My Big Scary River Swim

Some swims excite me. Some challenge me. This one scared the hell out of me.

In February 2023, I became the first person to swim the full length of the Maroochy River — roughly 27 kilometres, from its upper reaches down to the mouth. Murky water. Strong tidal flow. Bull shark territory. A narrow window dictated entirely by the tide.

There was no margin for error.

But the real story didn’t start that morning.

It started back in June 2022, over cocktails and dinner at sunset, sitting at the mouth of that very river.

It was Jason’s 50th birthday. The light was perfect. The river was glowing. At some point Jason casually dropped a thought that stuck.

“I don't think anyone has ever swum the length of the Maroochy”

Before I could deflect, Sam jumped in.“You should do it.”

I couldn’t think of anything worse.

The Maroochy River begins somewhere beyond the cane fields. The water is dark and unreadable. Bull sharks are well-known residents. The current runs hard, meaning you either get the timing right — or you don’t finish at all.

And yet… this wasn’t the first time Jason and Sam had dared me into something I didn’t want to do. In 2021, they were the reason I swam from Caloundra to Noosa — the entire length of the Sunshine Coast — over two days.

So for the rest of that night, the idea refused to leave me alone.

Years earlier, after completing the 10-in-10 swim in 2018 — the moment that quietly started all of this — I’d made myself a promise: Each year, I would choose one solo ultra-endurance challenge that was harder, more uncomfortable, and a little scarier than the last.

This one qualified.

Why We Do Hard Things

By February 2023, life was already tender. I’d just come out of what I considered a serious relationship and was licking my wounds. Not broken — but raw. I’ve learned that these moments are often when hard, honest challenges do their best work.

So I started planning.

Google Maps to find a start point and route. Tide charts to understand the current. Calculations around pace. I worked out I’d need to swim against the tide for the first 60–90 minutes just to earn a clean run home — and then swim faster than I ever had before to beat the change.

Time would be the biggest threat.

And this time, I wanted to share the finish.

The People Who Matter

My swims are personal. They’re solo endurance tests — internal conversations that happen far from view. Their origins go back to April 2018, lying in a hospital bed and wanting to find a way to spread something good outward into the community.

But for this swim, I wanted others involved.

People I admire deeply — not because of perceived challenges, but because of how they choose to live.

So the plan was simple and terrifying: I would swim hard enough to reach Oyster Bank Road with time to spare, where Kerry-Lee, her husband Paul, and Wayne would join me for the final kilometres to the finish.

That meant there was absolutely no room to be late.

Launching Into the Unknown

The morning began at Cotton Tree, talking with ABC Radio on the dock before heading upriver in Jason’s tinny. My son Baylin was with us, paddling beside me for the day.

Baylin had his school formal the night before. He went to the after-party. Slept maybe two hours. Still showed up.

That mattered more than he knows.

Recent rain had left the river swollen and messy — logs, debris, fish scattering in front of the boat. We crept carefully toward the start, knowing rocks sat hidden beneath the surface.

We stopped with the M1 visible just 150 metres away — as far as we could safely go.

I climbed out, stumbling through waist-deep water.

And then I swam.

Heat, Darkness, and the Clock

The first thing I noticed was the heat.

No wetsuit — my first long ultra swim without one. The water was thick, warm, and brown. I couldn’t see past my elbows. Every few strokes I’d dive down just to feel cooler water below the surface.

The current gradually increased. Manageable — but relentless.

And then there was the mental noise.

When you can’t see, imagination fills in the gaps. Shapes. Shadows. The sense of something behind you. You don’t make fear disappear — you let it become background static and keep moving.

But more than sharks, I was racing the clock.

I was swimming hard — harder than I ever had in an ocean swim — yet I knew I was still behind the ideal schedule.

When the Plan Falls Apart

Approaching a wide bend in the river, we made a call to cut the corner. On the surface, it looked deep enough.

It wasn’t.

The tinny ran aground in thick, sucking mud.

Suddenly, the swim stopped being theoretical.

I got out and started hauling the boat. Knee-deep. Then deeper. Every step sinking, dragging, burning precious time. Jason and I walked the tinny through several hundred metres of shallow mud bank, completely exposed, watching minutes disappear.

There was no choice.

Kerry-Lee, Paul and Wayne jumped in and started swimming without me.

I could see them — about 800 metres away — moving steadily downstream while I was still knee-deep in mud, hauling a boat that refused to float.

When we finally reached deeper water, I dove back in and swam straight past Oyster Bank Road — straight past my parents who were waiting there — because stopping wasn’t an option anymore.

The only thing that mattered was catching them.

I finally did at Chambers Island.

Together, we turned for home.

Why These Three Matter

And this is where the swim became something else entirely.

Kerry-Lee was born without arms. Since I’ve known her, she’s completed solo Island Charity Swims and, more recently, became the first classified disabled swimmer to complete a 20km lap of Great Keppel Island — a Guinness World Record.

Paul, her husband, is a dual Paralympian of the pool. Born with spina bifida. These days, he swims the ocean for pure joy.

Wayne and I met at my local pool. He’d arrive in his wheelchair and quietly swim his laps. I badgered him about the Island Charity Swim until he finally said yes. He jumped in with a team and stayed in. Wayne is a partial quadriplegic — and tackled this river swim with enthusiasm, despite constant talk of bull sharks.

I don’t admire these three because of their conditions. I admire them because of their choices.

They show up. They say yes. They live with enthusiasm, joy, and integrity — unbound by self-imposed limitations.

That’s what inspires me.

The Finish

The final 3 kilometres were everything I’d hoped for.

The tide carried us home. People called out from their high-rise balconies.

A growing crowd lined the riverbanks. Kids and families from the special schools waited at the finish.

Smiles. Cheers. Connection.

This is just what these three do. They say yes — every day.

And maybe that’s the quiet invitation here.

We don’t all need to swim rivers. But we can move. We can choose discomfort. We can do something for others.

Together, we can lift the community — and ourselves — a little higher.

Sometimes, the scariest water is exactly where we’re meant to be.

Big thanks to my boaties, Jason B(1), Jason B(2) and Jason O'P! And Baylin for the awesome paddling all day on zero sleep.

My Big Scary River Swim Finish