The Last Rescue

The rain hadn’t stopped for days. It fell in sheets - relentless, heavy, soaking the earth and spirits alike. By the end of another grueling shift, the crews were spent; bone-tired, soaked to the skin, and well beyond the limits of safe operation. Orders came through: stand down, return to staging, and await relief from interstate teams arriving the next day.

But fate had other plans.

As my crew packed up, a priority one call crackled through the radio. Five elderly residents were trapped on the second story of a Queenslander home. The water was rising. Among them a 99-year-old woman, strong and spirited, but without power for two days. The family feared the floodwaters would reach the upper level within hours.

Had the call come earlier, it might’ve been someone else’s mission. But now, we were the only crew still mobile—and by a twist of luck, we’d been granted permission to drive directly to our depot, bypassing the flooded roads that separated staging from safety. The emergency was on our route. We requested permission to divert. After a short pause, it was granted.

Navigating the flooded urban terrain was a mission. Streets had become rivers. Hills turned treacherous. Valleys disappeared beneath swirling brown water. By the time we reached the area, a support crew had arrived to manage traffic and prepare shelter for the evacuees.

Launching the boat was its own battle. The street was steep and narrow, jammed with vehicles parked wherever high ground could be found. It was gridlock. Then, like a guardian angel, a volunteer truck driver appeared - seasoned, calm, commanding. He orchestrated the clearing of vehicles, directed traffic, and guided us as we reversed down the slippery road until the trailer axle was underwater. Despite the chaos, the boat was launched quickly and seamlessly.

The old house stood on a corner block at the bottom of the flooded street. From the launch point, the water was deceptively calm. Intel suggested a simple extraction through a side window. Reality had other ideas.

The window was two meters above the waterline - no balcony, no ledge, no way to secure the boat. We considered a touch-and-hold manoeuvre, pinning the nose of the boat against the wall, but the drop was too great. Not safe. Not for anyone. Certainly not for a 99-year-old.

We circled the house, searching for options. Fences and trees blocked the sides and rear. That left the front deck.

Normally, a deck would be ideal - stairs, balustrades, structure. But this one faced what used to be parkland. Now, it was a raging river. Rapids tore through the space with a fury that made even our seasoned boat operators hesitate. The water was inching up every hour and was now just feet below the deck and climbing.

Inside, the residents were increasingly anxious. Another night without power, no way out, and water still rising - their sanctuary was becoming a trap.

It took much longer to anchor the boat than expected. Every time we got close, the current wrapped around the house and pulled the boat with it. Submerged bushes, trees, and fences battered the hull and propeller. A silver tarp tied to the fence got caught in the propeller not once but twice. At one point, we had to tie off the boat to a tree, shut down the engine, and raise the motor to detangle the rope and tarp.

Eventually, we managed to pin the nose of the boat into the external staircase and tie a rope to the handrail. But the current was so strong it began pulling the boat—and the staircase—away from the house. Luckily, one of the residents caught the end of a second rope and looped it through the deck railing, allowing us to pull the stern parallel to the house and reduce the strain.

At last, the boat was secured and stable enough to begin the evacuation.

The next challenge: getting them into the boat. The plan was to guide each person down to the small platform at the bow, then step them onto the main deck where bench seats awaited. But the staircase mid-level platform was waist-deep in water, and the jump from the upper stairs to the boat was too far - even for a young person, let alone a 99-year-old.

After several ideas, one of the evacuees found a milk crate. We turned it upside down on the submerged platform. It meant getting wet up to the knees, but it was the safest option. Each resident removed their shoes, rolled up their trousers, and carefully descended to the crate, then stepped onto the boat platform where a crew member helped them aboard.

When it came time for the 99-year-old woman, time seemed to hold its breath. She was fearless, despite her frailty. She hesitated only briefly - more from the sharp plastic of the crate on her bare feet and its unsteadiness in the flowing water than from fear. We worked together to help her aboard, gently and with care.

Then began the short but terrifying journey back to safety.

As soon as we released the boat, we were fighting hard. The water roared around giant trees, trying to pull us into rapids and downstream and away from our launch point. Twice, everyone had to duck as the boat was dragged perilously close to tree canopies, now at head height due to the floodwaters.

After some tense manoeuvring, we rounded the corner, escaped the current, and reached the calmer waters near the launch site.

We all sighed with relief. But there was one final test. Just as we reached the shallows, the engine stalled.

Fortunately, we were close to shore. The crews waiting on land didn’t notice. Nor did the passengers. Everyone was simply relieved to see us arrive safely. We raised the motor and coasted into the shallow water until the boat came to a gentle stop, just ankle deep and 20 metres from dry land.

One by one, the crews helped the five passengers ashore, taking special care with the 99-year-old. Two strong men lifted her from the boat and carried her across the water so she didn’t have to walk in the water, then placed her gently on the grass at the edge of the road.

With everyone safe, our attention turned to the boat. I feared the engine had stalled due to lack of fuel—we’d been evacuating all day, and I couldn’t recall when I last swapped the fuel line. Dread crept in. I assumed the worst and just automatically swapped the line, pumped the bulb, and tried the ignition. After a few sputters, the engine roared to life.

Finally, it was time to get the boat out of the water and head home to a hot shower and dry clothes.

On the way back to the shed, we stopped at a petrol station to refill the fuel pods. To my surprise, both tanks still had fuel. Relief washed over me. The stall wasn’t my fault after all, likely just an air lock or debris from the floodwater. But the relief was quickly replaced with thoughts of what might have been had the engine stalled whilst we were being pushed around in the raging current. Shivers ran down my spine.  What turned out to be an arduous but successful rescue could have instead turned into tragedy.

Epilogue

That night, we didn’t return to the depot with the others. We returned with something else - proof that even at the edge of exhaustion, even when the odds are stacked against you, the human spirit finds a way.

And somewhere, in a house far from the raging flood, with power for showers and heating, a 99-year-old woman slept soundly—with another adventurous story to add to her rich life.