which I was losing blood and whether or not I had enough left in my body to make it to the shoreline, but the blood that was in my body at the time was all I had to save my life and I needed to use it sparingly.
I remember not wanting to look left or right. I put my head down and beelined directly for the shore and hoped and prayed that Zambezi Smaug, the ill-mannered shark, wouldn’t come back for round 2, but this was out of my control, so my focus was to keep paddling as efficiently as possible. I had an opportunity to catch two big foamies as they came past, but the size of the swell created too much turbulence for me to catch them and I was knocked off my board on both occasions, keeping the peace of mind to hold onto my board like a kid and his ice cream, because this was the floatation device that would bring me to safety. At the halfway mark, I started to feel pins and needles in my leg and wondered if this could potentially be the point where my blood was running low. I realized that the next wave needed to bring me home, otherwise it could be the end of me, so when I saw the next Uber was within radius, I clicked “Request Uber X” regardless of the driver’s rating, saved my energy, positioned my body forward on the board and gave a burst of paddle power to try match the speed of the wave in the final moment, whilst making every effort possible to manage the turbulence, until finally I was pushed forward in front of the wave, and finally caught my ride home. 5 stars. Yes, I would like to leave a tip!
Upon reaching the shoreline, I screamed for help from some locals who were walking on the beach, removed my leash and started to crawl up the beach on the 3 limbs that were still effective. When looking behind me at the trail of blood, I was pleasantly surprised to see how small the blood trail was, which gave me some level of assurance that my arteries were still intact. By some stroke of miracle, a nurse from the local private clinic was walking along the beach on her lunch break. Correct. That’s what I said: a nurse just happened to be walking past…..! I had washed up to shore in front of Paraiso do Ouro, where the manager and a group of holidaymakers came to my attention while the nurse called back to the clinic to request assistance. At this point, Warrior Alfonso was on the scene and had managed to locate the Froth Queen down the beach and asked if he could call my friend for me. The manager at Paraiso do Ouro was a kind and gentle soul, who helped me remain calm whilst the holidaymaker, Niel Saville, helped me stop the bleeding in my leg with my shirt and his friends provided me with Coke for the shock. Minutes later, the Froth Queen arrived on the scene; her familiar face was a moment of reassurance. Asking if I was okay, I knew that I was in safe hands, and thus reassured my friend that everything would be fine and that she need not worry…
Within minutes, the head nurse from the private clinic arrived on the beach with a first aid kit and a stretcher, who provided me with some immediate first aid, bandaged up the wound and transferred me onto the stretcher to be moved to the private clinic, which happened to be down the road, and only about 200m away. Thanks to Niel and his beefy friends, I was carried directly from the beach to the clinic within minutes.
At the clinic, I was given immediate attention to get me stabilised. My wound was cleaned with iodine and I was put on a drip. One of the complications is that I have a penicillin allergy and therefore needed to first screen all antibiotics through my sister Ashleigh Parry, a qualified pharmacist. The Froth Queen took on this role like a champ and was the gatekeeper for my drugs. The clinic was well stocked and I was effectively stabilised with antibiotics, anti-tetanus, Voltaren, paracetamol and pethidine. The wound was thoroughly cleaned and closed up for evacuation. Spiggles, the local surf legend, arrived on the scene after hearing the news, whilst in a SARS meeting at the border. He dropped his meeting to rush to the clinic and from the moment he arrived, he immediately began with the evacuation coordination. Pressing my toes to test the blood circulation in my foot whilst on a Whatsapp video call with a doctor in Manguzi as well as running through the best course of action with the local doctor, Daniella, who was a wealth of information. The plan was formulated to use my Suzuki Jimny as an ambulance to get me across the border to Richard’s Bay since nobody could be certain of the degree of the specialised surgical procedure that would be required, but all were in agreement that the quicker that I received surgery, the better. Spiggles was generous enough to cover my bill at the clinic of about 10,000Mets to save time drawing money at the ATM, whilst the head nurse wrote up a letter to the customs police at the border to ensure a smooth transition. One amazing thing about the Gen 4 Jimny is that the front seats move entirely forward, such that you can drop the backrest down to create a flatbed in the car. I am 6’ 2” and was laying perfectly flat, in comfort with a pillow under my head and riding the waves of the pethidine in style. To yonder border, we ride!
The transition through the border was quick and painless thanks to our letter from the clinic. I didn’t even need to get out of the car, the customs official was kind enough to come to see me in the car instead. It seemed that the entire community was working together as a team to ensure that I received the best chance of keeping my leg before circulation to the foot was compromised.
In the background, my sister was working her magic once again to arrange an ambulance pick-up to meet us halfway somewhere around Hluhluwe and so I was sad to leave my dear friend and transfer to an ambulance because my Jimny was just so comfortable and my interim ambulance driver was doing such a fine job!
It was about 8 pm when the ambulance arrived at The Bay Hospital, Netcare, where the staff were friendly and wasted no time to admit me. My sister had already done a background check on the resident surgeon Dr Melonas and gave me the thumbs up to endorse him for the job in front of him, which meant that I already had Whatsapped a photo of him before I met him. “Hi there Doc, I’ve seen your profile already. Good luck and Godspeed!”
During the pre-operation briefing, the Doctor asked me to lift my foot, of which I was incapable. He advised at this point that he would need to bring the resident orthopaedic surgeon into the surgery to re-attach the nerve that had most likely been severed on the outside of my leg at the top of the calf muscle. He was pessimistic about the outcome of the nerve repair since that nerves grow extremely slowly. The procedure has a very low success rate, and therefore prepared me for the possible reality that I may need to live with a drop foot. Still, the priority was to get into surgery, clean the wound and treat the infection from Zambezi Smaug, the bad-breathed and ill-mannered shark that doesn’t brush his teeth.
The surgery ended at about 11 pm and I woke up to the most extreme pain in my leg that I had ever experienced in my entire life. I begged the nurse for painkillers and was literally in tears as a grown man, however, I had already been given the maximum amount of morphine prescribed and needed to wait 4 hours before my next dose. I writhed in pain like a cancer victim for most of the night, until, mercifully, around 3 am, enough time had passed and the nurse was given authorisation to provide me with another dosage of morphine, where I could finally get some sleep.
The next day, I woke up to my surgeon at the end of my bed giving me feedback from the surgery. I was ecstatic to hear the amazing news that Dr Gathiram, the orthopaedic surgeon, had managed to locate the severed nerve in my foot. About 1cm of the nerve was missing and the edges were frayed like an old shoelace, making it difficult to work with, but he worked his magic, stretched the two ends together and stitched up the sheath around the nerve to give me the best chance possible of rehabilitation. It was an incredible feeling to wake up and find out that my wound had been closed up and all I had to focus on now was to rest, take my meds, stay healthy and remain in the hospital for a week to maintain infection levels.
Words cannot put into writing the appreciation, respect and gratitude that I have for every human that was involved in the chain of events that led to where I am right now on a Tuesday evening, taking account of this event on my long road to recovery.
Thank you, Sarah, the Froth Queen and my warrior in battle, drug gatekeeper, translator and interim ambulance driver.
Thank you, Niel, the holidaymaker on the beach and his friends who carried me to the clinic.
Thank you to the manager at Paraiso do Ouro, who kept me calm and provided advice.
Thank you, Alfonso, fellow warrior in battle and for calling my friend up from the beach to the scene.
Thank you to all the staff at the private clinic in Ponta, who did exactly what was necessary to provide a clean and stable platform for the surgeons in Richard’s Bay to work with!
Thank you Spiggles, for coordinating the evacuation operation. Your experience, wisdom and decisiveness during these emergencies gave us the confidence to pull the trigger on the best plan possible and for your incredible generosity at the clinic, where the clock waits for nobody.
Thank you, Filipe, who drove Sarah back to my house to fetch my bags and Jimny so that I could be evacuated.
Thank you Lauren for the endless support, for remaining calm under pressure, ready to help in a heartbeat and for being the most amazing friend that I could ask for.
Thank you to the ambulance drivers, who transported me to Richards Bay in safety.
Thank you Dr Melonas for your incredible work in the theatre for saving my leg.
Thank you Dr Gathiram for giving my foot the best chance to possibly get on a surfboard again one day.
Thank you to all the friendly and caring nurses, cleaners, caterers, security and staff members of The Bay Netcare Hospital, who contributed towards my recovery.
Thank you to all my friends and family who visited me at the Bay Hospital for keeping my spirits high.
Thank you for the countless messages and phone calls from friends and family who have been rooting for me.
Thank you, Nathan, my roomy in the hospital for the mad chats. Good luck with that appendix!
Thank you Pastor Rolf Hagemann for the hospital visits, your wisdom and your inspirational bible verses and prayers.
Thank you to all the scientists and shark researchers on the WhatsApp group for providing wisdom into the attack and re-animations to identify the likelihood of it being a Zambezi.
But most of all: Thank you Linden for surviving a Zambezi shark attack and living to tell the tale of the Zambezi Smaug and the Arkenswell!
The post Surviving A Mozambican Shark Attack appeared first on Zigzag Magazine.
