The Rip Swim

After our Mt. Kozzie road trip, Victoria was hit with another brief heat spell, breaking the record for the highest statewide maximum temperature (49°C /120°F).

 

In early February, Clarissa invited me to see Ludovico Einaudi perform live on his Summer Portraits tour. I first discovered this Italian pianist in high school, when a friend suggested I learn one of his pieces (Nuvole Bianche) on the piano. His compositions are emotive and minimalist, grounded in classical tradition yet quietly contemporary.

The concert was held at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl, an outdoor bandshell nestled in the gardens of Kings Domain, near Melborne's Arts Centre. After the sun set behind the city skyline, Einaudi moved seamlessly between solos and his seven-piece ensemble, conducting from the piano. Layered strings and percussion elevated his signature blend of classical and ambient textures into something expansive and cinematic.

  

It was one of the best performances I’ve experienced, maybe ever. Intimate yet grand. Minimal yet immersive. 

That weekend brought a very different kind of performance: the Rip Swim. “The Rip,” is the narrow, notoriously treacherous entrance to Melbourne's Port Phillip Bay, bordered by Point Lonsdale to the west and Point Nepean to the east. This 3 km wide, high-energy tidal channel is known for powerful currents, dramatic reefs, and deep shipping channels, forming a key section of the Port Phillip Heads Marine National Park.

Crossing it requires significant logistics to manage unpredictable conditions and heavy boat traffic; not something that you attempt alone. Since 2014, the Rip Swim project has guided 35 crossings, with around 1,200 swimmers total. The winter crossings are the most extreme: colder water, no wetsuits allowed.

On Saturday morning, Tom and I carpooled with my swim squad mate, David, driving two hours down to Queenscliff on the Bellarine Peninsula. Around 70 swimmers gathered before boarding the ferry for a 15-minute crossing to Point Nepean on the eastern head. There was a palpable buzz in the air.

Photos by Timothy Syrota

There was plenty of waiting as safety teams assessed the conditions. Fortunately, we were gifted near-perfect weather.

When it was finally time to jump off the ferry, I swam alongside David while our coach Nick kayaked beside us, adjusting our course as tides and currents shifted beneath the surface.

The water was a deep, luminous blue—clearer than I expected. A few lion’s mane jellyfish drifted past, but otherwise the opean ocean felt vast and expansive.

Roughly an hour and 3.5 km later, we reached Point Lonsdale beach. David and I were ecstatic. It felt rare. Special. Fewer people have swum the Rip than the English Channel. 

A fun full-circle moment: In 2024 I cycled 220 km Around the Bay, crossing the heads by ferry. Having now swum the Rip, I can say I’ve navigated the entire Melbourne bay 100% self-propelled!

Feb 7, Rip Swim Honour Board #982

One week later, Valentine's Day, I was back in the water for the annual U24 swim. I only signed up for two athtletic events this summer, and they happened to fall on back-to-back weekends.

This couse runs along the Mornington Peninsula, with options to swim 6 km, 12 km, or 24 km. After completing 6 km last year, I knew almost immediately that I wanted to attempt 12 km this year.

Photos by Nick Robertson

Tom and I left Saturday morning for the easy one-hour drive south to Capel Sound. I was excited to see some familiar faces among the 12 km crew. We began swimming at 11am, after which Tom went for a long run—our own parallel endurance rituals.

My kayaker, Siena, paddled beside me, navigating and carrying nutrition.

Conditions were favorable, with mostly helpful currents and only a 3 km stretch where the wind picked up. A few small jellyfish floated past; otherwise not much sealife—though some swimmers spotted a dolphin pod!

I stopped briefly three times to refuel (something I should have practiced in hindsight), which conveniently broke the swim into four mental segments.

I’m drawn to endurance events for their steady, meditative rhythm—the satisfaction of settling in and holding pace over time. But this swim felt different. A persistent shoulder pain, something I’ve been actively working through with coaching and stroke refinement, stayed with me from start to finish, making the effort feel more deliberate and hard-earned than usual.

Still, I was surprised when we reached Sorrento around 2:30 pm, 30 minutes faster than expected.

 

Both swims were deeply rewarding, albeit in very different ways. I also feel relieved that they’re done. It’s been a challenging swim season for me—navigating high expectations after last summer, an unforeseen influx of jellyfish, and the emergence of shoulder pain. But also: growth. Perspective. Gratitude.

Mt. Kosciuszko

Day 1

Tom and I planned a road trip over late January's holiday weekend. We packed up the car and left Melbourne after lunch on Friday, heading northeast on a 7.5-hour drive that would take us past Alpine National Park and across the New South Wales border—almost as far as Canberra and Sydney. 

Jan 23 - 26

We took the southern route, and once past Lakes Entrance, the drive eased into quaint country roads lined with gum trees, turning golden as the sun set.

At dusk, I was on high alert for crossing kangaroos—driving is the one time you don’t want to see wildlife. We arrived late in Jindabyne to discover that most restaurants and services had already closed—something I always forget living in a big city. Luckily, we found a pub still open and eventually arrived at the Jindy Inn, which turned out to be a great-value stay.

Day 2

Jindabyne (or "Jindy") is a vibrant alpine town and the main gateway to the Snowy Mountains and Australia’s major ski resorts. The region is home to kangaroos, wombats, emus, and brumbies—wild horses descended from those that escaped or were lost during early European settlement.  

On Saturday morning, Tom headed out for a long run while I took my stand-up paddle board to Lake Jindabyne—a large, man-made reservoir. The lake was quiet but the wind picked up quickly and turned the return paddle into a slog. 

We grabbed lunch at the Jindabyne Emporium, which was excellent. Although the nights here are cool, it heats up during the day—sunscreen is essential. It felt good to be back in the high country, even as smoke and haze from nearby wildfires began to roll in.

Later on, we visited Snowy Way Brewing and Jindabyne Brewing. The latter had great vibes, brews and vegan options.

 

Winter is peak season here, yet the town felt surprisingly quiet for a holiday weekend. I suspect that the mountain towns closer to Melbourne, like Mansfield and Bright, were packed.

Day 3

On Sunday, Tom and I were up at sunrise with a big day ahead of us. We drove 35 minutes to Charlotte Pass in Kosciuszko National Park, finding a spot to park along the roadside. By 7 am, we set off on the Main Range Loop.

  
It's recommended to hike this loop counterclockwise, starting on the Main Range Walking Track. This is the most scenic part of the trek with wildflowers and striking alpine colors that made me realize just how much I’d missed the mountains.

We crossed the Snowy River and took a short detour to Blue Lake.

The track is extremely well-maintained and wide.

It's also very exposed. Fortunately, scattered clouds provided shade, and the wind kept the flies away. 

About halfway through the hike, we committed to a 5.5 km side trip to Mt. Townsend—Australia’s second-highest mountain, just 19 m shy of the top spot.

It involved a bit of scrambling and route-finding, and was the steepest part of the day.

We passed almost nobody and had the summit to ourselves, with 360-degree views.

Back on the main trail, things got busier as we approached Mt. Kosciuszko. There are several shorter routes to the summit, and the crowds reflected that. Compared to Mt. Townsend, the summit was underwhelming—relatively flat, with a line of people waiting to take photos at Australia’s highest point (2,228 m / 7,310 ft). 

The walk back to Charlotte Pass was a long, gradual descent on the Summit Walk Track.

We reached the car around 3 pm, clocking about 28 km (17.4 mi) with 1,000 m (3,281 ft) of elevation gain. It wasn’t hard—just long. Tom summed it up perfectly: "Mt. Kosciuszko—easier to climb than spell."

Despite having hiked in some stunning mountain regions overseas, I was pleasantly surprised by how beautiful this hike was. Highly recommend!

Day 4

Tom and I were moving slow on Monday—the gray skies and light drizzle didn't help. We left after breakfast and took the northern route home via the Alpine Way, a scenic drive through Kosciuszko National Park and the Great Dividing Range. Already, I felt relunctant to leave the quiet and open space behind.

Suddenly, a herd of brumbies appeared along the roadside—dark brown and lean, with a few foals tucked in close. It all happened so quickly, and I immediately regretted not pulling over.

Traffic was refreshingly light, perhaps because people were dispersing toward three major cities in different directions. It was a stark contrast to past trips where caravan parks emptied mid-morning and marched back to Melbourne in a long line.

We followed the jagged NSW–Victoria border, rolled back into Melbourne by dinnertime, and were greeted enthusiastically by the boys.