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ABC News
2 hours ago
- ABC News
What the stories of Robert Bogucki and Christopher McCandless reveal about our cultural obsession with survival
How would you cope if you got lost in the bush? How long could you survive if you had to rely on your own skills? Would you drink your own wee if it was the only option? They're questions few of us will ever answer. Most of us are too busy watching survival TV shows and scrolling wilderness content on social media, all from the safety of the suburbs. However, every year there are people who risk death to prove they can live off the land and endure the elements. People like Robert Bogucki, who danced with death during his 1999 pilgrimage into the Great Sandy Desert, and captivated strangers all over the world. Decades later, we're still hooked on watching folks more brazen than us grapple with their mortality. Survivor, about to embark on its 49th season, is one of the longest-running reality TV shows of all time, while Alone Australia remains SBS's most successful franchise, with its latest season pulling in 3.5 million viewers. But at a time when Australians are more buffered from risk than ever before, the pop culture obsession with outback survival is a strange phenomenon. It hints at a craving for hardship and a desire for meaning that many feel is lacking in their lives. For thousands of years — and to this day, in many parts of the world — humans struggled to locate enough water, food, and shelter to survive. These days it's typically people from privileged backgrounds who test their mettle in outback survival quests — flexing their practical skills to achieve a sense of strength and psychological wellbeing by enduring discomfort and overcoming adversity. Others opt for a safer, entry-level option — booking into the growing number of commercially run outback survival retreats. But most people only watch survival challenges vicariously online. Mike Atkinson, who's trained in outback survival in the Australian military and showcased his skills on the reality TV show Alone, has noticed interest growing in recent years. "Most of us in our current lifestyles probably don't get out into the wilderness, but there's definitely a growing trend in recent years for people wanting to explore that kind of area," he says. Atkinson now creates content about his wilderness adventures full time, and goes by "Outback Mike". He believes people are drawn to the genre because they feel disconnected from nature. "Modern life is pretty devoid of real challenges and outback survival gives you that real challenge," Atkinson says. "It's a connection to our evolutionary past, and they want to experience it. "But I reckon less than half of people watching this material will ever actually use the skills, whether it's on camping trips or overnight hikes, or trying more challenging outdoor activities." Reality TV shows create an illusion of risk, with paramedics and evacuation teams waiting on standby to snatch contestants away from danger if needed. But a small number of people risk their lives in search of solitude and spiritual growth, drawing on an age-old belief that romanticises nature as "authentic", and capable of revealing fundamental human truths. This yearning for spiritual connection is what sent Robert Bogucki out into the Great Sandy Desert in 1999. His remarkable story of survival, as told in the ABC's Expanse: Nowhere Man podcast, inspired visceral reactions among the public. Some were envious of his chance to seek solitude and challenge away from the shackles of daily life, while others were angry about the resources that went into large-scale search efforts to find him. Many were simply baffled by an impulse to disappear alone that they couldn't understand. While Bogucki and his long-time partner Janet North received letters of support and celebration of his survival from around the world, there was also significant backlash. The WA Premier at the time described Bogucki's actions as reckless, while letters to the editor scolded him as a "'selfish ignorant rich kid" who "needed a good smack in the mouth". Ben Martin, a former reporter for The West Australian who joined the search for Bogucki in 1999, believes the public response is revealing. "There's a fine line between celebrating some sort of frontier spirit, versus someone regarded as doing something a bit weird," he reflects. "People judged Robert so harshly … but people are paying thousands of dollars to go to yoga retreats to disconnect and just think, which is not that different to what Robert was seeking. "So I think the depth of thought that Robert was seeking was lost on a lot of people." The saga revealed a double-standard in how we respond to people who undertake risky endeavours. An attempt to break a world record is considered brave and bold, and extreme sports like base-jumping are deadly but tolerated. But dangerous journeys to achieve a spiritual, psychological or religious objective tend to puzzle and even offend the general public. The fall-out from Bogucki's odyssey revealed a deeper tension between the desire of the state to keep people safe, and the freedom of the individual to live and die as they wish. There are similarities with the much more famous case of Christopher McCandless, who starved to death in remote interior Alaska in 1992. McCandless — whose story was immortalised in the 1996 book Into The Wild, and later adapted for film — was determined to prove he could live off the land, but misjudged river levels and became trapped as the freezing winter approached. Both Bogucki and McCandless were intelligent, independent-minded young American men from highly educated and well-to-do families. Both embarked on physically and mentally challenging journeys into the wilderness, with an awareness and acceptance of the risks involved. But only one lived to tell the tale, while the other died a preventable death in the prime of life. Looking back now, Robert Bogucki says he can understand the comparison, although their motivations differed. "All I can say about McCandless is that he got what he wanted, to be out there alone in the wilderness," he says. "And I think he had a fulfilling life. He got what he asked for. "Some people would say 'oh, that's terrible because he died', but where do you want to die, in a hospital with a bunch of tubes sticking out of you?" While Robert's quest was primarily spiritual, he endured many of the challenges and discomforts experienced by those undertaking more straight-forward survival quests. Towards the end of the trip, he was so weakened by dehydration and malnutrition that he felt he'd die if he succumbed to the feelings of despair, or stopped moving to sit under a tree for more than a few minutes. On day 36 on his journey, he was so thirsty he considered drinking his own urine, but decided against it, deciding it would be akin to "giving up". Ultimately, Bogucki believes it was his faith in God and positive mindset that allowed him to endure a level of deprivation that the guidebooks suggest no-one could survive. "The simple answer [for how I survived] is by focusing on the good and not the bad — the life aspect, as opposed to the things that sucked energy from me," he says. "It came down to believing in God because of the love of life, as opposed to a fear of dying or hell." Those long, hot days and nights in the desert changed Bogucki, instilling a self-awareness and confidence in his ability to endure hardship that would be difficult to replicate. "It definitely caused me to slow down … it helps you identify your ego, that detrimental part of your self-awareness that I had to learn about, and that's always there," he says. "To be aware of that definitely helps deal with these modern times." Bogucki, now aged 59, lives with his partner Janet in a log cabin in remote central Alaska — not far from where McCandless died. He recognises that many people face adversity and hardship in daily life. "Not everyone's going to go for a walk in the desert, or go to the edge of the abyss, but they'll have their own troubles and trials and tribulations," he says. "I learnt you have a strength you don't know you have … everyone's got their cross to bear." The Bogucki saga exposed deep divisions over whether people should be allowed to undertake risky activities in the outback, or be protected from themselves in what's often characterised as a "nanny state" intervention. Opinion pieces published in the wake of his rescue dissected the ideological tension. One, by Alaskan outdoorsman Charlie Campbell, captured the culture of staunch individualism that's more pervasive in the US than Australia. "[Bogucki's case] raises an interesting question, one with profound moral dilemmas attached," he wrote in the Fairbanks Daily Miner. "What is society's responsibility to rescue people who may not want to be rescued? "We live in an age where more and more a huge safety net is created under most any activity we undertake. The problem with this is it runs counter to a basic human need to exercise free will." He pointed to the installation of boardwalks and handrails across scenic locations and national parks, "excessive" warning signs, and children so buffered from risk they would emerge into adulthood timid and unchallenged by adversity. The column also suggested a legal disclaimer could be considered for those of sound mind who wanted to undertake high-risk endeavours without intervention by authorities. It's an idea supported by Atkinson, who believes society has tipped too far in favour of minimising risk. "People end up so risk-averse that they've lost the ability to actually weigh up the positives and negatives of a risk decision, and they're missing out on a heap of positive experiences in nature because of that," he says. "It's detrimental, especially when parents seem to set this goal that my child shouldn't go through any hardship, whereas really it needs to be: 'What are the suitable risks that they can take, and what are the deliberate hardships that I'm going to allow them to experience in order for them to grow?'" A 2024 study from the Australian Institute of Family Studies showed the amount of time children under five spend indoors has increased in recent years, with researchers warning it could negatively impact wellbeing and development. Atkinson is by no means reckless. His wife and children are forefront in his mind, and he says he assesses the dangers of each journey carefully, whether it's sailing a handmade canoe through tropical waters or surviving alone on a remote beach for weeks. At times, he's carried a satellite communication device, leaving instructions to contact authorities if he doesn't do a digital "check-in" for more than seven days. But the 47-year-old former military pilot believes strongly that individuals should retain the right to risk their lives, so long as they're of sound mind and communicating clearly. "I've thought a lot about the most responsible way for people to do something like what Robert Bogucki did, and I think an indemnity form is the answer," he says. "So you can sign a form saying to the authorities: 'Hey, I'm going out bush, and I'm not going to tell you where, because I don't want you to have to feel responsible for searching for me.' "You should be able to do that as a kind of basic human right, because otherwise it opens up a whole bag of worms about how much risk you're allowed to take in your own life." It's the kind of system that could help authorities navigate cases like that of Thomas Seibold, a German man who disappeared in 2012 during an ambitious adventure in remote interior Alaska. Seibold was an experienced, resilient survival instructor at an outdoor skills school in Wisconsin. The police incident report into his disappearance, obtained by the ABC, states that Seibold had hiked to a remote cabin and planned to stay a couple of months alone to "spend time with nature". He was due to trek the 40 kilometres out to safety at the start of winter, but was never seen again. An inventory of his belongings — found at the cabin — included maps, winter clothing, a 0.22 calibre rifle, a moose carcass and a handful of berries. "Seibold has been presumed deceased … he is officially listed as a missing person," the police report states. Another life likely lost in the pursuit of solitude in the wilderness, in a manifestation of free will that few would choose. In Australia, it's becoming harder and harder to be alone in the wilderness to test your skills and enjoy peace and quiet. Every year, the spiderweb of sealed road spreads across the outback landscape. And mobile phone reception is expanding across the vast interior, making it difficult to avoid the incessant buzz of notifications. It's no doubt a positive for remote residents, for whom the bitumen and bars of reception are a critical link to help in times of crisis. But many, like Bogucki, believe we're less happy because our increasingly safe, suburbanised existence. "It's pretty clear that the answer is to get back to respecting the earth and having a connection with it," he says. "When you're in the city everything's so easy to get … and when you tear away all that modern world stuff, you can feel the benefits. "Your ego drops, you stop looking at yourself in the mirror. Don't take the selfie, don't take your phone out there and take selfies. It's not conducive to the spirit path, and it's not conducive to life." As technology expands to fill almost every facet of our lives, the promise of the wilderness shimmers like a mirage in our minds — a place to disconnect, to be alone, and, in as Bogucki puts it, "strip away the bark to find your essence". This concept of choosing to "go bush" for spiritual enlightenment is, in some ways, a privileged perspective. Aboriginal people continued to "survive" in some of the most challenging wilderness landscapes in Australia until around 50 years ago. Many still rely on age-old hunting and fishing techniques in places where shops are far away and incomes low. They're skills that help people survive when things go pear-shaped out bush. And it's often local Indigenous people who find and help tourists when they become stranded. Jabirr Jabirr and Nyikina man Lindsay Greatorex says older Aboriginal people's knowledge of Australia's remote landscapes is unparalleled and underestimated. "For tens of thousands of years, Aboriginal people built this incredible knowledge of country … they knew where the soak holes were, they knew the weather and the timing of everything," he says. "That's how we survived in those arid locations over the years, and there's still this survival instinct of the mob. Greatorex worked as a police officer across Western Australian for almost 20 years, and was part of the local team that went out in search of Bogucki in 1999. At times throughout his career, he watched in disbelief as men who'd grown up in the desert used their tracking skills to quickly locate missing people in remote areas. But he says the skills are at risk of disappearing, with younger generations largely stuck in towns and unable to learn how to live off the land their ancestors survived in for generations. "It's sad to see, and it's why it's so important we do our best to get our kids out bush," he reflects. "I have a bit of knowledge, but even I get my bush tucker from the supermarket — it's not like the old days, that's for sure." Outback survival makes for riveting viewing because it captures a reality that terrifies most people — being forced to rely on only yourself as imminent death looms. Australians are increasingly buffered from risk, and living longer than ever before. Outback survival offers a glimpse at an earlier existence that few would want to relive, but one that many suspect offered a sense of focus, purpose and wellbeing many now struggle to achieve. As Australian writer Ruth Ostrow observed in an article about Bogucki's disappearance in 1999, the fear of a life unlived haunts those of us fortunate enough to never know how we'd cope in a life -or-death situation. "As I stare into Bogucki's eye, I am afraid. Afraid of letting life pass me by," she wrote in a piece titled In Search of Peace on Earth. "But most of all, I'm afraid that I will never roam barefoot through dusty sand dunes, totally alone with the sound of my heartbeat and the wind, in the wilderness of my soul. "We've grown fat on money, food and possessions. But still we remain empty.
News.com.au
12 hours ago
- News.com.au
Queen Victoria Markets: More than 600 small businesses can show you how to level up your wardrobe
Level up your style game with a visit to Melbourne's iconic Queen Victoria Market, where renowned Aussie labels and unique handmade pieces are waiting to score a place in your wardrobe. Like any true fashionista, Melbourne's Queen Victoria Market has worn many different hats over the years. Once a wholesale and livestock market, the 'Queen Vic Market' of today is a bustling retail hub that is now home to more than 600 small businesses, selling everything from fresh produce and food to fashion, homewares, gifts and souvenirs. For those looking to give their wardrobes a much-needed seasonal update as the city starts to shake off the winter chill, the Queen Vic Market boasts a wide selection of on-trend threads and quirky handmade accessories that are screaming to be a part of your wardrobe. Celebrating local designers Unlike big shopping centres where every store stocks similar items, Queen Victoria Market offers genuine diversity. Independent designers stand alongside popular Aussie labels, such as Cotton On, Nobody Denim, and Skin & Threads – all of which first began as stallholders under the market's famous sheds. When it comes to shopping at the Queen Vic Market, the highlight for many lies in the thrill of unexpected discoveries, whether it's unique handcrafted earrings, floaty bohemian style dresses, quality leather jackets or a vintage band tee. It's the place where you'll find that special piece that has all your friends asking, 'Where did you get that?' Plan your visit Queen Victoria Market is located on the corner of Elizabeth and Victoria streets, Melbourne, and is open Tuesday and Thursday to Sunday from 6am.
SBS Australia
17 hours ago
- SBS Australia
Food as medicine: Supermarket picks to support your digestion
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