Episode Transcript
I was awoken at 5:30 in the morning on Tuesday 14 February 2023 by the sound of fast-running water where it definitely should not have been. I lived alone in a garden apartment on Breckenridge Road, separate from Jen and Mark who lived in the main residence. I was not used to hearing any noise and usually slept very deeply until my morning alarm went off.
But on this particular morning, I could not believe what was happening, when I awoke, turned on my mobile phone torch light and saw murky water half way up the side of my bed. Still half asleep, I momentarily thought that if I went back to sleep the water would, miraculously, subside. However I quickly came to my senses, got out of bed and made my way a few metres to the closed bedroom door. The water at this point was almost at knee height; it felt icy cold and dirty on my pyjama-covered legs and bare feet. I knew my survival relied on opening the bedroom door, even though it was scary not knowing what would greet me on the other side. Fortunately, the door opened with relative ease; I inadvertently let in a torrent of water from the adjoining living room, causing the water level in both rooms to quickly move to waist height and furniture – including my double bed – to begin to float around the bedroom.
I then tried opening the out-facing windows in the living room to create an emergency exit point. But as the water level outside – visible from my mobile phone torch light – was considerably higher than that inside, the pressure against the window panes made this impossible. I waded back to the bedroom, then ensuite bathroom, looking for an escape route. But my path was blocked by floating objects, darkness, as well as massive pressure from the water outside against the glass window panes.
I then made my way back to the dining room and made a bee-line for the glass-panelled front door. By this time, the water level was approaching neck height. I managed to grab a nearby cane bar stool which was floating around and whacked it about a half dozen times against the glass, hoping to shatter it and create a way out. However, the glass was too strong, so that strategy sadly failed.
My initial thoughts were: how can this be happening? Are Jen, Mark and their pets awake yet? Should I try to save valuables including my wallet, bag and work bag? Wait until my whanau and Kenny, my partner, hear about this?
Once the water rose to neck-height and I was still unable to find a way out, I began to panic. At that precise instance, a moment of clarity swept over me – I remembered that above the kitchen sink was an outward-opening window which was higher than the others in the apartment. I waded my way across the living room and into the neighbouring kitchen, then pulled myself up on to the kitchen bench. Using all my mite, I managed to push the window open then climb through the gap into the torrent of water outside at the rear of the apartment. Dawn had begun to break, but visibility was still very limited. The water-gushing sound was even louder now and the murky sludge I was now in felt just as cold as before. But I felt immense relief to be out of the apartment, in one piece and alive. I didn’t mind the cold air and light rain.
Gingerly, I made my way around to the front of the apartment and to my delight, crossed paths with Mark, who had rescued Jen from the main residence and she and their pet poodle Teddy were resting up on higher ground in a nearby paddock.
Mark and I made our way to the same paddock; this involved wadding part-way down the shingled driveway, climbing a barbed-wire fence, then an electric fence. Reunited with Jen and Teddy, we then together made our way up the steep wet bank, climbed another barbed-wire fence then walked up the road about 150 metres to a neighbour’s place on higher ground. This is where we ended up staying for about 3 weeks, with no running water or electricity. But we were all very grateful to have gotten out with our lives intact.
