Latest news with #wilderness
SBS Australia
a day ago
- Entertainment
- SBS Australia
'We both did it': How the winner of Alone Australia season 3 survived for 76 days in the wild
Season three was the toughest and longest season of Alone Australia so far. Source: SBS News / Narelle Portanier Shay Williamson had been preparing for Alone Australia for years before the show even existed. The 30-year-old New Zealander has been possum trapping since he was 16 and has spent much of his adult life living off the land, including extended stretches in remote bushland, where he has gained a deep understanding of nature. Now, after 76 days alone in the untamed wilderness of Tasmania's West Coast Range, he has been revealed as the winner of Alone Australia season three . Speaking to SBS News ahead of the finale, Shay says he had been confident in his survival abilities going into the show but was concerned about the possibility of losing too much weight and being forced out early. "I knew I'd give it a good crack and I knew I was going to see it through to the end … I wasn't going to leave on my own terms, I was going to be there until someone told me I wasn't allowed to be there anymore," Shay says. But I was a little bit nervous, [there's] no guarantees in this sort of thing. I knew I wouldn't necessarily get the ending that I was after. Shay's fear nearly became a reality. In the second part of the double-episode finale, the medical team expressed concern he had lost a quarter of his body weight. They warned him he would need to submit to more frequent medical checks — but ultimately decided he was healthy enough to stay. This would turn out to be Shay's saving grace, with runner-up Muzza being withdrawn due to medical concerns shortly after. On the 76th day, Shay was named the winner, with his wife Abby surprising him at his campsite to tell him the news. In their emotional reunion, he says he felt as though his wife — who had been taking care of their two young daughters at home —had done the challenge with him as a team. "We both did it," he says. "From day one, I'd been saying I want to come home with that money, no matter how long it takes, no matter how difficult it gets … $250,000 is life-changing for our family." The West Coast Range is not for the faint of heart. Over two and a half months in cold, dark and wet conditions, Shay battled extreme elements, including the heaviest monthly rainfall in the area in seven years and flooding, which forced him to relocate his shelter. He survived predominantly on eel, fish and plants — even eating bowls of worms when he had no other option. When cooked with salt, he says the worms "tasted like beef chow mein". It wasn't until his 67th day in the wilderness that he managed to catch a pademelon — a wallaby-like marsupial — which provided him sustenance leading into the final days of the competition. But throughout all the challenges and merciless conditions, Shay's positive and happy-go-lucky attitude shone through, and he never lost sight of his goals and motivation. During his time in Tasmania, he regularly spoke about his wife and their two young daughters, and the difference the cash prize would have on their lives. Before Alone Australia, Shay had weathered long stints in the bush alone in his native New Zealand, living off nature. He believes this is what made him a prime contestant for the hit show and prompted an earlier application for the United States version. "I've been doing that sort of thing [since] before I even knew about Alone," Shay says. "That's just sort of what I enjoy, going in the bush without food for a bit and seeing what I can gather up — so most of my preparation has been just working in the bush and doing that as my hobby." When I found out about the show, it was like … this is perfect. For the uninitiated, Alone Australia follows 10 participants as they test their solo survival skills and resilience in the wild, attempting to outlast each other for the chance to win $250,000. The survivalists are dropped at separate locations and are allowed to bring 10 items — such as clothes, a first aid kit, and tools — to help them stay safe and secure food, water and shelter. They have no contact with one another and do not interact with any other humans during the competition, except for medical checks. The last person standing wins. Shay says his years of experience as a professional possum trapper and nature-based lifestyle — he and his family often cook wild-caught meat and foraged food — equipped him with the knowledge and practical skills to meet the physical challenges of Alone. But he says the mental challenge was something he couldn't have prepared for. "I think the biggest struggle was not knowing when it would end because you just don't know," he says. "You just don't know how well anyone else is doing … that was probably the hardest thing … and potentially being away for a really, really long time and then not getting the win and coming home and being depleted and a bit of a burden on the family. "That was my biggest fear." Reflecting on his time in the Tasmanian wilderness, Shay says he feels more connected to nature than ever before. He describes a gradual process of attuning to nature and developing a feel for its patterns, for example, knowing whether rising water would be a problem or where he might find food. "By the end of it, I really felt like I was quite in tune and almost knew where a fish was, or what was going to happen around me," he says. I guess it's the spiritual or instinctual connection you get in nature when you're living in it all the time. Since filming wrapped up, Shay has been able to connect with other contestants and says many of them expressed a similar sentiment. "No matter what the outcome is, it's definitely life-changing. "And talking to the other nine [contestants], I think everyone's had a pretty positive experience and gained a new perspective on their lives." Alone Australia: The Reunion premieres on Wednesday 4 June at 9.30pm on SBS On Demand and Wednesday 11 June at 7.30pm on SBS.
E&E News
2 days ago
- Business
- E&E News
Interior axes 18 rules tied to mining, geothermal energy
The Interior Department on Tuesday scrapped 18 federal rules tied to both geothermal energy and exploring for and digging up minerals on public lands including wilderness areas. The agency touted the move as an advancement of President Donald Trump's strategy to achieve 'energy independence,' calling the Bureau of Land Management regulations 'obsolete or redundant.' Scrapping the rules 'embodies our dedication to removing bureaucratic red tape that hinders American innovation and energy production,' Interior Secretary Doug Burgum said in a statement. But conservation groups blasted the announcement, accusing the Trump administration of moving to dismantle important safeguards while ramping up calls for more domestic mining across public lands. Advertisement 'This is another attempt by the Trump administration to break down the crucial regulations that protect our environment,' said Patrick Donnelly, Great Basin director at the Center for Biological Diversity. 'The normal process would be for rule rescission to go through a notice and public comment process. Instead this appears to be a unilateral move.'
The Guardian
6 days ago
- Health
- The Guardian
‘This is not a wellness retreat': four days on an Australian wilderness survival course
On our very first night in the bush, Gordon Dedman issued a warning: 'Fussy people die.' Dedman, a man with an apt name for a military survival instructor, is all muscle and green khaki. Sat by the fire, he addresses his students. 'This is not a wellness retreat. It is about getting out of your comfort zone.' I am in the Camden bush, on Dharawal and Gundungurra Country, for a four-day wilderness survival course taught by the consultant for TV's most gruelling show, Alone Australia. On the itinerary: knife work, knots, emergency shelters, fire lighting, water collection, plant identification, solar and celestial navigation, plus emergency signalling and rescue techniques. On my person: fresh hiking boots, gold hoops, perfectly low-rise cargo pants and a black tee. The last time I went camping was with school in year 9, in a tent set up about 50 steps from a cabin. Out of my comfort zone, indeed – this time I don't have a tent, or a toilet. After a short hike, we arrive at sunset to a large green tarp billowing gently. It's a military parachute, Dedman tells us. We gather at a semicircle of stools beneath the canopy. Dedman gets straight to it. The goal of 'survival' is to be found, he says. This is different to bushcraft, which has a direct relationship with nature and draws from the skills traditional cultures used to live in the wilderness. Sign up for the fun stuff with our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Dedman's philosophy about the land and people's role on it is clear just a few hours in: 'Our existence here is based on the caring capacity of the Earth. 'But we live in a system of expanding expenditure … at total odds with nature. Something is very broken with our system.' We go around the circle of 15 students, introducing ourselves. Most of us are novices, mainly Sydney and Canberra-based men with office jobs looking to reconnect with the outdoors (participant Julian Carrick says he is here to 'soothe the soul' and 'see the stars') plus two parents, their eager sons and myself. Some students have dabbled in survival and bushcraft for years – including Karla Pound, a National Geographic expedition leader and contestant on the current season of Alone. We're not equipped for when things go wrong, she tells me. She says even during common occurrences such as power outages and floods, 'people don't know the first thing to do'. 'It is really important to have these basic, fundamental skills under your belt.' The parachute tarp becomes our base for the next four days, with classes held early in the morning and late at night. These hours are by design, to simulate the exhaustion and distraction one might feel in a real survival situation. Meanwhile our days are structured around practical skills. First, knives (I'm limp-wristed and slow), then knots (I actually catch on). We use both to set up our first emergency shelters – pitched plastic sheets strung up between two trees and secured with pegs we carved ourselves, totally open to the surrounds. These structures are called hootchies. I am slow to find a spot – too picky, terrified of sleeping near thick shrubbery. It's a justified fear, I'd say, given we are in the habitat of funnel web spiders, king brown and red belly black snakes. By the time I choose a location, the sun is setting. I fumble in the dark, trying to hold all my ropes and pegs in place. It is only thanks to kind peers – a physio and a former-detective-turned-teacher – that I am able to set up in time for dinner. 'The western world has a problem with food aversion,' Dedman says at meal time. So true. I'm hungry for the potato cooking under the bonfire coals we are sitting around. We waste so much, he says, we're disconnected from our food's sources. I nod when he mentions more sustainable protein alternatives to beef. Then he brings out a container of live meal worms. We are going to eat them, he says. I laugh. Classic Dedman! My head torch lights up the plump, yellow bodies writhing in the container and visceral anxiety floods my stomach. 'Fussy people die.' After several failed attempts, I get the worms into my mouth. They wriggle around my fingers. They thrash against my lips. They burst between my teeth, and the group applauds. I actually enjoy the taste. This will forever be my greatest feat. I am overcome with relief! But Dedman has leftovers. I was too hesitant, he tells me. I can will myself to do anything, he says. Eat more. I manage to eat a second squirming helping and then Dedman lets me be. Our next course: crickets. Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion We are shown how to take one in our hands, efficiently break off its head, slide the body on to a stick and roast it over the fire. My throat is closing up at this point. The insects are jumping. My hands are shaking. A course instructor suggests I try breathing. 'It's twitching in the fire!' the 12-year-old observes. I realise if I'm actually caught out in the bush I'll likely perish because I can't catch, behead and eat a cricket. An instructor does it for me. Ever since being attacked by a swarm of seagulls on a beach, I've been a little jumpy around animals. I start overthinking my impending night's sleep – what if I wake up to a snake in my sleeping bag? But on a midnight walk to learn celestial navigation before bed, my thoughts are interrupted when we turn off our torches and look up. The air is crisp, the surrounds are silent and the sky glimmers. Fear is replaced by cool, calm peace. I have a great night's sleep. The next day we learn to make fire with our knife and a ferro rod, and purify creek water. While learning about local flora on a bush walk, Dedman throws impromptu challenges at us – five minutes to gather tinder and kindle and start a fire. All this skill-building has been working us up to the task of our third night – finding an ally or two, scoping out a safe spot and setting up an emergency base. I turn to my new friends Daniel and Damien and we set off, racing against our faux competition who have their sights set on the same campsite. We string up our reflective blankets at a tilt between two trees, light a fire, filter our creek water and prepare a hearty meal of kangaroo stew. We eat and chat beneath the night sky and I start to feel a little sad. This place is so beautiful and tomorrow I have to go home. 'I mean, just look around you,' Carrick, a peer on the course, said earlier in the day. 'This place is heaven right here. You don't need to look any further.' Dedman's lessons differ depending on the environment. Here are a few general takeaways for when you are lost or stranded. Mindset is important. Panic is dangerous and can affect those around you. You need to be able to plan, act and hold the will to live. Make sure you think through your survival priorities. The rule of threes is governed by what will harm you first: you can survive just three minutes without air, three days without water and three weeks without food. Follow the PLAN acronym: protection (first aid, clothing, shelter, fire), location (attracting, holding and directing attention), acquisition (of water, then food) and navigation (orientation, travel, direction). When going anywhere remote, ensure you can be found. Have a satellite communication device like an EPIRB (emergency position-indicating radiobeacon) on you. Also take stock of everything you have that can attract attention in the natural environment – shiny, bright and reflective materials. You can set these up between trees as a method of passive signalling, fly a bright flag at the end of a big stick, or make a ground-to-air sign with letters. 'V' is the international emergency distress symbol. A ground to air sign has to be 6m x 3m to be seen by a passing aerial vehicle or satellite. Search efforts are conducted in patterns. Aircraft will do a box search at the height they can see an animal move. A ground search will follow a track, a river, or man-made things such as telecommunication towers and windmills. Contour searches of mountains are conducted by circling. If you know these patterns, you can set your signalling to capitalise on where you will most likely be seen. Find more in depth advice on the Bushcraft Survival Australia blog. The three-day fundamentals module 1 course costs $855 for an adult, or $427.50 for a child (aged 12 and up). Bushcraft Survival runs courses around Australia, which can be booked online. The journalist attended as a guest of Bushcraft Survival Australia
New York Times
6 days ago
- Health
- New York Times
How to Stay Safe While Enjoying the Backcountry This Summer
The outdoor boom that began during the pandemic has had staying power. Since 2020, the number of people visiting state and national parks has soared. Unfortunately, so too have the number of search-and-rescue efforts, as many people enter the backcountry woefully unprepared. With funding cuts at the national park and forest levels — and with volunteer response teams stretched thin — now is a good time to learn how to recreate safely in the wild. 'A lot of the call types we've had are people getting stuck in technical terrain that exceeds their ability,' said Chris Carr, a paramedic in Colorado, referring to environments that demand agility and skill to traverse. Gear that is more accessible to novices, social media posts from beautiful locales and a false sense of security carrying a cellphone creates may all be playing a role here. If you're planning a trip into the wilderness, here are some steps that can help you avoid becoming a statistic this summer. Before you leave home, get out your guidebooks, look at official websites and learn about any trails, mountains or terrain you plan to explore. Keep in mind that the terrain you're used to at home might be different from what you encounter on a new trail; the drier, dustier surfaces of the West are a different experience than the rocks, roots and mud you'll frequently encounter in the East. 'Wilderness areas can be vast and can get remote quickly. Start small and don't take on big chunks right out of the gate,' said Corenne Black, a forest ranger with the New York Department of Environmental Conservation. In some areas, like New York's Adirondack Park, where Ms. Black works, it can be easy to make a wrong turn or get off trail if you're not paying close attention. While apps like 'All Trails' can be helpful, you shouldn't always depend on your electronics, either. Learning to use an old-fashioned map and compass — and bringing them with you — can mean the difference between a planned day hike and spending the night in the wilderness. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Times
25-05-2025
- Times
Canada tourism is booming — but these enchanting islands remain secret
We are rounding Gangxid Kun (known in English as Cape St James) at the very bottom of Haida Gwaii, an archipelago of about 150 remote islands and over 1,800 islets, 62 miles off the vast northwest coastline of British Columbia. The islands are on the edge of a continental shelf; just below the waters a 2,800m submarine cliff falls away, while above the immense reaches of the Pacific Ocean stretch out until Haida Gwaii brushes up against Antarctica. This is Canada's windiest region, prone to gale-force winds that blow across 600 miles of open sea. It is not for the faint-hearted. As we round the cape, GidinJaad — a Haida woman — calls for our safe passage, lighting sage leaves, wafting the aromatic smoke with a single feather from a bald eagle, which quivers above her tattooed face. I am on board Cascadia, a luxury 138ft, 12-cabin catamaran. Alongside GidinJaad, other members of the team include the dependable hands of the captain, Jeff Harvey, and the mate, Bryn Flanagan. Both men are on the bridge guiding the boat across the cresting waves, while beside them, scouting for humpbacks, colourful puffins, pods of orcas or white-sided dolphins, is the expedition guide Phil Stone and a naturalist, Marlo Shaw, who is scanning the horizon with binoculars, eager to share any sightings with the 16 guests on board. We are on a voyage to discover the breathtaking wilderness of Gwaii Haanas, the southern part of the archipelago, which lies two hours north of Vancouver by plane. These islands, which translate to Islands of Beauty, were named the Queen Charlotte Islands after the ship of an 18th-century British trader, despite being populated by the Haida nation for more than 13,000 years. Before 'first contact' in 1774, tens of thousands of Haida people thrived on these shores. Then European diseases including smallpox and influenza wiped out entire villages until fewer than 600 people were left. The history of the Haida reflects the turbulent and brutal dismantling of the First Nations indigenous peoples across Canada. Oral traditions, homes, land and culture were destroyed from the 18th to the 20th centuries as colonists and government policies enforced bans on culture and language. I grapple with the dark legacies of the British Empire while beyond the boat's windows a perfect panorama of spruce-covered islets drift by, along with great stone rookeries overlaid with fleshy, barking sea lions. A small library filled with naturalist guides, history and art books dedicated to the Haida and the islands is designed to help guests understand this beautiful, wild place. • Read our full guide to Canada Comfortable sofas and the steward Blythe — the best cocktail maker on the KandaliiGwii (the Hecate Strait) — ease my experience of the boat's gentle roll as it navigates the narrow sandbanks and deep blue bays of the archipelago. The chef sends up the latest assembly of still warm cinnamon rolls mid-morning, just in case anyone is peckish between a full breakfast of Canadian pancakes, local berries and bacon, the hearty lunches and the lavish three-course suppers the 16 of us share together. Fresh steaks of salmon or grilled meat are all delicately arranged with linen tablecloths and local wines. 'I have this tattoo on my chin to signify a prayer of oneness, that we all belong,' says GidinJaad. She is on board to answer our questions about the Haida, their beliefs, dark past and brighter future. Her chin features a small dark raven and eagle. 'The raven and the eagle are back-to-back supporting each other, not just for Haidas, but all humanity.' These birds are central to her culture. Every Haida belongs to either the Eagle or Raven Clan, and in this matriarchal society you follow your mother's clan. GidinJaad is Eagle Clan and she, Stone and Shaw carefully unpack Haida history, together with the biodiversity of the environment we are cruising through. • Read our full guide to Vancouver Over seven days Cascadia takes us on an expedition deep into this untamed landscape. We set off from Skidegate, a small town on the largest island, Kiis Gwaay (Graham Island). Stops throughout the week are made at islands and inlets to take in the ecology. We visit ancient forests with red cedar and Sitka spruce trees that are thought to be between 800 and 1,000 years old, untouched beaches where thousands of chanterelles flourish and giant banana slugs the size of mice snuggle among skunk cabbage leaves, and islands whose village fragments, such as SGang Gwaay, a Unesco world heritage site, silently remind us of the rich lives once lived. Rules are strictly observed. Just 12 visitors are allowed ashore at one time in any location, so we visit in shifts. The archipelago is a designated Haida heritage site, national park reserve and national marine conservation reserve following a co-operatively managed agreement made in 1993 between the Council of the Haida Nation and the Canadian government. A handful of islands have 'watchmen', Haida descendants, living on them, protecting the villages and sharing stories with visitors, but many are uninhabited. Decisions about which we see are made by the captain based on the weather and other boats, although we encountered just one the entire week. On these remote islands the remnants of the Haida people, their long houses and poles (the Haida do not say totem), hand carved from the trunks of cedar trees and positioned on windswept beaches, are gradually decomposing. With each passing year the fragments are gently returning to the earth. Once hundreds of poles would have stood, intricately carved with eagles, bears, frogs, clams, ravens or supernatural animals, mapping the villagers' lives and lineage. Many were stolen and today only a handful of poles remain. There is a tangible energy in the air as we walk among these astonishing remains, our path delineated by white clam shells, wind whipping our hair, birdsong trilling and jubilant in the temperate rainforest just metres away. • This is Canada's most vibrant city — and it's perfect for spring The barely perceptible rocking and daily lungfuls of fresh Pacific air pull me into a deep sleep each evening in my warm and elegant wooden-clad cabin. A door directly on to the deck means I can step outside at night to marvel at the galaxies above. One morning we get up at dawn to canoe in the bay in which we anchored overnight. Seals follow us curiously, their sleek speckled bodies slipping under the kayaks, before popping back up to stare at us. Peeping Swainson's thrush and black cap chickadees sing from the shore, while on the ocean floor colourful starfish, sea slugs, mussels, abalone and clams are visible in the clear water. Afterwards I climb to the top deck and sink into the hot tub as Cascadia gently pulls out, heading back into the Pacific. Jumping in the tenders one afternoon, we take a trip down GaysiiGas K'iidsii (Burnaby Strait), buzzing along the narrow waterway, surveying the blissfully empty beaches, home to huge sun-bleached, driftwood trunks. Black bears patrol the edges for crabs and urchins, massive twiggy nests, home to majestic bald eagles, balance high in the Sitka spruces lining the shore. Trills of oystercatchers sweep overhead, and gangs of pigeon guillemots rise as one as we approach, then settle back on the waves from which the glossy bobbing heads of harbour seals pop up, eyes blinking, before silently descending. We have much to learn from the Haida. As Reg, watchman at the village site HIk'yah GawGa (Windy Bay), says: 'The common thread throughout all humanity, whatever colour, creed or religion, is the Earth — we must look after our planet.' Hannah Newton was a guest of Maple Leaf Adventures, which has eight nights' full board from £5,013pp, including drinks with dinner and excursions, departing on June 13, 2026 ( the Fairmont Waterfront Hotel ( and Destination Vancouver ( Fly in to Masset and from Sandspit via Vancouver This article contains affiliate links, which can earn us revenue The First Nations influence runs throughout British Columbia's local cuisine and many restaurants serve smoky cedar plank salmon, candy glazed with maple syrup. But Vancouver's only indigenous-owned and operated restaurant, Salmon n' Bannock is an ideal location to explore First Nations culinary traditions. The dishes showcase food from the land and sea that is traditionally harvested by indigenous people and includes fiddlehead ferns, bison and smoked sock-eye salmon (mains from £22; Granville Island Public Market, a city institution, is where local chefs flock to choose the best produce the province has to offer. Sample briny sea urchins, fresh gooseneck barnacles hand-harvested by First Nations fishermen on Clayquot Sound, sweet crab, juicy salmon berries and blueberries ( Vancouver is a city renowned for its sushi and Miku serves the best Aburi sushi outside of Japan. Working with Ocean Wise, a global conservation organisation working with chefs and restaurants to support sustainable seafood, the restaurant serves exquisitely presented dishes, alongside the finest saké, not to be missed (set menu from £77; • 14 best hotels in Vancouver Delve straight into First Nations history in Stanley Park, Vancouver's thousand-acre urban oasis, once home to 10,000 Coast Salish First Nations people, displaced in the early 19th century. A First Nation guide shares their personal experience and knowledge of the plants and people who lived here, a must-do (£45; Bill Reid's work Spirit of Haida Gwaii is the sculpture that welcomes visitors to the city, on display in the international terminal at Vancouver airport, and is also depicted on $20 bills. Reid is a legendary Haida artist and this gallery in downtown Vancouver at 639 Hornby Street is dedicated to his life's work (£7; The views over the city, Gulf Islands and the Pacific are alone worth the 2,800ft trip to the top of Grouse Mountain via the Skyride cable car. At the top you can also discover ziplines, tree canopy climbs, lumberjacks, skiing, and Grinder and Coola, the peak's rescued grizzly bears (£11; The buzz of seaplanes taking off from the harbour, the mountain backdrop and a cruise ship or two make the Fairmont an ideal base in Vancouver. Cycle to Stanley Park, stroll round the corner to the Bill Reid Gallery and enjoy the lively bars and restaurants on the north shore of the city. Within walking distance to the historical district of Gastown and downtown, this relaxed corner of Vancouver is easy to get to from the airport on the Canada Line B&B doubles from £180 (
