At 9.30 a.m., after a five-minute boat ride, we arrived at the starting point, which was a bunch of rocks in Tarifa next to the lighthouse. The plan was to touch them and the swim would then start. Unlike the English Channel, where you have to leave the water to begin, it is too dangerous to exit here and touching the rock is acceptable. Otherwise the rules of swimming the Gibraltar Strait are the same as for the English Channel: you can’t wear a wetsuit – normal swim trunks and hat only – and you can’t touch the boat.
As soon as we’d touched the rocks we started sprinting as if it were a 100-metre race. I took the decision to lead the way; Chris is competitive like me and I knew he wouldn’t want to be left behind and that it would get the best out of him.
We came in on the first hour for a feed and had made some significant ground. On the second hour, I saw an adult and baby dolphin swimming underneath us and I could hear pilot whales doing pulsed calls to each other. I stopped once to look but was anxious to keep moving due to the time constraints we were under.
The conditions were in our favour, though; the water was fairly flat and certainly better than during my English Channel crossing, so we continued to cover good ground. Just before the second hour was up, I felt a sudden drop in water temperature, from around 21 to 15 degrees, as we went from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic side. It wasn’t an issue as I had been training in Dover in the colder temperatures – in fact, it felt quite nice.
After two hours thirty minutes, I let Chris go past me, thinking that, if he was leading, it might drive him on for the last hour. He stopped and turned to me and said, ‘What’s wrong? Come on, we can’t hang around – we need to get moving.’
‘You’re joking!’ I shouted. ‘I’ve let you go past me.’
It irritated me a little and brought out my competitive side: I swam past him again. Chris and I have always been light-hearted with each other but I thought, ‘What a cheek – I was doing it to help him.’
We came in for a drink at the three-hour mark. I could see Morocco, and it looked close. The pressure was now on to finish within three hours thirty minutes. We had a quick drink and set off, pushing ourselves harder than ever. I started sprinting. Before long, a wave hit me and my goggles filled with water. I knew I didn’t have time to adjust them as every minute mattered. I swam with my goggles full of salty seawater, my eye stinging, in a desperate final push to finish that would give us the opportunity to turn back for the return journey.
As we got closer, I could hear the crew shouting, ‘Stay to the right and touch a rock!’ I was 5 metres away and wasn’t sure why I couldn’t just touch the rocks I was heading for, but communication out there in the ocean is very difficult at the best of times, as I had ear plugs in. I swam at a right angle to the rocks until they shouted for me to touch them. Chris ignored or didn’t hear the shout and was to the left. I think they were just concerned that if we headed too far left we could potentially miss the rocks.
We touched the rocks in Tangier together in a time of three hours twenty-five minutes, breaking the British record. I hadn’t planned this far ahead about what should happen next. I knew we were allowed to have ten minutes sitting on a rock, clearing the water, before turning around if we wished. Although I didn’t expect a rest.
I was right in thinking that: our crew immediately starting shouting, ‘Come back, come back!’ I remember thinking, ‘This is an expensive way to travel to Morocco.’
We pushed off the rocks in Morocco and started to make our way back to Spain. This gave me such a massive boost, as I remembered Rafael, when I first enquired about the swim, really trying to put me off attempting the two-way. ‘Not only do you need fast pace,’ he’d said, ‘but the currents have to fall in your favour.’ During the first leg the current had pushed us more to the west, and it would now be pushing us to the east on the second leg.
I knew Rafael had said it takes twice as long on the way back as the currents are much stronger, but I convinced myself that it would be different with us – we would make it back in three hours thirty minutes. I found that thinking about the best possible outcome kept my mind positive and helped drive me on.
At five hours fifty minutes we were around halfway back on the second leg and I could see we were heading in a straight line back to the nearest point in Tarifa, which was the lighthouse. It all seemed to be going great and I remember thinking, ‘I don’t know what Rafael was talking about – this is going to be straightforward.’ Shortly after I thought that, we were waved in for a feed and the crew went from being relaxed to shouting, ‘You have to swim faster.’
‘Why?’ I said. ‘What’s happened?’
‘The tide is turning,’ they answered. ‘You have to swim faster.’
My heart rate suddenly went up by about fifty beats a minute. The pressure was now on and we had to react to it.
Chris and I had been swimming quite far apart on the way back – it was almost as if he was trying to swim off to Majorca at times. He had been told to stick close to the boat, but kept veering off. The pilot of the RIB didn’t like it, from a safety viewpoint, as he had to keep leaving me by myself to tell Chris to swim closer to the boat. I didn’t mind when it happened – I just wasn’t sure whether I was going in the right direction. I was conscious we had been swimming more slowly on the way back as the first leg had taken a lot out of us. We had to now pick up the pace – we didn’t have a choice. I increased the stroke rate, which went against what I was trying to achieve with the new stroke, but there was no thought to technique now – I just had to swim as fast as I could.
After every feed the crew would say the same: ‘You’ve got to go faster.’ At one point I shouted back in frustration, ‘I can’t go any faster!’
So many emotions were running through my brain. I thought, ‘When am I going to get a chance to do this swim again?’ How had this happened? The RIB crew continued to look anxious – I could tell from their body language. Around eight hours in I heard Chris’s sister saying, ‘You have two miles to go and you have thirty minutes to do it in.’ I thought it was impossible but had to keep pushing, just in case. I was so upset, for I felt the chance of making it across was slipping away.
At the thirty-minute feed I shouted, ‘Don’t bother, there’s no point me having a drink.’ I thought, ‘I may as well just keep swimming until they tell me to get out.’
At forty-five minutes, the RIB came to me and my crew insisted I had a feed, then drove off to feed Chris, who was even further away now. I didn’t know it at the time, but it turned out that Chris’s sister had been wrong. (She could have been confused as there is a cut-off time after which it is illegal to be in the water, due to immigrants potentially trying to swim from Morocco.)
I heard the pilot say into his radio, ‘Swimming man in water need more time.’ Unbeknownst to me, the coastguard had agreed to an additional forty-five minutes if we needed it. As I didn’t know this, I kept looking behind at the RIB, waiting for the signal to say it was over. Another thirty minutes went by and still no signal. I didn’t know what was going on.
At just over nine hours thirty minutes, I saw the main boat had stopped up ahead. I thought it must be the signal that the swim was over and they were going to call me in. Then I realised next to them was a small rock. I still didn’t believe it was Tarifa and completion of the swim. I swam closer and closer. I shouted, ‘Is this the finish?’ I couldn’t hear a response apart from clapping. As I came within 10 metres of the rock, I realised it must be. My head was so confused. I started to turn around to look for Chris. The crew in the main boat and the RIB screamed at me to keep going. I wanted us to finish together but Chris was nowhere to be seen. I did as they said and swam to the rock and cleared the water in Tarifa in a time of nine hours and thirty-nine minutes. I think it was the most uncomfortable rock I have ever sat on; however, at that moment it was the best place in the world.
It was an amazing feeling to be the first British person to swim the Gibraltar Strait both ways. I
had gone through a roller coaster of emotions and couldn’t believe I had made it.
I was now concerned about Chris. It would put a massive dampener on things if he didn’t make it too. As I had left the water and had my finish confirmed, I was OK to turn back in search of him. Shortly afterwards he suddenly appeared and I was so relieved to see him. I swam the last 20 metres back alongside him and we both left the water together and gave each other a hug.
When we were back on the boat, it was clear we were a little shell shocked and looked like we had fought 12 rounds with a world champion boxer. It didn’t matter, we had done it and were only two of eight people in the world to have completed the feat without a wetsuit. The map we were shown afterwards confirmed how the currents had started to take us after halfway, as Rafael had said they would, but due to speed and wind against the current we had managed to stay within the eight miles of coastline.
We were taken back to the harbour, and it was great to be congratulated by my mum and dad. It was a huge relief. The swim had taken a lot out of me due to the speed we had no choice but to maintain, but it gave me a huge confidence boost.
We flew back the next day and I went to my new job as a national account manager at Indesit, a white-goods manufacturer. It was such a great feeling to have accomplished another big swim and I felt invigorated, hoping this new role would keep my mind busy.
Prior to the Gibraltar Strait swim, I had committed to a two-way Windermere race with an organisation called the British Long Distance Swimming Association (BLDSA). The event takes place every two years and I quite fancied it as Windermere is the longest lake in the UK at 10.5 miles, so 21 miles in total, the same as the English Channel. I knew I was pushing myself as it was only five weeks after the Gibraltar Strait swim, which didn’t leave me with much recovery time.
A lake posed a different challenge to swimming in the ocean. As it is fresh and not salt water, there is no buoyancy to assist body position. Windermere has a slight tide and can even be quite turbulent in significantly windy weather conditions.
I felt confident after completing my second channel swim and I thought it would be relatively straightforward. I checked into Langdale Chase Hotel located in Troutbeck, only a few minutes’ drive from the start of the swim. There were no real nerves that evening and I even watched a movie until 1.30 a.m. If anything, I was too relaxed and not taking it seriously. In the morning I had to check out as there was a wedding, and I spent the day walking around the centre of Windermere with little concern about the swim.
I arrived at the lake around 6.30 p.m. The swim was scheduled for an 8 p.m. start. The reason it was at night was to avoid any boat traffic. This would be a new experience for me, as most of the swim would be in darkness. We each had to provide our own boat crew – well, when I say ‘boat’ I mean rowing boat! I had my wife with me to navigate as well as Jim, who had been part of the crew on my English Channel crossing, along with his friend Ellery. Jim had agreed to do the rowing, which was a challenge in itself as it would be all through the night until morning. He had the great idea of putting yellow tape around the oars so I could see them as I swam next to the boat.
The race had strict rules, based on the English Channel’s. It had to be standard-size swim shorts, one swim hat and no wetsuit. At 7.45 p.m. I was changed and ready to swim, and stood there at the side of the lake thinking, ‘What have I let myself in for?’ The truth was, I had achieved my objective of swimming the English Channel and the two-way Gibraltar Strait, and this was not a priority. The organiser was scanning to make sure everyone was adhering to the rules of the event. She walked past me and said, ‘You can’t wear those shorts – they are not standard and too long.’
I said, ‘They’re just normal size.’
She said, ‘If you win the race I can’t acknowledge the swim – it won’t count.’
Fortunately Chris was doing the swim too and had the same size shorts as me. I had to take them off and so did he so we could prove they were the same size. Once we did that she was happy and said it was OK for me to wear them; my swim would count.
There were around twenty experienced long-distance swimmers in the race. I looked out to the lake and thought, ‘Well, no backing out now.’ Not that I would have – I just wasn’t feeling inspired to do the swim.
We waded into the water. It was a similar temperature to the English Channel, around 16 degrees, and the air temperature was cool as it was getting dark. We all lined up, a whistle was blown and we were off.
The adrenaline kicked in straight away and I started pushing myself hard. I wasn’t sure how you race 21 miles and for a second I think my mind thought it was a short distance. I swam fast for the first hour. Chris suggested before the swim that we would swim together, but I knew I would never hear the end of it if he beat me. I was in third place and the two leaders were in sight. As I approached one hour, I had my first drink. It was the most negative I’d ever felt on a swim, and I said, ‘I’m hating this!’ The response back from the boat was, ‘Just get on with it!’
My head was pounding and I felt really sick; I knew it couldn’t have been motion sickness. I could only put it down to feeling physically tired. Perhaps I hadn’t fully recovered since Gibraltar. I reached an hour and a half and sure enough I was sick. My pace slowed right down and something felt really wrong. I continued to will my arms over, but I wasn’t enjoying it at all and kept stopping to adjust my goggles as they felt too tight and were giving me a headache. I just couldn’t relax.
Another hour went by and it felt like a real grind. We passed one of the islands on the lake and people must have been camping there; as I swam past I saw two very drunk-looking individuals with beer cans. I was expecting some abuse yelled at me, but it was as if they had seen a ghost. I have always found people’s reactions to swimming quite funny – the stares you get swimming in open water, especially when they are intoxicated!
By the time I reached three hours, I felt particularly cold. I wondered whether that was just my mind playing tricks on me, as I was only three quarters of the way across the first stretch. I later found out that a number of people had given up around three hours, including the male winner of two years earlier. I went through my mental focus techniques, visualising being warm and swimming in my warm ring, but the biggest issue was that I wasn’t passionate about the swim and so my guard and focus were down. I carried on regardless as I’m too stubborn and the thought of quitting could never be an option.
I passed the four-hour mark and I knew Chris was quite far behind. I didn’t know the lake that well and kept convincing myself that I was at the end when I saw moored boats, which kept me going, even though it wasn’t the case. At around four hours fifty minutes I touched the end. What a relief – at least one way was done.
I was still very tired and my shoulder felt sore. I thought, ‘I’m on my way home now’, which was a huge mental boost. There was a big gap behind me and I wasn’t going to catch the other two, who were flying off ahead, so the pressure was off – I just needed to finish. I had asked a lot of my shoulder and it was now all about preserving it. I didn’t have long after Gibraltar to work on my new technique and it was still far from perfect; I was anxious not to cause too much irritation so I tried to ease off a little and just get the swim over and done with.
By the time it reached 5 a.m. the sun was starting to come up and I was nine hours in. It was stunning and that really lifted my spirits. I realised how lucky I was to be out there, after moaning to myself for much of the swim. I kept counting strokes up to sixty, then another set – anything to distract my brain. I no longer felt cold from the water temperature, which was a good lesson for me: temperature concerns can pass if you just keep going. You really have to get to know what your body can handle and you only find this out by pushing through.
As I approached ten hours I knew it had been a slower second leg, but it was just finishing that mattered and I could see cars and a crowd of people, so I knew we must be close. At ten hours
thirty-one minutes I finished and walked out to a very nice round of applause. I was the third person back.
It had been far from a perfect swim. I am glad I did it, though. The lake is beautiful and it was a big lesson in not taking swims for granted – each long-distance swim has its own challenges and has to be respected in order to get the best out of you. I learned a lot from this swim and I knew it would only make me stronger as a result.
15
OCEAN’S SEVEN – THE ULTIMATE ENDURANCE SWIMMING CHALLENGE
I now needed to keep working on the stroke if I was to take on another swim. I wasn’t sure which one to do next but I knew it had to be something I was passionate about. I went on the internet looking for swims and read about a challenge devised by a man called Steve Munatones, the former USA open-water swim coach, who is well respected in the sport. The challenge was called the Ocean’s Seven. Based on his vast knowledge and experience, Steve had brought together the seven toughest ocean swims in the world, selected on the basis that they showcased a wide spectrum of challenges, both physical and mental, that an ocean can throw at you, such as extreme cold water, deadly marine life, huge swells, high winds, fast currents and tides.
On the list was the English Channel and Gibraltar Strait, one way. I only had five more to go.
Man vs Ocean - One Man's Journey to Swim The World's Toughest Oceans Page 10
