It took a while for the magnitude of my little ‘whoopsie’ to sink in.
Maybe it was denial, maybe it was shock, maybe it was PTSD, maybe it was a combo of all. Whatever it was, charging mountains and carving rails was about as far from my mind as you could get for the many months I was well and truly deep in the trenches of recovery from said ‘whoopsie’.
That late August morning, I had misjudged where I was and had taken one turn too many as I arced turns of white dusty chalk promptly proceeding to be bluffed and launched at pace off the precipice of Chute 7 at the very top of Treble Cone’s Motatapu Chutes having had zero intention of going in there that day. Without any intention of being where I was, I embarked on the ultimate tuck-n-roll extravaganza over anything and everything in my path to come to a stop no less than 450 vertical metres below where I had unintentionally launched.
In full yard sale style, by the time I had ground to a halt I was minus anything that could be ripped off with the impact including goggles, gloves, poles and skis.
When you chew yourself up this well the helicopter comes to you. Cue a scenic flight in the Otago Rescue Helicopter, checking out from real life via anaesthesia to relocate my hip, a full body CT scan, a bulk bin supply of opioid pain relief, issued with a set of crutches and sent on my merry way the following day.
Everything was a blur, including how it had happened and why I was now couch bound looking at the mountains rather than being up and amongst them.
I was sore, but I’d been worse. The reality of what had happened was a long way off and my usual method of coping with the immediate shock of the situation was to find ironic humour when having to converse about what had happened.
“It could be worse”, “I’m still alive”, “I don’t remember it after the ‘oh f*&k moment”, were a collection of some of the one liners I had on lock.
The days passed, spring sprang and as the lack of good news started to hit, the outward humour remained while the inner angst had begun to fester.
The stray 1.67cm piece of bone that detached from the head of my femur
I saw specialists who mooted significant surgeries with long recoveries. Injuries that had been overlooked in the initial course of the trauma triage came to light adding to the load.
Thankfully (or not) I’ve been through my fair share of horror scenarios in the injury department and while it seemed like life was dealing me an unfair hand at the time; twenty years down the track, I’m grateful to have been through the washing machine of life with the odd cycle of heavy agitation.
When you’re broken the outside world only sees the physical extent of your injuries, not the mental or the emotional turmoil that is often taking place.
And so began the ongoing journey of patience and acceptance. The inner acknowledgement of what had happened, the only option I had in those moments being to give my body what it needed to recover which was rest, sleep and the white flag to any kind of anxious worry.
Day by day, week by week the year ticked on. I went to hospital for a check up and as I hobbled out the old ladies on reception waved me on with, “you take those (crutches) home dear, you might still need them for a while yet”…..
Not only was the left side of my body obliterated with a blown shoulder, multiple hits sustained from my neck to my tailbone, a heavily haematoma’d left buttock, a fractured pelvis, a dislocated hip, fracture to the head of the femur, a full tear of the MCL, a fractured tibial plateau, some sweet scars down my lumbar spine courtesy of the rocks I hit mid tumble….. and a head injury which was yet to raise its hand following a long period of unconsciousness post tumble. But if I was cleared to walk, then I was determined to start to hobble my way back to normal one step at a time.
I’d hobble to the lake and have drivers stop and ask if I needed a lift. I’d thank them and usher them on, the stoic inner warrior coming to the fore.
I ratcheted up my mountain bike seat, battled to put on my sneakers and worked out how to get on my bike with a heavily incapacitated hip…and for the first time in weeks started to feel the fresh air of spring brushing my cheeks as I cautiously navigated the flattest and safest trails surrounding the lake. The impact was as much mental as it was physical and I could feel my system taking a sigh of much needed relief to be flushed with oxygen and subsequent endorphins once more.
I made my way back to California to see my Doctor who has put me back together a number of times over recent years. In lieu of major open hip surgery and a 12 month recovery I was placing my bets in a handful of injections of the regenerative medicine variety. I came home bound with enthusiasm to get stuck into the ‘work’ of recovery only to walk into an overhanging rock on the side of a trail days later when the brim of my cap shielded my peripheral as I looked to where my feet were going.
If I had lucked out on the consequences of being knocked out one too many times when I fell, getting blind sided by a rock on the side of a popular local hiking trail was about to take my down. BIG TIME.
For those that have suffered concussion, post-concussion, TBIs and other head injuries it can only be described as “suffering in silence”. Functioning like a normal human goes out the window and coping with life can become a monumental challenge on the daily.
“But you look fine”, they would say, oblivious to the state of my head and only seeing the physical improvement I had made. I fast became a social recluse unable to cope with the constant questions, bright sunlight and loud noise of social situations.
I would look at my bike and would be paralysed by choosing what kit to wear, what gear I would need or what direction I would head, instead throwing on a worn out old pair of trail shoes and walk the same track daily; sometimes twice.
I was in depths of battle and my only option was to keep showing up. I had to learn the art of self preservation and how to say ‘no’ in order to preserve the precious energy I had for myself to get through the day.
As the months rolled by and the physical injuries healed I found my way back to the yoga studio. It was hot, it was uncomfortable, it hurt, it was hard, but the lack of judgement and welcoming environment was the elixir I needed when I needed it the most.
Daily practice often became twice a day and my body began to move as I knew it could.
Walking turned into jogging which in turn became running. I started to get my memory and cognitive function back and to cope with public situations once more.
But had I truly dealt with the subconscious reality of what had happened? One of the ways of helping cope with the ongoing recovery was to attempt remove all external expectation (easier said than done) and to focus affecting what I could on a day to day basis knowing that if I just kept ‘showing up’, I’d eventually get to where I wanted to.
Sometimes the only way to confront fear is to tackle it head on, even if I often didn’t know exactly what that fear was or exactly what I was confronting.
The question of would I ‘ski this winter’ was ever present alongside ‘so when are you going to compete again….?’
My response was along the lines of sending the person asking off with a succession of riddles for them to ponder. Heck, I was simply just trying to make it through the day, the week, the month and to walk, skip, hop, run again let along contemplate any form of ‘fun’ or competition.
But courtesy of a late start to the season and some mind blowing progression on the recovery front, the unthinkable happened and I found myself back on the hill. I found my feel and without any encouragement was back skiing lines that I always have and laying my planks sideways in the relentless search for the endless carve.
It still astounds me that I was able to get my head around skiing again, let alone ski the terrain that had caught me out. Simply, it came down to focussing on the ‘doing’ to get my head around getting back on the horse and regaining the confidence to ‘do’. And if I was ‘ski-able’, I was likely able to be at-the-ready for all and every other pursuit.
There’s a number of lessons that have been handed during this imposed period of recovery but resoundingly the word ‘choice’ keeps coming to the fore.
The choice to be ‘relentlessly optimistic’.
The choice to ‘look outside the box’ when it comes to recovery.
The choice to ‘keep showing up’.
The choice to ‘affect what I can on the daily’.
The choice to ‘confront myself with situations’ that can bring feelings of discomfort.
Ultimately, it’s been the choice to commit to ‘facing fear’ head on.
Game on.
“What’s my name?”
What seemed like a moment ago, I was arcing turns in the hunt for windblown stashes of chalky goodness and now I’m trying to comprehend what has just happened.
A week prior hunting chalky hidden stashes just above where I got bluffed a week later
A couple of minutes passes by.
“What’s my name?” asks the Patroller in a Canadian accent.
I’m strapped in a blood wagon surrounded by ski patrol. I try to move and am given stern instructions not to.
“Treble Cone Ski Patrol do you copy?”
“Otago Rescue we copy over”. The conversation continues to crackle over the radio.
“Treble Cone Ski Patrol, we are enroute and our ETA is approximately 40minutes over”.
“Otago Rescue; we copy that; patient is stable; landing zone is cleared; over”.
I slowly start to attempt to piece together the situation at hand.
A medic arrives from the ski area base and tries to insert a line to intravenously administer pain relief of the opioid variety with little success.
On the fifth mis-attempt to secure the line I suggest that he stops attacking the normally bulbous veins of my lower arms and waits for back up. Yes, when you well and truly toast yourself, the morphine comes to you.
I’ve been in a few ‘situations’ over the years and while I can feel something is drastically wrong with my groin and pelvic region, I’ve endured worse pain and have learned the art of ‘breathing’ through it until back up arrives.
My mind continues to spin as to how I ended up strapped in a blood wagon awaiting an airlift to hospital. At this point all I can remember is making a sweeping left hand turn to make my way back up to the fence line to skip over a ridge…and I got bluffed.
My memory blanks with the first impact resuming approximately 8-10minutes and 400 vertical metres later below where it started and I’m surrounded by ski patrol at the bottom Treble Cone’s Motatapu Chutes.
I hear the whirring echo of the chopper in the distance, it’s a common sound in these parts as the throng of the rotor blades reverberate around the hills.
“We’ll get a line in when we’re airborne”,  I overhear the air rescue medic as they bundle me into the back of the BK, a twin engine helicopter with double rear facing doors which make it a common choice for emergency air services.


The pilot hands me a head set and I hear the familiar voice of a local pilot who is in the area searching for some lost ski tourers in the cloud that has shrouded the mid layer of the hills all morning.  The joker in me wants to say gidday, but I quell the urge to crack a joke over the radio given the situation.
In an attempt to keep my mind off the pain before the medic got a line in – it was too good an opportunity not to make light of the situation for memory’s sake (and the entertainment of those watching the ‘Gram).
We take off and the rescue medic gets to work on finding a vein to tap. There’s something about that first hit of morphine. It hits your system and while you still feel the pain, it takes the ‘edge’ off bringing a sense of calm.
“We’ll keep loading you up all the way to Dunedin”  comforts the medic and he stays true to his word.
Fast forward fourteen weeks and while I know that I’ve well and truly dodged a bullet and gotten the get of out jail card, it has not without some major consequences.
As I run down my body I make a mental note of the collateral damage sustained.
Starting at the top, not much escaped. From a serious concussion, severe whiplash, damage to my left shoulder, minor fractures to several vertebrae, a severe haematoma and swelling to my tailbone, a dislocated left hip with a femoral head fracture wiping the articular cartilage dislodging a 1.67cm sliver of bone as well as tearing my psoas and labrum on the way through, a grade 3 meniscal tear to my left knee and a tibial plateau fracture. I’d learn weeks later that there were more fractures to be discovered.


To say the past three months have been a mega lesson in patience, acceptance and relentless optimism would be a mild understatement.
When you do something that is somewhat catastrophic in nature, there’s a few things you can expect.
  • The initial trauma as the body deals with what has just happened
  • the need for acceptance when the reality of what has happened truly sets in
  • the reality when you keep getting hit week after week with  the ‘expert’ opinions on the various states of your injuries & the (not so great) prognoses
  • The surprise of MRIs and the other imaging revealing further injuries that didn’t reveal themselves initially
  • the realisation that recovery always seems to be two steps forward for three steps back and with an indeterminable finish line
  • the need to put on a brave face and weather the storm of questions that seem to be asked with relentless frequency
  • the not knowing…..
The curve balls and lack of information are likely the hardest to deal with.
If you give me an objective or a desired outcome, I’m innately programmed to work backwards and figure out exactly how I’m going to make something happen. I’m comfortable with curve balls, in fact I’ve come to expect them and embrace them.
Unfortunately in this chapter of the game of life this rule book just got thrown out the window.
This is the ongoing roller coaster that requires a daily commitment to ‘hang on for the ride’ and to be relentlessly optimistic.
At four weeks post accident I was told, “no, you don’t need crutches now” to an MRI revealing that I’d chipped a large piece of bone off the femoral head wiping most of the articular cartilage with it, along with leaving my medical cruciate ligament dangling by a thread and a missed fracture. No wonder that knee was rather angry and swollen. Weeks later I’d find out that I’d also sustained a fracture of the acetabulum which happens when the head of the femur gets driven into the pelvis congruent with a high speed feet first impact.
The patience game has been alive and well. Crutches for the first four weeks resulted in many a passerby enquiring if I would like a lift as I crutched my way to and from appointments.
As I started to hobble without crutches, I’d get some interesting looks as I attempted to my daily walk down to the lake.
It would take eleven weeks to feel as though I could walk without hitching my hip.
The physical part of the recovery is one bit, the mental part another.
You start to dissect the how and the why of what has happened. In a year when I consciously made a concerted effort to ease off the gas pedal, why was I continuing to be penalised and put into the time out box? It’s the question that can play through your head over and over.
How could a mellow blue bird day searching out stashes of snowy goodness go so drastically awry I still ask myself?
You go over the scenarios, the only sense of relief knowing that this really was a freak accident. A freak accident that so easily might not have happened, but one that could have (and should have) been so much worse, but wasn’t and finding the gratitude for what it is, rather what it isn’t.
There has been a decent amount of time spent waiting rooms and visiting specialists to confirm the state of the damage done and to ascertain the plan of attack to move forward. I can assure you that this is where the nervous self deprecating jokes stop and the realities kick in.
Resort to humour whenever and where ever possible – even in hospital
Open hip surgery with a full dislocation and clean up/resurfacing of the femoral head is still a very real possibility, although one I have negotiated with the surgeon to defer while I both explore non-invasive options and give the rest of the injuries I collected a chance to heal.
When you’ve blown out the whole left side of your body, there’s only so much one can deal with all at once.
As the recovery continues different challenges start to present themselves. While being knocked out on that first impact likely saved me from sustaining worse injuries,  it would take until week six to start to fully feel the effects of the head injury, well and truly kicking me in the ass, just as I started to feel like I was making some progress. Yep, concussion is a b*tch and concussion 2.0 for the year is nothing to be taken lightly. Tiredness, fatigue and having to remove/excuse yourself from many a social situation when the noise, talking and conversing can be a little too much too handle and a momentary time out from socialisation became the norm.
I’ve endured my fair share of injuries over the years. Broken legs, blown knees, shoulders, ribs, ankles, lacerations, whiplashes, concussions and plenty of gravel rash, just not all about the same time like life served my up this time around. And while I’ve acquired a few tools on how to deal with these adversities, now I actually get to put them into the practice.
There have been plenty of questions, “aren’t you going insane not being able to do anything?” Well let me tell you this much, when you fully toast yourself there’s a certain amount of acceptance of the situation that has to go on and the ability to be patient and perseverant has become my greatest asset.


These are the moments when you find gratitude in the little things that went right. The people I was with, the ski patrol who were right there, the immediate dispatch of the rescue helicopter, that my injuries were not of the life threatening or paralysing variety, that is happened at home rather than overseas and most importantly that the banter has rolled hard and fast from the helicopter to the hospital and for the weeks and months that have followed.
If there is one thing that will define my memory of this little bump in the road, it will be the laughter, the gratitude, the choice to be relentlessly optimistic when the chips are down and to embrace the ride.


It’s been one hell of an adventure since leaving London all those years ago.

One thing is for sure, the desire to continue to be ‘relentless in the pursuit of adventure’ will continue to be my inner compass.

Life is more than competition or a race, it’s a game – and you get to choose exactly how you want to play it.

To learn a little about how I drastically took a different path, here’s a short clip taken from a few awesome trips I’ve had with the World of Adventure Sports crew shooting episodes in some very awesome places.

Because sometimes you just need to get lost in some all time epic views….

There’s big mountains and big vistas in the Southern Alps of New Zealand.

where the air is thin and the views are best had in wide screen (aka blades)

And while we have great access to Department of Conservation areas, the chance to have access to some of the most mind-blowing and special landscapes that are working high country stations is too good to turn down.

It’s called The Camelbak Big Easy, but it really should be called The Big Hard. 

Starting at 1500m elevation and gaining 1000m of elevation up and over Mt Pisa before a hair raising 2000m descent through Lake McKay Station to finish under the willows at Luggate (Wanaka’s truck-stop-cum-undiscovered-secret).

It only happens once a year, and odds on it’s not only NZ’s most scenic MTB course, but also the best and one hell of a best kept secret (until the word really gets out that is).

It’s hard to articulate in a couple of words just how the landscapes of New Zealand’s Southern Alps and it’s surrounding countryside will make you feel.

Majestical, towering, moody, brazen. These are snow capped mountain ranges with lakes and braided rivers weaving a path at their feet.

While it would seem that anywhere and everywhere in New Zealand is accessible to one and all, this is far from the case due to the negotiated privatisation (free holding) of land to farmers in return for releasing land back to the Department of Conservations for public access (you can read about Tenure Review here ) making any opportunity to cross these privately held pockets of outstanding natural beauty all the more special.

Such was the case as the 4th edition of Red Bull Defiance rolled into Wanaka this past weekend to pit two person teams, mountain bikers and mountain runners against the rigours of the waters and mountains that surround this melodramatic sleepy lakeside village.

When getting to the start is half the fun

In stark contrast to last year where we faced freezing temperatures and the biggest summer snow storm that anyone could remember, 2018 blazed as hot as the wild fires that have scorched the district in recent weeks.  The Nor West fan on full blast presenting the opposite set of climatic challenge in the competition not to compete against others, but just manage yourself in order to make it to the finish line.

Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll have a couple of lungs full of Minaret Stations finest dust for the next few hours.

Taking the opportunity this year to tackle the Minaret Burn MTB event which was run as a single stage race alongside the 2 day, 2 person multisport event, this is a prime opportunity to see first hand the remote north western shores of Lake Wanaka which are usually exclusively reserved to the deer that roam, the chamois and thar that dance around the snow line and the guests of Minaret Station, this 64km traverse of the western shores of Lake Wanaka is far from a walk in the park.

Red Bull Defiance
Welcome to hike-a-bike

If I thought that doing the whole shebang (the 2 day multisport) event last year was up there in the pain-in-paradise department, the frenetic pace off the start and the first climbs across the southern reaches of Minaret Station were a stark reminder that any time a gun goes, you’re about to pay a visit to the hurt box.

As the Nor West gathered pace whipping white caps across the lake and the shelter of the valleys sent the mercury well into the mid-30s, the sight of river crossings became a welcome respite, all the while draining the contents of my 2x bottles and a 2L Camelbak in hope of replenishing the fluids and salts that were being lost far quicker than they could be replaced.

If there’s one thing that ‘s harder than remaining upright climbing lose rocky single track on a stupidly steep gradient with your heart pulsating through your neck and into your mouth, it’s descending on equally sketchy off-camber steep descents with your arms having the living daylights shaken out of them in the process. Hopefully remaining rubber side down.

Coming past the Glendhu Camp Ground and entering the Millennium Track for the final stretch to the finish on the Wanaka lakefront, the three hideous climbs that this track is so well known for loomed large. You were either about to pop, cramp or both, it was just a matter of when not if and pray that no-one is coming around the corner on the blind corners and bluffed sections of the track.

There are days when you really wonder why you do things and your mind can be your biggest enemy. This was one of those days. One of those days when you really start to question why….

Like most things, it’s more fun when the cheap chat and banter is rolling at full noise (that’s before the start that is)

It’s not until you cross the finish and the feeling of relief that sweeps over you helps erase some of the horrors you just subjected yourself to. But maybe that’s what keeps bringing us back, the chance to go to those dark places to test our mental fortitude and get a gauge on our mental fitness more than our physical.


This for sure is one weekend and one course that will continue to be human versus mother nature before human versus human.



If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked ‘what are you doing’ in the past three months…I may almost have a contract of the financial size that Mo Freitas has been reported to have signed in recent days.

The reality is, I haven’t, I didn’t, but I’ve been asked this question A LOT (I placing the bet that no one else is brave enough to place – who ever it is could likely have contracted 5x girls for the price of Mo #congratsMo #takeawinwhenyoucangetone #suckstobeagirlsometimes #thisisnotadig #genuinelyhappyfortheguy #toomanyhashtags ).

In lots of ways it’s been a refreshing chance to answer this question openly and most importantly, honestly.

At this time of the year I’m around the people that have known me for a long time and have known me across my multiple careers that have been the last 20 years of my life.

They look you in the eyes, they ask you questions, you give them honest answers.

When you are perceived to be a highly goal focussed individual, throwing around the answer of “I’m not sure” can instigate some interesting and colourful conversations, some of which have been highly entertaining.

The Girl From The Mountains

You see, this is how the story goes. You can take the girl out of the mountains, but you can’t take the mountains out of the girl.

It’s also the reason why every year for the past four, I’ve come ‘home’ to the mountains. The reason? Clarity, perspective and removing myself from the microcosm that can be the world that I have travelled in year in, year out for the better part of the past 10 years.

There’s something about humanly powering your way up the Southern Alps that gives you the feeling of being on top of the world and earning the views that you are rewarded with on the tops.

In the process, anything sitting on your subconscious that is nibbling away at you will come to the fore and trust me, you’re forced to face it front on…as well as potentially sweating from the eyeballs in the process.

So What Does This Actually Mean
It means lots of things. First and foremost it means living to the mantra of Running A Muck (yes – I, with the encouragement of a couple of others actually coined it a way of living).

Running A Muck
The last half of 2017 was truly hectic, so hectic that the term “Running A Muck” was coined and the “Runamuck” way of living became a thing. It became a daily phrase of conversation. We found laughter in the connotations it gave. It eloquently gave meaning to the situation I/we were living through.

Never be afraid to Runamuck..or dance on lava rocks in pink shoes

If I’m really honest, this Runamuck way of life has actually been a decade in the making but it’s only now that I’m brave enough to put a label on it, throw caution to the societal norms that I once would never have done for the fear of the backlash I may have received and embrace the French Art of Not Giving A F*** (it’s a published book title, therefore it’s ok to make reference given the appropriate nature of it’s meaning in this context).

But just like that first week of October 2017 when I ‘balls-ed’ up and asked the question if ‘we’ were ok with girls not being invited to the Red Bull Heavy Water event in San Francisco, I’ve once again found the courage to step up and to speak publicly about the need to do things differently.

This time last year I did what was close to un-thinkable, I had the courage to embark on an overseas campaign with no support other than the ‘village’ of friends who had my back, the tiniest shred of belief, an accidentally destroyed shoulder and the need to succeed when the game of life was dictating that I had to perform every time I stepped up to the plate.

It took a village and the village was there from near and afar. Thank you to the village.

To walk away with the outcomes that I did was representative of so much more than the world-beating ‘results’ seen by outsiders. It was about playing…and winning the game of life.

There were times when I was about to fly home. There were times when I was so mentally and emotionally broken that I’m still unsure of how I managed to pull myself together to produce some of the best performances of my life. But I did.

The Pacific Paddle Game and ISA World Champs Double Double…OMG – it actually happened.

I’m glad I played that round of the game of life, as few will ever be brave enough or create the opportunity to put themselves in those situations.
I saw the opportunities that others didn’t and I embraced all that I could learn from those experiences.

Irresponsibly Responsibly Adulting the Heck Out Of Life

Gladiator Running Skirts
Never be afraid to throw on the gladiator suit and adult the heck out of life if or when necessary

This my friends is how ‘Runamuck’ and Running-A-Muck came to life. The embracing of the chance to irresponsibly-responsibly-adult-the-heck-out-of-life. To embrace situations, to see a crises and to see opportunity it presented.

The chance to become a better version of myself by throwing myself into the situation, surviving and ‘experiencing’ for the sake of experiencing.

When things are out of your control

In the small little world that is the highest level of competitive Stand Up Paddling (yes – it’s actually a ‘thing’ for the uninitiated who are reading this), uncertainty has been rife, allegiances have been formed, alliances made and promise after promise laid on the table (and broken on many an occasion).

What goes unpublished and unspoken outside of the chinese whispers that do the rounds of WhatsApp and Messenger are the realities and truths in favour of the rose tinted glasses approach to pretending things are ok in the hope that they will be.

Quite frankly, things are not ok and #ipaddleforequality was testament to that.

But that is merely scratching the surface on the reality of what equality means (it goes so much further than the superficial nature of perceived equal prize money – but far deeper to the value of contracts, media and many other career enhancing opportunities).

The International Surfing Association (ISA) and the International Canoe Federation (ICF) are stuck in the Court of Arbitration for Sport mediated by the IOC as to who is allowed to ‘govern’ the sport of Stand Up Paddling otherwise known as SUP. Debates around the lengths of boards we race depending on if we are male or female and other contentious issues rage like a wild fire overshadowing the overbearing need for governance that has a view to the need for a strategic 5/10/15 year plan for is actually best for all disciplines and participants which sit under the banner of SUP as a sport at all levels.

If tandem paragliding can teach you one thing, it is to absolutely trust those that you fly with. Be careful who you choose to fly with….their actions always speak louder than words

We have continued to receive promises from various organisations and sporting leagues casting promises for a better future, but one cannot help but be a sceptic until we see the actual proof of these words with our own eyes in the months and years to come.

So Many Unknowns

Like a rapid, the only sure thing about life is that there will be unknowns. It’s about reading the signs of the water as you navigate the river that determine how well you’re going to exit rapid

As someone who likes to be in control of their destiny and have an idea of the road map of where they are going in life these points aforementioned equate to many unknowns and not a lot of road signs to plan and navigate by.

What to do?

The only thing I know – to take back the control..and throw caution to the wind.


It’s one of the great day walks of NZ, now visited by close to 50,000 people. It still scares the living be-jeepers out of me every time I get to the bottom with the goal of running it without stopping or walking. Anyone who has walked up Mt Roy will understand this. But sometimes you throw caution to the wind and simply believe the you are able and you knock the b*stard off in true Sir Edmund Hillary style without stopping.

in the spirit that was the back half of 2017, 2018 will be dedicated to the metaphoric notion of Running-A-Muck.

With so many unknowns, I will navigate by gut and follow the road signs of the heart.

I will throw caution to the wind, along with the notion of those that try to impose controls as to what or who they deem to be the ‘best’.

Why? Simple, I cannot control the actions of others and the potential impacts these may have upon my life and my career.

Once again, it’s going to take some balls to potentially step outside and away from the titles and affirmations of others that have defined my career to date, but it’s not just a chance I’m prepared to take, it’s one that I must make in order to break through personal boundaries to strive to become a better version of myself and what ever I take on.

If that’s irresponsibly responsibly adulting the heck out of like, then that is exactly what I will endeavour to do.

Not afraid to be afraid

They say that the grass on the other side of the fence can be greener. Sometimes you have to jump over the fence and taste the grass to truly know.

Am I afraid? Heck yes, but once again, therein lies the opportunity to grow and to see opportunities in the periphery that I may not have seen otherwise. It is also forcing me to deal with the high possibility and reality of failure(s) along the way but once again, it’s only through embracing the chance to fail that we might unlock our real and ultimate potential. I’ve already physically been to some very dark places in the last couple of months and I’m not going to’s highly uncomfortable with a real chance of failure served up every time.

Same thing = Same Result
If you continue to do the same thing, there is a high likelihood that you may reap the same result. That result may be the dream of others, but for someone who has crested that mountain on many occasion, same thing, same result can also mean the fear of comfort and complacency.

And complacency is a place that I choose not to live.

Where to from here?
A good question and as I opened, one that has been the subject of many an entertaining conversation on many a mission over the past few weeks.

My grown up response? There is a plan….it’s a plan with a high amount of adaptability. A plan underpinned by the feelings of the head and of the heart pulled together in a colour coded excel spreadsheet.
It’s a rather unorthodox approach to planning for someone who loves to plan and has every day of the year accounted for in a spread sheet.
It’s full of challenge, potentially scarily so. So scary that it’s definitely given me more than a few anxiety attacks in recent weeks.

Mostly there’s a plan – other times you just got put some skin in the game, put it all on the line and adapt accordingly.

To those that have chosen (or choose) to join me in my planned approach to irresponsibly responsibly running-a-muck at the game of life this year, thank you for believing in my spirit of putting it all on the line at times and pitting myself against the best and the best of mother nature.

Take the drop…Mother Nature wanted you to

What I do know is that it’s going to be one heck of a journey, we are going to create some epic memories, have some incredible stories to tell and by living to some old fashioned and rather strong morals and values be better humans for the experience.

This is about being raw, it’s about being real and it’s about embracing this opportunity to break through some new barriers and attempt to become a better human for doing so.

Here is to Running-A-Muck and the people that already make up the Runamuck Society – you absolutely know exactly who you are, and you do it oh-so-well.


For many years I’ve enjoyed the company of many Tahitian friends, spent many wonderful moments in the islands of Tahiti and shared many wonderful days paddling, surfing and watching the sun go down over the edges of the lagoon.

As a tribute to my new partnership with Air Tahiti Nui, I’ve gone through the archives and selected some of my favourite moments and memories from trips gone by.

If these are not enough of an excuse to visit Tahiti or fly the skies between New Zealand, Australia, Japan, Los Angeles and Paris with Air Tahiti Nui, I’m not sure what will.


Another weekend of DO EPIC SHIT

Two consecutive weekends, two consecutive crossings of the Pailolo Channel and 54 miles of racing from the islands of Maui to Molokai.

Two very different races, two very different conditions and one consistent result.

Self supported, aiming for the an outline in the distance these races are as much an exercise in skill and navigation as they are athletic prowess.

For those that are not from these shores, these channel crossings requiring a mix of navigation, surfing skills and fitness are where the real challenge lies.

Spot the odd one out. Bart de Zwart, Connor Baxter and Kody Kerbox – Maui boy’s I’ve been doing this paddling malarkey with since the very beginning.

As we formed the start line between the official boat and a buoy anchored in the water in the sheltered emerald waters of Honolua Bay on Maui’s western shores we could see the wind line forming in front of us.

It wasn’t this year’s start, but in lieu of having one from this weekend – here’s a look at  the the emerald waters of Honolulu Bay from above

Having been across this channel last weekend and had one of the best downwind runs in memory I was excited for another chance to surf my way from one island to another.

With two events crossing two weekends, many had opted to do the latter of the two. Those that had raced the previous weekend were the lucky ones, treated to an epic crossing and an equally epic welcoming party and hospitality on the other side.

With a big field and the Aussie invasion of Maui in full effect, the pace was on from the gun. It’s also where the fields split in these events – typically right from the gun as some choose to take a high line, others choosing to go more south to get into the bump sooner. One way or another, all roads lead to Rome and it’s crazy how after not seeing anyone for miles you all converge on the same place to finish.

If last weekend was a hero run, this week you had to work for it. The wind had a lot of north in it, the tidal variation was small and going against us which meant the water was really sticky.

The first 10 miles were great and then the hard stuff started. It was hot, it was sticky and the water was in a confused state. As the miles clicked over and we wrapped around the eastern side of Molokai the wind lined up, the swells stacked up and the bump started to run again. It was good but each time my watch beeped to say another mile had passed it was definitely running slower than the previous week.

Without doubt the hardest part of these races is the navigation. Picking your line and trying to pick the fastest line is the make or break when all other things are equal. Should you go a little further south, should you stay inside? It’s a hard question to answer when you have no idea if there are other people around as the swells are higher than a lot of houses so seeing a glimpse of anyone is nigh on impossible at times.

As the long rectangular roof of the wharf building at Kaunakakai Harbour came into view I hotted up my line to skip over the reef to the finish off the end of the pier. In so many sports you know if you won or not, but races like this, if you’ve been separated from your competition you really have no idea. If you can’t see anyone or haven’t seen anyone – you’re either a hero or a total flunk. As I crossed the line I was pleasantly surprised to be advised that my efforts had been enough to win, although I was fast debriefing on what I needed to do differently if I were to do it over again. As always it was less about the result and more about the outcomes to learn and gain from.

It’s not a lie that these events are somewhat of a logistical nightmare. Starting and finishing on different islands brings it’s own unique set of challenges. You need to have a boat ride back to the start for both you and your board, you’ll get dropped at the wharf which is about 20minutes from where you started, so you needed have thought through how you’re going to shuttle cars. Anything you want at the finish (which needs to be minimal) needs to be on a dry bag and paddled out to a boat before the start.

In many ways, this jigsaw puzzle of logistics and organisation is half the fun and twice the appeal. If it were easy everyone would do it right?

So there we have it. Two weekends, two crossings of the Pailolo Channel, two wins, but two very different races.

Battling the side chop across the reef on the hot line to the finish

And if you’re wondering why there’s been two races from Maui to Molokai in two weeks, I’ll give you the short hand version. The organisers of the two events used to work together to produce one event. There was a falling out and one event is now run by Molokai and one event is now run from the Maui side. Regardless of who’s running what, the athletes and paddlers are the winners. The Pailolo Channel is possibly the best downwind channel crossing in the world period. And now there’s two races in two consecutive weekends. I’d say that’s a winner straight out of the gate.

You can read about this year’s Maui2Molokai event in the Maui News here and on here


3G3B6993Two days, 37 miles of racing. It sounds a lot doesn’t it?

Add deep blue Hawaiian waters, warmth and 20 knots of trade winds blowing from behind.

Yes, it’s officially downwind season in Hawaii, the trade winds are blowing and one huge month of downwind racing kicked off with the M2Molokai Challenge this past weekend.

Two days of racing, one channel crossing and one of the all time classic downwind runs in Hawaii.

July normally sees one crossing of the Pailolo Channel that runs between the west side of Maui and the east side of Molokai. It’s known as the best downwind run in the Hawaiian chain and this month we get two cracks at this all time classic crossing.

Channel crossings are synonymous with all paddle sports in the Pacific. From Tahiti to Hawaii, people have been crossing oceans and channels harnessing the power of the trades and riding their swells to get from one place to another.

Zane Schweitzer foils the Pailolo Channel skimming over the tops of the swells with paddlers in the background

Navigation on these channel crossings is as big a part as downwind surfing skills, preparation and fitness. I’ve done this run once before and while it’s an epic run, due to the lay of the land it’s easy to get somewhat disoriented and easily end up off course.

Add in coming to grips with 18′ of board, self supporting yourself across (with no escort boat) and navigating your own line, it’s a true test of the downwind athlete.

The real story of the M2Molokai Challenge didn’t lie in the hosting of an all time epic channel crossing, but the chance to truly experience just what it means to spend a weekend on Molokai. 3G3B7293

In what was likely one of the most memorable greetings in recent times, I crossed the finish line, paddled over to the wharf to be greeted by the young girls of the local canoe club jumping off the wharf and into the water to greet me. From that point, only one thing was appropriate – jumping off the dock hand in hand.


But the action was not contained to one day. M2Molokai was staged as a two day event to give people the opportunity to paddle their world famous Kamalo Bouy run, one of the most perfectly lined up downwind runs anywhere in the world and 10 miles of surfing down the eastern coast of Molokai.

Sure it’s a race, but weekends like this (and downwind season in general) are about so much more than the result. It’s about the sharing of experiences. It’s about getting back to the roots of why you do things and sharing it with others.

It brings together a bunch of people that may otherwise never meet, to experience places they may never visit. For many, it’s the culmination of months of preparation and the realisation of a long held dream. It’s a special bond and one that is shared by many.

With weekend 1 in the bag, we now look forward to the next three consecutive weekends  of downwind racing with another crossing of the Pailolo Channel in the Maui 2 Molokai Race , the Poi Bowl (down Maui’s infamous Maliko Run) all culminating in Molokai 2 Oahu across the Kaiwi Channel between the island of Molokai and Oahu.


This month everyone has their own journey. Many people will have travelled from all over the world. Months of preparation, sacrifice and dedication have gone in prior to making it to Hawaii. It’s a month that will humble you to the core. It’s a month of respect for the elements, the ocean, all your competition and all the athletes who have embarked on this undertaking.

You can find all the photos, videos and happenings of the M2Molokai Challenge here

You can follow the day to day happenings downwind month on my Instagram

“Be good….or be good at it”

At the risk of sounding cliche, there’s something about hitting the mid point in the year.

Wind the clock back six months and I was in a state of confusion and frustration.

The only thing I committed to was to live by the mantra of ‘Do Epic Shit’.

It’s been six months of rolling with the punches, diving into the unknown, embracing challenge, finding solutions and hustling like no tomorrow.

I took the leap of faith to go it alone, to live to my own set of rules – a stoically entrenched set of values that I knew I couldn’t deviate from.

If I was to continue to put my heart and body on the line, I had to be ALL IN. I had to back myself as how could I expect anyone else to have confidence in me if I didn’t have confidence in myself.

As today marks my kiwi birthday, the 4th of July celebrations in the United States and poignantly sits just after the mid point in the year, it’s fitting to cast a look back to see how taking the leap of faith and throwing myself in the deep end has paid off.

It’s challenged my like you have no idea. I’ve destroyed a shoulder, broken some ribs and had to suck it up. Like a bugger for punishment I decided to race my bike and throw my self into multisport as well as racing on the water. At the same time I’ve been neck deep in building a house at home and managing that from afar.

There have been more than a few moments of holy shit and hesitation. That feeling of having a lump in your throat wondering if you’re making the right decision to do or not to do. It’s pushed me, it’s challenged me and I’ve found a few new boundaries in the process that I didn’t know I had.

As America celebrates it’s birthday of independence on July 4th, it also signifies my kiwi birthday falling on the other side of the date line.

Ever guilty of being focussed on the future at the expense of celebrating the small things along the way, here’s a few moments and memories to celebrate one fine day in America and reaching another year older. Here’s a few of the many moments that have made 2017 a year that I know I’ll never forget

Big days out in the hills running the dates with mates programme

3 Weeks Notice Before 2 Days of Hell around the mountains of Wanaka, NZ at Red Bull Defiance


7x Consecutive NZ National SUP Titles – and a cyclone to boot

Did someone say #raceface? Any excuse to chew some dirt and throw some dust


5x Consecutive Carolina Cup Victories


The year of events in extreme weather continued with the added bonus of a win at the Olukai on Maui

Last minute trips to paddle 30 miles around Bermuda and another win over the boys

The infamous Davenport Downwinder & a victory over the boys

A first trip to the Go Pro Mountain Games in Vail, Co. 11x events, 4 days, 2nd in the Ultimate Mountain Challenge and being sent to some very dark places on repeat to find some new depths that I didn’t know existed

A chance to celebrate everything that is Live Like Jay at the Jay Moriarty Memorial Race in Santa Cruz, Ca with the one and only Kim Moriarty

While the first half of 2017 may be in the bag, there’s a monster of a second half of 2017 to contend with.

The month of July sees me in Maui, HI taking on four consecutive weekends of downwind races including three channel crossings culminating in Molokai 2 Oahu on July 30.

Looking ahead to September I have finally (for the first time in 5 years) said yes to taking up my position on the NZ SUP team to compete in the ISA SUP & Prone World Champs in Denmark from September 1-10. After turning down my place on the team in previous years for various different reasons, this year I have said yes.  Like the rest of my year, this is also a self funded trip. If anyone would like to support in any kind of way, please get in touch. 

To everyone who has supported, helped and assisted so far – THANK YOU. It takes a VILLAGE and it’s a village I’m proud to have behind me.

Here’s to the Doing of Epic Shit.