Also welcoming is the village of Stanford where the locals are raising money with a Penguin Plunge this Saturday in aid of local disadvantaged children. As 8 month pregnant Jami Yeats-Kastner is leading from the front, literally. It seems a bit churlish not accept their gracious invitation to join them. It has been gales rain and more storms than I have ever seen in the Cape of Storms this week, well it is middle of winter.
Still should be nothing to the adventurer who as part of a relay team swam the English Channel in September 2008. The water temperature should be about the same as when five of us set off from Dover docks at 4am on a blustery dark morning. The training had gone well and we had all been immersing ourselves in the cold water of Tooting Beck Lido at 7am each Sunday morning so we thought we were acclimatized for our little swim to France.
The rules of relay swimming the channel are simple. No wet suits and each relay member must swim for an hour before he is replaced by the next. Once the order has been set there can be no change. There are to be a maximum six (6) member in each team. We only had five (5) as were unable to find another lunatic who would join us. Pete swam first and I was straight after so I had no briefing. In I jumped with my racing trunks, goggles and a light glow, one in my suit and the other behind my head. It was still dark so I didn’t see the water coming up to meet me. The next thing I recall was the cold, the utter mind blowing freezing temperature, the belt across my chest as I struggled to breath, the darkness of the water all round me. The boat I had jumped off had stopped to pick up Pete and would catch me up as I swam off. If I though the other four ex rugby buddies of mine would have let me back on that boat I would have gone back. Knowing that was not an option I started to swim. One arm over the next. One stroke at a time. No need to think where you are or how long you had to endure the cold.
Dawn in the English Channel, 8th September 2008
The hour past and I lived. My finger had gone blue and I had lost the feeling to my hands, but I had made it. Back on board shaking and shivering, quickly stripped off towelled and clothed. I was beginning to get warm when the nausea hit me.
Swimming along side a diesel engine boat for an hour, a swimmer swallows or breaths in a substantial amount of fumes. The result was me hanging over the side of the boat bring up breakfast. Each of my friends did the same as soon as they got back on board. Nobody could hold down any nourishment.
It took an hour plus to get warm. The next two hour I tried to feel normal, enjoy the dolphins, the porpoises, the raw sewerage that floated by. The last hour was the worst. My body was screaming at me not to go in the water again. I would not let my friends down. One more into the deep, in this case quite literally.
The hour went smoothly, after getting the initial shock of the water, I actually started to enjoy myself. I was hearing clicking noises in the water – the porpoises had come to play, the sun albeit briefly was also out. When I came out my fingers weren’t blue and I could feel my hands. This swimming lark wasn’t so bad after all.
Then the nausea hit me again. I was hanging over the rail unable to pull my pants up bring up gods know what. Why did I have to come back on board, I was happier in the water. Again no nourishment could be consumed, the retching had taken its toll, once I was warmed sufficiently I lay on the engine cover and fell into a deep sleep. I slept for a full three hours. I was awoken by Pete who was next in. The captain was for turning round as we were going to fail in our bid to swim the channel. Pete had told the captain that I was fine, he had seen me in a lot worse states. He asked me if I would be returning to the sea for another hour. I answered I’d rather be in the sea than on the boat.
When my turn came we were within four (4) miles of the French coast. But the tied was on the turn we had possibly three (3) hours before we would be swept out to sea and would be out there for another 12 hours. I was told not only did I have to swim for my hour but I also had to make a good two mile distance. I used all my will power to jump back into the sea and swam. It was not the easy swimming of the second hour, my body had started eating itself. I required nourishment but was unable to take it on board. Each stroke was an effort. I was back to putting one arm in front of the other, but this time I had to do it quickly.
The hour passed, as I got back on board the usual happened and I eventually got warm. Billy had taken us to within a few hundred yards of the coast. Nick swam the last seven (7) minuets to the beach to greeted by three young ladies who smothered him with kisses. The beer was cracked open backs were slapped as we headed back to Blighty and the white cliffs of Dover.
Am I looking forward to driving into a freezing cold river this coming Saturday? Of course not I’d be a bloody fool. Will I be joining the others, you bet, its all in a good cause, did I mention me and the Guy’s Buoys raised £11,000 for prostate cancer.
