My English Channel Swim

Lots of people have asked for details of the swim and whilst it’s still fresh in my “thawed” mind I thought I’d get down what I remember.

I got the call to swim 24 hrs before, but given the previous instances where I’d get all ready, this time I didn’t lock it in my mind until Chris, the pilot, confirmed it with me at 11am on the morning of the swim. The plan was to meet at the marina at 1.30am (Wednesday20th July), motor around to Samphire Hoe (about 1 mile toward Folkestone from Dover marina) and leave the beach at about 2.30am….. and that’s pretty much what happened.

Although I had missed my neap tide window, the Spring tide was apparently a low Spring and more importantly, the conditions looked good. Several swimmers from the upcoming tide took the opportunity to go early with their pilots too.

When we got to Samphire Hoe, I stripped off to my special Black Ice bathers with CALM also printed on the back.  That was my motto for the swim - stay calm. CALM is also an acronym for Caren, Andrew, Lucy & Matilda, my family. Caren got the grease under my arms, between my legs and around my neck whilst Fraser pinned on the lights.  I put on my Melbourne Vicentre cap and clear goggles for night swimming (which I never changed), jumped off the back of the boat and swam to the beach.  It seemed a really long way. I remember thinking “what am I about to do???” A quick nervous pee later, I walked up the beach, cleared the water, put my hands in the air to signify the start and entered the water for the long journey ahead.

The swim started well, I like swimming at night, you just work in your own zone. I wasn’t cold at all; it wasn’t choppy or rough, just a bit lumpy. Didn’t really affect me but as I learnt later didn’t help Caren and Ollie with their sea sickness.  Caren my gorgeous wife managed to help feed me, photograph me and motivate me for nearly 15 hours, plus a 3 hour trip back to Dover …all whilst being sick. She is a goddess.  Ollie, my mate from Melbourne and a seriously good swimmer (second overall at Rottnest this year and 4^th at Manhattan) swam with me and said exactly the right things at the right time (the subtleties matter in this sport).

Fortunately, Fraser (my mate from NZ) has got a tried and tested set of sea legs and didn’t miss a beat all day. He managed all of the feeds with a little help from Caren and Ollie. Caren has canonised him as Saint Fraser.   It was magical to share the final moments with him on the beach in France. Especially when he was the one who started me on this journey.

Dawn came fairly soon (I think sunrise was officially 5.02am) and I was starting to feel a little cold so I looked forward to feeling the sun on my back. Unfortunately as soon as it rose the skies seemed to cloud over and I cant recall feeling or seeing the sun at any stage during the swim.

For the first part of the swim I was holding about 68 strokes a minute and just pacing myself for the long haul ahead.  At about 2 hours my right shoulder started to give me some real trouble but it went away with a hit of pain killers. I had no more shoulder pain for the rest of the swim until the last hour when my left shoulder started to hurt.  The only other weird physical thing was that my right leg went numb about 2 hours in and stayed that way for the rest of the swim.

I was feeding well each half hour, but I was feeling a little bloated.  At about 5 hours, the feed was a warmed up baby food which promptly came straight back up with about a litre of salt water and the previous few feeds.  As far as ‘spews’ go this was a ripper, 3 or 4 serious bursts of liquid rising from my belly and then a few hard-core dry reaching chasers.  Sometimes when swimmers start getting sick it is the beginning of the end.  If you can’t keep the food in, your body won’t have the energy to keep going. I was a bit concerned but Ollie just yelled out “don’t worry about it and get swimming”. Exactly what I needed to hear!

I took off and felt surprisingly good. Importantly, until I got back on the boat several hours later, I kept all feeds down for the next 10 hours.

The conditions seemed to vary during the day. At the beginning it was lumpy and it seemed to smooth off mid Channel but still largish swell, it got lumpy again in the afternoon and then for the swim into Cap Blanc-Nez it smoothed out nicely.  I didn’t feel that I was fighting the water at all. I certainly never got cross with it, which can be a common emotion when the wave action hinders a tiring swimming motion.

I had asked the crew to not tell me anything about my progress other than my stroke rate and when I was having my last feed. However, I knew when we had entered the south-west shipping lane as I saw a few big ships bearing down from my left. When I stopped seeing ships I knew we were in the separation zone. It seemed to take a long time to cross this bit of water and hit the north-east shipping lane. (The Channel is the world’s busiest shipping lane. It is separated into effectively 5 columns: English in-shore waters, south-west shipping lane – controlled by the English, the separation zone – no ships, the north-east shipping lane – controlled by the French and French in-shore waters)

During my swim across the separation zone I got very cold. From about 3 hours in I had started to mentally think of ways to pull out and still keep some dignity, but I couldn’t come up with any. I looked up and saw the crew in their warm wet weather gear and I longed to be sitting on the fly bridge with a set of that clothing on.  This swim was so much of a mental challenge; I was cold to the very core, so cold it just hurt, my body was just screaming to stop. Every time I looked up there was this nice boat that I could just get into and feel better if I just quit.

Shortly after the vomiting episode, the crew obviously thought I needed some motivation. Unbeknown to me, Caren and my brother had organised a very large banner with a beautiful picture of my 2 girls on it. The crew hung this from the side of the boat. Each time I breathed to the right I had these two gorgeous girls looking at me. But the clincher was the quote underneath which read, ‘Determination means never giving up, we love you Dad’. It bought a tear to my eye and was a major contributor to my ultimate success. Later on they changed the banner to one of my brother Greg, in a kayak saying, “hurry up and finish”. He has been right beside me in a kayak for training sessions and two Rottnest swims… so the relevance wasn’t lost on me.

Around the time I was in the separation zone, I started to seriously hallucinate.  I looked at the boat and it was completely wrapped in wet towels, stern to bow, then all of these little ducks were dropping off the boat and swimming over to me. It was crystal clear. I rationally knew that what I was seeing was not real and yet I could see them. I rationally thought that this was a bad sign as it probably meant hypothermia was taking hold.  Then right when it was getting very worrying, I got stung by a jellyfish (the first of several more to come) and it seriously snapped me out of it.  Shortly afterward I was called in for a feed - tea made with maxim - and the energy hit flowed through my body within minutes and I could actually feel it warming me up.

In hindsight, that jellyfish saved my swim. During the course of the swim I was stung several times and as bizarre as it sounds, I loved it. Each time it woke me up, gave me a spurt of energy, made me mad at something  - it proved to me that I was still strong.

I had several other tricks to keep me going at low points too. All of which I had practised in long cold water training sessions.  For example I’d think about:

• Signing the wall at the White Horse pub
• Signing Peter Bardoel’s book (Peter swam the Channel in 2002 and has this old book on Channel swimming that he has been collecting signatures in of all the successful solo Channel swimmers he has met – it’s a brilliant and inspiring book to flick through and read the inscriptions.
• Going back to squad after having done it
• Singing “Eye of the Tiger” (yeah I know it’s pathetic)
• Counting strokes to the point where I’d lose count
• Reciting “The Man from Snowy River” (I could never get through it all as I’d forget verses)
• Imagining the warm French waters (I never did notice a temperature improvement)
• Looking forward to the next feed and pee (I can only pee when I’m stopped, its amazing how much I enjoyed peeing)
• How much better the family holiday would be if I was successful.
• Or just reciting my mantra; “one, two, three, breathe”…repeat!

Having spent most of the swim worrying that a time would come when I couldn’t go on, I knew the danger zone would be around the time of the north-east shipping lane. I knew I was in there when the big tankers and cargo ships started coming from my right.  I kept swimming as well as I could.  I had a feed and Ollie said “look there is the ZC2 buoy”. I knew of this buoy as it is a well-known marker in Channel swimming and depending on the tide, often means the end is not far away. At that point I knew I would make it. Incorrectly, I thought we would be landing at Cape Gris Nez - the closet point to Dover and the point all swimmers and their pilots aim to hit. What I didn’t know is that just after I passed the buoy the tide turned and I was fast heading back up the Channel to Calais.  I found out later that the crew already knew this would happen from several hours before and their plan was for me to hit Cap Blanc.  This can be a pivotal moment in a swim. People often incorrectly say that the tide held a swimmer back. This isn’t what actually happens, the tide simply pushes the swimmer to a point where the land is now further away. Regularly, the swimmer just has to keep swimming until the tide turns back again, adding hours to the swim time.  The crew were worried for a while that this was my fate too.

I didn’t know what was going on but I could tell that Cap Gris Nez was getting further way to my right.  I went along side the boat for my next feed and Caren lent over and said “quick feed, swim”. I knew what she meant.  Apparently they had discussed telling me to swim harder but determined that I was already giving it my best, but her subtle message got through.  I gave it as much as I had for the next 2 hours. I could see Caren and Ollie and Fraser talking with the skipper and I was worried that he was saying something like he’s not going to make it.  I had prepared myself for convincing the skipper that I was up to another six hours if necessary.  When I look at the video now of my swimming at that time, I’m not so sure. 

Anyway, I was much later picking up on these things than the skipper and crew and shortly thereafter they knew I was going to get to the in shore waters where the current is less and make Cap Blanc. I didn’t know that so I just kept swimming as hard as I could. What I also hadn’t realised is that my crew had stretched the feeds to 45mins to avoid delays during this crucial period.

After about an hour (guess we were hitting the 14 hours mark now) I could tell that the cliffs were getting much closer, I could see detail in the cliff face I hadn’t been able to see before. I also saw Fraser putting on his wetsuit. This was good … I had asked Fraser before the swim to swim into shore with me. Ollie called me in for a feed. He handed me an energy gel and told me it was the last feed.  I slammed it down as Fraser jumped in the water. Adrenaline was driving me now as Fraser and I swam towards the towering white cliffs.

Before I knew it my hands touched the rocky sand beneath me and I tried to stand up but promptly fell over. I crawled a short way and with some effort managed to stand. All I could think of was trying to find a place to stand that was clearly (for the observer on the boat) clear of the water. I stood on one rock put my hands in the air but I didn’t hear a siren, so I stood on another bigger rock and put my hands in the air.  I knew I was clear but I still didn’t hear the siren. Turns out the ear plugs just drowned it out and it had gone off as soon as I cleared the water the first time.

My time was 14hours 40 minutes.

I gave Fraser a quick man hug, picked up a souvenir stone and shoved it in my Speedos and immediately started to feel extremely cold. So cold it hurt.  We went straight back into the water for my pathetic swim back to the boat. I could hardly move my arms and the boat was a fair way off due to shallow water and rocks.

I could only manage to get myself up a few ladder rungs on the back of the boat and I hung on as the boat moved to deeper water and then the crew awkwardly dragged me head first and unceremoniously onto the deck.  As Caren and Ollie got me covered in towels and then into some warm clothing, my body started to shake uncontrollably as it began the process of rewarming itself. The realisation of successfully completing the English Channel swim swept over me and caused a short emotional breakdown (fortunately it’s not on video!).  

The boat turned for Dover.  I spoke to my parents and the girls by phone and mid way back I emptied the rest of my stomach. Feeling much better we arrived at the marina about 3 hours later. To my delight Matilda and Lucy, my gorgeous girls, were waiting on the dock to see me. It was the best moment.

The next morning I met up with two other guys (Andrew Keegan and Craig Chapman) from Black Ice who also (coincidentally) successfully swam on the same tide and we all signed our names on the famous White Horse pub walls. Another great moment in this adventure.  

In hindsight, I don’t think there is much I’d do differently. I was well prepared for the cold and I knew I had the stamina to just keep going. My coach John Van Wisse has a view that the faster you can swim the less chance there is that something can go wrong.  I agree with this, so stroke improvement and efficiency remains my big opportunity to improve.  Having said that, I’m not coming back!  It was the hardest physical and mental thing I have ever done. A day I am proud of, but not keen to repeat.

I am so thankful to everyone who helped me achieve this goal. Swimming mates, coaches, mentors, trainers and a big contingent of friends who have helped in all sorts of ways.

I thought Chris Osmond on Seafarer 11 was a great pilot. During the time of poor weather he was straight with me and I have huge confidence in his skills. Between Chris and his two ship mates (Jim and Brian) I had a first class boat crew.

Ollie is one of those swimmers that I knew all about before we became friends. His name is always at the top of the list on the official results lists. I’d read his blog of his English Channel swim before I’d even met him.  He and his beautiful wife, Victoria, had me stay with them in Cheltenham for a few days of fresh water swimming and getting my head right. Having his experience on the boat, from a swimmers point of view, was invaluable and I know it relaxed Caren enormously having him there. I will always be grateful for his role in this swim.  He has also done a chestnut of a write up of the swim from an observer’s point of view on his blog at http://www.olliechannelswim2009.blogspot.com/

Fraser is one of those friends we all only get a few of in our lives. Living in different countries we often don’t speak for several months but when we do we just pick up right from where we left off. I casually mentioned to him the idea of joining me on this adventure and within days he had locked in it. He flew in from New Zealand and was with me during all the lows of being told swim, no swim as my tide was blown out. I am so glad that I was able to share that moment on the beach in France with him.  Good stories to share with our grandkids.

Mostly importantly is Caren. She gets me. Making her proud is a big driver for me. If love is a driver of success, I was never going to fail. 

a wild channel the day before the swim 

 Fraser on light stick duty

 Caren on swimming grease duty

Into the night I go

 dawn break - the only time i saw the sun

 Saint Fraser

 Ollie looking a little green..but not too bad

the banner with the girls telling me not to give up

 ZC2 buoy 

I know I've made it now

 look carefully at the base of the cliff as I emerge

 Fraser got these shots from the beach

Cold trip home

 Capt Webb, the 1st to swim successfully - 1875

On the Ferry to Calais ..the only way to cross the channel from now on!