‘Was this it?’ Bonnie Hancock reveals the moment cold, pain and fear almost ended her record-breaking round-Australia feat
‘I heard the sickening thud as it hit me’. Record-breaker Bonnie Hancock recounts a near-death experience – one of many – during her epic solo voyage around Australia on a surf ski.
Books
Don't miss out on the headlines from Books. Followed categories will be added to My News.
Over a gruelling 254 days, ironwoman BONNIE HANCOK paddled 12700km around Australia, breaking records while dodging sharks, crocodiles and killer waves. This exclusive extract from her new account of the 2022 voyage, The Girl Who Touched The Stars, illustrates just one of the many dangers and poses the question: why?
I could hear the crew shouting at me. Their calls came ringing through the night air.
‘Bonnie, say something! Do you need us to jump in?’
My lips formed the words that would guarantee my safety but just a whisper came out.
‘Help!’ I murmured hoarsely. ‘I can’t get back in the ski.’
Just a week ago, it had all seemed like such an exciting adventure. And now here I was – cold, unable to call for help and floating in the dark waters of the Great Australian Bight. The 1200-kilometre stretch of water that runs along Australia’s base is notorious, with sailors considering it testing at best. And at worst, the Bight is treacherous, unpredictable and even fatal.
The difference between my crossing and that of well-equipped sailors is that instead of a multi-tonne boat beneath me, I was making the crossing with just nine kilograms of floating carbon fibre between me and the precarious ocean.
If successful, I would be the first person in history to cross the Great Australian Bight by paddle. This was just one part of an even bigger goal – to be the fifth person in history, as well as the youngest and the fastest, to circumnavigate mainland Australia by paddle. This challenge was expected to take me at least eight months.
But all of that faded into insignificance, as I floated in the freezing waters, barely able to call for help. I just wanted to be home.
As I desperately tried to climb back into the ski, I could see my support crew working overtime to turn the boat back around, the wind and swell pushing the vessel further away, at first 20 metres, then 50 metres and now 200 metres. The 10-tonne catamaran was built to ride the swells, and the strength of mother nature was on full display as she continued to extend the distance between me and my sole source of support. I had no GPS beacon on me. Without my support boat, I would perish.
In the bitingly cold nine-degree water, my body was rapidly losing energy and I no longer had the strength to perform the chin-up style movement required to safely remount my ski.
As I tried yet again to haul myself up, a huge gust of wind ripped across the water and flipped the ski, driving the hard edge into the top of my head. I heard the sickening thud as it landed, and my body reeled with pain after the initial shock wore off.
Every day for three months I’d put myself into life-threatening situations – encountering sharks, swells high as buildings, sharp rocks and cliff faces, near run-ins with my support boat, and seasickness so severe it had left me doubled over for most of the day, unable to stop the vomiting.
Was this it?
A strange sense of calm overtook me.
Realising the helplessness of the situation, the urgency I’d felt was now replaced by a sense of acceptance.
Lying back in the water, I caught sight of the most beautiful night sky I’d ever seen.
There was not a hint of light pollution, just the full moon providing an illuminating glow. The stars appeared like handfuls of glitter thrown at a black silk sheet. Overwhelmed with awe, I considered the power of nature and how small we really are in the grand scheme of creation.
My focus shifted to what was beneath the surface of the water, where I observed a blue light radiating from my feet. Other than the burning balls of glittering stars above, the only light source should have been the tiny LED light on the back of my ski, but I accepted this new discovery without question.
A feeling of warmth had started to overtake my body. Starting from my chest and spreading to my extremities, the feeling wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was almost soothing. No longer able to hold onto the ski and slowly growing weaker, I looked back to the Southern Cross constellation shining brightly above me.
Suddenly, a second gust of wind lifted the ski high out of the water, driving it back down into my cheekbone, this time creating a significant cracking sound.
Lifting a hand to check for blood, I prayed the impact hadn’t broken my skin. Sharks are attracted to blood, and out here in the middle of the ocean at night, I was a sitting duck.
There was no blood but an immediate lump had formed at the spot I’d been hit.
The sensation of warmth continued to increase, as did the pins and needles in my toes and fingers. I found myself again appreciating the beauty of the night sky from my position, half submerged in the black water.
A searing pain shot up my cheek as the shock from the impact wore off, and I snapped back to reality, realising the immediate danger I was in. What was I doing, floating on my back in the middle of Australia’s most dangerous stretch of ocean?
Lying there, 500 kilometres out to sea, letting my body temperature drop, was the worst thing I could do. Remaining stationary was the enemy. I needed to keep moving.
No longer possessing the strength to pull myself to my ski, I knew I needed to resort to the final option.
Swim.
My legs were barely able to muster the strength to generate a kick, so I desperately started to doggy paddle in the direction of the boat. The crew had managed to turn around and my support vessel was now less than 100 metres away.
The safety line was still clipped to my waist and the ski dragged behind me, creating significant resistance as I pulled it along. I struggled to keep my head above the dark water.
Eventually I was close enough to make out the calls from the crew once again. As the boat manoeuvred backwards to pick me up, I could hear shouts of encouragement over the sounds of the motor. They were willing me to keep going. Just a few more strokes.
Edging painfully closer, I clawed my way towards the red port-side light of the boat, which cast an eerie glow over the water’s surface.
Finally close enough, I summoned one last surge of effort to lunge at the boat. The first figure I made out was Blake. Backlit by the deck lights, he appeared to me like a guardian angel. As he reached down and hauled me up onto the back step to safety, my limp body acted as a dead weight, my muscles unable to offer any assistance.
Shaking uncontrollably, I managed to crawl up the back steps, still unable to speak.
My hands were purple hands and my teeth chattering as the first bucket of hot water was poured over my head. By now my body was so numb that I didn’t yet register the water’s warmth.
The second bucket offered the first bit of relief and with it hope that maybe I was going to be okay. The space blanket from the previously untouched first-aid cupboard felt like a cocoon, shielding me from the relentless elements.
I became aware of a hairdryer starting and felt its warm blast streaming over my chest. As it warmed me, I was overwhelmed by gratitude for my crew. In this moment, they were my life savers. Without them, I was done. I didn’t have the strength to provide my body with the first aid that would bring my temperature back up to a safe level.
Onboard the boat, silence hung in the air, heavy as my body now felt. No one was willing to voice what we all were thinking. We were 500 kilometres out to sea, a few days away from help at a full motor. A long way out of helicopter range.
We found out later that it takes 12 minutes of submersion in the Great Australian Bight to become hypothermic.
I had been in the water for ten.
I also learnt that a feeling of warmth and tingling in the extremities is one of the first stages of hypothermia. As for the blue light? I was most likely concussed.
It was day eight of our perilous 15-day Bight crossing. We were only just past half of the way across, with 450 kilometres still to paddle. I know what you’re thinking – how did I get myself into such dangerous situation? What possesses someone to paddle 500 kilometres out to sea, in the dark, on a tiny surf ski? This book is my chance to tell you.
This is an edited extract from The Girl Who Touched The Stars by Bonnie Hancock. It will be published by HarperCollins on January 31.
Star’s voice heard for first time in years
John Farnham is ready to let the world hear his voice, more than two years after undergoing gruelling surgery to remove a tumour in his mouth.
‘What happened? Who is guilty?’
Four girls disappear from a school camp and a male teacher goes after them. The girls return – but the man does not. Wouldn’t you be asking hard questions, writes Nikki Gemmell.