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.
“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.


Defying the Odds

Multisport events are quintessential to the gritty fabric of  South Island, New Zealand sporting history. A way of interacting with the landscape and traversing however possible via human powered craft.

No rhyme or reason, rather the landscape dictating what you are going to do.

With iconic events such as the Coast 2 Coast which became the breeding ground for some of the the world’s most well known multi-discipline endurance athletes. The modern evolution of the sport has brought ideas, creative minds, pioneering spirit and the ability to open up new terrain bringing a new breed of Multi-sport events to pit people against the elements.

Coming from one of the nerve centres of multi-sport, Wanaka is home to a breed of uber endurance athletes who hone their crafts in the surrounding mountains of the Southern Alps and waters of the Southern Lakes. They say you become a product of your environment and that is exactly what these physically honed species are.

When considering one of these multi-day multi-sport events, it would be wise to consider the depth of what you are getting yourself into.

When a message arrived 3 weeks ago to see if I could step in to cover for an injured team mate, there as a question of ‘why the heck not?’. With no good reason other than no specific preparation and having never met my potential team mate it was head first into the abyss of Red Bull Defiance, the two day, 8 stage, 142km journey of up and down mountains (5,000m of vertical gain), across lakes and down rivers by mountain bike, foot and kayak.

Held in the latter part of January, Central Otago is usually burnt to a crisp having baked in the searing summer sun, but this summer has seen as much snow as winter, plenty of rain and a less than ideal amount of heat.

With the menacing presence of two massive low pressure systems the forecast was far from ideal.

Add to that your first true foray into multisport and having never met your team mate – I was leaping head first into the deep end.

Logistics, gear, hydration, nutrition, planning, planning and more planning. Thursday saw multiple trips to hardware stores, my bike mechanic, friend’s gear sheds, the vet clinic and the local outfitter’s – each time bumping into mildly familiar faces all scurrying around checking boxes on job lists.

(It might be worthy to mention at this point that I spent most of last week chewing tramadol for an untimely bout of something not-so-nice and my mind was churning with ‘as long as I make it to the start line I’ll be fine as this weekend can’t be nearly as rough as the pain of the past few days’……)

With bikes racked, transition bags packed (multiple), compulsory items loaded into back packs, forecasts checked and race kits chosen appropriately the reality was fast setting on what the reality of what was about to be undertaken.

I spend a good amount of time running and riding around the hills when I’m home – it’s the yin to the yan of the rest of my year but racing around these hills non-stop for two days is a whole other story.


As the chopper pilot made some scarily close passes at the Minaret Staton barge transporting us to the start of the first stage of Day 1 it set the tone for what we were in for. A roller coaster of emotions and a fair amount of seeing cross eyed while teetering on the rivet of control versus losing it….the consequences of losing it on a course like this major and potentially fatal.


Having consulted with my teammate Sam about our approach to the race, I knew that the pace would be hot and hasty off the line for the first mountain bike stage 56km of Minaret Station traversing the remote and unaccessible western shores of Lake Wanaka on a mixture of farm track, stock track and walking track and I knew that if you burnt your legs in the first 10km attempting to keep on the front train of the best men’s elite teams, it would more than hurt you as the weekend rolled on.


But sure enough, the pace unrelenting through the first undulating kilometres and I was wondering if this hectic pace could realistically be kept by all around me. Sure enough, the first real climbs saw the macho start to splinter and might I say that one of the most satisfying things to do is to simply be able to ride past guys hiking their bikes up hill. Very quickly it was becoming apparent that this was not just a weekend jaunt on the trails but a savage exercise in masochistic outdoor pursuits.


The climbs were pinching and relentless, the creeks frigid, the bogs…ankle deep in sodden mud trying to suck your shoes off and the descents – sketchy at the best times as the front wheel and obliterated AC joint of a couple of competitors will attest to.



Coming into transition I knew we’d put ourselves in a decent position but like everything to do with this event, you never quite know what is lurking around the corner. Sure enough we hit the climb of run and the marshal points left to the top of the hill. This ain’t a run….it’s a scramble up a near vertical slope covered in braken, fern and rock. Make your way across the first plateau, up the next climb, clip into a harness and send it via rappel. This is not your average ‘trail run’. Scamper through some dodgy rocky outcrops and then chew your way through a few boggy cattle fields, hop a few fences and pop out at the transition ready to paddle 20km back to town.


The weather gods shone down on us for Day 1 (the easier of the two days) and as we re-packed transition bags for Day 2 the next front started to hit.

Arriving early swaddled in rain capes and gumboots, not a soul was to be seen 30 mins prior to the start ensuing in a mad dash of people, packs & paddling gear as all 65 teams set off from the Lake front at 6.30am to ring in Day 2.

Red Bull Defiance in Wanaka, NZ on January 22nd, 2017
Red Bull Defiance in Wanaka, NZ on January 22nd, 2017

The normally epically scenic journey around the lake to the outlet and down the Clutha River turned into an upwind battle as everyone began to string out into a draft train seeking shelter from the oppressive Nor Westerly coming down the lake.


Many twists and turns later and my bet to wear wetsuit booties for the run up the hill to the claybird shoot paid dividends as those around us sloshed and slipped in the mud.

I’m not quite sure what happened in the shooting department as I’m quite sure the bird I shot at shattered…cue a minute to relax before we were allowed on our way.

As I knew would be the case, Day 2 was going to be a day of attrition due to the course and to the weather. Like any event with transitions from one activity to another speed is of the essence, but taking a few moments to throw on the exact layers we’d need up the top of the Criffel Range would prove to be money-in-the-bank.


I had ridden up the descent of this ride last summer after which we affectionately called it the Little Bastard rather than Little Criffel. It would be fair to say that the ascent across the Criffel Station should be referred to as Little Bastard II. Right from the very bottom, the gradients were unforgiving and relentless, the surface a challenge in remaining back wheel traction as well as front wheel contact.

As we started to ascend the first pinch to make our way to the bottom of the real climb to the top of the Criffel Range the first victims of the day were starting to be strewn along the climb. Hiking a bike now would prove to be an extremely long day of pushing sh*t uphill.


But these events are not so much about competition but about completion. Debriefing at the end of Day 1 Sam and I had agreed to attach another towline to my bike should we need it as a matter of self & team preservation to make it to the finish. Teams racing really does add a totally different dynamic to your approach, your thinking, your planning and your execution. Given the magnitude of the weather forecast and that Sam had suffered crippling cramps at the start of the run on Day 1 this was about getting to the finish in as good a shape as possible and doing what ever it took to make that happen.

Having spent a decent amount of time chasing some of the fast kids in this race around and hearing some of their stories of what happens when they jump on planes to do adventure stage racing in China, I was fully aware of the ‘you never know when you’re going to be the one needing help’ and it’s about making sure you all get to the finish as a team. Having been in a few situations where I’ve seen the the strongest guys ‘go down’, it’s not about brute and brawn, it’s about being honest to your team mates and asking for help when you need it. There’s been a few occasions on missions amongst friends when I’ve had to raise the white flag to ask to help and after the week I’d had prior chewing tramadol and perfecting the foetal position, I was hoping like hell it wasn’t going to be me needing to raise the white flag for help.

I’d pulled through Day 1 well and felt like I had plenty in the tank to tackle the two mountains that were between us and the finish. We hooked the tow line over Sam’s stem and I was on a one track mind of firstly maintaining traction in the mud and secondly about passing everyone we could see in front of us.

With the exception of a major near-miss accident involving the only descent on the climb, thigh high overgrown grass, a water table and a corner which sent me ass over end landing on my head in the water table I was back on my bike before Sam knew what had happened with the sole instructions of “AHHH that wasn’t good, I heard a crack in my neck, I landed on my head, my handle bars aren’t straight but screw it – keep riding, I’ll fix the bars if or when we have to hike”. It was an awakening to the seriousness of the conditions and attempting to operate some kind of control while soaked to the bone in temperatures that continued to drop as we gained altitude.


As we climbed with the contours of the ridge, the gradient was relentless and the terrain unforgiving. Slowly but surely gaining on each team we found in front of us we, this was a game of the tortoise and the hare.

Meeting the cloud layer, the temp starting to drop like a stone and we came across team after team stopping in to attempt to put on additional layers. My bet to bust out my winter riding jacket and knee warmers was starting to come in mighty handy.

The farm land had given way to tussock which gave way to a rocky saddle full of shale and single track not much wider than the width of your tire. Fingers were frozen, feet felt like bones in your shoes and concentration was a combo of sweat filled eyes going cross eyed under the exertion and the conditions. One thing was for sure, you didn’t want to stop and you didn’t want to fall.

The descent was sketchy at best busting our way down the to the valley floor dodging stray rocks, busting through matagouri bushes and ass sliding down muddy fence lines to the the raging torrent of a muddy Cardrona River in full flood.

But the real test was yet to come. Shoes off, socks off, tops off, fresh gear on, running shoes on and we made it through transition thankful for the cheers of support from familiar faces that greeted us and sent us on our merry way with the welcome news that the run course had been shortened to the 17km ‘short course’ due to the 30cm of snow that was now resting on the tops.

Making our way through the boggy paddocks we did our best to make gains while we could as we knew the stream of teams we’d passed on the ascent would likely be hunting us down. Not that we were worried, but the quicker we made it up, the quicker we made it to the finish.

I’d had the heads up that this was more of a power hike than a run and as we turned corners, my eyes scanned the skyline and my mind went ‘holy sh*tballs that’s steep…’.

I’d made a solid attempt to keep the chat rolling all the way up as we leant over our poles and trudged up the hill but 80% of the way up I could feel the expenditure of the past two days starting to catch up. Now it was a matter of survival in the cold and I smashed two gels in quick succession (having not used them all weekend) waiting and hoping for the kick to be enough to get me to the end.

Over the tops and the brunt of the weather was in full force. Slipping and sliding through the snowy path the first half of the descent was a scramble down a ridge line before hitting a 4WD track. Two years ago there’s no way I would have even contemplated walking down something like this, let alone embarking on a two day multisport race with 42km of running on a knee that has had 9x surgeries, multiple blowouts and a sizeable amount of regenerative therapy in the hopes of regrowing it. It’s 90% good – but that scramble down the mountain was pitching it at it’s limit. Once upon a time I would have been able to scamper down that kind of slope like a mountain goat….but hey, we’ve always got to have something to aim for and a reason to do rehab eh?!

Just your average summer’s day out or a run in the hills


Descending through the clouds, the view of the finish line was coming into view. Just across the road, down the road and around the track….but don’t underestimate just how hard those last few kilometres are at the end of 14 odd hours of racing.

Red Bull Defiance in Wanaka, NZ on January 22nd, 2017

I had steady (which was probably ‘easy’ on a recovery day) but I didn’t have much more to give by that point. Maybe the towing on the bike was catching up with me, possibly the 3 week preparation. We took the chance to shed some layers while on the move and managed to pass another team of guys in front of us.

I don’t think that run around the lake has ever seemed to take so long as it did on Sunday but the clouds had parted, the lake was calm and the rain had stopped by the time we made it along the beach and through the finish arches.

Red Bull Defiance was done. We were still standing, in one piece and we’d made it.

Standing in the lake in an attempt to make the recovery on our legs a little easier, I don’t think a can of Red Bull ever tasted so good.

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Red Bull Defiance '17 is in the books! Totally stoked I got a late opportunity to be a part of the action and just roll-with-the-punches. Our goal was to make it from the start to the finish and that we did with smiles to burn and 5th in the elite mixed event. This event is no joke, no walk in the park. It's rough, it's tough, it's grit…..they call it Defiance for a reason. You're only as good as your team mate and it's about getting each other to the finish. It's a 180 from racing by yourself and it's an experience you learn so much from. Multi sport is a different beast as is racing in the mtns and dealing other the mother of all weather bombs. It's character building at it best. Special mentions must go to mum for support crew extraordinaire, @bettydesigns for epic kit that did the job all weekend long @sweetcheeksnz for making sure nothing rubbed in the wrong places @mopscycle for the cheap chats in transition that kept the mood where it should be @graememurraynz for always being there to capture "the moment" and @redbullnz for getting behind a ripper event in a rad little place I call home @lakewanakanz #redbulldefiance #timetoeat #mightbereadyfor2017now

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To be able to race around the hills of home, battle the elements, overcome the physical limitations of some mega injuries of my past and feel relatively good was a pleasant surprise. There was a whole lot of steady as well as plenty of time spent on the rivet.

If I was to balls up and have another crack, I know what I’d do – and we’d joked most of the way around that this was the ‘ultimate course recce’. But I was more than happy to get from the start to the finish in solid shape merely on the ‘summer fun stuff’ I do when I’m home.

Like many of these more ‘extreme’ events, with a bit of dedication and discipline you’ll be able to make it – if you’re in the off-the-couch category, it might be a bit more of a 3 year journey to the start line.

And I’m not going to lie – you’re going to have to come face to face with some situations and inner reflections either during training or during the event….and deal with them.

It was clear that it wasn’t just the course that was the biggest challenge, it was dealing with the weather. The mountains are a different beast and there is no way anyone would have bet on there being 30cm of snow dumped along the tops. And those that don’t spend  a great deal of time in the hills paid the price.

I’d decided that it was going to be a weekend of mental resilience and having come out the other end, I’m pretty sure I was on the money.

If you’re mad enough for a crack and fancy a couple of days of masochist sight seeing in paradise, then sign up. But be warned, you’ll be mesmerised by the experience and left wanting to come back for more.

….just do a little more than 3 weeks preparation and you’ll be sweet as mate. In fact I think I could write a pretty killer training program having dissected most critical elements on the way around as a way of keeping us entertained.

If you want to know what you might look like after being savaged by the hills and weather of Wanaka this might give you an indication of what you’re in for

Might see ya on the start line in 2018 (give or take…..)

Now is likely a good time to give thanks where it is due:

To Mum & Sam’s partner Lydia for picking up our mess and making sure we had hot food & dry clothes as soon as we finished (never underestimate the value of your support crew and shower them in praise…and possibly gifts/bribes). Lifesavers….

Check out the action from the 2017 Edition here