Ruby Anderson

But after nearly four hours submerged in cold water, it seems increasingly likely that his daughter is becoming hypothermic.

As Ruby's violent shivers fade to feeble trembles, Glenn digs deep, trying to summon an extra reserve of energy.

But even as he does, it isn't clear if this is the right strategy.

What if all this struggling is simply wasting his strength and putting both himself and Ruby at even greater risk?

Ultimately, something propels Glenn forward.

Part human instinct to have his feet on solid ground, part paternal imperative to get his daughter the medical help she needs.

Another hour has gone by.

Glenn concentrates on maintaining temper, corralling his fatigued limbs into a steady rhythm of kicks and strokes.

When Ruby slumps in his arms, he hoists her up, keeping her face from slipping under.

The salt water stings his eyes and coats the inside of his mouth.

He is desperately thirsty.

But this is the final straight.

One last 200-meter dash to the finish.

A sandy beach nears, close enough now for Glenn to make out the scrubby dunes beyond.

But his muscles feel like anchors, like sandbags attached to his bones, offering nothing but dead weight.

It would be a desperately cruel fate to get this close, only to drown in shallow water.

But then, Glenn hears the boat.

The boat chugs up to where Glenn and Ruby are treading water.

The kindly face of a sea rescue volunteer appearing over the vessel's side.

The first thing he said to me was, you almost made it, mate.