Getting to France...the HARD way
A couple of summers ago, I was to be passi ng near New York City on the same day that the waters around Manhattan were to be filled with swimmers. So, I joined a few former swimmers from my college, and we raced around Manhattan relay style. After an hour, the swimmer in the water would climb onto our team's boat as a new member of the team took over. And in one of those lulls on the boat I mentioned to our team captain, Mike, that I always thougth it would be neat to swim the English Channel.
So, in the autumn of 2003 when I got an email from Mike saying "We can swim the English Channel relay style....are you in?", what could I say but "Yes!".
In the middle of August 2004, 6 of us converged in Dover, England. We had been assigned the week of Aug 21-28 by the Channel Swimming and Piloting Federation for our attempt; we would be the second relay team out that week on a boat called the Suva. We would go as soon as the weather permitted. The weather seemed just fine to us as we arrived that Saturday, and Sunday morning saw me down at the harbor where channel swimmers gather. People introduced themselves to me, someone greased me up a bit with vaseline to keep down the chaffing which salt water exacerbates, someone else gave me flip flops to walk over the rocks down to the water. I swam for close to two hours with Katie from London who was going to attempt a solo Channel crossing later that week. We were about the same speed, and I was glad to have someone to pace with. Ouch! It was cold! Low 60s. I was chattering when I got out, and I walked back to the B&B where a hot shower and a hot cup of tea brought me to life again.
This became the pattern as we waited for the weather to clear up. For while the weather was fine on land, fine for being a tourist and fine for swimming in the protected harbor, the remnants of Hurricane Charley were still churning the waters of the Channel. Waiting is part of the adventure of crossing the Channel, as all the swimmers we met told us. Several were in Dover to attempt double crossings (swimming from England to France and back to England again without stopping). One swimmer who wanted to attempt a three way crossing abandoned that hope mid-week and flew home after hearing the weather reports showed dismal chances for the stretch of good weather he'd need.
Of course, Dover isn't a bad place for a vacation. Besides the opportunity for a brisk swim each morning, Canterbury lies a short train ride away, sandy Victorian resort beaches are close, and one can get to Calais the easy way - via the SeaFrance ferry for a day too. But by Wednesday night when word came that Thursday would once again not be a day for us to swim, the dejection of the team was hard to overlook. Even a good pasta dinner in one of Dover's many (!) Italian restaurants didn't help. Friday had already been ruled out with the forecasts, so we were down to one last hope: Saturday. All of us were catching flights back to the States on Sunday.
We had arrived in Dover with the hope of making a double crossing. After all, there were six of us to share the burden. But, my greatest fear was that we would leave without even getting any attempt at all, and that possibility was looming huge by Wednesday night.
Thursday and Friday were tough. But just before heading to dinner Friday night we got he word that Saturday morning, 6 am, we were to be at the boat. We were going! And because it was so late in the week, the tides had pushed us from a start time that would have been the ungainly hour of 4 am to the more respectable 6 am.
Six am then, we were at the boat, waiting for the captain. He emerged, having spent the night onboard, and we started loading our stuff. Some of us still harbored the hope that we would swim fast enough to try for the double crossing and still return by 7 am Sunday which would be just barely enough time to drive quickly to Heathrow. But we had to wait and wait and wait for some communication with the marina to be cleared up and it was 7:30 before we left. So, it was clear to all of us that we would not be swimming back. But at least we would be swimming!
Surprisingly, I wasn't nervous at all; I just wanted to SWIM! As the youngest of our group, and the only woman, my teammates kindly allowed me the pleasure of leading us off. And amazingly, for someone who takes a full 5 minutes on most occassions to get into the 80 degree swimming pool, when they gave me the ok to jump in, I did immediately. I only swam a few strokes though, as I needed to climb up onto Shakespeare beach, our official starting point. I cleared the water, signaled to the captain that I was ready, and he sounded a horn. The clock and I were underway, and our journey had officially begun.
I didn't feel cold for the first 30 minutes or so, and the first 50 minutes of my hour passed quickly. Then I began to be ready for Bob, the next swimmer in the rotation, to relieve me.
The day was about perfect for channel swimming. The sun was shining, the water was reasonably calm, and very warm by channel standards - about 65 degrees. But being on the boat between my turns in the water was excruciating. Despite my attempts at preventation, from the moment I climbed on board the boat after my first rotation until the moment my feet felt English ground beneath them again, I and two of my teammates were seasick. I spent as much time as possible prone on the front of the ship, wrapped in my sweats, trying to concentrate on the feel of the sun (which wasn't enough to warm me up thoroughly).
After 5 hours, it was my turn again, and it was a relief to get back in the water. Swimming was easier than being in the boat! About halfway through, I ran into something and fearing the sting of the jelly fish which sometimes inhabit th channel in droves, I stopped. It was just a big patch of seaweed though, and seaweed doesn't sting!
My third swim started at 7:30 pm. We had been swimming for 12 hours and the captain was beginning to be a bit concerned. The tides were changing and would begin to prevent us from getting to the shore. In fact, one of the crewmen had run into this problem on his attempt earlier in the summer and after swimming something like 14 hours, had to be pulled out.
Right before I went in for this third time, he was psyching me up to swim as fast as I could, to get us close enough that we wouldn't be stuck for several more hours with the shore constantly out of reach. A lightstick was attached to my bathing suit because it would grow dark while I was swimming, and I jumped in. What a pleasure to watch the moon above, growing more luminous as the daylight faded! I could see the lighthouse beacon on shore glowing too, although I knew it was deceptively far away. As the sun set though, I felt colder and colder, and I was suddenly glad that we wouldn't be swimming through the dead of night.
I was exhausted when I got out, but I knew that had been my last swim, and I knew that I had done a good enough job. Bob swam his hour, and Mike followed. Thirty minutes into Mike's swim, the boat had to stop as the water became too shallow. The crew lit a big spotlight, pointed it at the beach, and we all gathered to watch Mike swim into the shore. Fourteen hours and 30 minutes after leaving Dover, Mike cleared the water on Wissant beach in France!