The day my son almost died (From The Northern Echo)

The day my son almost died

2:26pm Thursday 29th September 2011 in Features By Ruth Campbell

As summer comes to an end, Ruth Campbell describes how a perfect day on the beach almost turned to tragedy as her 12-year-old son was swept out to sea near Robin Hood’s Bay.

IT was the last day of our long weekend break, and we had arranged to meet with friends, Simon and Michelle and their three children, at Stoupe Beck, a beautiful big, sandy beach just down from Robin Hood’s Bay on the North Yorkshire coast.

Roscoe, 12, and Albert, eight, were in the water in their wet suits with their friends James and Peter, laughing and splashing about in the white surf, screaming with delight as they caught the breaking waves on their bodyboards.

“This is so much fun,” shouted Roscoe as Michelle and I paddled in the sea alongside them.

Little did we realise how quickly this seemingly idyllic holiday scene could turn to one of utter horror.

Fast forward just a matter of minutes and there was Roscoe, swept nearly 50ft out to sea, struggling in the waves.

I was flailing about up to my chest in the water, fully clothed, desperately trying to get a bodyboard to him. Michelle was alerting the Coastguard, ambulance and sea rescue helicopter.

Her husband, Simon, was stripping off and preparing to go in.

WHAT started out as such a perfect day ended in near tragedy. Thankfully, my son survived and I consider myself one of the luckiest mothers alive. I am just so grateful that this chilling, cautionary tale ended as it did and that I am not writing another story altogether.

Ever since it happened I have played it over and over in my head, in an attempt to make sense of it all.

It was my fault. I should have known better. About four years ago, we witnessed a father and teenage son who got into difficulties, caught in a rip current around the rocks further down this beach, with the tide dragging them out.

Afterwards the man, who was a survival trainer, told us how even he hadn’t appreciated just how powerful the sea was. Although they were only in the water for about ten minutes, he said he felt so weak. If it hadn’t been for his son, he was ready to give up.

Since then, we have only gone in the sea when the tide is coming in and are careful to stay on the central, flat stretch of beach, well away from any rocks and their rip currents.

I felt we were safe. But I was wrong. Conditions vary from day to day and, since it was windy, the waves were bigger than usual.

Michelle and I had just been talking about how beautiful it was, as good as any beach you would find in Cornwall, moments before disaster struck. We were soon to discover just how deceptively dangerous this attractive, alluring sea can be.

I should have kept a much closer eye on Roscoe when he threw me his bodyboard and said he was going to swim instead.

Momentarily distracted, talking to Albert and James in the water next to me, when I looked for Roscoe again, he was too far back, beyond where they had all been safely bodyboarding.

It happened so quickly. I told the younger boys to get back as I ran into the water, shouting and beckoning Roscoe in. But before I knew it, he was about 40ft away, past the white waves, in choppy sea.

I kept telling myself the tide was coming in, the waves must be bringing him in, but the water was moving in all directions. He was furiously swimming towards me, but he wasn’t getting any closer.

There was no time to run back up the beach to explain what was happening.

I had heard James shout to his parents: “Roscoe’s in trouble” so I just kept running into the sea, knowing they would see me and realise.

My instincts told me to stay with Roscoe, my eyes locked onto his face as I kept beckoning him in. I didn’t want him to lose sight of me, or where he was heading, and panic.

After what happened four years earlier, I understood the terrifying force of this sea. And Roscoe was truly incredible, fighting every wave with big, powerful steady swimming strokes, his face a mixture of fear and determination.

At one point, when he disappeared under a huge wave I thought, for a moment, he wasn’t going to reappear.

It felt as if my heart had stopped.

SIMON was just the sort of calm, level-headed hero you need in a situation like this.

He acted quickly and decisively but, most importantly, thoughtfully and safely, heading towards Roscoe round the side of the large, breaking waves where I was, where he knew the current wasn’t so strong, and using two bodyboards to keep him afloat.

As Simon went towards Roscoe, I looked away. I couldn’t bear to watch.

When I looked back, they were together, clinging onto the bodyboards, Roscoe crying now, safe in Simon’s arms.

He had saved our son’s life. Redeyed and shuddering, Roscoe collapsed in my arms on the shore and we half carried him to a fire on the beach, wrapping him in towels while we waited for the coastguard and ambulance. I don’t know how long he had been struggling in the water.

Someone said maybe eight minutes.

It felt much longer.

The paramedics, who immediately wrapped him in foil recovery blankets, were concerned about the seawater he swallowed, which can cause secondary, delayed drowning and lung damage.

But Roscoe had remembered this vital information from his lifesaving training at school: “I knew I mustn’t swallow it, so every time I went under I closed my mouth and held my breath for as long as I could,” he explained.

He had also had the incredible presence of mind to shout out, as he had been taught in lifesaving classes, “Call the Coastguard” and “Help”, which some people had heard on the beach.

Thankfully, he had had a full wetsuit on, which had protected him from the cold, although due to shock, his temperature dropped to 32 degrees in the ambulance on the way to Scarborough hospital.

Roscoe made a good recovery and we were able to bring him home after an hour. Fatigue, they told us at the hospital, is the usual cause of fatality for people caught in the sea.

“Did you ever get to the point where you felt like giving up?” I asked Roscoe. “No way,” he said. “I wasn’t going to give up. It was my life.” I was only now realising quite what an amazingly brave, strong and determined son I have.

Roscoe has always tended to be rather adventurous and daring, pushing himself hard at his favourite sports of mountain biking and climbing. And, as parents, we’ve always encouraged him to rise to a challenge. But perhaps that’s why he felt misguidedly confident enough to go out a little further than he should.

It’s something we’ve agonised over since.

Over the following days, rather embarrassingly for Roscoe, who was by now back to his usual, lively, energetic self, I found it hard to resist the urge to hug him.

I needed to hold him tight, to feel the warmth of his body, listen to the sound of his breath. He is alive. He is safe. But I know this is only because I got lucky. Things worked out.

We only had a matter of minutes to play with. It could so easily have turned out differently.

I still have nightmares about not being able to reach him. I agonise about what I should and shouldn’t have done. Even now, I wake in the night, having to convince myself that he really did get out.

Beating the rip

RIPS are strong currents running out to sea. They are a problem particularly for surfers, swimmers and body boarders, as they can quickly and easily drag you out to sea, far beyond your depth. If you get caught in a rip current:

• Stay calm – don’t panic.

• If you can stand, wade, don’t swim • Keep hold of your board or inflatable to help you float.

• Raise your hand and shout for help .

• Never try to swim directly against the rip or you’ll get exhausted.

• Try to swim parallel to be beach until free of the rip, then make for shore.

• If you see someone else in trouble, call 999 or 112 and ask for the Coastguard.