Peter Jovic is a surf photographer from WA's south-west. Over the years he's increasingly been getting his work published - you may have noticed it on Swellnet where he's had numerous Wave Of The Day shots plus feature galleries.

When he started shooting, Peter set up his tripod on land but being a surfer the natural inclination was to get in the water and capture the action. He's shot some of the south-west's heaviest waves from point blank: North Point, The Womb, The Box, and each time he returned to shore (relatively) unscathed.

Peter, however, suffered his heaviest injury while recently shooting an innocuous shorebreak. It happened last Friday and was a combination of a rising swell and a small lapse in concentration.

Here, Peter recounts the story and tries to make sense of how things headed south so quickly.

"Are you superstitious?"

That was the question that I asked of my ‘rescuer’ who came to my aid early on Friday afternoon, 19th February. The only reason that I asked that question, was because the person who initially came to my aid, was so busy asking me questions, that I thought that I’d throw one back at him. Many moons ago, I used to work as an Industrial Paramedic in the mining and horse racing industries. In situations where the shit hits the fan and someone is badly injured, you need to be able to distract the injured person from the pain that they are experiencing. So you ask the injured person lots and lots of questions:

"How old are you?"
"Are you from around here?"
"Have you got any kids?"

You can probably script the remaining storyline…So I understood what was happening.

I was at a little location that I love to visit either on my own, or with the family. Usually there’s next to no-one around, unless the swell is big. The water is beautiful and clear, but the attraction in terms of photography, is a photogenic little shorebreak that dumps all of its energy onto the shallow sand bank. The swell was only small with the swell buoys reading 1.5 metres from the west and forecast to increase. However, sometimes as the swells approach the beach, some waves jack up and easily double in size before violently closing out some three metres from the shoreline. Even still, these waves were not of any consequence in terms of size, but they still packed an evil punch.

I’d been mindful of not going over the falls head first and I adopted a specific technique that most of the time, allowed me to punch through the wave as close to the bottom of the wave as possible so all of that energy behind the breaking wave would just roll over the top of me. Also, I was using a brand new lens for the very first time in the surf. So I was being cautious and really just wanted to have fun photographing some empty waves.

A few waves started to come through that seemed to have a lot more energy behind them. So instead of calling it a day, I sort of got a little excited and was hooting and giggling to myself. I saw a car pull up into the carpark atop of the hill and then immediately drove away. About half an hour later, just as I thought I’d call it a day –  I had to pick the kids up from school - a wave came through that was no different to any other wave that session. I don’t know if I got a little blasé about the situation, but as I went to casually punch through the back of the wave, I felt the wave lifting me as I was punching through. It seemed to have so much energy behind it, but I thought that I’d be okay.

What happened next seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. I’ve got say that as I’m writing this, the events are coming back so vivdly that my guts are kind of….well, churning.

I remember going backwards and going downwards, real fast. So much went through my mind in such a short space of time. I remember thinking that I was in a position that was relatively safe, where I probably wouldn’t hit my head or neck on the shallow sand bank. But also remember thinking that it seemed like I was about to be pole driven into the sand. I clearly remember having my eyes wide open as the water turned murky due to being filled with churned up sand.

Then I felt a forceful sudden impact and clearly heard a snapping sound underwater. Immediately, the pain was excruciating and whilst being rolled around underwater, I reached for my left leg. I felt my knee, but below my knee, there seemed to be a void. I felt around a little more and took hold of my lower leg. As soon as I had a hold of my leg, I not only felt it 'click in' but I also heard it. At this time, I was still underwater. Instantly, I knew it was serious and instanty I panicked.

I resurfaced and the first thing I remember doing was screaming. Screaming from pain and screaming from fear. Then the next wave of the set just hammered me and I felt my leg pop out of place again. It only took two waves for me to be washed up on the beach. But I had to get out of that area before the surges began to drag me back out into the impact zone. I dragged myself up the beach and I was just screaming in agony.

Then it dawned on me that there was nobody around. The carpark was empty! I looked at my leg and I swore, I screamed…I began to cry. Then I started to contemplate how I was going to drag myself over the rocks, onto the track and up to the top of the hill. I started feeling weak. My head felt light and I remember that the sun seemed super bright.

I’m not sure how much time passed, it must’ve only been five minutes when I saw a car pull up atop of the hill. I saw a man and a woman get out of the car. I was screaming for help and frantically waving my arms around. I thought that they spotted me, but they didn’t seem to be motioning towards the beach at all. Then I thought that because I was behind the rocks, that maybe I was out of view. Then it actually looked like they were about to get back in the car and drive away. I kept screaming until finally, I saw the woman point towards me.

At that moment, I felt luckier that a division one Lotto winner. But it seemed to take forever for them to get to me. The rest is a little vague in my mind, but I remember being told that someone has gone to call an ambulance. That’s when one of my rescuers started talking to me and asking a million questions. Then, there was another man there as well. I felt as though the cavalry had arrived. I also remember thinking that an ambulance in the south-west could take forever.

I looked at my leg…I couldn’t move it. I didn’t want to move it. Then I looked out to sea and I could see that a set of waves were approaching. I also knew that the previous waves had filled up the beach with water and we were close to rocks where the waves rebounded and forcefully washed up the beach. I remember yelling to my rescuers that they had to drag me away from where we were, otherwise we would get slammed into the rocks. As the waves came, they frantically began dragging me from under my shoulders. The whitewater came and knocked them off their feet. They got up and dragged me a little further into a safety zone.

I was still panicked and screaming from the pain. Suddenly, something happened to my mindset. I could see my rescuers were freaking and probably at a loss. They were doing everything that they possibly could and I found myself feeling sorry for them. I stopped screaming and said to myself “Right, get your fucking shit together”. I focused on a point on the horizon and began to concentrate on my breathing.

The ambulance not only seemed to take forever, it did take forever. I think I was on that beach for about one and half hours before I finally got to taste the sweet euphoric sensation of Methoxyflurane – otherwise known as the “Green Whistle”. But it didn’t end there. The ambos recognised the fact that they’d never get me over the rocks, onto the track and up the hill. So they called fire and rescue. In the meantime, one of the ambos went to a building site not far away and managed to gather a posse of builders. Big strong blokes who love a beer and a smoke! The ambos brought down a spinal board and a harness. I remember that when a set of vital signs were taken (observations), my BP was 220/130 and my respirations were 120 per minute (so much for concentrating on my breathing!). I think my pulse rate was about 150. I also remember thinking that I would’ve loved some cool oxygen, but there’s only so much ambos can carry with them in dodgy terrain.

One of my rescuers was holding my camera housing by the pistol grip. No-one knew what it was, but one of the rescuers accidently took photos of me screaming in pain whilst they held my camera upside down. To later see those photos made me feel ill. Just as I feel right now whilst writing this story. Everyone worked together to get me to the ambulance. I still remember the sun beating down on my head and I remember listening to the ever increasing breathing rate of the people laboriously carrying the stretcher with every step that they took going up the hill. I remember seeing the fireys and I remember the builders joking around that I owe them a slab of beer. Everyone involved was great and eventually the ambo’s did a “rack, pack, and stack” and I was outta there.

It’s interesting to note that from the time that the accidental photo of me was captured at exactly 1:23pm, to the time I arrived at Busselton Emergency Department at exactly 4.00pm - more than two and a half hours had passed. From there, I was administered morphine and then taken in for X-rays. When the doctor asked me to move my leg whilst on the X-ray table, it dislocated at the kneecap and I let out an almighty scream.

The next morning I was transferred to Bunbury Emergency. As I type this, I’m awaiting and preparing for complex surgery in Perth. The results of the MRI scan proved dire. The surgeon rang me up and said, “You have a significant life-changing injury, my man. You will never-ever win a gold medal, or even a bronze for that matter, in any race”.

Usually when I write a story, it’s always about someone else. It’s never about myself. I wish that was the case right now. But in many ways, I am lucky, as many people suffer far worse. Stuff happens and I’m alive and maybe I got off lightly. I’d just like to finish with these words;

It’s a fine line between pleasure and pain,
You’ve done it once, you can do it again.
Whatever you’ve done, don’t try to explain –
It’s a fine, fine line between pleasure and pain – Divinyls

I’d like to thank all of my faceless rescuers, the regional ambulance service and Fire and Rescue. The staff at the Busselton Health Campus and the South West Health Campus in Bunbury. Also my friends, family, and total strangers who sent messages of support and of course my wonderful wife, who puts up with my shit time and time again. I love you babe. //PETER JOVIC

Visit Peter's photography website or follow him on Facebook.