In September 2025, environmentalist Bea Jeavons ran and rode 1,110km from her backyard on the Fleurieu Peninsula to the red rocks of the Flinders Ranges along the Heysen and Mawson Trails.

 

On the way, she raised over $11,000 for Conservation Council SA. Over 17 days and 22,000m of elevation gain, this adventure reminded Bea that one of the most important ways we can help protect the wild places we love is to spend time in them (ideally with friends).

It’s 3pm on a Saturday. I’m sitting on top of a sandy dune, looking out to the rolling waves on Waitpinga Beach — ‘Home of the winds’ in Ngarrindjeri. But today I’ve snagged great weather. Gentle gusts of warm, salty spring air, waves crashing in the distance, and blue skies. 

 

 

It’s day 2 of 17. I’ve got almost 60km on my legs, my mates are on their way, the sun is warm on my back, and with the day’s run under my belt, I’ve got nothing else to do but sit back and soak in the magic of this place. Sitting here, staring at the ocean, I’m full to the brim with that good juju that you only get in wild places. That contented feeling of belonging, where you think; ‘This is it, isn’t it? The good stuff’. This is what life is all about. 

Yesterday I set out from Cape Jervis on the tip of the Fleurieu Peninsula, a dizzying mix of excitement and nerves churning up my stomach. After months of planning, organising, and logistics, there was nothing left to do but move my body from point A to point B. Run, ride, eat, drink, rest. Do it all again the next day. Day after day. For 1,100km. This is my life for the next three weeks. And I’m beyond stoked. 

 

Day two amongst the bush scrub of Deep Creek National Park

The Seed of an Idea

The idea for Running Out of Time came to me while hanging out in Chamonix with my friend, an insane mountain athlete, Milly Young.

 

 

Between adventures, we both work in the climate space, and we’d been chatting about the balancing act of time spent working to protect wild places and time spent actually outside. I wondered if I could pull together a trip that combined my love for bikepacking and trail running and had impact beyond the adventure itself.

After some research, I discovered that while many have run the Heysen Trail, no one had combined both the Heysen and Mawson trails – there it was, the perfect challenge. I conjured up my own deluxe combo of the two – 220km on the Heysen from Cape Jervis to Mount Lofty, then 900km by bike to Blinman.

The run would be supported, featuring some of my best mates, and the ride would be self-sufficient alongside my partner Ben, bike mechanic and logistics wizard. Milly also coached me in the lead-up with excellent training and fuelling support. A solo challenge that became a full friend affair.

The route travels through the lands of the Adnyamathanha, Ngadjuri, Nukunu, Banggarla, Peramangk, Kaurna, and Ngarrindjeri people, and crosses over more than ten of South Australia’s national parks and conservation reserves.

Along the way, I aimed to raise funds for Conservation Council SA (CCSA) — South Australia’s peak environmental body.

The Heysen Trail

The Heysen Trail is Australia’s longest walking trail. Stretching 1,200km from Cape Jervis to the Flinders Ranges, it follows dramatic coastlines, rolling hills, bushy scrub, open pastures, vineyards, and pine forests. Rocky climbs and winding singletracks lead to rewarding views of valleys, gum forests, and ancient rock. The trail offers a mix of bush solitude with the comforts of epic hikers-only campsites, along with small towns, country pubs, and cafés scattered along the way.

Read more: Heysen Trail: What It’s Like Thru-Hiking Australia’s Longest Walking Trail

The Mawson Trail

The Mawson Trail is a surprisingly lesser-known bikepacking route. This 900km gravel track barrels through SA’s hillsides, wine country, farmland, and colonial ruins, before reaching the Flinders Ranges — one of the world’s oldest mountain ranges.

This is where the Mawson earns its 4/5 difficulty rating: technical trails, fierce winds, and rocky, pannier-busting descents.

With the Outback comes the usual snakes, spiders, sun, flies, and exposed landscapes, which become grueling in the heat. Red-dirt trails turn into thick, impassable mud when wet and northerly winds can whip across open plains hard enough to batter your soul into the dirt.

Read more: The Mawson Trail: Ride the Iconic Route in South Australia

Combining two of the state’s iconic routes with two of my favourite modes of movement had me absolutely stoked. On a windy Thursday morning, pack brimming with snacks and gear, I set off from the Fleurieu Peninsula.

The Run

Over seven days of running, the Heysen leg unfolded through South Australia’s diverse landscapes. From the windswept Fleurieu beaches, coastal scrub, grassy dunes, and rugged cliffs, to remnant grass tree scrub and bright green, open farmland.

As the days rolled on, I settled into my new routine.

Wake up before the sun.

Eat a big bowl of oats.

Drink coffee and water.

Pack my running vest for the day (snake bandage, EPIRB, toilet kit, water, sunscreen, and lots of snacks).

Stretch.

Then run.

Run, sip, sip, nibble, nibble, run, sip, and try to soak up the beauty of the landscapes unfolding around me.

River red gums towered above, mallee scrub sprawled out before me, and wildflowers popped in all directions. I had regular encounters with kangaroos, echidnas, Wedge-tailed eagles, kookaburras, and Crimson rosellas.

My biggest day came on day five: 44km through 95km/h winds that whipped across Inman Valley. I pushed through the dense, shin-grazing scrub of Yurlta Conservation Park, past swooping magpies and curious cows, to finish the day with a choccy milk undercover just as hail began to fall.

 

 

The trail kept shifting as I moved inland. Curly scrub and stringy bark near Mount Compass, pine forests around Kuitpo, where cold rain soaked me through, soggy farmland and huge old gums as I moved in on Mylor.

Good friends rotated in and out, running sections with me, providing company, supplies, and motivation.

By the final day of the run, my body had found its rhythm and I was in a state of pure joy. My good friend Simon Harris joined me, and we half ran half danced along the winding singletrack toward Mount Lofty.

My ITB, the thick connective tissue down the outside of my thigh, flared with 2km to go, so we walked the final stretch. A welcome chance to slow down and soak it all in, and a moment of gratitude that this was my first (and last) niggle. We reached the summit before midday, met by a merry party of friends and family. We cheersed Bollinger in camping mugs and sat in the sun. 

Halfway through. You bewdy! Over $5,000 raised so far and 900km to go.

 

The Ride

The Mawson leg began with a very late start. We rolled out of the hills at 4pm and stopped for dinner in Birdwood before riding through the dark and rain for a few hours and making camp in a pine forest.

The next day was tough. 124km battling icy headwinds, relentless hills, and rain. Despite the conditions, we were hardly slumming it, making the most of the plentiful cafe stops through Nuriupta and Kapunda. It’s truly amazing what scones and a Solo can do for the human spirit.  

The pick-me-up we needed came with cooees on the horizon from friends who’d ridden out to join us. Appearing out of the fog and riding with us for the last 10km, we all hauled our bikes through the infamous red mud for the last few kilometres up to Marschalls Hut. We sheltered inside, dried clothes by the fire, and feasted on homemade bread and chocolate-coated macadamias.

The next day, rolling hills turned to vineyards and open farmland, then lush, gumtree-lined creeks on the outskirts of Melrose – Mount Remarkable in the distance. 

 

 

There were days when the wind almost broke us, along with flat tyres, a torn wheel, broken panniers, and about 1,000 magpie swoops.

More friends joined for short sections of the trail, bringing welcomed treats of wattleseed cookies, homemade muffins, and cold drinks.  

 

 

We saw about 50 Shingleback lizards – often stopping to save them from being flattened by 4WDs – two snakes and plenty of bush chooks. 

Canola fields turned to red rock as we entered the Flinders Ranges, with descents igniting the five-year-olds in us as we whipped down gravel trails with huge grins. 

Dirt covered everything, and our showers were a bottle or two of cold water.

 

Photo by Ben Weigl

 

On the final day, with 20km to go, the wind blew so strongly that we’d be whisked backwards if we stood still. Onwards we pushed until finally we heard clanging pans – our loved ones, who’d made the trip out to meet us cheered us in with huge grins. We made it. Sweaty, dusty, windswept, and ready for a cold beer. 

Connecting With What Matters

It’s a wild and wonderful thing to spend this amount of time outdoors, switched off from screens and switched onto life around you. Battered by the elements, feeling the cold, heat, dirt, wind, and hunger. In touch with your body, as it carries you through the landscape. Days aren’t squandered out here.

 

Photo by Ben Weigl

 

I tried to stay ‘unplugged’ the whole time. No music, no podcasts, no audiobooks. Apart from regular posts to boost awareness for the fundraiser, my phone stayed on flight mode, tucked away. I wanted to be fully present with the joy and discomfort, not distracted. What it did for my brain, the joy I felt on this journey, was truly magic.

 

 

Regular time in nature often does this. It helps us shake out whatever we’ve been caught up in, grounding us and reconnecting us with what actually matters. These places are essential for our well-being – they clear our minds, restore our spirits, and remind us of what’s real.

 

 

Which is what this adventure was about – reconnecting with the real world and remembering why it’s worth protecting. Moving through South Australia’s diverse landscapes over 17 days, from windswept Fleurieu beaches to the ancient Flinders Ranges, I experienced firsthand why these places matter.

They aren’t just beautiful places to spend time in, they’re the foundations of our well-being and our future on this planet.

Being outside connects us not only with these life-giving, soul-enriching places but with what’s at stake. Out here you feel just how deeply our humanity is tied to their health, and how vital it is that we protect them.

To help conserve wild places, intact ecosystems and thriving natural landscapes, we have to truly connect with those places — living and breathing in them — otherwise how do we know what’s worth protecting?

When you have a love affair with these places and witness their vulnerability, you feel compelled to act.

It also reminded me just how good people are. Friends rotated through as support crew, conservationists joined me for stretches on the trail, dozens of folks donated to the cause, complete strangers cheered me on.

 

Together, we raised over $11,000 for conservation. A testament to many small actions amplified through the community, creating real impact.

This trip filled my cup to the brim, restored my faith in the human spirit, and reinforced just how vital it is to regularly connect with nature – not just for our wellbeing, but to fuel our commitment to protecting it.

Want to support?

There’s still time to support Bea’s campaign and the great work of Conservation Council SA before the end of the year. Check out the Running Out of Time campaign and find out about the kind of work you’d be supporting.

 

 

Feature photo by Ben Weigl

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