The Herald's George Fenwick spent a night as a Survivor NZ contestant.
5pm
There's nothing like a debriefing from a dangerous animal expert just before you head into the jungle to send you into spiral of panic. There are more life-threatening spiders and snakes than I can count on my hands. Some snakes look identical and the only way to distinguish the poisonous ones from the harmless ones is a tiny stripe on the tail. "We're doomed," I whisper to myself – and then our guide mentions the wild tigers and elephants. I gaze, glassy-eyed, into the distant mountains.
6pm
A boat glides us over to camp. It's a thick, dehydrated tangle of jungle, with vines and bamboo strewn about like a child's scribbled drawing. The ground is rock hard, with mounds of dirt here and there populated by villainous fire ants. Caitlin shrieks; she's says she's found a snake skin. We look closer. It's a dead branch.
Our team attempt to assemble a camp. Photo / Scott McAulay
The sunset has sucked all light out of the sky with unnerving speed. We're blessed to be in the company of season one winner Avi Duckor-Jones. He instantly jumps into survival mode, delegating tasks to our inexperienced team of media. The producers, bless them, have left us a machete. I start hacking at some vines because it feels like the right thing to do.
We were lucky to have season one winner Avi Duckor-Jones with us. Photo / Scott McAulay
8pm
It's pitch black. We've built a shelter of sorts. We chat in the dark, mulling over the 18 contestants we interviewed that day. How are they going to cope when they arrived on this hard, dry island, with no beach to escape to?
I'm trying to take video diaries, but now that it's dark, the mosquitoes are out for blood (literally). The moment I turn my phone on, I'm enveloped by a tornado of them; I almost feel as though they're trying to use their collective weight to lift me up and fly me away.
11pm
I keep hearing ominous, unidentified rustling from the bush. The ground feels like concrete; my back is killing me.
6am
"I literally didn't sleep at all," I tell my fellow bush-goers, who graciously inform me that I was out for a solid six hours.
Our team after surviving a night in the jungle. Photo / Scott McAulay
7am
We wander down to the bank to be picked up. Around the corner comes a local fisherwoman on a long-tail; she collects her bounty from set-nets she has resting in the bay. We exchange words in different languages. I'm hungry, exhausted and sleep-deprived, but there's a strange tranquillity to the moment.
7:30am
The boat takes us back. The lake is glassy and quiet. In the distance, the sun breaks over the misty mountains. I look around, and properly breathe in my surroundings for the first time. This place is punishingly beautiful.
