Hang On

Hang On

By Dale Ghere

July 14, 2004

One of the first things I said to the bosses when I started guarding in 1960 was that I would prefer to not work on Sundays. I told them that I wanted to be able to keep that day free for church and because of that beginning I always managed to work out a schedule that allowed me to have either Saturdays and Sundays or Sundays and Mondays off. I often worked a six-day week because I was always willing to work extra days if someone was sick or needed some time off. For the most part I managed to keep Sundays free.

It suited my personality when I found that a lot of the guards would be given a permanent beach. I was given St. Ann’s, John Parlette had Brook’s Street, Kiwi was at Mt. Road and Ken Alton had Sleepy Hollow. Some guys preferred to rotate beaches, but I liked being at the same beach. It must be in my genes to stay put. My dad retired from a company that he had worked for 28 years, I retired from a school that I had taught at for 30 years and mom still lives in the house that her and dad purchased in 1948. Staying put worked well for me. I got to know everyone on the beach and they knew me. The attitude on the beach was more like that of an extended family than just strangers who happened to be sitting on the same beach.

The locals worked at keeping their guard happy. I was invited home for dinner, I was given freshly baked cookies on a regular basis, a slice of water melon was shared to help assure me that I was part of the group, everyone seemed to always have an extra drink that they didn’t want to have to haul back up the stairs and help was quickly offered any time there was an emergency. Locals became the major reason I grew to love Laguna so much. Everyone knew how little we were making so they did a lot to help. The Jamison’s gave Marilyn and me a small rental for $85 a month one summer. Even then that was a good rate. In return I provided a safe beach, watched and trained their kids and distributed treats that I collected form the ocean to each family. It was a good life.

I did manage to guard all of the beaches at one time or another. Guys always needed time off for some reason. So it wasn’t all that strange to be asked to cover Crescent Bay one day. I didn’t know many people there, but I could deal with that for one day. The surf was low and the water was glassy. It was actually a better day for diving than it was for guarding. The crowd was light. It looked liked it was going to be another day to relax and enjoy the scenery. I had no idea that I was about to teeter on the threshold of death, my death!

The day had progressed enjoyably. A few of the kids that I knew gathered around the tower and we enjoyed telling each other stories. Then someone yelled, “Look” and pointed towards the cliff at the north end of the beach. At first I just stood there and stared. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I thought that I was supposed to guard the water not the cliffs. There, just a few feet below the top was a young boy clinging to the face of the cliff. He had apparently climbed up the cliff from the beach, but because of a slight overhang near the top he was stuck. He couldn’t get to the top and he could not see his footing to climb back down. He was so scared that he could not even yell for help. He was just holding on like a little crab waiting to be swept off of the rocks by the next wave. It was clear from the first glance that he would most likely die if he fell.

I called for a backup and ran to the cliff so I could encourage him to stay calm and just hang on. I assured him that help would arrive soon. In no time at all Dean Westgaard showed up next to me on the beach. He said that he would drive around to the top of the cliff and throw a rope over to the kid. That sounded good to me.

We quickly ran into problems. Because of the over hang Dean could not see him from the top and the kid could not let go of the rock to grab the rope without falling. The next idea was for me to wrap the rope around my chest and they would pull me up. I could then just grab the kid and carry him to the top. I used my Boy Scout training to tie a bowline around myself with the parachute cord we were using. Dean started to pull and as soon as I started to be lifted it was clear that it wasn’t going to work. The rope was too thin and felt like it was going to cut right through me. I was lowered back to the beach. I then turned around and picked up my rescue tube and strapped myself in. Next I tied the rope to the brass ring on the tube. I then yelled for them to pull away. It worked perfect. The inflated rubber tube carried my weight and provided the needed cushion. As I went by the kid I grabbed him and we were both pulled to safety as the crowd cheered and the newspaperman shot pictures. All had turned out as expected.

Well not quite everything. Dean patted me on the back and took the kid as he pulled us over the edge. He walked the kid towards the Jeep and I started to untie the rope from my tube. My knees went weak, I started to sweat out of every pore in my body and the world began a strange slow motion spin. I sat down before I fell down and just stared at the rope.

I had tied the rope to the brass ring and because of the weight the ring had come apart where it had been braised. It was no longer a ring. It looked more like a big deformed “C”. The bottom of the C was still in the rubber strap. The only thing that kept the rope from sliding of the end of the ring was a slight bit of the braising. There was just enough so it stuck in the nylon rope. Dean asked if I was okay. I said yes and then showed him the rope. Neither of us said anything, but we both knew what the other was thinking. Today we were just lucky.

It wasn’t long after this event that the lifeguard department purchased rock-climbing equipment and developed good cliff rescue skills.