We made it!! Graham reflects...

Part 1

The team gathered in Ovingdean for a final briefing on Saturday afternoon. Paul M-T, Steve’s little bigger brother, had secured a swanky van for the mountain of kit and Mandy ‘Miss Rickmansworth 1992’ M-T had ordered enough food to last us a month in case the Atlantic current got hold of us. Raphael Ruz turned up with every bit of BC electronic surveillance equipment that was at his disposal. The dietary requirements for each phase of the journey were discussed in minute detail as well as the whistling and whiteboard signals that would keep us informed of our progress. A decision was made on the circumstances that would dictate that the attempt would be abandoned. It was decided that if one of us was unconscious in the water that we would call off the attempt. This really helped to boost my confidence.

Off we drove to meet with Pete ‘the crab’ Reid, our pilot (a crab fisherman for the majority of the year) and his son, Pete ‘the limpet’ Reid. We arrived after minimal sleep and much excitement at the Harbour Arms Car Park in Folkestone for our 0100 rendezvous. Our CSA observer, Steve ‘motion sickness’ Hadley also met us there. Pete Jnr was incredible, carrying and stacking all of our kit despite being amazed by the amount of it. My confidence in the crew was bolstered by Pete Jnr’s frank but clear instructions. Off we set aboard the Rowena, our beautiful little fishing trawler. Then back we went as we realised that Steve ‘motion sickness’ or Steve M-S for the rest of this blog, was still on the jetty ladder, one foot and one arm in the air, ready to board but having missed his window of opportunity. Off we set again, to the beach 30 minutes away where I stripped off, lubed up and jumped in, to be guided by a spotlight the shore 300m away. I got out, waved to no-one in particular in the pitch darkness and began our quest. It was 0148 on Monday 14^th August.

The first 5 minutes were so enjoyable. Swimming in the pitch dark, totally alone, in a beautifully flat slack tide. It was amazing to have the sea to myself, to have a purpose finally, a destination to get to, and having felt like my fear of the deep had been purged. I returned to the side of the fishing boat, my escort for the rest of the day to an unpleasant realisation that for the rest of the hour, the wake from the boat was going to be slapping me in the face every time that I breathed and that I had to stay within 5 metres of it so that the skipper could keep an eye on me. The sea did not feel cold, having spent the last week in Scotland in 14 degrees, but the amount of water I was breathing in was more than I think I had experienced even in the choppiest days in Brighton training. The 10 minute marker was displayed after a seemingly long time. I kept my head down for a while and asked for my time again and heard 45 minutes gone to my great relief. Sadly, I realised after some shouting that it was 25 minutes gone. This was going to be a tough hour! Concentrating on trying to find a rhythm was a good distraction, though difficult to achieve, but it helped pass the time and gradually the 25/45/55 minute markers were displayed on the floodlit whiteboard that Mandy would communicate with us on faithfully for the next 13 hours and 8 minutes. The first transition was approaching. I slowed, in jumped Steve to my great delight, swimming past me and being careful not to touch me (which would result in a DQ) and I clambered up the ladder to be met by Paul, Raphael and Mandy who towelled me down and helped me dress. I felt great, for about 10 minutes, and Raphael gave me my porridge as I eased myself into my sleeping bag. Despite the 2 thermal layers, a down jacket, woolly hat, Brighton College onesie, sleeping bag and bivvy bag, it didn’t take long for the shivers to come (so called ‘after-drop’ as the body starts to warm up the extremities) but thankfully after 30 minutes, I felt ok again, got some fuel down me and got ready for my second hour and our 3rd hour.

It was approaching 4am as I jumped in and I was hoping for some sunlight to heat and cheer me up but none was forthcoming. The occasional flash from Raphael’s camera was a nice sign of life on the boat as was Mandy’s encouragement when I heard her or saw glimpses of her. Having been a little depressed at not catching up with the two swimmers and their support boats in front of me (and later finding out that they were ferries), I started to worry about the prospects for the day. Things were to get gradually worse. It felt like a long time for the boards to flash up with the time remaining for the hour. I was swallowing water at a rate which started to make me feel bloated. I tried to concentrate on rhythm and rolling my body, clawing as much of the water as I could catch behind me but often missing it because of the swell from the boat. I resorted to playing bagpipe tunes and singing my way through Queen Greatest Hits II in my head. I got to track 6, Innuendo, when to my great relief I saw that my time was up. I hadn’t seen Steve during his first hour of recovery so I was relieved to see him ready to get in (and in retrospect glad not to touch base with him as both of us were unknowingly and simultaneously having our darkest moments and biggest periods of self-doubt). As I reached the ladder and started to pull myself up, the urge to vomit overtook me and I was sick 4 or 5 times whilst admiring the view back to Dover (which wasn’t that far away yet). I had a sudden need to go to the rather stylish loo tent at the back of the boat at the same time so was grateful to Rapha for bringing me a bucket so I could unleash all the seawater (and everything else) that was in me as efficiently as possible. After 15 minutes or so of this, I was dried and dressed by the three wonderful domestiques and Rapha was always by my side to offer me food and drink although I was rather reluctant to oblige. The slightly comedy (retrospectively) sideshow was Paul and Mandy trying to put up the tent with the poles in the wrong vents. That aside, this was the ultimate low point. With zero fuel in me and feeling the worst I have ever felt in any endurance event, I willed time to slow down so I didn’t have to get back in. Paul’s words to me with 5 minutes to go were simply: “Swim for an hour.” No space for self-doubt or pity. Just an appeal to the bit of me that loves a challenge. It was a huge help not to know that Steve was struggling too. The temptation would have certainly been to consider quitting, although with the incredible support on Justgiving, Twitter, in Brighton and with the 8 of us on the boat, it wasn’t something that I ever wished to do. It did seem though that this challenge may well have been beyond me, and therefore us. I was desperate not to let Steve down though so in I plunged feeling somewhat anxious about our prospects and the next hour in front of me.