In a stunning new layer to one of Australia’s most baffling maritime disappearances, investigators have unearthed recovered data revealing the last known coordinates of the boat captained by missing 44-year-old Ashley “Ash” Haigh—and the revelation has ignited a firestorm of questions: why on earth did this seasoned fisherman steer—or drift—his vessel to such an improbable, far-flung spot?

The black half-cabin pleasure craft, a familiar sight in Gold Coast waters and nicknamed by locals as a reliable marlin-chaser, was discovered unmanned and eerily intact roughly 46 kilometers (25 nautical miles) southeast of the Gold Coast Seaway near Burleigh Heads. But fresh analysis of onboard navigation logs, GPS pings, and possibly mobile data traces shows the boat’s final registered position pushed even farther afield—drifting or powered into waters that experts say make little sense for a routine solo fishing run targeting big game like marlin.

Haigh, a beloved husband, father, and fixture in Queensland’s tight-knit game fishing community, set sail from The Spit near Runaway Bay Marina just after 6:30 a.m. on Thursday, February 5, 2026. Conditions were textbook perfect: calm seas, clear skies, no warnings of foul weather. He told friends the night before he’d be back by evening—standard procedure for an experienced hand who’d logged countless hours chasing trophy fish in these very waters.

Yet by 7 p.m., the boat failed to return. Alarm spread quickly through family and marina buddies. Water police mobilized, and in the dead-of-night hours around 2 a.m. Friday, February 6, searchers stumbled upon the ghost vessel floating serenely, keys in ignition, hull holding only minor water—no structural damage, no signs of struggle, fishing gear sparse but present. One life jacket missing. Haigh’s phone? Nowhere to be found.

The real bombshell dropped as forensic teams and maritime investigators pored over recovered electronic data from the boat’s systems. The final coordinates placed the craft in a zone far removed from Haigh’s usual fishing hotspots—areas where currents and winds could theoretically carry an unmanned boat, but the path raises red flags. Why deviate so dramatically? Was he chasing a hot bite that pulled him offshore? Did an unexpected mechanical issue or sudden medical event force an erratic course change? Or—whispered in hushed tones among online sleuths and fishing forums—could something more sinister have unfolded, prompting the vessel to be repositioned?

The distance between the boat’s discovery site and the last pinged coordinates has fueled speculation: ocean currents in the region are strong but predictable, yet the boat appeared to have traveled—or been directed—into a pocket that defies simple drift models. Some experts point to possible auto-pilot anomalies or unintended engine engagement keeping it on course longer than expected. Others aren’t convinced, noting the absence of distress signals until the EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) activated briefly before going silent.

That EPIRB—registered squarely in Haigh’s name—became another chilling piece. Recovered inactive on Saturday, February 7, about 25 kilometers (14 nautical miles) off Ballina in northern New South Wales waters, it was found bobbing alone, far south of the boat’s location. The beacon’s final transmission suggests it fired off in desperation, perhaps as Haigh hit the water, but then powered down—leaving rescuers racing against drifting debris zones that expanded rapidly.

A massive cross-border operation swung into gear: Queensland and NSW water police, Australian Maritime Safety Authority aircraft, helicopters, volunteer marine rescuers, and up to eight vessels scoured over 1,800 square nautical miles. Search patterns stretched from Point Danger down to Byron Bay, Ballina, Evans Head, and Yamba. Day turned to night, hope clung to every ripple—yet nothing. No clothing fragments, no additional debris, no signs of life.

By Sunday, February 8, with the grim reality sinking in, authorities shifted from frantic rescue to somber “recovery phase.” The active hunt was suspended at last light, though police vowed to maintain contact with Haigh’s devastated family and remain open to new tips. “No further items or signs of life have been located,” a Queensland Police statement read, the words landing like a gut punch.

Friends paint a portrait of a man who lived for the sea. Andrew Dunbar, a mate of 15 years who chatted with Haigh the night before the trip, spoke of his passion, skill, and reliability. “He knew those waters like the back of his hand,” Dunbar said. The Gold Coast fishing fraternity reels: boats at marinas fly flags at half-mast, social media floods with tributes, memories of epic catches, and quiet fears about what really happened out there.

The recovered data twist has only deepened the enigma. Online discussions buzz with theories: rogue wave sweeping him overboard? Sudden heart attack at the helm? Foul play in isolated waters? The boat’s “good condition” and lack of obvious foul play evidence clash with the inexplicable final coordinates—why move there at all?

For Haigh’s wife, children, sister Lauren—who issued a raw, heartbroken tribute calling him “very loved”—and the entire community, answers remain locked in the deep. The ocean that gave Haigh so many thrills has claimed its mystery, leaving behind a drifting boat, a silent beacon, and coordinates that refuse to add up.

As investigators continue poring over every byte of data, the question hangs heavy: What forced—or lured—Ashley Haigh to that final, fateful position? In the unforgiving expanse off Australia’s east coast, some secrets may stay submerged forever.