mutter.
We reach the swamp. ‘Undress, I want you to feel precisely where the muck begins and the overlaying water ends. Later, you’ll swim fully dressed and armed.’
He nods once and sheds his shirt, boots, and pants.
‘This might be a bit counter-intuitive at first,’ I say, walking to the muddy edge. ‘Everyone wants to keep his head above the water, so everyone tends to remain upright when falling or walking into a swamp. But that’s the best way to get sucked in and never come back.’ I take a step farther and my legs begin to sink down.
‘Before the swamp can swallow you, you push yourself forward and make sure you lie flat on the surface.’ With my knees already submerged, I give myself a good push. I roll onto my back, my arms spread wide, and my face pointed at the blue sky. I wonder if the BSA is looking down on me, if Erik is watching and wondering what the heck I’m doing. I clear my throat and say, ‘I’m now as flat as I can float. The water is approximately thirty centimetres thick, then the muck starts. It’s important to stir up as little as possible. You can’t swim in mud.’
‘Okay,’ he says and takes a step forward.
‘Wait until I’m back, so I can see you better and give you instructions. Thing is… It’s impossible to save anyone from drowning here.’
I swim back, grab a bunch of grass, and pull myself from the swamp. ‘You’ll be alone. So no doing stupid things, okay?’
He nods, steps into the muck, and pushes himself flat out.
‘Feel the mud brush over your arms and stomach when you swim. You know where it is and you are in control. There’s no problem as long as you are calm.’ I think I’m more nervous than he. He swims a small semi-circle with hasty strokes. This doesn’t look good. ‘Come back, now.’
He returns, shakes the water and dirt from his long hair and says, ‘Your strokes are different than mine.’
‘I know, I was about to show you. I stretch my arms out, like this. Then pull them in, not down. My hands don’t go deep — they brush along my stomach, like this. Normally, I’d kick with my legs, like this, but not here, as there would be too much disturbing of the layers of water and mud.’
He tips his head and returns to the swamp.
‘Wait. Don’t try this here. Learn it… Er… I think we’ll do the ocean swim first. I’ll teach you the strokes until you are comfortable moving like this. Only then will I let you try this in the swamp.’
He lifts an eyebrow. ‘I’m not a sissy.’
‘But I am. Picture me standing here sobbing because I lost my fun sniping teacher.’
A grin flashes across his face and he gives my shoulder a light punch. ‘Ocean it is, then.’
At our camp, we pick up a roasted, cold bird, fruits, a bowl of cooked roots, and water canteens and march down to the sea. We have to take a detour, because the shortest way would be over the cliffs, but climbing down with an armful of delicacies would be kind of impractical. When the pebbles crunch under our feet and the surf laps at our toes, I decide to give Runner a day he’ll remember.
‘Nope,’ I say when he takes off his shirt. ‘Battle simulation. Fill your pockets with small rocks to simulate the weight of your rifle then swim out to where you see the crosscurrents.’
He begins stuffing rocks into his pants pockets until they bulge. Then he looks at me.
‘What about the back pockets?’ I say and he fills those, too, then wades into the surf and dives.
And doesn’t come back up.
I count to twenty and he’s still not back. Shit. Jumping up and kicking off my pants, I fall over just when Runner’s head breaks the surface. He shows me his middle finger and swims out to where the crosscurrents are. I pull my pants back up, plop on my butt, and rip a leg off the roasted bird.
While I nibble the meat off the bones, I watch him growing smaller. He’s close to the currents now. I stand and hold my hands to my mouth, calling, ‘When you’re
We reach the swamp. ‘Undress, I want you to feel precisely where the muck begins and the overlaying water ends. Later, you’ll swim fully dressed and armed.’
He nods once and sheds his shirt, boots, and pants.
‘This might be a bit counter-intuitive at first,’ I say, walking to the muddy edge. ‘Everyone wants to keep his head above the water, so everyone tends to remain upright when falling or walking into a swamp. But that’s the best way to get sucked in and never come back.’ I take a step farther and my legs begin to sink down.
‘Before the swamp can swallow you, you push yourself forward and make sure you lie flat on the surface.’ With my knees already submerged, I give myself a good push. I roll onto my back, my arms spread wide, and my face pointed at the blue sky. I wonder if the BSA is looking down on me, if Erik is watching and wondering what the heck I’m doing. I clear my throat and say, ‘I’m now as flat as I can float. The water is approximately thirty centimetres thick, then the muck starts. It’s important to stir up as little as possible. You can’t swim in mud.’
‘Okay,’ he says and takes a step forward.
‘Wait until I’m back, so I can see you better and give you instructions. Thing is… It’s impossible to save anyone from drowning here.’
I swim back, grab a bunch of grass, and pull myself from the swamp. ‘You’ll be alone. So no doing stupid things, okay?’
He nods, steps into the muck, and pushes himself flat out.
‘Feel the mud brush over your arms and stomach when you swim. You know where it is and you are in control. There’s no problem as long as you are calm.’ I think I’m more nervous than he. He swims a small semi-circle with hasty strokes. This doesn’t look good. ‘Come back, now.’
He returns, shakes the water and dirt from his long hair and says, ‘Your strokes are different than mine.’
‘I know, I was about to show you. I stretch my arms out, like this. Then pull them in, not down. My hands don’t go deep — they brush along my stomach, like this. Normally, I’d kick with my legs, like this, but not here, as there would be too much disturbing of the layers of water and mud.’
He tips his head and returns to the swamp.
‘Wait. Don’t try this here. Learn it… Er… I think we’ll do the ocean swim first. I’ll teach you the strokes until you are comfortable moving like this. Only then will I let you try this in the swamp.’
He lifts an eyebrow. ‘I’m not a sissy.’
‘But I am. Picture me standing here sobbing because I lost my fun sniping teacher.’
A grin flashes across his face and he gives my shoulder a light punch. ‘Ocean it is, then.’
At our camp, we pick up a roasted, cold bird, fruits, a bowl of cooked roots, and water canteens and march down to the sea. We have to take a detour, because the shortest way would be over the cliffs, but climbing down with an armful of delicacies would be kind of impractical. When the pebbles crunch under our feet and the surf laps at our toes, I decide to give Runner a day he’ll remember.
‘Nope,’ I say when he takes off his shirt. ‘Battle simulation. Fill your pockets with small rocks to simulate the weight of your rifle then swim out to where you see the crosscurrents.’
He begins stuffing rocks into his pants pockets until they bulge. Then he looks at me.
‘What about the back pockets?’ I say and he fills those, too, then wades into the surf and dives.
And doesn’t come back up.
I count to twenty and he’s still not back. Shit. Jumping up and kicking off my pants, I fall over just when Runner’s head breaks the surface. He shows me his middle finger and swims out to where the crosscurrents are. I pull my pants back up, plop on my butt, and rip a leg off the roasted bird.
While I nibble the meat off the bones, I watch him growing smaller. He’s close to the currents now. I stand and hold my hands to my mouth, calling, ‘When you’re
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