Mrs Grierson again shook her head. “We don’t think so. The last report at three put it about fifty kilometres out to sea from Deeral. That is at least seventy kilometres from here with three mountain ranges in between. It is moving slowly south. I think we are safe.”
Kylie finished her cup of Milo and snuggled down into the flannel sheets. A gnawing worry made her ask: “Do you think they will be in time to rescue Victor and the others?”
Mrs Grierson made various comforting answers but did not really answer. Instead she went and brought them both second cups of hot drink. Kylie gulped it down, then snuggled under the quilt. A profound sense of warm well-being made her relax. Exhaustion took over and she slipped into a deep sleep.
*****
Later she got the rest of the story from Graham. His opening line, which he repeated a dozen times was: “It was bloody scary!”
At about the time Kylie was slipping into sleep Graham was standing with a group of police and the crew of a rescue helicopter from the Emergency Services Department at Mareeba Airport. When he and Peter had arrived at the farm and found that the telephone wasn’t working he had quickly told Gran the story, then he and Peter had run on to the Grierson’s.
Mr Grierson had driven his wife over to the farm to help Gran get ready for the girls. He had wanted to drive back to get the girls and Roger but Graham had insisted that time was vital if they were to get a helicopter to rescue the others before it got dark. Mr Grierson had accepted this and drove them to Malanda. It had been a frightening ride as the wind was so strong up on the open ridges that he had found it almost impossible to keep the vehicle on the road. Numerous stretches of flooded road slowed them and the driving rain kept their speed down to a crawl. Twice a fallen tree blocked the road but Mr Grierson had a chain saw and a winch and was able to clear a path.
In Malanda it had taken a few minutes to convince the police but then they had acted quickly. Using their radio communications they had contacted the Emergency Services. Mr Grierson had been sent with Peter to inform the Reids of what was happening while Graham had gone in a police vehicle to Atherton, then to Mareeba. The police had wanted to put him into hospital but he had insisted he had to show the pilot of the rescue helicopter where to go. They had accepted this but pumped a few hot drinks into him.
The helicopter had been at Charters Towers, 300km to the south and well clear of the cyclone, but, by the time he had been driven to Mareeba it had flown to there. Mareeba had been selected as the nearest airport where it was reasonably safe. That was because it was sheltered by the Lamb Range; and in the right-rear quadrant of the cyclone, where the wind and rain were least. Even so the wind was gusting to fifty kilometres per hour.
While the helicopter was refuelled Graham had shown the pilot where the others were on a map. He described the site and the pilot had looked grim and thoughtful.
“This is going to be bloody difficult,” the pilot observed.
“Do you think it is too dangerous?” a police inspector asked.
“Possibly. First we need to find a safe route to the area. We will have to play it by ear from there,” the pilot replied. “What really worries me is actually finding these people in all this rain.”
“I can help you,” Graham had said. “I could show you exactly where to go.”
“Hospital for you lad,” the Inspector had said.
Graham shook his head. “Not till they are safe,” he had replied stubbornly.
The pilot had looked hard at him. “Did you really walk up over those mountains in this weather this morning?”
Graham nodded. “Yes, five of us. I navigated. I am a very good navigator. I can take you straight to the place.”
“Do you feel up to it?” the pilot asked. “I don’t want you dying on me from hyperthermia.”
“I’m fine for a bit longer,” Graham replied. “I’m very fit.”
“I can believe it,” the pilot answered. He turned to the doctor in the crew. “Do you think it is a fair risk Doc?”
The doctor nodded. “He’s warmed up already and should just be exhausted. If what he says about the injuries to these other people is right then every minute counts. I can look after him.”
The pilot nodded. “OK son, you come with us if you are willing, but I have to warn you it will be bloody dangerous.”
Graham managed a grin. “Couldn’t be worse than what I’ve just been through.”
The pilot then turned to his co-pilot and they bent over the map to plot the best route. Both looked very worried. The police had reported that the cloud level over the Atherton Tablelands was down to ground level, even though at Mareeba it was several hundred feet.
“This is going to be bloody hairy,” the pilot muttered. “We will have to fly so low we never lose sight of the ground and risk hitting a powerline. It will take pin-point navigation.”
Graham had been listening and fretting with worry. Now he leaned forward and pointed to the map. “Why not go this way, up through the valley at Davies Creek and across the saddle into the Little Mulgrave? That means you wouldn’t have to go over the Tablelands and might be able to keep under the cloud all the way.”
The pilot studied the suggestion. “Yes, I think that is a good idea. We will do that. Come on! Let’s get this show on the road.”
Graham was given another hot drink, sent to the toilet, then led out to the helicopter and strapped in. By then the engine was going and the ground crew were untying it. Graham was seated beside the port door and had a headset fitted so he could communicate with the pilot. The door was slid shut and they were off.
Graham was already nervous and this turned to genuine apprehension as the helicopter lifted off and began to toss and pitch in the turbulent air. The helicopter turned left and headed east along the main power line towards Cairns until they came to Davies Creek. Graham looked down with a mixture of fear and fascination. He was very interested in the ground they were flying over as he had hiked over some of it in the past.
Going through the pass between Lambs Head and Mt Tiptree was hair-raising. The wind was channelled by the mountains and the ridges caused savage cross-currents and severe turbulence. Graham clung on but knew it was really the seat belt that held him as he was too weak to have done it all himself. His stomach he could not hold onto and one second it was in his mouth and the next in his abdomen. He had been through storms at sea in his father’s ships and prided himself on never being sea-sick but this certainly put him to the test.
The sudden appearance of a massive rock face amidst the swirling clouds caused Graham to flinch in fear, even as his brain registered what he was looking at. ‘Kahlpahlim Rock,’ he thought. ‘I must climb it one day.’ That had been an ambition of his for several years now. As the dark, looming bulk of the huge rock outcrop slid out of sight behind them another of similar size, but more broken and rugged, appeared: Lambs Head.
Through the earphones Graham heard the pilot and co-pilot debating whether to turn back as the turbulence got worse. The co-pilot said they must be encountering head winds of about a hundred knots.
‘A hundred knots!’ he thought. ‘That is about two hundred kilometres per hour!’
Looking through the windows was terrifying as the mountains seemed to roll and pitch up and down and several times the helicopter dropped like a stone until it was just above the tree tops. It was obvious even to Graham that the pilot was having trouble controlling the machine. The crewman seated opposite Graham was looking pasty faced and grim and the doctor looked genuinely worried.
Then they were through. The valley widened out and Graham knew they were in the valley of the Little Mulgrave. The bumping and sickening swoops eased, although they did not end. The helicopter began to encounter rain showers. Overhead Graham could see thick grey clouds swirling past well below the level of the mountain tops. Below him he saw sodden cane fields sliding by. The sugar cane was being ruffled and blown in swirling patterns by the wind and much of it looked to be flattened.
‘We are making better time now,’ he thought. He knew they were flying closer to the cyclone all the time and were obviously well into the zone of destructive winds around it. It was a sobering thought to be told that the ‘eye’ of the cyclone was about a hundred kilometres and two mountain ranges away.
“It is about fifty kilometres out to the east of Babinda,” the pilot explained. Graham plotted that on his mental map and realized that there would be ferocious winds blowing in through the gap between the Bellenden Ker Range and Mt Bartle Frere. ‘We are flying straight into that. Maybe it will be too dangerous?’ he thought. A vicious lurch changed that thought to: ‘Maybe we are going to crash?’
CHAPTER 33
THIS IS YOURS
As the helicopter shuddered and swooped in the turbulence Graham found he was nauseous and felt icy cold, yet was sweating. Fear of crashing and death began to dominate his thoughts. The pilot was obviously very worried now as he kept asking the co-pilot for wind speeds and for checks on their position. Rain enveloped the machine and the tree tops below became a grey blur.
“Do you know where we are?”
It took a repetition of this before Graham realized the pilot was speaking to him. He clutched his map and stared out the window. For a moment he was mystified, then a fleeting glimpse of white foam and the Goldsborough bridge gave him their position. He pressed the switch on his headphones.
“Yes. We are passing over Goldsborough. Follow the river if you can, so that I can see it. The river should do a sharp turn to the left just ahead.”
“Roger that,” the pilot replied. “That is what we thought. Thanks.”
The helicopter flew on into even heavier rain and the buffeting from the wind became continuous. Graham began to feel worn out from holding on and his leg muscles started to cramp painfully. The helicopter turned left and followed the river for a minute before turning right again, to fly on southwards.
Graham peered down through the rain and strained his eyes to pick out places he could recognize. He was hoping to see the Kearneys Flats picnic area and was rewarded by a brief glimpse of flooded lawn, buildings and a white utility under a tree. The ute was just above the level of the swirling brown floodwaters. ‘Uncle Bill’s car. I hope it doesn’t get washed away.’
He reported his sighting to the pilot, who thanked him. They flew low over the clearing to the south of the picnic area and Graham briefly glimpsed the white spray of Kearneys Falls out on the jungle covered mountainside on his left. Now he was anxiously following every twist and turn of the river, sliding his thumb along the map to keep track of which bend it was they were passing over. The pilot flew so that he could just see the river and road most of the time.
The wind was really strong now and Graham knew they were only a few kilometres south of the saddle and directly in line with it. The rain and turbulence became truly frightening.
The earphones crackled. “I think we’d better give this up or it will be us needing rescuing,” the co-pilot said.
Graham felt the same way but was also conscious of sharp disappointment. He said: “We are nearly there. As soon as we reach the causeway near the junction of the two Mulgraves turn right. We should get in behind the big ridge coming down from Bartle Frere then.”
The pilot answered: “I can see the junction but that ridge might not give us any shelter. It might cause quite unpredictable turbulence and cross-winds instead.”
“Please try,” Graham pleaded. He was terrified now but did not want to give up that close.
“Only if everyone in the crew agrees,” the pilot replied. He then called each by name and asked them. To Graham’s relief they all agreed to try.
Soon after that they turned West and flew low up the West Mulgrave just above the level of the trees. To Graham’s intense relief the buffeting did ease although he realized the helicopter was flying crab-wise up the river. Now he peered anxiously down, searching for detailed landmarks.
“Can you open the door so I can see better?” he asked.
“Other side,” the crewman answered. He unclipped Graham and helped him across. Once Graham was seated and buckled in again the crewman slid open the leeward door. Graham gripped a hand-hold and leaned his head out. The crewman did likewise.
The sight of the boiling, foaming river below was truly awe-inspiring. It was just one long mass of brown turbulence and white foam. Graham wiped rain from his face and tried to ignore the icy wind lashing at him. Where was the Old Prospector’s camp? Where were the tracks? All he could see were tree tops swirling and thrashing about in the wind. The whole jungle looked a tangle of downed trees and bare trunks.
Panic began to seize Graham. ‘Have we flown too far up the river?’ he wondered. They passed slowly over a flooded creek which gushed down the mountain side.
“Is that Nugget Creek?” In his anxiety Graham spoke aloud. He looked desperately around, feeling the double pressure of his boast and the fear that, if he could not find the place, then four people might die. He lifted his eyes to take in the cloud swirling and streaming low overhead.
That gave him a clue. ‘Which ridge did we go up?’ He stared at the rain lashed grey shape of the mountain side. ‘That one? No, the one to the west of it. So that creek ahead must be Nugget Creek.’ Into the intercom he said: “Don’t go past the next creek. The Old Prospector’s clearing should be just below us somewhere.”
Even as he said this he had a brief glimpse of bare mud through the tree tops, then of a huge tree lying across the clearing. In the flailing tree tops it was just that one glimpse.
“There it is! Directly below us now,” he shouted.
The crewman leaned out and looked down. “Got it. Strewth! It isn’t very big. We aren’t landing in that.”
The pilot answered. “No. Has to be a winch job. Now, let’s find these two men who are marooned in mid-river.”
“Can’t we get Victor and the Old Prospector first?” Graham asked.
“No, they are safer, so they can wait a few minutes,” the pilot replied.
“But these two are just thugs who bashed Victor and took our gold,” Graham replied. He was worried that they might have difficulty in finding the clearing again if they left it.
“Sorry son. We rescue them first. Where are they?”
“Just in the river south of the clearing,” Graham replied. “But please don’t lose this place.”
“Don’t fret son, we won’t. We’ve put the co-ordinates into our GPS,” the pilot replied. Graham understood how a GPS, a Global Positioning System, worked from satellite radio cross-bearings but did not want to trust such invisible technology.
The pilot took the helicopter round in a circle upwind. As they did the wind snatched at it, shaking it and tossing it up and down so that they almost hit the trees. Graham cried out in fright and broke out into a cold sweat again.
For several minutes they searched slowly along the river. Graham scanned all the exposed rocks in mid-stream and was appalled at how foam and even logs were washing over some of them. There was no sign of the two men. A sick feeling settled in his stomach.
“Is that them?” the crewman asked. He pointed down.
Graham stared as the helicopter came to a hover at tree top height. Was that black shape a leg? The crewman obviously thought so.
“I’ll go down chief,” he said. “I’ll have to clip them on one at a time and bring them up.”
“Make it snappy George. I don’t want to try hovering here too long,” the pilot replied. Graham agreed with that as the wind was still buffeting the helicopter savagely.
The crewman clipped on a harness attached to the winch and stepped out onto the skids. The doctor moved to operate the winch and the crewman was lowered down, spinning and swinging in circles. It made Graham feel sick just to watch and he marvelled at the man’s courage. ‘If that wire breaks he will fall into the river!’ It was plain no-one could survive in that flood for more than a few seconds.
The crewman land
ed on the rock, thanks to some very skilful work by the pilot. Graham saw movement and realized it was the men, both of them. Even as he registered this he saw the crewman bend down and clip a harness around one of the men. As soon as the crewman gave the thumbs up signal the doctor set the winch going and the pilot wound the helicopter higher.
It seemed to take ages to winch them up but when the men arrived Graham helped grab their clothing and pull them into the cabin. As soon as they had a good grip the crewman unclipped the man (it was Burg Graham saw. He had somehow known it would be!). The doctor at once placed Burg in a seat and clipped him in. Burg just slumped forward and for a second Graham thought he was dead but then he realized the man was just comatose from the battering and exposure.
The crewman was lowered again. This time he had much more difficulty as the wind caused the helicopter to buck and slew around and he was swung in several wide circles, even dragging his feet in the raging floodwaters for a few seconds before being placed on the rock. Within seconds he had grabbed Donk and clipped the harness on him. His arm went out and Graham shouted: “Thumbs up!”
The doctor was watching and set the winch going instantly. Once again it seemed to take a long time to winch them up but was in fact only about a minute. As the two men came into view Graham saw that Donk was slumped unconscious; and that he still wore his haversack.
“The gold,” Graham said as he reached out. He grabbed the haversack and used it to haul the two men in. As soon as they were inside the doctor hauled the haversack off and dropped it on the floor. Even above the wind Graham heard the thud and tinkle. Graham snatched at it to stop it sliding out the door and into the river.
The doctor looked astonished. “Holy mackerel! That was heavy. What the devil is in it?”
“Our gold,” Graham cried. He hugged the haversack to his lap. Donk was strapped in and the doctor set to work on the two men.
“Right, let’s get these other people,” the pilot said.
The Publicity Push Page 33
