- Evie Knight was exploring an ocean cave when a wave knocked her into the ocean
- For hours she stayed afloat in the freezing sea until help came
- Her ocean rescue was possible thanks to paramedic Patrick
Here Evie tells her story in her own words.
Water lapping at my toes, I stepped carefully around the rockpool.
‘Come check this out,’ I called to my friend Aaron, then 21.
It was September 2024, and my dad Leigh, 47, siblings Harry, 14, Sam, 11, Sophie, 10, Tom, nine, Trixie, five, and our family friend Aaron, had come to Ryans Den Beach, near the Great Ocean Road, Victoria, to explore.
I’ve always loved the beach, and as a kid, my parents taught me to respect the sea.
Growing up and becoming a personal trainer, lifeguard, and surf instructor, I spent most of my time in the water.
At almost 10.30am, Aaron and I spotted a cave we wanted to check out.
‘See you in a bit,’ I called out to Dad, as we made our way to the cave.
Shedding my jumper, shoes and socks, I kept my tank top and leggings on as I waded out from the headland through a channel to the cave.
After 15 minutes, we decided to head back. As we climbed down the rock face we’d scaled to reach the cave, a set of three huge freak waves rolled in.
I weathered the first two, bracing myself. But when the third hit, the force of the swell dragged me five metres out into the ocean.
The water churned like a washing machine, throwing me into the rocks.
Pitch black under the water, everything went hazy, and dizziness took over as I fought to reach the surface.
I’m drowning! I thought.
Finally, my feet found the rocks again. Scanning my surroundings, I locked eyes with Aaron who’d thankfully escaped the swell and had climbed up the rock face.
‘Go! Go!’ I screamed, gulping down a breath of air before I was washed into the surf again.
I need to swim out past the break, I concluded.
It meant swimming away from the shore, but I knew it was my best chance of survival.
Breaking the surface with arms pumping, I swam 200 metres, fighting through the fierce current.
Out beyond the break, the water was still choppy as I kept treading water, desperate to stay afloat.
Exhausted, my body was begging me to give up.
Bobbing in the waves, I remembered from surf lifesaving training that the only way I’d be rescued was via a helicopter, and that could take a while.
I forced my breathing to slow, fighting to stay calm.
Then, I spotted a flash of yellow. It was a buoy.
Swimming 50 metres over to it, I found the basketball-sized foam float was crusted in sharp barnacles.
This is my lifeline, I realised.
Jamming my fingers into the buoy as far as I could, I gripped on tight.
While the buoyancy helped, I still had to work hard to avoid drowning.
And as the tide rose and fell, I copped mouthfuls of water – my throat burning as I threw up the salty spray.
After a few minutes, I noticed I was still wearing my smartwatch.
The time read 10:50.
My cold-water training as a lifeguard at an indoor pool, and as a surf instructor, had prepared me for long durations in the water.
I knew I had the stamina to survive this, but it wouldn’t be easy.
I’ll set myself a goal of 2pm before I even consider giving up as an option, I bargained, my tired body growing heavier each minute as I fought to stay above the water.
You’ll be fine, you’ll be warm, you’ll be safe, I repeated out loud, as the minutes ticked by.
Scanning the rocky cliffs around me, I spotted movement 500m up on the rocks. It was Dad.
I waved and screamed as loud as I could over the roaring ocean
I waved and screamed as loud as I could over the rolling ocean.
He spotted me in the surf and yelled back. But because of the distance I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
I hoped it meant help wasn’t far away. Every 10 minutes I’d cry out, so he knew my location.
Minutes felt like hours as time dragged on.
Until, suddenly, wind beating down on me and through the churn of the waves, in the distance I heard the unmistakable whir of a helicopter’s blades.
Chancing a glimpse at my watch, it was 12.05pm.
The waves picked up from the chopper’s wake as it circled.
Then a paramedic was winched down to grab me.
Nearing me, he reached out his arms, a padded rope in a noose loop ready to winch me to safety.
Letting go of the buoy I used the last of my strength to meet him.
‘Arms up,’ my rescuer ordered.
I lifted my arms, then lowered them, securing myself to the winch.
Pulled up into the air, then into the chopper, I couldn’t believe I was finally safe.
‘I’m Patrick, we are going to get you help,’ the paramedic promised.
All I could do was nod, my body limp from exhaustion.
I was airlifted to the 12 Apostles Helicopters helipad before an ambulance drove me to Geelong Hospital.
An X-ray on my chest ruled out secondary drowning from swallowing water, and I was treated for scrapes and bruises, a concussion and ligament damage in my left knee.
‘You were so brave,’ Dad said, hugging me from by my bedside.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Aaron said.
‘It wasn’t your fault at all,’ I replied. ‘You did the right thing getting help.’
The next day when I went home, reuniting with my family was so emotional.
In November, I got to say thank you to Patrick for saving my life.
Tears running down my face as we hugged, it was such a healing moment after coming so close to facing death.
Now, I’m looking forward to being well enough to swim again.
I’ve got a second chance at life and I’m not wasting a second of it.
