Evacuate South – Go North 60 Days, Book One

The lead jet-ski was now only a hundred metres behind them, the second a further fifty. Despite the speed of Tane Nui they were narrowing the distance between them. Catching them much more quickly than they all would have liked.

They could now make out the first rider was dressed in black dirt bike leathers as Ernest had described. But this rider had a distinctive blue stripe down each arm.

As the swell increased, sometimes he disappeared down a trough to reappear high in the air as he leapt over the next crest.

Looking back Esmé judged they were now at least five miles off Barrenjoey Head, the coast had opened up beyond Box Head to the north, and they could see dark green Long Reef Headland to the south reaching out east.

The lead ski was now just twenty metres behind them.

“Stand by your sheets,” called Isaac, “all we can do is try to keep him away.”

Roaring by the ski came abeam about ten metres up wind, slowed a little then turned and aimed at Tane Nui amidships.

“The idiot’s going to ram us,” cried Isaac. “Hang on!”

But a breaking wave caught the back of the ski. It broached sideways. The same wave caught the stern of Tane Nui and pushed her clear. The starboard hull lifted clear off the water as the ski sped past the driver ducking under the stern. Esmé let go the mainsheet and Tane Nui’s windward hull dropped back into the water. She slowed a lot.

The jet ski rider circled around to try again and paused to take aim at Tane Nui’s much more fragile plywood side. In doing so he missed seeing an even bigger rising wave behind him.

“Ease sheets,” called Isaac as he pulled away to present Tane Nui’s sterns to both the jet ski and the wave. Ernest and Esmé focused for just a second on flipping the sheets out of the jamb cleats and easing them around the snubbing winches. Isaac focused ahead. He was trying to keep Tane Nui’s bows square to the trough, ready for the wave to lift from behind.

Looking behind Esmé saw the wave break. It caught the jet ski rider completely by surprise. He broached sideways down the face of the wave. This time with no momentum, and no control, the jet ski capsized.

Esmé and Ernest saw the rider still hanging onto the handlebars throttle up, the engine roared for a moment, and a jet of water fired out from under the black hull. It circled on itself, came upright, went quiet, and stopped.

There was a drumming, “wererer...” once, then twice, and again, and again as he attempted to restart the motor. Now stopped and floundering in this high sea, the next wave caught him broad side and he capsized again. The ski rolled right over, upside down, and they saw the rider clambering for a hand hold on the smooth jet ski bottom.

The second ski had caught them now and as he passed the rider in the water, over the roar of wind and sea, they heard the rider yell, “Stop, stop… stop!”

Looking back with horror they saw the second jet ski drive right past.

“We managed to lose one but there’s still another after us, now harden up the sheets,” called Isaac as he brought Tane Nui back on a reach leaving the stricken rider lost behind the next set of larger waves. The second jet ski was now just behind, but down wind. He throttled back a little to maintain the same speed as Tane Nui.

“Outmanoeuvred,” thought Isaac, calmly thinking yacht racing tactics. “If I go higher into the wind we will go slower, if I run down wind he will be upon us.”

“Watch him, I’ll focus on keeping us going as fast as we can. What’s he up to now?” asked Isaac.

“What are they trying to do?” called Esmé above the noise of the wind and sea. “This guy has left his friend to drown; we must be nearly six miles off Palm Beach; he cannot possibly swim that far in that leather bike gear and no life jacket.”

“He’s got an axe,” yelled Ernest. They all turned and saw the rider slide a long-handled axe out from under his leg.

Although Tane Nui had quite some speed on, the rider throttled up on the handlebars with his right hand, and with his left begun swinging the axe in circles above his head. He closed on Tane Nui’s port stern.

“He wants to put a hole in us,” cried Ernest, “he wants to sink us.”