Autumn2022

As the silky sand sinks between my toes, I gaze around admiring my beautiful home, the Coorong.  The hills rise and cascade to form grassy waves of thriving wildlife and nature. I can hardly imagine being back in with my lot, where I was trapped within myself. I was a shell, not even able to marry the woman I wanted to. I realise now, that everything in my new life, my new home was perfect. The peace and blissful quiet with Country healed me to my fullest self and I became whole again. All that was even before I met Michael, a brave, loving boy who adopted baby pelicans and offered them fresh hope for a new life. He is always slithering through the shrubbery or gliding down the beach, showing and teaching me about obscure creatures of which I have never even heard. When the skies are thundering and screaming, and rain is flooding the seas, he shows no fear, often venturing far out into the fog. His bravery left me no choice but to name him in my native language. Mantawu Ngawiri. Storm Boy.

As I continue roaming along Ninety Mile Beach, the luminous water catches my attention. The surface sparkles and glitters, softly reflecting rays from the beaming sun above. The gentle breeze wanders through my hair, providing relief from the sweltering heat. The merging of water from shallow turquoise to deep royal blue with constant wandering shadows is mesmerising. On the shore, tiny white pebbles and shells appear and they remind me of prehistoric eggs, sloshing in the foamy cocktail of whitewash and sand. As I open my mouth to breathe, the salty scent from the ocean tickles the back of my throat. Pelicans dance through the water, diving to gaping depths as they search for food. In the distance, I see my favourite thing of all, which also marks the end of my stroll. It is a rotten hunk of wood that looks like a cross, with peeling layers of bark and dried, golden lines where sap once trickled. Hideaway Tom, Storm Boy’s father, made it for him so he would never get lost on his endless journeys. I’ve heard stories from his father. Storm Boy would sometimes leave when the sky was painted in splashes of violet and pink at dusk and return after the sun had collapsed behind the horizon of the world. Now, as the canvas of the sky glows a vibrant array of colours, the roar of the screaming sea slowly sank to the soft sound of sloshing water. Miniature waves licked hungrily at the shore, reaching to my toes.

“Fingerbone Bill! Over here!” chirps a familiar voice. His eyes twinkle with youth and enthusiasm. A spreading smile reveals his white teeth, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Hello Storm Boy. Long-time no see,” I say.

“Come have dinner with us! We are lighting a fire!”

Hideaway Tom waves to me from inside his dilapidated house. The tin roof, outlined with a dull browny rust, is gaping with holes. Tired bricks pop out of their place and the gloomy windows were already impossible to see through, even without the misty coating of condensation that painted them at dusk and dawn. I loved that house, especially when Hideaway Tom let me curl up next to the crackling fire when storms rolled outside and when rain hammered angrily at the walls. Storm Boy begins to rub two sticks together furiously. After a few deep breaths of effort, sparks soar and set the tepee of timber ablaze. The fire melts my energy and I slump against a thick, majestic tree. Birds ranging from deep crimson to azure blue chirp and dash through the branches, their colourful plumes illuminated by the rays of the setting sun. I feel so connected, spiritually, to the land around me. I have never felt so welcomed before. This is my family. This is my home.

“Well, we think we should be rewarded with your best catch,” one spoke while jerking the gun in his hand, “We don’t want any trouble, do we?”

My mind blanked as I assessed the situation. Realising my danger, I caved and pulled the proudest fish I had out of the freezer and relinquished it to them.

Stranded. The daybreak of a raging storm, the wakening of a monster. A thick black blanket of clouds above, with only a shimmer of light peering through the cracks. The wind howling, like a category 5 hurricane with continuous white walls of water thumping down at every breath. It was an unforgiving torrent of salt water with the white teeth of a beast and the blue body of a whale.

The ship ran aground with limited supplies, some 250 metres from shore, but out here, with the storm growing angrier and angrier, it felt more like 1000. Shivering, cold, hungry and scared. There was no form of communication, no help, and no way my crew and I could launch a raft. It all seemed lost. I sat, and I stared… for what felt like an eternity. But then, suddenly, I saw… HOPE.

I started waving my arms high into the sky, for what I saw changed EVERYTHING. At first, it appeared as a faint flying object – maybe a bird – but as I gazed down into a void of nothingness, I saw… land. Now I made out three faint figures on the sandhills of a beach. We waved, and waved, until my arm felt like it was going to fall off… but they were as still as statues. The other figure casted its wings and sailed into the sky. As it flew out to sea, I could see its large feathery wings and long, pointy, orange beak. It appeared to be a Pelican.

It glided past the raging waves and dropped what appeared to be a long fishing line out of reach, next to the tugboat. It then soared back to shore, back to one of the figures and rested there for a while before flying back out. This time, it dropped the line a few dozen metres in front of us. It repeated this same feat over and over again. Then, finally, on the tenth try the fishing line dropped right across our drowning ship. I grasped the fishing line as it fell and attached a thicker, more secure rope. I flung my hands up to the sky to signal to the humans to start pulling. They had to be very cautious, for if they pulled too hard, or if the line snagged, the fishing line might break. Slowly, slowly the rope overcame the forces of the sea and made it to land. Now we had it all to do again. I attached an even thicker, very strong rope and the pulling resumed. The waves were battering our aged boat, ripping it apart as the time dragged by. Let this be over!

As the rope was hauled ashore, we connected a hastily prepared bosun’s chair to our end. One of the crew members fastened himself in and signalled to the people on the beach to start pulling. The water pushed him under and shook him round like a rag doll. But luckily he always managed to catch a breath between the thundering, rolling waves and made it to the safety of land. We tugged the rope back to the boat and another crew member was ready to make the arduous journey. After him came a third, fourth and fifth, until it was my turn. I took a deep breath and launched myself into the rough sea. The waves thumping me down as if a skyscraper was continuously falling on my head. “Hurry!” I yelled, as I realised the rope was getting dangerously taut and could break at any second. My heart was now pumping as fast as a Cheetah, my head was aching as if I’d run into a brick wall. I could feel myself going under, I thought it was all going to end for me, but just as I had nothing left to give anymore, I was dragged from the water onto the dry, comforting land. “Saved.”

I am flying along the long strips of sand parallel to the thundering waves. The dry, dusty dunes blow away and flow over the sand slopes. The waves crashing on the sandy shore spread the salty sea scent through the air. The wind beneath my wings lifts me ever so slightly higher. A golden aura shrouds my wings. I feel free, flying carelessly above the dunes and the rushing waves. The cool breeze softly strokes and ruffles my feathers as I stretch out my neck. I am flying in a straight-line bordering sea and land, trying to find Storm Boy, who raised me. I can see the bright greenery on the dunes swaying in the wind, dancing to the reeds’ woodwind music.

I never knew my parents. I was raised by Storm Boy and Hideaway Tom, who cared for me and my brothers. I was constantly fed and treated as Storm Boy’s favourite, and he is my favourite too.

I think of the humpy I live in with Storm Boy and Hideaway Tom. The rough wooden walls and floors with the tin roof in the shape of waves. I want to find Storm Boy so that I can return and pester Hideaway Tom for fish. The holes in the walls are where the sunshine breaches through. I see a figure, a dark silhouette, along the beach. As my shadow passes theirs, the person turns around, only for me to notice that it is Storm Boy. I descend excitedly after finally finding my friend along the ninety-mile beach, the endless beach strand. I descend slowly towards the dry, dusty dunes in front of our humpy, trying to surprise Storm Boy. As I land, a cloud of dust pollutes the air in the shade of beige. As the gust blows, my feathers feel the flowing wind. Storm Boy coughs dryly, rubbing his eyes and laughing when he sees me.

Storm Boy kicks his red soccer ball towards me. I notice the intricate white lines forming a pattern on the surface. I run after it, wings stretched out and catch it in my large beak. I pat my head gently on the ball, nudging it towards Storm Boy. He runs towards the humpy, yelling, “Beat me there if you can!” I fly after him and soar silently above his head — the soft swishing of the sand with every one of his footsteps. I catch sight of the lookout post and land smoothly on the top. I stand elegantly and proud and wait for Storm Boy. As he arrives at the humpy panting, he calls out, “Flying is cheating!” Hideaway Tom, as usual, is wearing his jet-black jacket, navy blue jumper and brown beanie. He laughs.

We enter the humpy and sit by the crackling fireplace. The warmth flows through my body. I notice the fishing basket full to the brim and next to it… a second one!? Hideaway Tom must have caught extra today, meaning that I get some delicious tuna. Just the thought of tuna makes me hungry for the delicacy. It even looks delicious from the outside, blue with a silver belly. My thoughts come true. He opens the basket and throws me one of the fish. I enjoy the moment and feel the fish slowly sliding down my neck into my stomach. While I eat my fish, Hideaway Tom and Storm Boy are joyously eating homemade fish soup. We, as a family, sitting in our humpy happily.

Carefully placed hands picked up the sides of my wings. “Mr Percival, please,” a familiar voice begged. I could barely open my eyes. “You have to live.” The voice strained. I was ready to leave, just like my mother, when a familiar sound of crackling fire and smooth warmth licked at my skin. The familiar feeling of a warm touch left a lasting mark on my cold skin. I was saved, saved by the warmth that I was feeling now not so long ago. Saved by a miracle. The tears remained in my eyes, but I could open them, catching glimpses of the figure holding me. He was staring at me with a longing for hope and survival, but I knew that he could not save me as he had in the past. I felt sorrow, a bitter taste was on my tongue. “Please don’t die,” said the miserable voice. He begged. My breaths were shallow and short; I felt like my heart was beating slower and slower, washing away with time. Time slowed, as I felt the fire warm my skin once more. I stopped for a moment, a moment of peace, a silent soft peace. I pondered, wondered, I thought about how my father’s hands were shaking and how the voices from far away were talking in a sober tone. I felt peace. I was proud, proud of what I had become, what I had done. Most importantly I stopped, I let my breathing wash away like a calm beach. I smiled, my beak opening wide. I looked one more time into his cool smooth ocean blue eyes, but something in his eyes told me – I would never really die.

The sea was vicious. Humungous waves were smashing over our small tugboat. We could see the shore in the hazy, rainy distance. It was like the gods were punishing our humble fishing business by trying to sink our ship. We could also see on the beach a tiny little humpy that looked like it belonged to some thieves that were hiding from the law. The seas rapidly got worse, like a giant monster was about to burst out. The tugboat could barely cope with the stress of the waves.

As we frantically struggled towards the port, the monster suddenly threw a colossal wave at us. The ship was taking on water! We were going to sink! We found the old, battered flares in the cabin. It was our only hope of survival. As we got some flares out, I got one of my crew members to let one off, but as he was doing that a wave, almost as big as the first, smashed into the ship. The tugboat started to tilt. This was bad news. The flares would get wet so they would not function. All my crew were jumping out and hanging onto the side for protection against any mammoth waves that might demolish the ship.

We had been hanging on for about fifteen minutes, when a small boy that looked to be around ten started waving to us. Soon, two men rushed down to the shore joining him and they started waving as well. We waved back at them. Hopefully they could save us. Suddenly, a pelican flew out of the blue with some fishing line in its mouth. The pelican dropped it about twenty meters away, which was almost close enough to grab, so that we could swim along the rope to get to shore. However, it then flew back to the three people who were waving at us. It seemed like the people on the shore near the humpy seemed to be working on something. In what seemed like forever, the pelican glided back down towards us, and once again, it swooped nearby and dropped the fishing line. This time it was slightly further away but we knew that there was going to be a next time. They reeled in the line and sent it out with the pelican, who finally managed to drop the line near enough.

This was relief for my crew as we finally had the line dropped over the ship. I swam across and snatched the line, before lugging it across to the rest of my men. One of them had a rope so we attached it to the fishing line. We signalled to them to pull in the line. We hoped they would understand and miraculously they did. Now we could haul ourselves back across with the rope as it was significantly stronger than the fishing line which was thinner than my grandma’s old, underfed cat. One by one I let one of my crew onto the rope so that they could doggy paddle across to the shore. Some of them were exhausted and I saw that some were collapsing on the beach, but some of the slightly more energised crew were helping their fellow crew members when they got back.

Once my crew had all managed to swim across, I attached myself to the rope and started swimming, after having to give my precious little ship a last goodbye. As I swam, I was also getting pulled across by some of my crew. The waves were so choppy and wanted to smash me into oblivion, and the water was so icy that it could turn me into an ice block at any move. Salt water filled my mouth and it tasted like a packet of cold soggy chips that had too much salt. The spray in my eyes felt like needles through my skull. I kept swimming till I felt the shells and sand on my feet.

While the fire was crackling, I decided to reminisce on the memories I had as a child and so I thought about high school once more and about the tale of the Big Forehead Foranlula…. The night was chilly by the lake site, it was a cool 17 and prom was just over. Two high school sweethearts Chloe and Leo had snuck out over the gate of the school because prom was too boring for them.

While they were looking up staring at the glistening stars a cold gust of wind came up.

“It’s awfully cold. Do you have a jacket for me?” asked Chloe.

“No,” said Leo. “You’ll be fine!” proceeded Leo as he put his arm around her. They both sighed and Leo turned to face her, she also turned. Leo put this cold left hand on her blushing rosy, red cheek and leaned in…“SLOSH” “SLOSH”.

“Did that come from the lake?” screamed Chloe. Leo was furious – he had been building up to this moment for months now and a lake sound ruined it!

“Uh….no it was probably nothing!” exclaimed Leo.
Chloe’s mind dashed. “Could it possibly be…..no,” she thought – there was no way it could be. It’s a fairy tale a myth, hearsay.

Then out of nowhere a giant light-brown humanoid figure came out. It had brown curly seaweed as hair which did a horrible job of covering up its most notable feature – its giant forehead. Chloe and Leo froze, the thing started walking towards them.

“THUD”,” THUD”, “THUD” … and then well I cannot remember anymore as I always have a mind blank at that point in my reminiscing.