“I know how I feel after a cold-water swim, but I have never experienced it like this.”

Ice swimming involves plunging into water 5C or colder, with individual swimmers covering various distances. Each athlete is monitored by lifeguards and medical staff from a nearby IRB.

Jones’ physique reflects strength and the insulating layer essential for ice swimming. He had completed a 1km swim two days earlier and was ready for the ice mile challenge.

Before entering the water, he followed his usual ritual, saying a karakia and responding to a friend’s powerful call to action in te reo Māori: “Tāiki E!”

Blue Lake’s icy waters took his breath away. He fought to control his breathing, and his muscles contracted as the cold intensified. Just like during his previous swim, he felt the sensation of moving through jelly rather than water.

Turning his head away from the petrol fumes of the IRB, Jones pulled steadily through the clear glacial lake.

“The water is green, and you can see your hands. The rock formations look cool,” says Jones, referring to the lake’s history as a site of hydraulic gold mining in the late 19th century.

He completed the swim with ease and emerged at the lake’s edge with surging endorphins and tingly skin. He let out a Samoan “Cheehoo” in memory of his friend Willie (Boost) Leota, who died last year.

Despite years of wild swimming and months of ice water exposure, nothing prepared him for what came next.

“Once my handler had me, I thought, far out, I am so cold,” says Jones.

Chilled to the core, his body temperature continued to drop. As well as his clothes, a heated vest was added, but moments later, he stumbled while in the medical tent.

Experienced ice swimmers like Jones understand afterdrop and have strategies to manage it. When needed, onsite medical staff trained in post-swim care respond expertly, as they did with Jones.

Still, lying in the foetal position on a heated bed, he shivered uncontrollably and felt nauseous.

“This is a serious afterdrop I am going through now,” he thought.

“I have never experienced it like this. Just that extra 600m in my second swim was enough to tip me over.”

Now, wrapped in layers of clothing, duvets, hot water bottles, medical heat blankets, and classic New Zealand woollen blankets, Jones still felt no warmth.

“I knew I had all these warm things on me, but I felt ice cold. I couldn’t feel any heat coming into my body. It was a bit scary.”

His partner Debbie Rodger stayed close, at one point wrapping his upper body into a hug. After seeing others go through the same process, she wasn’t frightened.

“I knew he was in good hands,” she said.

It took 30 minutes for Jones to warm up. Heat first returned to his chest and stomach, then spread to his extremities. Soon after, he was helping pack down event infrastructure.

“I knew I was in good hands and just had to roll through it,” he says.

Now that the event is over, Jones and Rodger say they’re most humbled by the people they met, especially ice swimmers with disabilities who take to the polar waters.

For Jones, more cold water calls. In 2027, he wants to swim at the International Ice Swimming Association World Championships at Megève in the French Alps.