gear first. I found the spoon-shaped pram a wonderful boat to
handle. You could go in to the very edge of the breaking surf,
lifted like a cork on top of the waves, and as long as you kept
head to sea and kept your own head, you need never have got on
the rocks, as the tremendous back-swish took you out like a shot
every time. It was quite exciting, however, as we would slip in
close in a lull, and the chaps in the whaler would yell, 'Look
out!' if a big wave passed them, in which case you would pull out
for dear life. Our first lines carried away, and then, with
others, Rennick and I this time took the pram while Atkinson got
as near the edge as safe to throw us the gear. I was pulling, and
by watching our chances we rescued the cameras and glasses, once
being carried over 12 feet above the rocks and only escaping by
the back-swish. Then the luckiest incident of the day occurred,
when in a lull we got our sick man down, and I jumped out, and he
in, as I steadied the boat's stern. The next minute the boat
flew out on the back-wash with the seaman absolutely dry, and I
was of course enveloped in foam and blackness two seconds later
by a following wave. Twice the day before this had happened, but
this time for a moment I thought, 'Where will my head strike?' as
I was like a feather in a breeze in that swirl. When I banked it
was about 15 feet above, and, very scratched and winded, I clung
on with my nails and scrambled up higher. The next wave, a bigger
one, nearly had me, but I was just too high to be sucked back.
Atkinson and I then started getting the gear down, Evans having
taken my place in the pram. By running down between waves we hove
some items into the boat, including the guns and rifles, which I
went right down to throw. These were caught and put into the
boat, but Evans was too keen to save a bunch of boots that
Atkinson threw down, and the next minute the pram passed over my