Mike Dixon

The reef was about fifteen miles off shore. Tong Yee used
to visit it in a sailing boat. He gathered beche-de-mer and
other marine delicacies from the reef flats and smuggled
gold onto ships anchored there to avoid paying royalties to
the colonial government. Tong Yee took twelve hours to
make the trip. They would do it in under two. Their first
problem was to negotiate the mouth of the river.
It was not the sort of maneuver David liked to perform in
a strange place and in total darkness. They were leaving in a
hurry because they didn‟t want to be followed by Footsie
and his mates. David wished he‟d had time to make better
preparations. They didn‟t even know if there was a sandbar
at the mouth of the river. Those on the south coast were
famous for theirs. Getting out to sea could be hazardous.
In the early days, when they‟d just set up the dive shop,
business was slack and they‟d earned extra money by
providing a rescue service at amateur fishing competitions.
It was all action then. They had to turn in tight circles just to
stay in the same place. The fishing boats would come up to
the bar and wait for an opportunity to cross. The trick was
to get into a gap between the waves. The problem was to
avoid the huge waves that rose up as if from nowhere.
They‟d rescued a lot of people. Sometimes the spills had
occurred through bad luck, sometimes through incompetence
and sometimes through a total disregard for the dan-
gers. David felt they were in that situation now. Waves were
breaking ahead. He could hear them over the gentle purr of
the motor. He didn‟t want to sound scared but felt the need
to say something.
„Sounds like there‟s a bit of a bar out there, Timmo.‟
„Yeah, mate.‟
„We‟ll have to cross it blind.‟
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