Le Report

Swim Report

After bad weather wiped out the entire tidal window 20-29 July, I was finally presented with the option of swimming on Monday 30th July on the Spring tide through the night. Spring tides are not normally preferred as the difference between high and low water is greater and the tides stronger. However, having spent nearly 100 hours in Dover harbour training this seemed a better option than not swimming at all, so we due packed extra light sticks and hoped that the wind would not pick up again (for the last few months I have developed a compulsive urge to stare at flag poles and see which way the wind is blowing at any particularly moment). My crew of six assembled in Dover harbour at about 2200 and spent 40 minutes or so loading the boat.

The start was a rather nervous affair. The sea wasn’t particularly calm to begin with and I felt sea sick on the boat during the brief ride out of the marina to the beach. Having been covered in Vaseline, I edged into the water to swim back to the English beach (you have to be completely out of the water before you commence). I could see little to begin with although the water felt warm (it’s about 16.5 degrees at the moment – considerably warmer than the first Dover training session at the beginning of May). Having been well brief by the General I was purely focused on the first hour: getting into a reasonable rhythm and swimming close to, but not too close, to my support boat Sea Satin. It is essential when swimming to France to focus on the next feed only. By breaking the swim into bit sized chunks, the task becomes easier to take on from a mental perspective.


Dawn breaks in the Channel. (Photo: Emma Critchley)

A simple communications pattern was used – a bright light was shined in my eyes every time a feed was ready. A tremendous amount of discussion surrounds feeding methods, drinks and bottles. I am pleased to reveal that my choice bottle, Highland Scottish Water 500ml Sport Cap, proved to be a joy to use: easy to drink from yet providing protection from the sea water. The Maxim carbohydrate drink proved to be effective too, although it is in no danger of being mistaken for champagne (it is frankly repugnant even when mixed with orange cordial etc).

After 2 or 3 hours ships began coming into view, and I first realised that things were going well when I noticed a cargo ship behind me (indicating I had made it into the first shipping lane). Swimming at night in light of recent shark sighting was never very comfortable, and I have never been so pleased to see dawn break. It was a tremendous sight to watch the sun come up over the horizon with ships in silhouette. My crew (now visible) did a fantastic job providing motivation via shouting, whiteboard messages and drawings. They ensured that I kept moving quickly after feeds (generally limiting these to 1 minute or so) in order to prevent me from getting cold.

One of the greatest challenges of the swim is that you can see France from miles away and it never seems to get any closer. The tides are also at their worst nearest to the French coast. Having progressed to within 2 miles of the coast within 9 hours, I then proceeded to go sideways with the tides for what seemed like an age. This coincided with a period of vomiting caused by a combination of sea water, swell and too much Maxim. Although this worried the crew a little, I felt considerable better afterwards, and the pilot even agreed to let me have a cup of Earl Grey despite his objections to ‘poncy tea’.

And on we went into the morning. Helicopters flew overheard, ships passed, I grew a beard and the sun got a little stronger. It became apparently that the tidal conditions meant there was no chance of hitting the Cap (the shortest route into the French shore) and at one point I feared that I was about to get an unwanted tour of the Costa del Sol. Eventually the tide relented a little and I began to squeeze into a small rocky bay. I could see people playing on the beach and it became apparent - not least from the fact that the crew were dancing on the top deck - that France was imminent.

One final challenge remained – getting out. The rocks proved to be large and sharp and the rules state that the swimmer must leave the water unaided. I was rather jaded by this point and aware only of someone bellowing for me to haul myself onto the rock using my arms. My legs had long since packed up and I slowly dragged myself head first up the rocks. Various cuts and bruises resulted although I did not notice these until much later. I finally sat atop the rock and slowly realised that the swim was at an end, and then delighted to discover that I had been joined by the rest of the crew who had swum the 100 metres from the boat.

It is difficult to explain how I felt at the end (in part as my recollection is somewhat limited). Relief is certainly the first feeling – relief that I could now lie down and be sick and relief that the gruelling training programme could now cease. Undoubtedly the finest aspect of swimming the Channel is the people you get to meet in the process. There are people from all backgrounds, nationalities and places. No one is very interested in where you live, your job, or what car your might own – the mundane nonsense by which success is often judged does not apply. The question is simply: ‘Can you swim to France?’

I have made many great friends, as well as increased my respect for the great outdoors and environment. What better way of unwinding after a week in the office than dodging oil tankers in the Europe’s busiest shipping lane?

I look forward to watching and helping others in the future.