Lyndi Allison is a published Canadian author living in Panama. She loves to explore, and write in, Panama’s natural spaces and invites writers to share in her experiences. She hosts writing workshops and retreats at Tranquilo Retreat in Playa Coronado, a town nestled between the beach and the mountains.
Every morning, I wake up to another summer day in paradise. On this one, my friends and I chose to walk in low tide, in the soft wet sand, listening to the waves greet the shore and sometimes splash water up our legs. On this stretch of beach, the ocean leaves its best gifts—stones, shells, and sea glass. It’s here where I found a treasured heart-shaped piece of quartz. And it’s here where I asked the ocean to give my friends a special gift of their own.
We kept our heads down as we searched for treasure, occasionally looking up to share what we found. Another beach walker casually walked up to us and pointed at a group of young swimmers. “I think that young man is in distress,” she said.
Behind the small group, on the other side of a wave, a swimmer treaded water and one-armed waved. Was he showing his friends how far out he could go? Or was he in trouble? I couldn’t tell. As the current took him further out to sea, he waved again. Did I hear him cry for help?
The group of swimmers made their way to shore and ran towards a caregiver, perhaps his mother, who sat on the beach. She ran to them but they clearly had no idea what to do.
The reports I’d heard of rescuers who drowned while saving people caught in rip tides ran through my mind. After rescuing the drowning person, they were too tired to fight the current and were dragged under and out to sea. Sometimes they were never found. Though the ocean gives good gifts, she takes them too.
My heart pounded. Don’t go into the water. But how could I stand there and watch another mother’s son die? There had to be a way to save him.
Off to my right, in front of the fishing huts, two men fished offshore for their catch of the day. I knew the unlikeness of being heard above the wave’s roar, but I called out as did my friends. We made ourselves larger than life, stood on tip toes, made waving motions with our arms, and pointed at the drowning teen. One of my friends became an aircraft marshal motioning at the outgoing current as though he was directing a pilot on a runway.
One fisherman saw us and turned in the direction we pointed. They pulled up their net, dropped their motor, and sped toward the teen. He was now far off shore, low in the water, subdued, and no longer waving. Was he tired? About to go under? Or had he realized he’d soon be rescued?
The fishermen scooped him from the water and settled him on board. Wisely, they motored out of the current, parallel to the shore, something the swimmer had not known to do. In front of the fishing huts, they turned the boat around, raised the motor, and backed into shore. My heart slowed.
The friends of the now rescued teen ran to greet him walking past us as they made their way to their caregiver. I don’t know if anyone thanked the fishermen. I hope they did. From a distance, I put my hands together and said, “thank you.”
My gratitude meter rose. My heart swelled with joy. We witnessed these men as they saved this young man’s life. I didn’t need to go into the water. My friends and I didn’t have to watch a mother lose her son. A young man was given another chance at life.
Not the treasure we had imagined finding, but on this day, the ocean gave us the best gift.
READ MORE > Her Story, Rambler Cafe Blog
These pictures were not taken on the day of the incident but represent the beach, village and boat from that day.
This is such a beautifully written piece. I leaves me feeling so hopeful. Thank you
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