It was a perfect balmy summer day. Perfect for a holiday. The place was known as The Kakadu National Park, located in the north of Australia in a sparsely populated area known as the Outback. It was a beautiful government protected site, a luxurious resort set right in the middle of the forest. A not so wide, clear green river gushed out of extraordinary chaos of leaves and vines. A small beautiful motorboat with a red hull was speeding downstream. Three young boys were onboard. They were on a school trip in Australia.

Andy Hopper, a restless and reckless boy with dark hair that fell on one of his eyes, which he had a habit of brushing away, was lying in the front of the boat, suntanned and with a big smile on his face. Next to him, perhaps a year younger, was Joe Watson, He was dangling over the boat, binoculars held to his eyes examining the water below. He would give a yelp of delight when a school of fish would pass by under the green shadows in wonderful hues.

The third one, Tom Harris, sat in the rear with a wary look on his face. He was looking as though he was wishing he wasn’t sitting there on the boat they had stolen minutes ago from the resort, right under the nose of the authority man, Barka, who was also their guide on the trip. Boating, on all accounts, was banned for tourists under the legal age of 18.

Then Tom spoke with a longing in his voice, “This is the best day of the trip. A thousand times better than Mr Prescott droning on about Aboriginal lifestyle. I mean, who careswhat they eat? Who gives a thought to what they know about the forest and how they live here surviving in the middle of a forest? I mean, we have got GPS now.

“We’re not going to stick with an Aboriginal everywhere on our trip. That’s disgusting,” he grimaced.

Aboriginal people are those who live in small villages in the Outback. Their knowledge of forests and its dangers is known to be very vast.

“Mr Prescott says Aboriginals are very useful people. This place is vast. It’s easy to get lost here. Plus, there are a lot of dangers too, king browns and stinging wasps. You could die at a single sting. Or you could get stuck in a swamp. Dying is easy here,” Joe said leaning back. He glanced left and right at the trees whipping past.

“The banks are too steep here. Are you sure there is a place ahead we can stop at?” he asked.

“There is a floodplain ahead. I remember Barka mentioned it,” Tom said. “But we should check how fast we’re going Andy.”

He looked scornfully at the frivolous boy who was now unpacking his camera from the bag they had brought.

“You’re such a whim Tommy!” Andy replied.

Tom had opened his mouth to retort when something strange and totally unnerving happened. The engine stopped. The motorboat swayed in the middle of the river, the currents thrusting it forward.

“The engine’s dead,” Andy said in a panicked voice. “We brought a faulty boat. What are we going to do?”

Joe walked over to the rear and rummaged around for a while. He fetched three long paddles from the trapdoor in the deck.

“We will paddle our way back to the resort. Come on we haven’t come that far,” Joe announced.

But Tom had his phone out and he was looking closely at something on the screen.

“No. The floodplain’s just ahead. We can stop there and work it out. I have experience with engines. Maybe it has just run out of fuel,” Tom announced sombrely.

In the end, they agreed to it. Paddling was surprisingly not an arduous deal. The paddles were made from walnut hardwood and were lightweight and strong. They came to a curve in the river.

Suddenly the water took control. The currents were getting stronger, pushing the boat sideways.

“Oh no! Tom muttered. “Rapids!”

The water was moving really fast now, and rocks emerged from both side of the river. If they hit one of them, it would cause serious damage to the boat or worse, they would be drowned. The boat was struck in a helpless battle of currents. The wind was getting vicious.

Suddenly a big thrust jerked the boat straight into the loop of water ahead. The deck got flooded with salty water as the boys lost their footing and fell sideways, losing control. The next moments were chaos.

The pressure was mounting. Tom, Andy and Joe were on their feet again trying their best to swerve the boat away from rocks. Joe prayed for mercy.

Then the dead end appeared. Two huge boulders about ten feet long, barricaded the river, leaving a narrow space between.

“Nooo!” they screamed. The rapids threw the boat ahead, mercilessly. The boat slammed into the passage. Andy gave a cry of despair. The water rushed into the boat from the rear. And it was over.

They had left the rapids behind. Andy looked back and saw water lashing viciously at the rocks, threatening to break through.

“Floodplain ahead,” he said weakly. His arm had caught on the jagged end of the rock and was badly wounded.

The other two were unhurt, but white with shock. They paddled the boat, which now had a gaping hole in the rear. Light was fading now. Huge creepers loomed over boys as they climbed on the dry land and sat on the moss retching.

“I will never go boating again. Get me out of here!” Tom moaned. Suddenly they heard a familiar sound. Blades slicing the air — a helicopter! It was one of the authorities’ craft that was used for search purposes, and was now zeroing in on them. They could see the burly figure of Barka in the cockpit, a radio transmitter in his hand and behind him, a fuming Mr Prescott. Relief surged through the three boys as the helicopter lowered.

Joe turned to face his other two friends, a huge grin playing on his face. “Did I mention the Aboriginals could fly?”

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 27th, 2021