Tim Bonython, one of the lensmen in the boat, at work on a big swell at Teahupoo. Photo: Tim Bonython
Tim Bonython, the photographer responsible for some of the most iconic big wave images ever, is lucky to be alive after a recent shoot went awry. Earlier this week, the Aussie was afloat at Bells Beach when a big set flipped the boat he was in, badly hurting the driver and sending Bonython and all other passengers into heavy surf.
On assignment for Outside TV, the 58-year-old Sydney resident was shooting Rex Pemberton. The multi-sport athlete was attemtping to BASE jump from a helicopter with a surfboard, land on a Bells bomb and surf it.
Bonython shoots most every XXL swell around the globe, and is at work on an upcoming years-long big wave documentary featuring a host of the world’s best hellmen, including Mark Healy, Greg Long, Makua Rothman Billy Kemper, and Jamie Mitchell.
“We went on the inside to get a few shots of spray off the back of the wave. A set came through semi-close, and I thought, we gotta keep our eye on this,” said Bonython, now safely back home.
Pemberton’s last jump of the day came in the afternoon, in 6-to-8 foot swells, rising from 4-foot that morning. Unlike Teahupoo, The Right and other big waves Bonython shoots, Bells has no distinct channel. “If shit hits the fan you don’t have much alternative but to run out or sideways,” he says.
When it looked as if a big swell would catch them inside, the driver pointed the bow of the SeaLegs amphibious craft they were in toward the horizon, and gunned the engine.
Laden with bulky built-in wheels, and loaded with gear and people, the heavy craft was slow. “I felt the whole boat going vertical up this face and heard a lot of engine noise. We were up in the air and I could see the top of the boat going backwards,” he said. In his estimation, the driver hit the throttle for a moment too long, shooting the back the boat forward as the airborne bow went backward.
Then he heard and “an almighty boom” as the boat flipped over, landing violently. Bonython went underwater, beneath the boat. With light coming through the surface, he could see how to maneuver out from under the craft. Wearing a lifejacket, he popped up, only to see the captain, his face bloodied from striking his head against part of the boat. “I thought, this is not good for him.”
A typical sample of Bonython’s work: Dean Morrison on a wave of incomprehensible size at The Right. Photo: Tim Bonython
With accompanying jet skis out the back, a rescue wasn’t possible until the set ended. In the impact zone, Bonython realized a 10-foot wave was bearing down on them. His instinct was to swim away from the boat, but he saw the captain, dazed, do the opposite: he reached for it.
Diving under the wave would have been the best option. But in the cold weather, the lensman was wearing a down jacket and other clothes along with a lifejacket, making swimming hard and diving near impossible.
Ambivalent about whether to keep the clothes and flotation vest on, or jettison it, “I started to panic,” he says. “I didn’t know if I should go out or in. I was at the mercy of the ocean.”
Taking the next wave on the head, Bonython was washed 50 yards from the boat, luckily into a dead zone. He waved a thumbs up the helicopter, buzzing overhead, screamed for the jet ski drivers to pick up the captain and other passengers, and eventually made his way to shore.
When the set finished, the captain was taken to the beach and rushed to medics, who were waiting onshore. Everyone survived, battered but otherwise fine.
Pemberton landed thirty seconds after the boat flipped, sticking the stunt — but no one got the shot. In the melee, Bonython’s camera became a new part of the Bells reef, so the images he did capture won’t be a part of his portfolio unless the memory card is found and miraculously works. “I reckon I nailed the shots,” he said.
The boat was towed back to Torquay and flipped upright. Amazingly, two waterproof cases holding a cache of Bonython’s gear surfaced, a bit soggy but no worse for the wear. “That was the only win of the day.”
In his view, the amphibious boat was too slow for those conditions. “That was a big lesson out of that. The boat really needs to be able to outrun the waves.”
Bells Beach, the place where Bonython’s career began, during a huge swell in 1981, nearly became the place his career — and life — also came to an end.
“Since I’ve been back, I feel like none of that’s important right now. I feel I’ve been through something traumatic. It’s a euphoric feeling, but not a good one,” he says.
