The Big Swim

The message came through from Andy my pilot just after 7pm: I had to meet him on the quayside at 2.30am, which meant seven and a half hours to go….. The excitement and nerves kicked in.  I rang my parents who were travelling to join us with my Poppa.  My observer was to be Dan Earthquake – who co-ordinates the CSA observers and who I had got to know at Swan Pool - the Lake in Birmingham.  Everything was in place.  Months of planning had led to this moment and although I went to bed early there was no way my body was going to sleep.

At the marina, there was a quiet night time buzz of activity.  The atmosphere felt set for drama. A relay team moved silently en-masse, further up the quay another group assembled and together my support team and I unloaded our kit onto the Louise Jane.

Andy and Dan gave us safety and information briefings and as the boat made its way through the blackness it all felt very surreal.  My emotions were a massive, complicated mixture: ‘I don’t want to do this’ sat confusingly alongside ‘I so desperately want to do this’.  Mum held my hand, Sarah coated me in Vaseline but my unease only subsided once I had jumped off the boat and was swimming back to the shore in Dover.

I glanced up as I swam right up to the White Cliffs and tingles went down my spine – This is it.  As I scrambled out of the water on to the pebbly beach I hoped so much that the next ground I would touch would be in France.  Almost immediately the boat horn sounded – the signal for me to start and I returned to the water to start my challenge.

Swimming in the dark was a new experience for me but I loved it - it felt so unworldly and almost ghostlike. The dark sky reflected in the flat dark sea and the elements seemed to merge.  After an hour the sky became lighter as morning started to creep over the Channel.  I would occasionally glimpse the other side of the boat and see an orange strip of clouds as the, not quite risen sun, reflected off them.  Swimming with the dawn was breathtaking; I felt so at one with nature.  The water was refreshingly cold and when I would glance ahead it became hard to tell where the sea ended and the sky started.  At my second feed I asked if I could swim on the other side of the boat so I could watch the sunrise.  This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I wasn’t going to miss it.

After this however, my swim started to drag.  Hours seemed to last forever and I wasn’t looking forward to my feeds as the food was making me feel sick.  I was not taking in what I had planned to and was simply forcing down any little bits my stomach would take.  One hour all my jelly babies got dropped in the water, but I didn’t really want them anyway so swum on with only a small sip of Maxim.  I knew I was not taking enough in, but I was reassured as I wasn’t feeling weak at all.  I know how lucky I am that my body was able to adapt to the lack of fuel and the change in routine from all my training swims.

At the six hour point I was told I had entered the second shipping lane meaning: I was past half way.  This created a massive change in my mental approach and from this point I had no doubt that I would make it.  I also asked for some water on my next feed instead of my energy drink; this really helped and the following hour I felt much less sick.

During my swim I encountered very little of the muck and wildlife people expect from the channel, apart from the area of jelly fish which I escaped with only a couple of stings!

My family on the boat were amazing – always someone at the railings giving me thumbs up, waving or pulling funny faces at me.  Their enthusiasm seemed never ending despite my lack of response.  The messages from friends and family were written up on the whiteboard and dangled over the edge for me to read.  It really helped to put my swim in context when I felt alone in this stupid pursuit in the middle of a never ending sea!  Despite them telling me at feeds, I don’t think I realised the huge volume of messages they were receiving from everyone and people’s response has been more than overwhelming.

After nine hours the calm sea of the morning had given way to the predicted waves and wind.  I asked Andy how much longer he thought I had to go.  His reply of two hours was in line with what I had been thinking so I put my head down, upped my pace once more and decided to fight the waves head on.

The problem was that for these whole two hours I could see France and it was so hard to judge how much further to go.  After 10 hours 20 mins I turned down my last feed thinking I only had about a 15 minute swim left.  This in fact turned out to be 40 minutes.  The frustration in me was boiling over and I shouted to the boat ‘I’m not moving anywhere’.  Ten mintues later I called again asking for a further time estimate.  The only response was a frustrating ‘keep going’. 

My legs were feeling weak as I had not fed for over an hour and had been fighting the waves for all that time.  As the French beach still didn’t seem imminent I called to the boat that I needed food.  The chocolate mini roll instantly gave energy to my weak legs and soon I saw the activity on the boat that I had been longing to witness.  The inflatable dinghy was lifted down into the water to escort me to the shore.  I could see ground coming up from below me as I swam towards the rocks of Cap Gris Nez.  I carefully clambered up until I was sitting on a boulder and Dan said ‘That will do Ali’.

I had done it.  I had swum the English Channel.  But all I felt was numb.  It had been a frustrating end to my swim but I was finally there.

This whole journey has been one of the best and one the worst things I have ever done.  It has involved a lot of battles with my own demons and an awful lot of support from those closest to me.  I may have completed a solo channel swim but I am aware more than ever that this was a team effort and left on my own it certainly would not have been so successful.

Ali’s Big Swim blog

3.50 am Ali’s been in the water for 27 minutes – water’s calm and she’s swimming well.  We met at the Marina soon after 2am – none of us had much sleep including Ali! The marina was alive with nocturnal activity: two other solo swimmers and one relay team preparing to leave.

Will quickly introduce the boat crew so you know who’s being referred to as the day progresses: the two Andy’s are in charge of the boat.  Dan is the official observer from the Channel Swimming Association.  He’s their liaison officer and Ali already knows him from her lake training at uni (and the record breaking six-hour swim). Tony is with Dan and training to be an observer.  The support crew are her parents, Gill and Mike, sister Sarah and grandpa “Poppa.”  

Ali was quite subdued as we motored round to Samphire Hoe. “Whose silly idea was this?” she muttered at one point but otherwise was pretty quiet as both Andy and Dan gave the safety and rules and regulations briefings.  A five minute warning from Andy brightened her up. It was time for action.  Sarah applied copious quantities of Vaseline round the swimming cossie line. We attached green lights to her goggles and bum.  And then it was time for final hugs and she dropped into the water with a laugh.

5.40am Ali’s still going strong and enjoying the sunrise over a relatively calm English Channel.

Completed second hourly feed – including chocolate mini roll!

Ali ate all she could of the mini roll and threw the rest away, Andy the pilot said “Oii I would have had that”, to which Ali replied, “well you can come in and get it then!”

We’re starting to write messages on the whiteboard now the sun's coming up, so we’ll be passing on all your good wishes.

Apologies to everyone that we didn’t keep the blog updated throughout the day. After Ali’s second feed she swapped to the other side of the boat so she could see the sunrise – and enjoy the warmth on her back as the day progressed.  But all actions have unintended consequences – and the switch in sides meant Andy the pilot had to switch on the web cam so he could see Ali from the wheelhouse.  And that meant that we couldn’t use the power outlet to recharge the laptop.

So now we’re back in Dover after a really successful swim. Ali will give you a more detailed account. But the first few hours were very calm – we passed a number of big ships including one massive oil tanker which meant Ali treading water for a few minutes to let it pass.  It was a lovely relaxed morning – so many of you sent texts and emails which we transferred to the whiteboard which dangled almost in the water at sea level – and in Ali’s sight line

The “millpond” conditions changed around lunchtime – and for the last two hours Ali was battling Force Five winds.  It was hard for her as she could see the French coast – but it never seemed to come any closer (the cry of Channel swimmers down the years.) – and all at a time when she was already tired. The last half hour seemed interminable – and then Andy and Dan were lowering the dinghy into the water to escort Ali to the rocks just above Cap Gris Nez. 

Lots of cheering announced her arrival in France – although Ali was probably too far away to hear the noise of her enthusiastic (but nonetheless embarrassing) supporters.  Still we kept the real welcome for when she returned to Louise Jane and we were finally able to hug her and share our pride at her brilliant achievement.  There was a nice symmetry about her timings too. She left England at 3.23am and arrived in France 11 hours and 9 minutes later at 2.32pm.  Those of you who know Ali will know how much those apparently random times will appeal to her quirky sense of humour.

Will gloss over the return journey quickly: the weather forecast had predicted the change in conditions by this afternoon and we had the misfortune to experience the reality of bouncing along the waves in Force 5-6 winds.  We’re not a sailing family – but even the experienced sailors said it was the second or third worst return journey they had done.  As I write it feels like the hotel room is rolling around me.  We’re looking forward to celebrating properly with Ali as our stomachs and heads rejoin the rest of our bodies.