Ned Denison, September 14, 2005 Mid July to September
I started as the first 2005 Irish Channel solo aspirant to swim in July and I failed to get to France – pulled after 8 hours with hypothermia in rough seas. Then Diarmuid, Ronan and Lisa got across in calmer conditions. While delighted for all of them, my emotional pain remained raw.
All the Channel swimmers wrapped me in love after the disappointment. For the Cork swimmers, I was the driving force to get them motivated for their relays and everyone was across except me! It hurt them more than it hurt me!!! My coach Eilish Burns said: "You have already done the training so just go again on a better day." So I booked a September Channel swim in the same period as Imelda and Owen (2 Irish Channel solo aspirants) and set about some different training. Of special concern: swimming and feeding in big waves – just in case!
Rob who fixed my dodgy right arm in the first part of the year now went to work repairing the left arm damaged in the July swim. Acupuncture and deep tissue massage – it did the trick both times. I then added 7 pounds of fat (to ward off future hypothermia) by eating lots of big meals and ice cream.
Eilish told me that I needed real open seas so headed three times to Baltimore in West Cork (water temperatures about 14 C) with Ken driving a safety boat. The first swim covered 6 miles in massive seas – just to practice feeding. The second swim a super fast 5.5 miles in just over 2 hours in calm seas. Finally a swim from the Fastnet lighthouse in the same July channel conditions to practice feeding. I called it quits 75% over from the Fastnet as the pressure from pounding waves built on my semi-repaired left arm.
I don’t really count the pool sessions with Eilish and the 1 to 3 mile seas swims and races. They were good for general conditioning but I had seen the Channel monster and at its worst it means big waves over distance.
The final tune up was a 12 mile race in Killrey in 11.5 C waters (7 degrees colder than the channel at the time) with Owen. Martin was the organised and is the 2004/2005 Channel relay swimmer who would crew from both Imelda and I and previously crewed for other channel swimmers. I sped out fast and was up a mile after four miles. Missing the turn took me another two miles out to sea and two mile then back and I was then 3 miles behind! Racing motivated me (not the elapsed time in the water) and I called it quits after four hours and nine cold miles. Owen was the 12 mile winner in Killrey and went 6 plus hours. Well earned!
It did worry me that I failed to complete the full swim the last two times out, but I was convinced that under favourable conditions I would speed across the channel.
Wednesday the 7th of September
Imelda headed over to Dover and my excitement started to build – she looked to swim Saturday.
Thursday
The well wishing calls started to come in and lots of text messages. Coach Eilish was in with lots of encouragement. Martin called at 8pm to let me know that Imelda would probably swim Friday. My stomach butterflies started flapping. Maria (training partner, July Channel relay swimmer and boat crew for Imelda) called from the airport. It looked like she would miss Imelda departure – could she join my crew? Absolutely!
Maria made it with an hour to spare and crewed for Imelda.
Friday
Imelda was in the calm seas, under sunshine and swimming strongly. The kids wished me well and Anne and I headed out, collected Ciaran and off to Cork Airport in the lashing rain. I didn’t want to subject Anne to being on the July boat crew but after my initial failure it was critically important that she was there this time. Martin then called to ask if I would be ready to swim Saturday. I said yes and the butterflies flapped faster. I started to hydrate and the countless toilet stops started. I constantly wondered if I should be flying to the US. A slight delay and we landed in warm/sunny England, rented the car and headed down to Dover. We got reports of Imelda doing well.
Owen confirmed a Friday time for his swim as well.
Imelda made it in 14 plus hours!!!
It was time for me to get selfish once we arrived and Anne and Ciaran took care of everything. We checked into the hotel and I walked down to say hello to David and Evelyn the owners of the Varne Ridge caravan park and see Ronan and Diarmuid’s names painted on "The Wall" of Channel honour. Varne Ridge would be our emotional home starting on Saturday – and I needed to touch "The Wall" and imagine where my name would be painted! And – time to get that Irish flag up for Imelda – another part of the tradition!
A quick dinner in the hotel and I headed up to the room to rest. Anne and Ciaran rushed to buy the boat food. They also met Imelda’s boat coming in to Dover. Anne remarked that while Imelda looked great her crew looked very tired! I really wanted to be there, but I needed to rest.
At nine pm, there was no wind and Dave (my Captain) called to postpone the swim to Sunday. I was disappointed: I just missed Imelda and Owen was still going. We decided to walk down for a pint – to be greeted by strong winds outside. I then started to worry about Owen – I went a day early in July. Was Owen making the same mistake? After the pub, it lashed rain and we saw lightening as we lay in bed. It looked like Dave was right.
Saturday
Owen was in calm seas under clear skies. All my doubts started again – did Dave get it wrong? Would the weather now be terrible for the rest of my slot and would I miss my chance?
We moved down to Varne Ridge and relaxed. We met Erica (solo aspirant as well) and her family from Indiana in the US. Imelda joined us for an emotional reunion. She trained harder than the rest of us and really deserved the victory! Erica got to meet a living success story. The Irish flag was up and Imelda’s place on "The Wall" already noted!
Martin joined us and we went through the typed crew instructions. The key things were feeding and motivation – they were instructed (by me) to lie or just make things up if they thought it would help my motivation. Captain Dave and his partner/navigator Joan then joined us. We discussed the swim strategy and I suspect Dave just wanted to check me out. I was to be his last swimmer of the year – gulp! We agreed to start at Shakespeare’s cliff (different than Imelda’s departure) as I planned to swim very fast the first hour and break through the costal tides. Dave suggested a 4am (high tide) start as it was expected I would finish in well under 12 hours in calm seas. Finally, he sold us on a better feeding technique – and I was loath to make any changes to the plan. They used a fishing pole and large opening, flip top plastic bottle. It sure sounded better than our squeeze bottles and twine!
We received reports of Owen doing well still with calm seas and clear skies. For both Imelda (on Friday) and Owen now we agonised over their progress with just occasional reports. It kept us worrying both days about someone else.
Ciaran and I did very short swims in Dover harbour on Saturday – water was calm and warm (18.5 C versus 15.5 C in July). I made my final selection amongst the goggles and lined up the second and third choice in case a strap broke. I collected a few flint nodules on the beach.
Hydration continued at a pace and soon I knew every toilet in Dover.
Owen made it in 16 plus hours!
Anne cooked a great pasta meal on the Saturday night and again I missed seeing a returnee. His crew included Colm – the finest Irish open water swimmer of this generation (English and North Channel) and Ronan (July Channel soloist) – both who helped me loads this year. I would probably swim in the morning and they would go home – I’d miss them all in Dover!
Dave called to confirm the swim Sunday but moved the time forward an hour – meet at 2:15 and swim at 3 am. While I had a choice to delay by a day or two – the last two days were the best conditions all year and I wanted in on the action. Ciaran and Anne packed the bags to be ready for the morning.
I continued with my fourth poor night’s sleep in a row. I was up at 1 am to shave (stubble will wear a hole through the skin out there!) and apply sun cream.
Heading out
Boat all loaded up, then a calm few minutes as we moved around the breakwater and into the open sea – the swell was bigger than I expected but nothing compared to July.
I started to get ready: stripped down and pulled on my speedo with attached light stick, ear plugs coated with lanolin (sheep fat grease), cap and goggles with another attached light stick. I sat on a towel; Anne donned the plastic glove and applied a thick coat of lanolin around my arm pits, neck, groin and under all speedo edges. It would stop chafing in the salt water. Brian (the swim federation observer – to make sure I didn’t cheat!) snapped a couple of photos.
A few minutes to the west and we pulled into the lee of the breakwater – in total darkness: Shakespeare’s Beach. I stepped down to the water level platform on the back of the boat and slipped into the dark water. I left at peace and not a hint of a chill. A very quick swim the beach, stepped on dry land, raised my arms and walked back into the surf at 3 am.
The night swim started through fairly calm waters so I pushed to get through the coastal tide zone in the first hour. Incredible phosphorus exploded with every arm stroke but the tinted goggles prevented me getting a good read on the distance and swim angle to the boat. The one consistent thing I could see throughout the trip was Martin’s shape sitting at the back of the boat, watching – it was a great comfort. It felt like I was zigzagging every minute or two to stay parallel to the boat. My feeds (typically liquid) were scheduled for every 30 minutes and the first of the night was well after my predicted stroke count of 2,000. This told me that I had the required speed and then some!
The first fed was critical after the July mistake of not enough liquid. I angled towards the boat (maybe 10 meters away); Ciaran held the fishing pole and dropped the bottle in front of my head. I flipped it open and starting guzzling through the big hole – ah sports drink! Richard (the mate and second licensed boat shipper) counted off 5, 10, 15, 20 seconds, I drained the last of the 500 ml, dropped the bottle and took off. In the first feed, I had taken in 40% of the liquid that I previously took in over the 8 hours in July. The lack of liquid contributed to my July hypothermia. My stroke count passed 2,000 and it was time again to feed. The first hour was super fast and I downed 500 ml of a carbo-replacement mix.
Ciaran later reported that the Captain asked: "Is this speed for him normal? Can he hold it?" His reply was "Yes and all of us including Ned will find out"
The wind started to pick up at this point and was coming at 45 degrees from behind left. I got a tiny wave push from behind every now and then but not enough to compensate for the speed loss due to the waves. The waves were slowing my stroke and knocking me off direction – the zigzagging continued.
Hours two and three of darkness went well with regular thirty minute feeds moving between water,sports drink and carbo-replacement. Anne would also tape a package of energy "goo" to the bottle every now and then and I squeezed them down. Wind speed increased to Force 3 then Force 4, the direction shifted and it was now coming from my left. No more slight push from behind and the wind and tide were from opposite directions kicking up even more chop. At this point I hit my first patch of floating weed. I’ve been in worse – so kept moving. We saw probably ten huge boats all lit up – some 300 meters in length. The only advantage to rough seas is that I never felt a wake. At one point a tanker appeared out of the fog a few hundred meters in front of us. The boat lights went crazy and I was sure happy to have all seven on that boat minding me.
During the fourth hour it became clear that while the sun had risen, we would not see it today. Heavy overcast skies and poor light put my decision to wear tinted goggles down in the "big mistake" column. For the first and only time during the swim I took 3 second to drain the goggles of the salt water that was burning my eyes. No change afterwards (it was an imaginary leak – no water at all in the goggles) – so just ignored the burning after that. I continued to strain to see the distance and angle of my swim to the boat. Prior to this I only saw shapes on the boat but now they started to wave me back from time to time as I strayed and I got the occasional flashing light as well when the waving didn’t work. I could see Martin, Ciaran and Anne clearly. They all had their self-assigned roles: Martin watched, Ciaran waved me nearer and fed and Anne was running up and down to the galley preparing the feeds and waving me in to approach the boat as needed. At each feed I had their full attention – and it helped. I was still motoring along and downing 500 ml quickly during each feed stop. Up to this point I had passed fluids twice but not in the large quantities I would have expected.
The fifth hour was a disaster. I was battling the waves, cursing the decision not to go on the Saturday when it was calm, missing the sun, unhappy with the goggles and convinced that I wouldn’t make it. The choice to swim today entered the "big mistake" column. I was the first of the Irish soloist in July and went a day too soon and would now fail as the last of the Irish soloist by going a day too late. I was a bad set of bookends. During the feed stop I spoke for the first time in five hours and asked the crew: "Somebody tell me that this is really going to be my day?" I wanted to quit and get on the boat. The conditions had won again and it just felt like some giant conspiracy. Any compassion or kindness from the crew and I was done. They just yelled in one voice: "Swim, for god sake" and waived me on. With ear plug coated in lanolin my hearing wasn’t great – so I wasn’t exactly having conversations! Feeds were quick (started as 20 seconds and lengthened to 40 plus seconds at this point), frantic events and certainly not rest stops.
The same thoughts of failure and getting into the boat dominated the next thirty minutes and I slowed my stroke. As I approached the boat for the feed I was done. Before I could speak, Martin told me, very calmly, that my stroke was still strong and I was still on track to do 9 hours and 45 minutes. Channel swimmers shouldn’t really care about the time – the object is to just get there. As a tall, somewhat thin man, I need a fast stroke rate to stay warm. So, for me speed and time equal warmth – I don’t have the option to relax for more than 30 seconds in cold water. So part of my motivation and fascination was time. It hurt me in Killrey but saved me now! A sub 10 hour swim constituted my entire vision. Martin’s comment worked and I swam away 100% rededicated and my stroke rate went up. From 100% quit to 100% rededication in a second – most things in life are more mental than physical! Thinking back I stopped feeling at this point and just went on some kind of automatic pilot.
The timing on my re-motivation was pretty close going into the sixth hour as I neared the separation zone. This is where the tides from the two sides of the channel clash, the water is rougher and at some point you are in "French Waters". The crew confirmed that I was half way and I kept the pace. During the next swim I yelled "soup" which sure tasted warm and good at the next feed and Dave appeared to confirm that I was in French waters. I wondered if the crew had told me early for motivation and I smiled. The next feed went down very quickly and within two seconds it came up in a violent explosion. Then a second later the previous three feeds followed. Projectile vomiting in action!
I immediately dropped the bottle, put my head down and headed off again. Several thoughts ran through my head: I’d be off sports drink for a long time, I guess this is what Colm meant when he said Owen was violently ill three times during his swim, I hoped my boat crew didn’t see that, wished I could brush my teeth right now and it is going to take a lot more than that to stop me.
Anne told me later that all seven on the boat saw every bit of "the drama" and she thought I was done at that point. This was the first of several times when Ciaran took her arm and convinced her that I would be ok. About the same time the crew started to endure a 3 ½ hour period of rain. I noticed it once and saw Martin sitting now in a rain coat and Ciaran and Anne looking miserable. It really had no impact on me so I swam through it.
At the next feed I started to drink 250 ml rather than the 500 ml as before. Anne told me that I had four hours to go and it motivated me to keep the stroke rate high. I then reconnected with time and started counting down. Two stops later she told me that I had three hours to go. At this point I could start to feel the cold so I yelled: "Hot Chocolate" during the session. I got that down in 19 seconds, kept it down and it seemed to warm me. I did "eject" banana flavoured "goo" and ¾ of a Mars bar during two different feeds. My stomach wasn’t good, but the liquid stayed down
Anne then told me three hours to go, informed me that the crew could see France and told me to look up. I could see it! It was motivational but I have been miles from land before on a swim and it takes a while to get there. At this point I hit probably my tenth (and last) patch of floating weed. One so thick I nearly had to climb over it – yuck! It reminded me of a swim with Eilish in the spring where I ran her into a massive weed patch – just to beat her in her wetsuit. The thought made me smile. Not a single jelly fish seen at this point – and beyond. I also only saw 2 imaginary sharks during the swim – well down on my ocean average! Just for completeness Anne tells me that they waived me away from a petrol slick at one point during the swim. I saw nothing, smelled nothing and just assumed I was zigzagging again!
Two stops later and Anne told me two hours to go. The stroke rate went up and the sprint I did to end over 200 Sandycove Island swims of 1.25 miles each for the past year would come into play! This was the second time I felt cold – I yelled "COLD" while swimming – hoping the crew would adjust the feeds. Anne told me later that it just broke her heart to see me alone in the water – clearly in pain. Ciaran took her arm again and reassured her – a bit. They mixed up warm tea with glucose and brought me in after 20 minutes for a feed. I didn’t feel the early stoop but sure felt the next one of 40 minutes. Ciaran keeping me on track!
Two stops later and Martin told me 6 miles to go. Instead of one hour it was closer to three. I tried to shake off this ton of bricks that just landed on me and reset to do the six miles. I hoped that I would not get another surprise. I had come too far to stop. My left arm is weaker and contributed all swim to the "veer left" to start the zigzagging pattern. Now it was losing even more power. My kick is pathetic at the best of times – so I tried to compensate for the left arm by increasing the kick.
Richard was at the side of the boat to feed me a white pill and a nut bar. I was alert enough to recognise that he was checking to see if I was getting hypothermic. Didn’t really want to take unknown food (it was an energy pill) but down it went.
I started to now have serious problems in the water. I was sure the coast was to my left and with the weak left arm anyways kept me veering that direction. The boat crew and Richard were getting more and more agitated and persistent in waving me back and yelling at me to stay next to the boat. I could see and hear it all – just couldn’t help them out most of the time. Ciaran later told me that the coast was to my right and I was trying to swim parallel to the coast and was not following the boat in.
Maybe deep down I knew it didn’t matter. Ciaran has lost his "Swim for god sakes!" face and he had the biggest smile imaginable. I knew that he was confident I would make it! In addition, we did manage to get about 30 minutes of sort-of-sun at this point. After nearly 20 hours in the channel this summer I had wondered if the sun ever did shine out there. They delayed a feed at this point by 15 minutes as I was on the verge of beating the tide. I never knew – I was just slogging it out in the water.
In the middle of all the trouble keeping on track, the crew went crazy at one point. I looked up to see a sail boat bearing down on me. I guess no radio! It gave us all a scare – but at least it moved me closer to the boat.
I could now clearly see the beach. It was like something out of a novel of 19th century China. There were massive flags on very high poles about 300 meters from the shore. I just focused on the big blue one and tried to get in. Richard then launched the small inflatable with engine and was soon buzzing around in front of me. I thought he was completely out of control as he zigzagged all over the place. I could see the blue flag and was heading towards it – Richard was just playing games with the little boat. Anne later reported that at this point she was convinced that I needed to be stopped and pulled in. She thought I was delirious. I was hurting but it would have taken a few of them to drag me in!! Ciaran reported an initial stroke rate of 68 which dropped to 56 in mid-Channel right before the feeds, always jumping back over 60. In the last hour my shoulders had dropped, pull was not as effective but I finished at 62 strokes a minute!
I touched bottom in waist high water and stepped forward in big crashing waves. The water then deepened and I remembered Imelda remarking on the same thing during her finish. Another 40 meters to swim until my hand touched bottom. My legs worked and were steady and I took about 10 steps forward to clear the furthest reaches of the big waves.
************The swim time was 12 hours and 47 minutes*****************
See Ned’s Route (pdf file)
A group of 15 beach goers smiled at me from 5 meters away and I thought – they had to know I came from Dover! I was disappointed that it was all sand and therefore I couldn’t take a rock home as a souvenir. I turned towards the sea and raised both arms first half way then straight up. Anne thought I was punching the sky in joy. No such luck, frankly I was surprised that they actually complied. There wasn’t a smile or yell in me.
From Beach to Boat
As I looked out to sea, the mystery of the banners became clear. Kite boarders were zipping across the beach at 30 miles and hour. So much for heading for the blue banner – no wonder I was confused! The banners were Kite boarding sails – in motion! Then the small inflatable with Richard caught a big wave and flipped over – I guess it was a bit rough out there. I had no sympathy for the boy. I stepped back into the sea either to swim to the big boat or help Richard. I crawled up into the now righted inflatable – clearly the engine had been swamped and Richard started to row with these tiny little oars. It was cold sitting there in the wind and my left leg was stuck in an odd position and the calf cramped. My mind directed the leg to move – but it ignored me.
With the wind and waves, it was tricky to step to the water level back platform on the big boat. My determination continued – I wasn’t going to fall and crack my head. Up the ladder, with helping hands under my armpits, I asked (ok mumbled) Anne: "Where’s my kiss?" I got her kiss on the lips and Ciaran’s somewhere on the top of my head! Martin was all smiles – but made no move for a kiss. I tried to slag Richard about flipping the boat but Anne told me it was more of an incoherent whisper.
Anne said later that my entire body was swollen and my eyes were out and filled the goggles. Not until an hour later did my eyes move back into my head.
I got to the inside padded bench and Anne was towelling me off and wrapping me in a sleeping bag. Ciaran took of the cap and went for the goggles. He hadn’t remembered the crew instructions that only I was to take these off – or figured I wasn’t capable! They came off with the sound of a Champagn cork. He and Anne are probably still shuddering from the sound.
Anne pulled off my speedo and somehow got my legs into long underwear and arms and body into a warm pullover. More clothes appeared on me and a couple of hot water bottles got inserted under the pullover. With some hot liquid I did manage to get down a ham sandwich. My throat was very sore and felt like it was nearly swollen shut. The boat trip was four hours back to Dover and I snoozed and twice made my way to the toilet (as in the crew instructions – I never walked without somebody ready to catch me if I fell) to pee. I think I mumbled something to Anne about sending a text to my Mother, Eilish, Imelda and Diarmuid – she already had sent a text to half the people I know!
The crew were not sick during the crossing to France. Each reported being in the most intense focus for nearly 13 hours. Once I was back on board and sleeping, Anne and Martin were sick over the side within minutes. So much for the crew relaxing!
Dover and Home
Maria was at the boat to greet us. It was a huge shock and the tears welled up as I hugged her. I thanked the boat crew – they were great. All four were committed, passionate and really wanted me to succeed. We headed across the floating piers, up the ramp to the car park – and my legs worked!
Martin was headed off and we hugged goodbye. The man started the whole thing a year previously and pulled together and motivated 30 Channel relay swimmers and 6 soloists. A 100% success record and he gave so much of his time and I am sure that he financially sponsored more than we knew. I tried to tell him he was great. I looked up probably 40,000 times during the swim and every time saw Martin sitting there watching me. It gave me great comfort.
We drove to the caravan park to be greeted by the USA and Irish flags on the pole of honour. David and Evelyn rushed out with smiles, handshake and a hug. Maybe Ciaran parked the car in the meantime, I have no idea. David grabbed a camera and Anne, Ciaran and I posed for a picture in front to the flag. We left in the dark with grim determined faces and we returned in the dark with big smiles. Erica and her family joined us for a second photo. I saw my spot on "THE WALL" just under Imelda, over from Diarmuid, Ronan and my Cork Channel relay swimming colleagues. The flags and the wall were forcing me past relief to a kind of quiet satisfaction. I shed lots of tears for lots of reasons then I staggered back to the caravan.
Somehow we managed to order Chinese food to be delivered and I took a long hot shower and soaped off the last of the lanolin. Before the food arrived I tried to take a short nap. Within seconds I was feeling ill and ran for the bathroom – Ciaran was showering so I headed out the door. Pity those bushes and what ever was behind them. We spent time looking at the course map (see attached). It is 21 miles straight across but nearly 30 miles as the tides dictate your path. At the final left sweep I was driven by 6 mile/hour tides – you can’t swim against these. My swim path was nearly perfect. Another 30 minutes faster and I would have hit Cap Gris-Nez dead-on! This would have come with calmer water, an earlier start, no hour five weakness or better production from that left arm!
The Chinese food arrived and the three zombies somehow ate and got to bed around 9pm with a departure time of 6am to the airport. I was up at 3 am and just sat for hours until the others woke. I am not sure what if anything I was thinking – just sat moving between a smile and tears. My physical condition wasn’t bad: swollen mouth, tongue and throat; cramped left calf; massive lumps in both forearms and sore all around where the goggles touched. Only in the morning did I notice the banner and balloons across the huge caravan window that David and Evelyn set up before we returned the previous night.
The early trip to the airport was dominated by calls to Eilish, Imelda and Owen and 50+ mobile messages. I read them all and replied. One of the best was a message from Vodafone welcoming me to France!
Cork -Monday through….
We landed with loads more text messages on my mobile. I didn’t recognise a few of the names. With a big Cork Masters group, 50+ local seas swimmers and friends of friends – it was a huge welcome.
We drove Ciaran back to his home and hugged. He was a great choice for the boat, showed steely determination throughout (you had to see his savage face during my weak hour!), kept Anne sane and worked so hard to make it a success.
Anne and I got back to our home and collapsed in each others’ arms. For her, Sunday had been one of the worst days in her life. The focus and stress of seeing your partner struggle alone through the cold sea is not taken easily. She did a great job on the boat – feed preparation, yelling encouragement, waving me on, and minding me throughout.
I had a very emotional greeting by the Cork Masters swimmers at training on Monday night. Diarmuid was there to greet his new Channel swimming colleagues and we gave Imelda a big hug. Eilish was beaming – no coach or club could claim 3 soloists in the same year. I then swam 6 slow laps and took a sauna!
Erica swam on Tuesday in what were described as the best conditions of the year: calm, sunny and down right hot and did a blistering 9 hours and 3 minutes.
And now real stuff life Cork stuff kicks in. The twins did well on their Junior Cert test and are dressed up and off to a party!
I have been back to Rob to drive out a niggling pain in my right shoulder and will compete this Saturday in our biggest local race – 1.25 miles around Sandycove Island.
Original article posted on : https://www.santabarbarachannelswim.org/ned2.html
All the Channel swimmers wrapped me in love after the disappointment. For the Cork swimmers, I was the driving force to get them motivated for their relays and everyone was across except me! It hurt them more than it hurt me!!! My coach Eilish Burns said: "You have already done the training so just go again on a better day." So I booked a September Channel swim in the same period as Imelda and Owen (2 Irish Channel solo aspirants) and set about some different training. Of special concern: swimming and feeding in big waves – just in case!
Rob who fixed my dodgy right arm in the first part of the year now went to work repairing the left arm damaged in the July swim. Acupuncture and deep tissue massage – it did the trick both times. I then added 7 pounds of fat (to ward off future hypothermia) by eating lots of big meals and ice cream.
Eilish told me that I needed real open seas so headed three times to Baltimore in West Cork (water temperatures about 14 C) with Ken driving a safety boat. The first swim covered 6 miles in massive seas – just to practice feeding. The second swim a super fast 5.5 miles in just over 2 hours in calm seas. Finally a swim from the Fastnet lighthouse in the same July channel conditions to practice feeding. I called it quits 75% over from the Fastnet as the pressure from pounding waves built on my semi-repaired left arm.
I don’t really count the pool sessions with Eilish and the 1 to 3 mile seas swims and races. They were good for general conditioning but I had seen the Channel monster and at its worst it means big waves over distance.
The final tune up was a 12 mile race in Killrey in 11.5 C waters (7 degrees colder than the channel at the time) with Owen. Martin was the organised and is the 2004/2005 Channel relay swimmer who would crew from both Imelda and I and previously crewed for other channel swimmers. I sped out fast and was up a mile after four miles. Missing the turn took me another two miles out to sea and two mile then back and I was then 3 miles behind! Racing motivated me (not the elapsed time in the water) and I called it quits after four hours and nine cold miles. Owen was the 12 mile winner in Killrey and went 6 plus hours. Well earned!
It did worry me that I failed to complete the full swim the last two times out, but I was convinced that under favourable conditions I would speed across the channel.
Wednesday the 7th of September
Imelda headed over to Dover and my excitement started to build – she looked to swim Saturday.
Thursday
The well wishing calls started to come in and lots of text messages. Coach Eilish was in with lots of encouragement. Martin called at 8pm to let me know that Imelda would probably swim Friday. My stomach butterflies started flapping. Maria (training partner, July Channel relay swimmer and boat crew for Imelda) called from the airport. It looked like she would miss Imelda departure – could she join my crew? Absolutely!
Maria made it with an hour to spare and crewed for Imelda.
Friday
Imelda was in the calm seas, under sunshine and swimming strongly. The kids wished me well and Anne and I headed out, collected Ciaran and off to Cork Airport in the lashing rain. I didn’t want to subject Anne to being on the July boat crew but after my initial failure it was critically important that she was there this time. Martin then called to ask if I would be ready to swim Saturday. I said yes and the butterflies flapped faster. I started to hydrate and the countless toilet stops started. I constantly wondered if I should be flying to the US. A slight delay and we landed in warm/sunny England, rented the car and headed down to Dover. We got reports of Imelda doing well.
Owen confirmed a Friday time for his swim as well.
Imelda made it in 14 plus hours!!!
It was time for me to get selfish once we arrived and Anne and Ciaran took care of everything. We checked into the hotel and I walked down to say hello to David and Evelyn the owners of the Varne Ridge caravan park and see Ronan and Diarmuid’s names painted on "The Wall" of Channel honour. Varne Ridge would be our emotional home starting on Saturday – and I needed to touch "The Wall" and imagine where my name would be painted! And – time to get that Irish flag up for Imelda – another part of the tradition!
A quick dinner in the hotel and I headed up to the room to rest. Anne and Ciaran rushed to buy the boat food. They also met Imelda’s boat coming in to Dover. Anne remarked that while Imelda looked great her crew looked very tired! I really wanted to be there, but I needed to rest.
At nine pm, there was no wind and Dave (my Captain) called to postpone the swim to Sunday. I was disappointed: I just missed Imelda and Owen was still going. We decided to walk down for a pint – to be greeted by strong winds outside. I then started to worry about Owen – I went a day early in July. Was Owen making the same mistake? After the pub, it lashed rain and we saw lightening as we lay in bed. It looked like Dave was right.
Saturday
Owen was in calm seas under clear skies. All my doubts started again – did Dave get it wrong? Would the weather now be terrible for the rest of my slot and would I miss my chance?
We moved down to Varne Ridge and relaxed. We met Erica (solo aspirant as well) and her family from Indiana in the US. Imelda joined us for an emotional reunion. She trained harder than the rest of us and really deserved the victory! Erica got to meet a living success story. The Irish flag was up and Imelda’s place on "The Wall" already noted!
Martin joined us and we went through the typed crew instructions. The key things were feeding and motivation – they were instructed (by me) to lie or just make things up if they thought it would help my motivation. Captain Dave and his partner/navigator Joan then joined us. We discussed the swim strategy and I suspect Dave just wanted to check me out. I was to be his last swimmer of the year – gulp! We agreed to start at Shakespeare’s cliff (different than Imelda’s departure) as I planned to swim very fast the first hour and break through the costal tides. Dave suggested a 4am (high tide) start as it was expected I would finish in well under 12 hours in calm seas. Finally, he sold us on a better feeding technique – and I was loath to make any changes to the plan. They used a fishing pole and large opening, flip top plastic bottle. It sure sounded better than our squeeze bottles and twine!
We received reports of Owen doing well still with calm seas and clear skies. For both Imelda (on Friday) and Owen now we agonised over their progress with just occasional reports. It kept us worrying both days about someone else.
Ciaran and I did very short swims in Dover harbour on Saturday – water was calm and warm (18.5 C versus 15.5 C in July). I made my final selection amongst the goggles and lined up the second and third choice in case a strap broke. I collected a few flint nodules on the beach.
Hydration continued at a pace and soon I knew every toilet in Dover.
Owen made it in 16 plus hours!
Anne cooked a great pasta meal on the Saturday night and again I missed seeing a returnee. His crew included Colm – the finest Irish open water swimmer of this generation (English and North Channel) and Ronan (July Channel soloist) – both who helped me loads this year. I would probably swim in the morning and they would go home – I’d miss them all in Dover!
Dave called to confirm the swim Sunday but moved the time forward an hour – meet at 2:15 and swim at 3 am. While I had a choice to delay by a day or two – the last two days were the best conditions all year and I wanted in on the action. Ciaran and Anne packed the bags to be ready for the morning.
I continued with my fourth poor night’s sleep in a row. I was up at 1 am to shave (stubble will wear a hole through the skin out there!) and apply sun cream.
Heading out
Boat all loaded up, then a calm few minutes as we moved around the breakwater and into the open sea – the swell was bigger than I expected but nothing compared to July.
I started to get ready: stripped down and pulled on my speedo with attached light stick, ear plugs coated with lanolin (sheep fat grease), cap and goggles with another attached light stick. I sat on a towel; Anne donned the plastic glove and applied a thick coat of lanolin around my arm pits, neck, groin and under all speedo edges. It would stop chafing in the salt water. Brian (the swim federation observer – to make sure I didn’t cheat!) snapped a couple of photos.
A few minutes to the west and we pulled into the lee of the breakwater – in total darkness: Shakespeare’s Beach. I stepped down to the water level platform on the back of the boat and slipped into the dark water. I left at peace and not a hint of a chill. A very quick swim the beach, stepped on dry land, raised my arms and walked back into the surf at 3 am.
The night swim started through fairly calm waters so I pushed to get through the coastal tide zone in the first hour. Incredible phosphorus exploded with every arm stroke but the tinted goggles prevented me getting a good read on the distance and swim angle to the boat. The one consistent thing I could see throughout the trip was Martin’s shape sitting at the back of the boat, watching – it was a great comfort. It felt like I was zigzagging every minute or two to stay parallel to the boat. My feeds (typically liquid) were scheduled for every 30 minutes and the first of the night was well after my predicted stroke count of 2,000. This told me that I had the required speed and then some!
The first fed was critical after the July mistake of not enough liquid. I angled towards the boat (maybe 10 meters away); Ciaran held the fishing pole and dropped the bottle in front of my head. I flipped it open and starting guzzling through the big hole – ah sports drink! Richard (the mate and second licensed boat shipper) counted off 5, 10, 15, 20 seconds, I drained the last of the 500 ml, dropped the bottle and took off. In the first feed, I had taken in 40% of the liquid that I previously took in over the 8 hours in July. The lack of liquid contributed to my July hypothermia. My stroke count passed 2,000 and it was time again to feed. The first hour was super fast and I downed 500 ml of a carbo-replacement mix.
Ciaran later reported that the Captain asked: "Is this speed for him normal? Can he hold it?" His reply was "Yes and all of us including Ned will find out"
The wind started to pick up at this point and was coming at 45 degrees from behind left. I got a tiny wave push from behind every now and then but not enough to compensate for the speed loss due to the waves. The waves were slowing my stroke and knocking me off direction – the zigzagging continued.
Hours two and three of darkness went well with regular thirty minute feeds moving between water,sports drink and carbo-replacement. Anne would also tape a package of energy "goo" to the bottle every now and then and I squeezed them down. Wind speed increased to Force 3 then Force 4, the direction shifted and it was now coming from my left. No more slight push from behind and the wind and tide were from opposite directions kicking up even more chop. At this point I hit my first patch of floating weed. I’ve been in worse – so kept moving. We saw probably ten huge boats all lit up – some 300 meters in length. The only advantage to rough seas is that I never felt a wake. At one point a tanker appeared out of the fog a few hundred meters in front of us. The boat lights went crazy and I was sure happy to have all seven on that boat minding me.
During the fourth hour it became clear that while the sun had risen, we would not see it today. Heavy overcast skies and poor light put my decision to wear tinted goggles down in the "big mistake" column. For the first and only time during the swim I took 3 second to drain the goggles of the salt water that was burning my eyes. No change afterwards (it was an imaginary leak – no water at all in the goggles) – so just ignored the burning after that. I continued to strain to see the distance and angle of my swim to the boat. Prior to this I only saw shapes on the boat but now they started to wave me back from time to time as I strayed and I got the occasional flashing light as well when the waving didn’t work. I could see Martin, Ciaran and Anne clearly. They all had their self-assigned roles: Martin watched, Ciaran waved me nearer and fed and Anne was running up and down to the galley preparing the feeds and waving me in to approach the boat as needed. At each feed I had their full attention – and it helped. I was still motoring along and downing 500 ml quickly during each feed stop. Up to this point I had passed fluids twice but not in the large quantities I would have expected.
The fifth hour was a disaster. I was battling the waves, cursing the decision not to go on the Saturday when it was calm, missing the sun, unhappy with the goggles and convinced that I wouldn’t make it. The choice to swim today entered the "big mistake" column. I was the first of the Irish soloist in July and went a day too soon and would now fail as the last of the Irish soloist by going a day too late. I was a bad set of bookends. During the feed stop I spoke for the first time in five hours and asked the crew: "Somebody tell me that this is really going to be my day?" I wanted to quit and get on the boat. The conditions had won again and it just felt like some giant conspiracy. Any compassion or kindness from the crew and I was done. They just yelled in one voice: "Swim, for god sake" and waived me on. With ear plug coated in lanolin my hearing wasn’t great – so I wasn’t exactly having conversations! Feeds were quick (started as 20 seconds and lengthened to 40 plus seconds at this point), frantic events and certainly not rest stops.
The same thoughts of failure and getting into the boat dominated the next thirty minutes and I slowed my stroke. As I approached the boat for the feed I was done. Before I could speak, Martin told me, very calmly, that my stroke was still strong and I was still on track to do 9 hours and 45 minutes. Channel swimmers shouldn’t really care about the time – the object is to just get there. As a tall, somewhat thin man, I need a fast stroke rate to stay warm. So, for me speed and time equal warmth – I don’t have the option to relax for more than 30 seconds in cold water. So part of my motivation and fascination was time. It hurt me in Killrey but saved me now! A sub 10 hour swim constituted my entire vision. Martin’s comment worked and I swam away 100% rededicated and my stroke rate went up. From 100% quit to 100% rededication in a second – most things in life are more mental than physical! Thinking back I stopped feeling at this point and just went on some kind of automatic pilot.
The timing on my re-motivation was pretty close going into the sixth hour as I neared the separation zone. This is where the tides from the two sides of the channel clash, the water is rougher and at some point you are in "French Waters". The crew confirmed that I was half way and I kept the pace. During the next swim I yelled "soup" which sure tasted warm and good at the next feed and Dave appeared to confirm that I was in French waters. I wondered if the crew had told me early for motivation and I smiled. The next feed went down very quickly and within two seconds it came up in a violent explosion. Then a second later the previous three feeds followed. Projectile vomiting in action!
I immediately dropped the bottle, put my head down and headed off again. Several thoughts ran through my head: I’d be off sports drink for a long time, I guess this is what Colm meant when he said Owen was violently ill three times during his swim, I hoped my boat crew didn’t see that, wished I could brush my teeth right now and it is going to take a lot more than that to stop me.
Anne told me later that all seven on the boat saw every bit of "the drama" and she thought I was done at that point. This was the first of several times when Ciaran took her arm and convinced her that I would be ok. About the same time the crew started to endure a 3 ½ hour period of rain. I noticed it once and saw Martin sitting now in a rain coat and Ciaran and Anne looking miserable. It really had no impact on me so I swam through it.
At the next feed I started to drink 250 ml rather than the 500 ml as before. Anne told me that I had four hours to go and it motivated me to keep the stroke rate high. I then reconnected with time and started counting down. Two stops later she told me that I had three hours to go. At this point I could start to feel the cold so I yelled: "Hot Chocolate" during the session. I got that down in 19 seconds, kept it down and it seemed to warm me. I did "eject" banana flavoured "goo" and ¾ of a Mars bar during two different feeds. My stomach wasn’t good, but the liquid stayed down
Anne then told me three hours to go, informed me that the crew could see France and told me to look up. I could see it! It was motivational but I have been miles from land before on a swim and it takes a while to get there. At this point I hit probably my tenth (and last) patch of floating weed. One so thick I nearly had to climb over it – yuck! It reminded me of a swim with Eilish in the spring where I ran her into a massive weed patch – just to beat her in her wetsuit. The thought made me smile. Not a single jelly fish seen at this point – and beyond. I also only saw 2 imaginary sharks during the swim – well down on my ocean average! Just for completeness Anne tells me that they waived me away from a petrol slick at one point during the swim. I saw nothing, smelled nothing and just assumed I was zigzagging again!
Two stops later and Anne told me two hours to go. The stroke rate went up and the sprint I did to end over 200 Sandycove Island swims of 1.25 miles each for the past year would come into play! This was the second time I felt cold – I yelled "COLD" while swimming – hoping the crew would adjust the feeds. Anne told me later that it just broke her heart to see me alone in the water – clearly in pain. Ciaran took her arm again and reassured her – a bit. They mixed up warm tea with glucose and brought me in after 20 minutes for a feed. I didn’t feel the early stoop but sure felt the next one of 40 minutes. Ciaran keeping me on track!
Two stops later and Martin told me 6 miles to go. Instead of one hour it was closer to three. I tried to shake off this ton of bricks that just landed on me and reset to do the six miles. I hoped that I would not get another surprise. I had come too far to stop. My left arm is weaker and contributed all swim to the "veer left" to start the zigzagging pattern. Now it was losing even more power. My kick is pathetic at the best of times – so I tried to compensate for the left arm by increasing the kick.
Richard was at the side of the boat to feed me a white pill and a nut bar. I was alert enough to recognise that he was checking to see if I was getting hypothermic. Didn’t really want to take unknown food (it was an energy pill) but down it went.
I started to now have serious problems in the water. I was sure the coast was to my left and with the weak left arm anyways kept me veering that direction. The boat crew and Richard were getting more and more agitated and persistent in waving me back and yelling at me to stay next to the boat. I could see and hear it all – just couldn’t help them out most of the time. Ciaran later told me that the coast was to my right and I was trying to swim parallel to the coast and was not following the boat in.
Maybe deep down I knew it didn’t matter. Ciaran has lost his "Swim for god sakes!" face and he had the biggest smile imaginable. I knew that he was confident I would make it! In addition, we did manage to get about 30 minutes of sort-of-sun at this point. After nearly 20 hours in the channel this summer I had wondered if the sun ever did shine out there. They delayed a feed at this point by 15 minutes as I was on the verge of beating the tide. I never knew – I was just slogging it out in the water.
In the middle of all the trouble keeping on track, the crew went crazy at one point. I looked up to see a sail boat bearing down on me. I guess no radio! It gave us all a scare – but at least it moved me closer to the boat.
I could now clearly see the beach. It was like something out of a novel of 19th century China. There were massive flags on very high poles about 300 meters from the shore. I just focused on the big blue one and tried to get in. Richard then launched the small inflatable with engine and was soon buzzing around in front of me. I thought he was completely out of control as he zigzagged all over the place. I could see the blue flag and was heading towards it – Richard was just playing games with the little boat. Anne later reported that at this point she was convinced that I needed to be stopped and pulled in. She thought I was delirious. I was hurting but it would have taken a few of them to drag me in!! Ciaran reported an initial stroke rate of 68 which dropped to 56 in mid-Channel right before the feeds, always jumping back over 60. In the last hour my shoulders had dropped, pull was not as effective but I finished at 62 strokes a minute!
I touched bottom in waist high water and stepped forward in big crashing waves. The water then deepened and I remembered Imelda remarking on the same thing during her finish. Another 40 meters to swim until my hand touched bottom. My legs worked and were steady and I took about 10 steps forward to clear the furthest reaches of the big waves.
************The swim time was 12 hours and 47 minutes*****************
See Ned’s Route (pdf file)
A group of 15 beach goers smiled at me from 5 meters away and I thought – they had to know I came from Dover! I was disappointed that it was all sand and therefore I couldn’t take a rock home as a souvenir. I turned towards the sea and raised both arms first half way then straight up. Anne thought I was punching the sky in joy. No such luck, frankly I was surprised that they actually complied. There wasn’t a smile or yell in me.
From Beach to Boat
As I looked out to sea, the mystery of the banners became clear. Kite boarders were zipping across the beach at 30 miles and hour. So much for heading for the blue banner – no wonder I was confused! The banners were Kite boarding sails – in motion! Then the small inflatable with Richard caught a big wave and flipped over – I guess it was a bit rough out there. I had no sympathy for the boy. I stepped back into the sea either to swim to the big boat or help Richard. I crawled up into the now righted inflatable – clearly the engine had been swamped and Richard started to row with these tiny little oars. It was cold sitting there in the wind and my left leg was stuck in an odd position and the calf cramped. My mind directed the leg to move – but it ignored me.
With the wind and waves, it was tricky to step to the water level back platform on the big boat. My determination continued – I wasn’t going to fall and crack my head. Up the ladder, with helping hands under my armpits, I asked (ok mumbled) Anne: "Where’s my kiss?" I got her kiss on the lips and Ciaran’s somewhere on the top of my head! Martin was all smiles – but made no move for a kiss. I tried to slag Richard about flipping the boat but Anne told me it was more of an incoherent whisper.
Anne said later that my entire body was swollen and my eyes were out and filled the goggles. Not until an hour later did my eyes move back into my head.
I got to the inside padded bench and Anne was towelling me off and wrapping me in a sleeping bag. Ciaran took of the cap and went for the goggles. He hadn’t remembered the crew instructions that only I was to take these off – or figured I wasn’t capable! They came off with the sound of a Champagn cork. He and Anne are probably still shuddering from the sound.
Anne pulled off my speedo and somehow got my legs into long underwear and arms and body into a warm pullover. More clothes appeared on me and a couple of hot water bottles got inserted under the pullover. With some hot liquid I did manage to get down a ham sandwich. My throat was very sore and felt like it was nearly swollen shut. The boat trip was four hours back to Dover and I snoozed and twice made my way to the toilet (as in the crew instructions – I never walked without somebody ready to catch me if I fell) to pee. I think I mumbled something to Anne about sending a text to my Mother, Eilish, Imelda and Diarmuid – she already had sent a text to half the people I know!
The crew were not sick during the crossing to France. Each reported being in the most intense focus for nearly 13 hours. Once I was back on board and sleeping, Anne and Martin were sick over the side within minutes. So much for the crew relaxing!
Dover and Home
Maria was at the boat to greet us. It was a huge shock and the tears welled up as I hugged her. I thanked the boat crew – they were great. All four were committed, passionate and really wanted me to succeed. We headed across the floating piers, up the ramp to the car park – and my legs worked!
Martin was headed off and we hugged goodbye. The man started the whole thing a year previously and pulled together and motivated 30 Channel relay swimmers and 6 soloists. A 100% success record and he gave so much of his time and I am sure that he financially sponsored more than we knew. I tried to tell him he was great. I looked up probably 40,000 times during the swim and every time saw Martin sitting there watching me. It gave me great comfort.
We drove to the caravan park to be greeted by the USA and Irish flags on the pole of honour. David and Evelyn rushed out with smiles, handshake and a hug. Maybe Ciaran parked the car in the meantime, I have no idea. David grabbed a camera and Anne, Ciaran and I posed for a picture in front to the flag. We left in the dark with grim determined faces and we returned in the dark with big smiles. Erica and her family joined us for a second photo. I saw my spot on "THE WALL" just under Imelda, over from Diarmuid, Ronan and my Cork Channel relay swimming colleagues. The flags and the wall were forcing me past relief to a kind of quiet satisfaction. I shed lots of tears for lots of reasons then I staggered back to the caravan.
Somehow we managed to order Chinese food to be delivered and I took a long hot shower and soaped off the last of the lanolin. Before the food arrived I tried to take a short nap. Within seconds I was feeling ill and ran for the bathroom – Ciaran was showering so I headed out the door. Pity those bushes and what ever was behind them. We spent time looking at the course map (see attached). It is 21 miles straight across but nearly 30 miles as the tides dictate your path. At the final left sweep I was driven by 6 mile/hour tides – you can’t swim against these. My swim path was nearly perfect. Another 30 minutes faster and I would have hit Cap Gris-Nez dead-on! This would have come with calmer water, an earlier start, no hour five weakness or better production from that left arm!
The Chinese food arrived and the three zombies somehow ate and got to bed around 9pm with a departure time of 6am to the airport. I was up at 3 am and just sat for hours until the others woke. I am not sure what if anything I was thinking – just sat moving between a smile and tears. My physical condition wasn’t bad: swollen mouth, tongue and throat; cramped left calf; massive lumps in both forearms and sore all around where the goggles touched. Only in the morning did I notice the banner and balloons across the huge caravan window that David and Evelyn set up before we returned the previous night.
The early trip to the airport was dominated by calls to Eilish, Imelda and Owen and 50+ mobile messages. I read them all and replied. One of the best was a message from Vodafone welcoming me to France!
Cork -Monday through….
We landed with loads more text messages on my mobile. I didn’t recognise a few of the names. With a big Cork Masters group, 50+ local seas swimmers and friends of friends – it was a huge welcome.
We drove Ciaran back to his home and hugged. He was a great choice for the boat, showed steely determination throughout (you had to see his savage face during my weak hour!), kept Anne sane and worked so hard to make it a success.
Anne and I got back to our home and collapsed in each others’ arms. For her, Sunday had been one of the worst days in her life. The focus and stress of seeing your partner struggle alone through the cold sea is not taken easily. She did a great job on the boat – feed preparation, yelling encouragement, waving me on, and minding me throughout.
I had a very emotional greeting by the Cork Masters swimmers at training on Monday night. Diarmuid was there to greet his new Channel swimming colleagues and we gave Imelda a big hug. Eilish was beaming – no coach or club could claim 3 soloists in the same year. I then swam 6 slow laps and took a sauna!
Erica swam on Tuesday in what were described as the best conditions of the year: calm, sunny and down right hot and did a blistering 9 hours and 3 minutes.
And now real stuff life Cork stuff kicks in. The twins did well on their Junior Cert test and are dressed up and off to a party!
I have been back to Rob to drive out a niggling pain in my right shoulder and will compete this Saturday in our biggest local race – 1.25 miles around Sandycove Island.
Original article posted on : https://www.santabarbarachannelswim.org/ned2.html
