Shark In The Wave

“Dad? Dad?” Samantha called, but the crashing waves were too loud, and her dad was about to walk into the surf to cast his line. “Dad!”

Samantha dropped her fishing pole and ran to where her dad had begun to wade into the water. Taking him by the arm, she was able to get his attention.

“Dad,” she yelled as another wave crashed. “Shark!”

Samantha helped her dad from the surf, and after he put his pole in the sand, they stood in the dawn’s half-light looking for the shark.

“You sure?” her dad asked.

“Yep. It was in a wave,” Samantha said, pointing out to sea.

“I can’t see anything,” he said, “but if you’re sure—”

“I am,” she said.

“Then, let’s pack up, and we’ll come back later to do some fishing… looks like a King Fish you got there,” he said looking into her pale.

Father and daughter carried their gear, and Samantha’s catch, back to the caravan park where the rest of the family were still sleeping.

“Let’s cook this up, ay Sammy?” he said, “before they all want some.”

Dad built a campfire while Samantha gutted and scaled the fish.

“Ready,” her dad whispered, and she turned to see him waiting with the skittle.

With the King Fish filleted for two, her dad lay the skittle over the hot fire. He pulled a stick of butter from his top pocket and rubbed it over the fish, then pulled a shaker of lemon-pepper from his pants pocket and sprinkled it over the top. The sun was peaking over the dunes as they sat with a plate of hot fresh fish.

Samantha and her father always got up before the dawn to go fishing. Her two siblings weren’t interested in where it came from, just as long as they got to eat it. Later that day, when the sun would be setting, Samantha and her dad had plans to go prawning, but both wanted to do some more fishing.

“So?” her dad asked, “want to go fishing?”

“Course,” Samantha said, “but what about the shark?”

“It’s probably moved on by now,” he said.

They gathered their gear and made their way back through the sand dunes, hiding the ocean from view. When they arrived, a man was running up and down the beach.

“Shark,” he was saying. “Shark, get back! No-one go— whose dog is that? It’ll attract the shark…”

It was Samantha’s dog, Midnight. She didn’t see him follow them down, but suddenly panicked. She knew dogs attracted sharks. The old fisherman at the Fremantle wharf had told her last Sunday.

“They’ll probably eat ya dog,” one of them said when he saw Midnight on the pier with her.

“Yarp,” another said. “Makes far good eatin.’”

Samantha dropped her gear when she saw Midnight running along the beach barking at the waves and ran towards him.

“Don’t go in the water,” her dad called.

He knew she wouldn’t, no matter what happened, but Samantha loved her dog more than anything. He didn’t want to take the chance. Her dad dropped his gear and laid a towel over the top of and followed Samantha to the shoreline.

“Midnight… Midnight,” she was yelling and now and then, Midnight would move close to her, and Samantha could almost grab him by his collar, but miss as he raced back along the shoreline. “Dad?”

“I know, Sammy,” her dad said. “We’ll get him when he runs back this way.”

They were waiting for Midnight to come back when Samantha looked towards the ocean and saw, in a rising wave, the outline of the shark.

“Dad,” she whispered and took a hold of his hand, “look.”

Her dad looked out in the ocean just as the wave crashed, he was about to say what when the next wave rose, and he saw the shark.

“Woah,” he said.

“Yeah… oh, here he comes,” Samantha said as Midnight came running back towards them.

“Here,” her dad said and handed her a piece of chocolate. “Might not be good for him, but I’d hazard a guess and say, neither is that shark.”

“Midnight?” Samantha called and held out the piece of chocolate, “come on boy.”

Midnight was about to turn away when he realised, she had chocolate in her hand, and turned back. Samantha was able to take hold of his collar and they collected their gear and went back to their camp site. Everyone there was preparing for a day of swimming and surfing. It was groans all around when they were told of the shark.

“What’s so good about a beach holiday if I can’t even go swimming,” Samantha’s younger sister moaned.

“You can go swimming if ya like, sis,” she said.

“Sammy?” her dad said and nudged her.

“What?”

“Yeah,” her sister screamed, “you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Samantha’s dad groaned. The tone for the day had been set. The caravan park had no playground or activities, and it was in the middle of nowhere and the only shop opened for four-hours a day.

Four-hours later, when most of the whining was near done, Samantha and her dad packed the car for prawning. It was a two-hour round trip, and both were looking forward to the drive. Midnight jumped in the back of the wagon and Samantha watched her mother pour a can of baked beans in an old, battered pot. Her siblings were sitting around the fire with a piece of bread on their forks, toasting them.

“Prawns for dinner?” her dad asked.

“Definitely,” Samantha said. “Definitely.”