Here's a great piece of creative writing recounting an adventure over the holidays, called Summer BLAST
He sits in the water shivering, all clenched up with a worry written across his face, anxiously waiting for the rope to pass by the surface of the water. The longer he is submerged, the more the water could seep into his wetsuit causing his core temperature to plummet. He spots the rope. Reaching out, he pulls the long braided rope in towards him, letting it run through his hands until the handle reaches him.
With a minimum speed of 7 km, it doesn’t take long for the jetski to bring the handle right up to his nose. As he grabs the handle he feels an immediate tug from the jetski. With chattering teeth, he yells for his dad to stop the engine, giving him some slack. After taking a few moments to get ready, slotting both his feet into the single waterski, he tucks his knees in, and with butterflies bounding in his stomach shouts ready.
Immediately the power of the jetski is reflected in the rope as it is tensed straight away. His arms, feeling like they are about to be pulled off, are about the only thing he can see with a big spray of saltwater stinging his eyes. Finally, after what felt like forever, he is pulled up onto the wake. His mouth open in amazement, he finds a sense of freedom, but that freedom is quickly diminished as his knuckles turn white. Hanging on for dear life, he is in no relaxed state at all. He tries to enjoy the beautiful ocean while also concentrating on trying not to wobble too much, keeping his balance.
To the left and right of him he can see the glassy water surrounding him, islands in every direction you look, with the occasional fish jumping out of the water as if to say hello. In front, behind, and beneath him is the monstrous angry wake produced by what looks like a small humble jetski but inside her is a 300 horsepower engine with enough power to get up to about 120 km.
After ploughing through the water for about 4 minutes, dancing from bay to bay, his arms eventually start to give way, so he shouts to Hannah, asking if he can start to head home. Hannah is seated two seats behind her Dad, but couldn’t hear him. So he took one white clenched fist off the handle to try and give Hannah a signal. This seemed to work because moments later he started heading back towards home.
The last stretch home is always the hardest, and after being towed for what felt like hours, his arms are burning and his back is aching, yet he fights the urge to let go. He could feel his body wanting to shut down but that would be impossible with the wind blowing in his face furiously.
Entering the bay he could see his bright orange gingerbread house as he called it, along with a few dozen boats docked at their mooring. In the distance, he could hear shouts of his whanau on the balcony looking down on him.
All of a sudden he felt a slack in the rope. Slowly sinking into the water, he felt a sense of accomplishment as he took off the ski and began to swim ashore.
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