"Chris,
When are you ready to swim from date wise. We are watching the weather and Friday looks possible Sat/Sunday/Monday/Tuesday looks like the weather is going to set in and then get windy.
We might be able to bring you forward to Friday if that is of interest to you.
Regards
Michael"
This is the email from Mike Oram, my Pilot, which I read at around 10.20pm on a Wednesday evening. I have just got back from guzzling strawberries at the tennis (darling). I am a little tired, but this wakes me up. Friday? That's the day after tomorrow!
I check the weather websites and sure enough, Mike is right. The forecast for next week (my planned swim window) is deteriorating, with winds rising towards 20 knots (not ideal AT ALL). I get Mike's point straight away: this Friday might be the best chance to swim I have.
I start consulting with my crew; amazingly almost all of them confirm they can change plans to go early, and even the one crew member for whom this might create an issue is going to try. I remind myself for the thousandth time how lucky I am: they are ALL legends.
Too late now to contact Mike, I take a few deep breaths, and try to calm down. Anna (another legend) runs me through a list of what I would still need to get done in order to swim on Friday - for once I have been super-organised, and actually there's not much left to do. This relaxes me a bit, and I manage to get to sleep.
The next morning dawns and straight away I try to call Mike - no reply, but then the phone rings a few minutes later (he was in the shower!). Mike is, as ever, calm and pragmatic. He emphasises that I don't HAVE to go tomorrow, he's just giving me the option because it looks favourable. We discuss for a few minutes, and agree we will decide by lunchtime. I contact a couple of trusted friends just to kick the decision around.
My biggest concern is that Ed, one of my planned crew, is unlikely to be able to make it if I go tomorrow. This isn't necessarily a practical issue (I have three other legends who will be there), but Ed is one of my closest friends, and has been one of my strongest supporters of the decision to take this on. I really want him on the boat with me, but the circumstances are such that even if I wait, I can't guarantee his presence.
This makes the decision for me. I'm going.
Supermarket: swept
The next 24 hours pass in a blur. I finish packing my plastic crates with all the swim gear, and have a lot of fun doing a massive supermarket sweep for swim-snacks, both for me and the crew. I have a massive lunch (a huge plate of chicken fried rice and veg), and an equally massive dinner (a huge plate of pasta bolognese).
About 1pm the following day, we set off for Dover. The plan is to get there for lunchtime, check in to the hotel and sleep all afternoon, but it doesn't work out like that. The traffic out of London is DREADFUL, and I get really hungry halfway to Dover. We stop, and I have what many would consider the perfect nutritionally balanced and anti-oxidant pre-swim lunch (foot-long Meatball and Cheese Sub with Jalapeños, large Coke)
Meatball Sub: anti-oxidant
Arriving at the hotel, I see it looks choppy out there, but surely it will die down right? I go to bed, nervous as hell.
2 hours later, 5pm. I get up, have a shower, and watch an inspirational movie clip (James J Braddock vs Corn Griffin from the boxing movie 'Cinderella Man'). Going down to the restaurant I see some family there, but don't really want to talk to them much - it's a weird feeling. I'm there, but the task ahead isolates me. I feel much happier sat around the dinner table (two bowls of sweet potato fries, treacle tart and ice-cream) with Ray and Martin, two of my crew members. Poldy, the third crew, is still dashing from the office and will meet us at the Marina.
At 18.20, we head down to the Marina. We park up and start unloading the gear. Two sporty looking fellas are hanging around at the entrance to the pontoon; they look like they might be other swimmers also making an attempt, but it turns out they are actually Peter (one of Mike's boat crew) and Tony, my official swim observer from the Channel Swimmers and Pilots Federation (CS&PF).
Gallivant pulls alongside
A few minutes later and Gallivant, Mike's vessel, pulls alongside having fuelled up for the crossing. We meet Mike Oram, and Mike Ball the second pilot (and a channel soloist himself). Then the discussion begins.
The bottom line is this: The forecast has not been accurate, and conditions outside the harbour are not ideal. We have the option to wait until just before high water (around 11pm) by which time the swell will have died back, BUT the forecast is for poor conditions to develop on the French side around lunchtime the following day. The longer I wait to begin, the more likely I am to swim into rough conditions just when I will be tiring.
Everyone got the beard memo...
We decide to leave the harbour and motor round to Shakespeare Beach, the start point. This will give us all a better look at the conditions, and all being well we will start. If it's too rough, we will come back in and wait it out.
As soon as we round the harbour wall, it's clear this will be no picnic; the Gallivant is pitching and rolling significantly. 5 minutes into the sail round, there's a crash as my big hot-water dispenser, which we haven't yet gotten around to bungee-ing to the cabin rail, falls off it's perch. As we approach the beach, I get geared up in the now famous Neon Smugglers, and Ray greases my neck and armpits (and thighs, what a treat) with Vaseline. I then go down to the cockpit for a last-minute chat with Mike and his team, in light of the conditions we're seeing. I ask Mike if he has a recommendation, and Mike quite understandably restates the variables, and bats the decision back to me.
Pensive, or crapping my pants? You decide...
Mike has 30 years of experience as a channel pilot, more than almost anyone else, and knows all too well the cruel asymmetry of credit and blame that can be attributed in channel swimming. If the swimmer is successful, it's all down to them; if they fail, it's the pilot's fault.
In the end, I can't face heading back in and waiting any longer. I'm in my gear, I'm keyed up, and we're right by the beach. I don't really believe that 2 hours will make that much difference. I've waited and trained for this for 5 months, and it's time.
"F*** it", I say to Mike, "let's get on with it".
It all happens very quickly from then on. I shake hands with the two Mikes, Peter and Tony the observer, and give a slightly Vaseliney hug to my crew. Mike Ball tells me there's plenty of depth where I am for the jump in, and reminds me of the starting protocol. And then suddenly I'm in the water. The first surprise is the water temperature, which is surprisingly warm - at the time it felt like 17c, although I think it was actually colder for the majority of the swim.
It sure is choppy. I swim/surf in to the beach, and am thrilled to see that Mum, my little brother, Anna's parents and most of all Anna on the beach to meet me. Some quick hugs and kisses, and then it really is time. I walk down to the water's edge and raise my right arm firmly above my head. I just about hear a shout of 'Ten Seconds' from the boat, and then I hear the Gallivant's distinctive klaxons. I'm off.