• Originally published June 27, 2009 at 5:51 p.m., updated June 27, 2009 at 10:25 p.m.

"Meet us at the beach when you are done fishing," was the text message I received from my wife a week ago Saturday.

I admit, that was not the most appealing place to be after an eight-hour charter in heat indexes topping 100 degrees. Stiff southwest winds pulling warm desert air from Mexico was enough to say "no." However, I rarely say no to my wife and daughter.

As my tires hit the sand, it was obvious the ardent winds had created a rough sea. I found my family and plopped in a chair under a pop-up canopy.

The subject quickly turned to the two Blessing men who had drowned and one who was rescued early that morning. I made a comment to my father-in-law, Doug Matthes, that the rip current was probably bad with the stiff winds, then pointed to a rip a few steps in the first gut, right in front of us.

Rip currents are recognized by calm water caused by the channel of out-flowing water. As waves and water crash on the beach, that water has to recede back to the ocean. The backwash is often pushed sideways by oncoming waves, then streams along the beach until it finds a channel to exit back to the ocean. Factor in a deep channel and it is like squeezing water out of a pinched water hose - pressure and flow increases. Jetties, piers and guts between sand bars are the most prevalent locales for a rip, and high winds, a rough surf and a falling tide are all key ingredients in forming a rip.

Rips are often used by surfers to save energy when paddling out to catch a set. They are also used by experienced swimmers and lifeguards to reach a stranded swimmer quicker, instead of fighting or swimming through waves.

Rip currents drag swimmers away from the beach, leading to approximately 100 deaths a year in the United States, more than any other natural hazard short of heat and floods. Often confused with undertoes, rip currents become deadly when swimmers attempt to fight the current and become exhausted. Most drownings occur when non-swimming waders, standing in waist-deep water, are swept to deeper water.

Back to the beach.

Screams and panic alerted all of us as a mom and dad ran to the water's edge.

"My son! My son!" he yelled as he bailed into the angry surf.

His son was in a rip, and was quickly rushed past the second sand bar by a wash of water rivaling a New Braunfels rapids.

Without saying a word, Doug, Taylor Matthes (brother-in-law) and I hastened to the water. A quick sizing up of the situation and I honestly did not know if we could reach the eleven-year-old child. It was obvious the current was strong and I tried to muscle through the crashing waves. That did not work, so I dove through them as they crested and swallowed lots of brine in the process.

Doug was five strokes in front of me, but found a deep gut and an unmanageable current that alerted me and prompted me to float down current and past the second bar.

Taylor made the smartest decision as he swung wide and entered the water about 40 yards down-current of the boy.

I prayed the entire swim, catching a glimpse of the boy after each four-footer crashed over my head. The boy was scared, but not panicking, just floating with the water and yelling for help.

That saved his life. Had he fought the current and became tired, exhausted and bobbing up and down, we never would have reached him.

Taylor reached the boy first in about seven feet of water. Again, the boy remained relatively calm, and allowed Taylor to grab his arm and ride the waves.

I finally reached Taylor and the boy and quickly took the handoff. By this time the waves had pushed us to six feet of water that allowed me to tip-toe, but another wave over our heads gave us another sip of the nasty salt.

The boy continued to remain calm, and helped arrived as I found firm footing and passed the baton to Doug and Kent Pollard who met us in chest-deep water and drug the boy back to the beach.

It was a total team effort.

It wasn't over.

As we bent over to catch our breath on the beach, the father of the child was still in the water and in trouble. Another man on the beach had seen what was transpiring and gone after the father.

Both of the men were in trouble and caught in the rip.

The man trying to rescue was a good swimmer, but the father was fighting him to stay in the water and find his son - in all the panic and waves crashing, the father did not see us pull his son to the beach.

So, to the water we all went, again!

It took Doug, Taylor, Kent and I to bring both men to safety, but we could not convince the father we had rescued his son. He was in shock and was not hearing anything we said and kept yelling, "My son! My son!" as he gazed seaward.

His passionate bellowing caused us to quiz each other. Did we miss another child?. I got a dull, ill feeling in my stomach as I glassed the Gulf, pondering the possibility.

I will never forget the look in his eyes as the father assumed, powerlessly, his child was washed to sea.

And, I will also never forget the look in the father's eyes as he feebly walked on the beach and his son greeted him with arms extended.

He exhaustedly and tearfully fell face down in the Matagorda sand.

We felt like doing the same, praising God in the process.

Bink Grimes is a freelance writer, photographer, author and licensed captain. Write to him at binkgrimes@sbcglobal.net.

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