The creek at the Gap held a certain fascination for us. We had arrived back in Brisbane as teenagers, and for the first six months, we were locked up in a bank building at Paddington. From there we moved to Greenslopes, where there was a creek flowing through the local area and we were always playing around it. Dad was not happy. He thought it was a sewer drain, and chased us out of it as often as he found us in it. He made a commitment as we prepared to move to the Gap that there was a clean creek there and we could explore it as much as we liked. We took him at his word and explored every pool and gully there was. All this was done when it was a trickle. We used to take friends down there and show them all the little pools. One day the rains came and the trickle turned to a torrent. I had just seen a video of a new sport in America called white water rafting down the Colorado. It suggested that if you were in a rubber raft, you could survive any white water you chose to travel in. Rob McMurdo had not had much adventure in his life so Sam, Rob and I grabbed a tube and headed off to the creek. The water was raging as we came to the creek, but we were excited about the adventure ahead. All we had to do was jump in and let the water take us. 1 , 2 , 3 Jump. We were away. Stick together, feet first into the rapids. I learnt my first great lesson in creek white water; keep your backside high in the hole. Bang! A big rock right on the butt at full speed. It was all to fast to worry about the other two, the water was furious and raging. I remembered the Colorado, keep in the centre streams, it was deepest and smoothest. I made it through and slowed in the smooth. Sam and Rob shot out of the white boil. We had made the first part without mishap. We drifted down a smooth part beside the Pony Club, swung around the corner, and suddenly the creek had disappeared. All I could see was the bridge up ahead. In seconds the answer came and straight over the waterfall I went at full speed. No time to think, we didn’t even know it was there. I spun around with adrenaline pumping, and watched the look of total shock as the other two crested the lip and crashed over. It was so much fun. One last obstacle, the School Road bridge. The water was half a meter from the underside. Just lie flat and let the water carry you through. Rob bumped his head on a big beam and fell off but we all came out the other side. The next half mile was very placid and we got out at Proctors and trekked back over the hill to the starting point and … 1 , 2 , 3 Jump! A few months passed … the rains came … and Peter Bancroft was there with us. Lets go and ride the white water. So we all grabbed a tube and headed of over the hill. I remember that Sam was there, so was Peter, I can’t remember the others. I think David Christensen might have been one. Maybe even Howard Tatters. Brief explanations were given at the waters edge but the fun would be diminished if they were told all the facts. All got your tube ? 1 , 2 , 3 Jump! Off we went exactly as before, bum high, stay in the deep. Bang! Peter Bancroft found the submerged rocks. It is only fun when it hurts. The white water was more furious than previous and I found myself concentrating extremely hard to navigate. As I faced each raging wave, I began to question our sanity, but we were all committed and we had to deal with the issue at hand. By the time I shot out of the rapids at the Pony Club I was quite concerned so I paddled out of the main stream and slowed on the edge. Out came Sam, then another, then another. By this time I had stopped on the edge since the waterfall was just around the corner and it held certain fears. Where was Peter ? … and then my worst fears were realised … his empty tyre went floating by and over the water fall. I was now in a growing state of anxiety as I rushed back up the side of the creek calling his name. My mind was telling me what I did not want to admit. We had finally finished him off. He was stuck under a rock in the rapids. I remember saying, “God, let me just hear his name again.” quite convinced I would never hear his voice again. And then I heard him, “Over here, in the tree”. There he was, wrapped around a quivering sapling, completely at the mercy of the raging waters around him. As he would later explain, he was in a state of shock coming out of the first set of rapids, fell of his tube on the last wave, hit the tree, tube one way him the other, and he made a decision not to go one inch further in the adventure, he had hold of something that could save him from what was yet to come and he was not letting go. Quick instructions to hang on, then we went up higher and down we came on his position. Let go, grab on. He was very reluctant but a rough rip of his arm and he was travelling in the tube. Another fifty yards and we had him to the bank. I think this was one moment when I simply thanked the Lord we were ALL going home. And, of course, don’t tell Mum.
See also related story by [Sam]
