WHY.
I've never been very good at fitting into the world other people expected me to live in. For a long time, I couldn't understand why I experienced the world so differently. It wasn't until I found myself in the outdoors that I realised I didn't need to fit someone else's mould, I just needed to create my own.
Out there, everything made sense. Nature didn't care what grades I got, what job I had, or whether I lived up to someone else's expectations. It challenged me, humbled me, rewarded me, and little by little, I became of my own liking.
The truth is, I can't not do this.
I'm driven by curiosity. I need to explore, build, create, challenge myself, and keep moving forward. It's where I feel most alive. Every expedition, every project, every story is another opportunity to learn something new, share it with others, and leave things a little better than I found them.
BEFORE WILDBOY
By the time I was nineteen, my life was heading in a direction I knew wasn't going to end well. I was smoking, drinking, taking drugs, street racing, and living without much thought for where any of it was leading. I wasn't chasing excitement—I was trying to outrun a life I didn't know how to live.
I was ready to give up. I couldn't see a future I wanted, and I certainly couldn't see the person I was capable of becoming. Then something shifted.
I realised I had two choices: keep walking the road I was on, or take one step into the unknown and see if there was another way. So I packed a bag, stepped onto the coastline of New Zealand, and started walking. At the time, I thought I was escaping my life, but looking back, I realise I was walking towards it.
COMING HOME.
I thought finishing the coastline would answer all of my questions. Instead, it left me with more than ever.
Coming home was harder than I ever imagined. After 600 days of waking up every morning with a purpose, I suddenly found myself trying to fit back into a world that no longer felt familiar.
On paper, everything was going right. I wrote my first book and called it Wildboy. I raised over $32,000 for Ronald McDonald House, received the Kiwibank Local Hero Award, was named runner-up for New Zealander of the Year, and found myself in newspapers and on television across the country.
To everyone else, it looked like I'd made it. Inside, I was completely lost.
People saw Wildboy. I still saw the same wounded young man I'd been trying to escape. I didn't know where I belonged anymore. The coastline had become home, and now it was gone. I no longer had a reason to wake up every morning. The purpose that had carried me for 600 days had disappeared overnight.
I thought reaching the finish line would change everything. Instead, I found myself asking the same question I'd asked before I ever took that first step.
Now what?
COMING HOME AGAIN.
Life looked very different after Stewart Island. Wildboy was growing into something much bigger than I'd ever imagined. I wrote a second book, sponsors were backing future expeditions, and for the first time, people believed in what I was doing enough to help make it possible.
I was travelling the country speaking in schools, sharing my story with thousands of young people. Every week I received messages from students, teachers and parents telling me how my journey had inspired them to believe in themselves, to keep going, or to look at life differently.
Those moments meant everything to me.
Knowing that my story could help someone else gave every adventure a deeper purpose. At the same time, there was a growing pressure that I didn't fully understand. People expected Wildboy to keep doing extraordinary things. In many ways, I expected the same of myself.
I didn't know where the line was between living my life and living up to the version of me that the world had come to know.
I wasn't ready to stop exploring. But I was beginning to realise that maybe the greatest value in these adventures wasn't what I achieved, it was what I could give back through them.
That realisation led me to the Himalayas.
Nepal changed me in a different way.
It was the first time I'd travelled beyond New Zealand on an expedition and from the moment I arrived, I knew I was somewhere special. The mountains were unlike anything I'd ever seen, but it was the people who left the deepest impression on me.
We delivered medical supplies, clothing and food, helped repair homes, and spent time with families whose strength and generosity far outweighed the little they had. It reminded me that adventure isn't just about the places we go. Sometimes it's about what we can give while we're there.
By then, exploring had become my life. I was almost making a living doing what I loved, speaking in schools, mentoring young people, and dreaming about where the next adventure might take me. For the first time, it felt like I'd found a way to combine purpose with exploration.
As it turned out, I didn't have to dream up the next expedition.
It found me, and it was cold.
Sharing the journey.
Greenland gave me more than another expedition. It showed me that I didn't have to carry everything on my own. Being part of a team taught me that everyone has different strengths, and that life becomes a whole lot easier when we stop trying to be good at everything ourselves.
That lesson stayed with me.
When I came home, I couldn't stop thinking about Vancouver Island. I'd dreamed about kayaking around it for years, but this time something was different. For the first time, I didn't want to disappear into the wilderness alone. I wanted to share it.
Ngaio my girlfriend, had been there since we met on the coastline. She'd quietly stood beside me through the highs, the lows, and every crazy idea in between. She'd supported my dreams for years, and I realised it was time to invite her into them. This wouldn't just be another expedition.
It would be the first one we'd take together.
Expedition dust
Australia | west - east
4670KM | 160 days