Justin Lyons worked with Steve Irwin for years and was with him when he was tragically killed

Joshua Nair

The man that was behind the camera when legendary conservationist Steve Irwin died previously recalled what his final moments were.

Back in September 2006, the world was shaken to its core as the news of Irwin’s death broke following an encounter with a stingray.

The Australian zookeeper was filming in the Batt Reef, off the coast of his homeland, when a stingray’s barb pierced his chest, tragically killing him.

It was claimed by the cameraman that he was stabbed ‘100 times’.

Irwin, also known as ‘The Crocodile Hunter’, was off the coast of Port Douglas, Queensland, with his long-time collaborator, cameraman, and diving partner Justin Lyons.

Lyons helped to capture some of the animal lover’s iconic interactions with wildlife.

But on 4 September 2006, Irwin’s time would come to an end while they were looking for tiger sharks.

There is a tape of his death somewhere as well, due to his pact with the crew to ‘keep filming regardless of the situation’.

Lyons, who joined Irwin on many of his expeditions and worked with him for over 10 years, shared the horrific details of Irwin’s fatal stingray attack.

Speaking to Daily Mail Australia, Lyons said: “Steve wasn’t one to sit around and wait, so I said ‘let’s jump in the boat and see what we can find’.

“We never wasted a minute. We were always shooting and because we had some spin-off shows, we used every frame of every shot.”

Irwin always went above and beyond to interact with wildlife (Justin Sullivan/Getty Images)

While submerged in the water, the pair came across a large stingray. They weren’t particularly concerned, having filmed with stingrays many times, saying: “We knew the behaviour. We weren’t scared of them.

“We thought this was going to be a joy. We were swimming around [the stingray], he’d glide off and settle on the bottom.”

Lyons recalled: “[Irwin] swam up right over his tail. Instead of swimming off, [the bull ray] propped himself on the front of its wings and pushed his rear end up and started madly stabbing with his tail towards Steve.

“The water boiled with bubbles, thrashing and whatnot. The entire time I was locked on Steve. I didn’t know what was going on, I could see it was trying to stab Steve and he was pushing him away but it was over in about 10-15 seconds.

“The stingray swam off so I panned to film Steve swimming away.

“It wasn’t until I panned back and the water around him was already filling with blood that I realised he had passed.”

Lyons recalled all the details of Irwin’s tragic death (YouTube/Studio 10)

Lyons went on to share Steve’s heartbreaking final moments.

He said: “Brian is covering this massive wound in Steve’s chest. There’s blood and fluid oozing from this massive hole. Steve is tensing up writhing in pain. Brian keeps saying: ‘Think of your kids, you’ll be right.’

“Steve looks directly at me and says: ‘I’m dying.’ I told him: ‘No you’re not, you’ll be right just hang in there.’”

They arrived back at shore about 45 minutes later, but by that poin,t Steve appeared to have already gone, and there was nothing they could do for him.

Featured Image Credit: Justin Sullivan/Getty

Steve Irwin’s Cameraman Recalls His TERRIFYING Last Moments | HO!!

Queensland, Australia — It was supposed to be another day in the wild for Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter: a man whose boundless energy and fearless devotion to wildlife had made him a global icon.

But on September 4, 2006, in the serene, sun-dappled waters of the Great Barrier Reef, a routine filming session turned into a tragedy that stunned the world. For the first time, the man behind the camera—longtime friend and collaborator Justin Lyons—shares the harrowing minute-by-minute account of Irwin’s final moments, providing a chilling, intimate look at the day nature struck back.

A Legacy Forged in the Wild

Steve Irwin was more than a television personality; he was a force of nature. Born in 1962 to conservationist parents, he was raised among Australia’s most dangerous creatures. By age nine, he was catching crocodiles with his bare hands under the watchful eye of his father, Bob Irwin. The Queensland Reptile and Fauna Park, later known as Australia Zoo, was both his home and his crucible—a place where his legendary connection with animals was forged.

Irwin’s rise to global fame came in the mid-1990s with the launch of The Crocodile Hunter. His khaki uniform, explosive catchphrases (“Crikey!”), and infectious enthusiasm drew millions to his cause: not just to witness his daring feats, but to fall in love with the wild as he had. Whether wrestling saltwater crocodiles or cradling venomous snakes, Irwin’s message was always the same—respect, protect, and cherish the world’s most misunderstood creatures.

The Fatal Shoot

By 2006, Irwin was a household name, an international symbol of conservation. Filming for the documentary Ocean’s Deadliest had brought him to Bat Reef, off Port Douglas, Queensland. Irwin and his trusted cameraman, Justin Lyons, had spent weeks capturing footage of some of the ocean’s most formidable predators. But on that fateful September morning, the focus shifted to a seemingly benign creature: the bull ray.

Bull rays are graceful giants of the Indo-Pacific, their flat bodies gliding effortlessly over the seabed. While equipped with a venomous, serrated barb on their tails, they are rarely aggressive and almost never lethal to humans. For Irwin, filming the ray was a routine task—one he had performed countless times before.

The Moment Everything Changed

The plan was simple: Steve would approach the ray from behind as it lay half-buried in the sand, allowing Lyons to capture a unique shot of it swimming away. “It was a standard maneuver,” Lyons recalls. “No signs of agitation, nothing out of the ordinary. Steve was calm, focused, completely in his element.”

But nature, as Irwin often reminded his audience, is unpredictable. As Irwin hovered above the ray, something—perhaps a shadow, a shift in current, or the proximity of the camera—triggered the animal’s defensive instincts. In a split second, the ray’s muscular tail lashed upward, delivering a rapid-fire barrage of strikes.

“I saw the tail come up, and then it was chaos,” Lyons recounts, his voice still tight with emotion years later. “It was like a machine gun—hundreds of strikes in just a few seconds. Then the water turned red.”

One of those strikes found its mark with devastating precision. The barb, nearly a foot long, pierced Irwin’s chest, puncturing his heart. “He came up out of the water, his face twisted in pain,” Lyons says. “He looked right at me and said, ‘I’m dying, mate.’”

A Desperate Race Against Time

Panic erupted on the water. Lyons dropped the camera and dragged Irwin onto their inflatable tender, shouting for help. The rest of the crew, seasoned professionals who had braved countless dangers with Irwin, sprang into action. CPR began immediately as the boat sped toward their research vessel, Croc One.

“He was bleeding out fast,” Lyons remembers. “Every second counted. We were screaming into the radio for a chopper, for anything that could save him. The crew was doing everything right—oxygen, compressions, breaths—but I could see it in Steve’s eyes. He knew.”

On board the Croc One, the atmosphere was frantic but focused. Emergency services were summoned with urgent clarity: “Marine incident, possible cardiac arrest, Bat Reef, stingray barb to the chest.” The Queensland rescue helicopter launched from Cairns, but the damage was already done.

The Final Minutes

As the minutes slipped by, hope faded. Lyons and the crew worked desperately, but Irwin’s wounds were catastrophic. “He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t panicking. He was just… accepting,” Lyons says quietly. “His last words were a statement, not a plea. He knew he was going.”