Another Channel

The North Channel. Northern Ireland to Scotland

NINE months ago, when I commenced training in earnest for this swim I had in my mind that there would be some magic trick, moment of epiphany or other such miraculous event that would propel me through my training and get me across this notorious body of water.

I’m disappointed to say that there was no such event.

Instead, the training was a slow and sometimes torturous grind.

12*c still felt like one would imagine 12*c would feel…cold. I’m not sure why I thought that these temperatures might begin to feel comfortable… because they don’t, I’ve just built up the resilience to know that I wouldn’t become hypothermic if I just kept swimming.

I read a book before I left for the UK about the swimming career of a woman who was once the greatest open water swimmer in the world, Shelly Taylor-Smith, a line in that book resonated with me… “if you don’t give up, you will make it.” It’s a simple concept, yet fundamentally true.

There were a lot of unknowns on this swim, with only one member of Vladswim having swum it previously and only ~50 people in the world. 

One thing that I knew for sure is that I would make it across, provided I didn’t give up. Easy.

The trouble is, there is so much that goes into that simple little phrase – If you don’t give up, you will make it. I especially knew how rogue one’s mind can go when in the middle of a channel, take my EC swim for example. LOST.MY.MARBLES.

It’s not so easy to think rationally when exceptionally cold, in the middle of a large body of water, and with people shouting incoherently at you from a boat.

Swims like these are won and lost within the space between one’s ears. My mind can be my most powerful ally, and it has also been my harshest critic and my downfall. The 300 km swum over the preceding 7 weeks was my insurance policy against covering the distance required. 

I had little doubt that this swim was going to be the toughest swim I had ever attempted, not just because of the temperature, the enormous jellyfish or the distance, but it's what it all meant to me.

After completing the Triple Crown in August 2016, my desire to push myself and to find my limit was only strengthened.

I take so much inspiration from swimmers such as Sarah Thomas who holds the record for the longest unassisted open water swim in the world. Sarah, who in 2016 after completing an 128 km swim was not satisfied that she had reached her limit, decided to push the boundary and in 2017 swam 168 km up and back lake Champlain in the USA. 

It took her 67 hours to complete the distance – that is 5 hours short of THREE.DAYS.STRAIGHT

During this time Sarah swam and swam and swam, she only stopped to tread water and take the food and drink that was passed to her along the way. She was kept awake by regular, small amounts of caffeine, encouragement from her crew and her own mental endurance. 

This is a super human effort and from what I can see, she flies under the radar – no gimmicks, just swimming.

I’ve never met the woman, but I really like her.

Wee Donaghadee

I arrived in the small sea-side town of Donaghadee, Northern Ireland 5 days before my window opened. Michael and I were immediately welcomed with open arms. The staff at Pier 36 and the Chunky Dunkers are some of the friendliest people I have ever come across.

Needless to say, I was overwhelmingly apprehensive and getting in the cold water of Donaghadee harbor did nothing to help my level of anxiety.

My first swim was about 40 minutes. I jumped in, and the temperature took my breath away. During my training I had always walked in slowly and jumping in felt like an elephant had sat on my chest. With Charm and Michael watching me, I tried to pretend like it was nothing at all. Thumbs up, and off I went swimming pretending like everything was fine.

The first and second swim in the harbor elicited all of the typical cold related symptoms; tight chest, shortness of breath, face freeze, back of neck freeze, numb fingers and toes, and the after-drop shakes. 

However, after the first couple of swims my reaction to the cold started to settle and before long I was spending up to 30 minutes treading water and not feeling that cold at all.

Chris Judge, Gordy Hamill and me - marinating  

I have little doubt that this sustained and consistent exposure to the cold, together with Tara's advice to go from 45 minute to 35 minute feeds, were the two most important ingredients in successfully getting me across the Channel.

At 6:16 am on 5 September, after 10 days of waiting, one false start, and a lot of anxiety, it was go time, I was in the water looking for a rock to stand up on to signal the start of my crossing.

In the water with me that day was Marty Filipowski, Stephen Junk and Nora Toledano. 

I  knew this swim was going to be hard, one of my biggest concerns were the Lions Mane Jellyfish, and it took no time at all for my first encounter. It was still dark and I didn't see it coming, but I copped a fist full of tentacles to the face and mouth.

When the sun rose, I was able to see them coming, but they were impossible to avoid. Unlike normal jellyfish that have their tentacles hanging down, these mutant jellyfish were on their side and sometimes completely upside down. The below is an image from Google, but very accurately represents what I saw during the entire crossing - X 10,000.

Lions Mane Jellyfish

The good news is, the sting its-self is no worse than a bluebottle. So just imagine all of those bluebottle tentacles stinging you at the one time. It hurts, but it didn't hurt enough to break my determination, just a couple of swear words to let off steam were all that were required. 

I approached this swim in two different ways, on the one hand, having already completed a number of long channel swims, I was acutely aware of how hard it was going to be. On the other hand, I also successfully avoided thinking about it. Maybe because every time I did, I felt a wave of anxiety come over me and got very hot and nervous.

For better or for worse, this strategy seemed to work. At the commencement of the swim, I didn't feel overwhelmed by the enormity of what was to come, like I did in the English Channel. I swam from feed to feed, and I have never been so disciplined with not stopping part way through the 35 minutes, or dragging out the feed stop to converse with my crew. 

This swim was so unlike my experience across the English Channel, I felt in control the whole time, I retained my marbles and even though it was really hard and cold and the jellyfish were relentless, I kept the negative thoughts at bay by counting my strokes, singing the entire Les Miserables musical and Illy's Aus Music Medley. 

I had an epiphany of sorts in the first third of the swim. I was looking up at Michael, Ruth, Olive and Padraig on the boat and they all looked so comfortable in their down jackets and beanies and all I wanted was to get out of the water, have a hot bath and crawl into bed and sleep forever. The feeling was very strong. Then somewhere from the depths a voice of reason came to me and I promised myself that I could have hot baths and endless sleeps for my whole life, if for the next 12 hours I commit to feeling uncomfortable and cold. It worked, from them on I was able to focus wholeheartedly on the task at hand. 

At about the 8th hour I asked my crew if I could have a friend in the water, so the lovely Olive from Infinity Channel Swimming jumped in and swam with me for about 40 minutes, followed by Michael for the remainder of the hour.

The conditions at the beginning of the swim were beautiful 

The wind eventually picked up and blew in an Easterly direction for about an hour, after that it appeared to swing North-Easterly, which created challenging chop and waves. 

Despite this, I was still in remarkably good spirits, I took it all in my stride and was happy to oblige when I was asked to push as hard as I could. 

Fortunately, I didn't ever doubt myself and my ability to make the swim when I was in the water. When I was 9 km from Scotland, could see land very clearly, I estimated I had 3 hours to go. By that stage I had lost track of time in the water, but I started to count down the number of feeds before I would be finished.

At my second last feed, Padraig came out of the cabin and told me that if I give it everything I have, and I mean everything, I would break though the current that was taking me south and land in front of the lighthouse. 

"45 minutes" I asked, "45 minutes and then we're done?"

"Yes" was the response from Paddy, but only if it was the fastest 45 minutes I could manage.

From then on, I left it all in the channel.

Illy's Aus music medley was playing loudly in my head and I gave it everything I had. 

35 minutes later, my last feed and I was within 1 km of the finish.

Prior to the swim, Michael and I had agreed that he would get in and swim the final few hundred meters with me and we would finish together, like we did for my English Channel swim and our Catalina Channel swim. 

The preceding 9 months were hard on me, and hard on Michael too. I was not a great person to be around and a very inattentive wife to my new husband. I wanted Michael in the water with me, because his support throughout the training and the swim itself was invaluable. This was a challenge that I had taken on, but one we went through together. 

I was also unsure what state I would be in in the final meters of the swim. Strong swimmers who had gone before me, tell of not remembering the final 2 hours, of being so hypothermic and delirious they had to be coached through putting their hand out to touch a rock that signalled the end of their swim.

Based on how I pulled up at the end of the English Channel, I was certain I would be lacking my mental faculties too.

For an infinite number of reasons however, I wasn't, I was fine. Cold and sore, but fine.

In the last 100 or so meters, I started to become aware of my surroundings, I could see the rocks and the weed below me, I could feel the sudden rise in water temperature, I could see the lush deep-green grass on top of the cliff and the grey moody sky above, and I wanted to finish this swim alone. Just me. As an ordinary woman who believed in herself.

I asked Michael to stay behind me. Or I may have yelled it. I'm sorry that I did, because after all his support and encouragement, he didn't deserve to be yelled at.

I touched a rock in front of me, and looked back at the boat. Was that enough? I got closer and touched it again. Am I done?

I could hear shouting, but no audible words.

I was now right up against an outcropping of rocks and there was nothing I could do, a wave came though and washed me high and dry right on top of them.

Michael to the rescue

Ouch, but it was quite funny. I looked to the boat, put my hands up and shrugged my shoulders. Maybe I would sit there for a moment or two and take in my surroundings.

Nope.

The next wave came through and swept me down the other side.

I was cut and bleeding and trying to side stroke to the boat.

On the boat, I was so grateful to have Nurse Ruth to help administer first aid with the comprehensive supplies carried by all Infinity Channel Swimming boats. In the end, all I wanted was to get my disgusting costume off and dry clothes on.

Another major advantage of choosing Infinity as your escort boat is the speed at which you get back to Bangor marina.

I was told that our little twin engine rib could do it in 40 minutes, so I asked Padraig to step on it.

When I found out I had completed the swim in 10 hours 32 minutes I was speechless - gobsmacked, I couldn't believe how fast I had gotten across. I was hoping for a 12 hours swim, thinking that would be killing it, never in my dreams did I imagine I could have done it in 10.5.

On the way back, I was elated to find out that Nora has gotten across in 10:26, and that Marty was only 2 km from the finish and was swimming really well. His finish time was 12:26. Unfortunately, a great pal, and incredible swimmer Stephen, had not managed to cross the channel on that occasion.

Post swim, back on land

Pier 36 signing the honor wall

Elated, tired, stung and cold, on the 5th September 2018 I became the First Australian Woman, the fastest Australian person, and swam the North Channel in the 8th fastest time ever.

Nora, myself and Marty signing the wall at Pier 36

There are so many people to thank.

My ever supportive, rugged and handsome husband, best friend and one-man comedy show, Michael Hanisch

Mum, Dad, Aviva, Avi, Nat & Ada for flying to Northern Ireland to be with me

Tara Diversi for your knowledge and expertise, I am so grateful 

All the legends at SportsLab

Padraig and the team at Infinity Channel Swimming

Martin Strain and all the Lovely Chunky Dunkers for your hospitality, send off and welcome back

Kristy McIntyre, Georgia Hall, Michael Bullen and Niall O'Rourke for your hours and hours of paddle support 

Vlad Mravec, Martin Vavrek & Jai Di Tommaso and the whole Vladswim family

Sarah Thomas for showing me exactly what women can do

Myself for my ability to persist in the face of adversity.

It's go time

A comprehensive account of my swim across the English Channel, or as comprehensive as I can manage. Told from the perspective of the swimmer; there are likely to be biasses and certain confusion of chronology.

3am Breakfast in bed

The morning started out well. I was so calm I managed to speak with St George and ask them to reverse the cancelation of my credit card, the cancelation was on suspicion of fraud as the previous day Mike and I had traipsed around Dover and Folkestone going from ATM to ATM withdrawing large amounts of cash...I tried to explain Andy's policy of "No cashie - no splashie" The man on the line was not amused. 

Moments before we left Varne Ridge for Dover marina I went to wish Justin good luck, unfortunately Justin was still asleep and this was a problem as he was due to leave 15 minutes after me. 

Dover marina was cold and dark, but I was happy and excited. Loretta Cox was there to see me off, Loretta would also be there that afternoon when I arrived back at the marina, slightly less energetic and excited. I was really blown away by her kindness, a woman I had never actually met in person before, but a year earlier in the wee hours of the morning I had been speaking to her for hours and hours while Justin was in the water for his second attempt. 

I joked around with Andy and Mick my observer, mimicking the way they were so casually propped up against the side of the boat waiting for us.

Things got underway, I had WWRD on one arm and Ada and Pickles on the other. Writing them seemed a formality at the time as I had no idea just how much I would need their company.

I greased, gave the family signal, gave Mike and Charm a kiss and jumped in. 

I was calm, no real nerves, no sense of impending doom and no thoughts of what was to come. I climbed up the pebbles at Samphire Hoe and tried to commit what I saw to memory. 

4:38am Total darkness beside the boat's spotlight on me, the water was calm -it was beautiful, one of the most beautiful scenes I'v ever seen. "Ok Rachael this is it, the English Channel" I said out loud to myself.

As I started to stroke in the glassy opaque water I felt fantastic. My stroke rate was high, it felt like 63-65. Usually I'm mid-high 50's

I can't remember exactly when things started to turn, but it wasn't long before the glass turned to chop and I became fearful of swimming outside the lights of the boat. Problematically something was wrong with my left arm's stroke, whenever I tried to breathe on that side I would veer dramatically to the left and leave the safety of the spotlight and the field of vision within the wheelhouse. 

Andy came out with cups of tea for the crew, I was close to the boat and he cheers'd me, I gave him the bird. 

The sun rose without much ceremony, I flipped on to my back to backstroke and have a look at the huge tankers sailing past, little did I know of the wardrobe malfunction that was occurring, until I saw Mike and Charm yelling at me to pull up my costume! Oh well, hopefully it gave the crew a bit of entertainment. I attempted to keep myself decent for a little while, but eventually I stopped caring. 

Mike got in and swam with me for a bit, but by this time I started to worry that my stroke rate was too high for the longevity I needed. I started to feel hypoglycaemic and lacked energy, the feeds weren't giving me a boost, it felt like I was fighting a losing battle; trying to replace what I was loosing but falling further and further behind. 

I knew when I was in the first shipping lane and I knew when I was in the separation zone and I knew I was still swimming well. The problem came when I thought I was past the second shipping lane and in French inshore waters: the water had become dirtier and choppier, and James came out of the wheel house and started fiddling with the tender. "I'm there!" I thought to myself, "hell yeah, I'm going to kill it!" I reckoned I had about half an hour to swim and would do a time close to 10 hours.

Of course I hadn't dared to look at either coast, I kept my eyes firmly on the boat when I fed. 

I was so wrong.

At that point I had a feeling I was about 10 hours in, and as it happens I was correct. It was also at that point that I started to loose my mind. I started to question what my crew was doing... 

Were they even keeping time? What the eff were they doing up there? It's time for a feed I know it is! My feeds are too dilute, they are effing with my feeds, why aren't they putting the right amounts of maltodextrin in it, too much water, "FUUUUUUUUCK" I yelled underwater. My head was playing games with me.

This was the first of many stops I made, I knew it was jeopardising my swim but at the time I didn't care. I was angry and hungry and I didn't understand why I wasn't getting anywhere. I wanted out. The swim was tormenting me, "where the eff am I?" I shouted "this is so effed up" I kept yelling. 

Michael joined me in the water again and I was crying so much I had to constantly empty my goggles of the tears, I wanted to disqualify myself by touching him. I kept saying I couldn't do it any more, I had given up. Even now, 6 weeks later I can still feel the torture I was going through. I get a lump in my throat and my anxiety spikes. It was awful.

I was so angry at my crew for not allowing me to get out, I had no insight what so ever. They kept telling me that land was "just there" pointing in some direction, I couldn't see shit. They swell was high and it was choppy as fuck. Land was no where to be seen. It was agony. 

Around this point I started to give up on myself, I swam away from the boat a few times and I ignored the crew yelling at me to come back. I didn't care, the swell and chop made it hard to swim in any one definite direction.

When Mike jumped in he swam on my left to keep me close to the boat. This is one of the only photos you will see of Mike breathing to his right. 

I didn't think I was going to make it. It had been hours, I tried desperately to get out of my head and think of what was written on my arm, to sing a song from Les Miserables, to recite the script of Stand By Me or to think of the 'take a photo day' in Manly. Nothing was working, I was too distressed. I could feel the tide had turned, I could feel the strength of the water movement. I was battling with myself not to stop and scream, so I started screaming underwater- this must have been where I swallowed all the seaweed. 

On one of my stops, Andy came out of the wheel house and yelled "Rachael, stop crying you are doing better than you think. Put your goggles on and F***ING SWIM" 

I kept trying to look forward to see where I was, but I couldn't see anything. Finally I yelled for Michael to get back in the water. The plan had been for him to swim the last hour with me, but I needed him then. There wasn't going to be a later unless he got in immediately. At this point pure anger was the only thing keeping me going. I was kicking and swinging my arms over much faster than what I had trained for.

Daniel had told me that it wasn't as hard as he had thought it was going to be, that I would be fine. God Daniel, you bastard...this is hard. I fully understood why there is such a high failure rate. Had I had anyone else on my crew I would not be writing this as a successful channel swimmer. Mike and Charm could see my agony, but they knew it was in my head and that I had the ability to make it. In hindsight I will forever be grateful for this. 

I started counting my strokes in an attempt to drown out the voices in my head telling me I couldn't do it. By the time I got to 9 lots of 100 strokes I got the shits and I wasn't any closer to France. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh I screamed in frustration during one of my breaths.

I thought of something Stuart had told me about his doubles, there comes a point when he is so delirious all he can do it sing "99 bottles of beer on the wall" 

I started to count to 10, over and over and over. It was something my dad had told me he had done when he descended Mt Kilimanjaro as a teenager.

I mentioned previously I had told Michael, to get in the water, but he was stalling. He had taken his clothes off, but now his shorts were back on. He was fiddling with his goggles, cleaning them about 27 times, taking sips of water, putting his cap on and taking it off, going in and out of the wheel house and talking with Mick, Andy and Charm.

"MICHAEL- NOW!" I shouted, I knew he was stalling on purpose. 

He finally jumped in at the last feed, I threw my bottle in his direction hoping it would hit him.

I still didn't think I was going to make it. I knew I had wasted huge amounts of time spitting the dummy, I had jeopardised my own swim. "NO!" I thought to myself, I wanted to make it but had I wasted too much time? I kept repeating to myself "They wouldn't have let Mike swim if I wasn't going to make it" " 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10"

I caught a glimpse of land, fuck it was still really far away " I just want this to be over". Mike had me swimming really fast, I had a 4-6 beat kick going on and my arms were stroking furiously.

The first thing I noticed was the change in water quality, it became very silty. I could smell something, a smell that reminded me of when I was young and had pet rabbits. There was a family walking along the beach to my right in the distance. I think I can see some kind of a hut thing. " it's not over till its over" I was crying and hyperventilating.

5:39pm I kept stroking until I was in knee deep water and my arms were hitting the bottom, I got to my feet and staggered unsteadily a short distance up the beach.

I fell to my knees, then lay on my back and started sobbing (I also made a really big wee) 

Michael knelt beside me, "Where am I?" "Do I have to keep swimming?" "Is it over?" I asked him. I was beside myself, I didn't have a proper grasp on what was going on or where I was- in that moment all I could do was cry.
After a short period of time I sat up, took my cap off and asked him if the swim had taken 16 hours. It felt like 16 hours. 

Cross legged on a beach in France, I am crying and piling pebbles indiscriminately into my cap.

Andy kept blowing the boat's horn, there was no tender to take us back to the boat. I handed my cap full of pebbles to Michael and we made our way very slowly back, all I could manage was a breastroke/backstroke type stroke, I was shattered and sore. 

I climbed up the ladder and the first thing I did was apologise to the whole crew for swearing at them. I was in high spirits, I made a remark to Andy that I wasn't going to poo my pants, a few days before we had been joking about some of his past channel swimmers defecating post swim.

Andy was keen to get going quickly as the swell was rising by the minute and it was approaching darkness. There is no luxury about swimming the channel, the boat ride back was rough. I was sat between Charm and Michael who bore the brunt of the swell crashing over the boat. I soon started to feel sick, I wasn't so sure I could keep my promise to Andy.

I was handed a bucket and I vomited the entire way back. At first it was a relief as it was mostly sea water and some big chunks of seaweed. I asked Charm to take a photo before chucking it out. You're welcome.

I caught a glimpse of a big wave just before it crashed over the boat and soaked Michael, Andy remarked that the conditions Karlie had swum in were double what that was. That girl has guts.

I didn't look up for the rest of the trip, I continued to stare at the bottom of my bucked and heaved stomach acid.
In the calm of Dover marina I was rocking like we were still out at sea. My family had all come down to cheer me in, expecting me to be a little bit excited, maybe give them a wave, or the odd 'whoo'
This is what greeted them...

I have so many people to thank...Where would I be with out the Vladswim team; Vlad, Charm, Martin and Vicki.

Michael; who forfeited a European adventure to support me and ended up spending all his time away in thrilling Dover.

Matt Mccutcheon from SportsLab; Physio extraordinaire and all round good guy - What a legend 

Andy King, James King and Mick Randall on the mighty Louise Jane. Louise I don't know who you are but thank you too.

My family: Mum and Dad, Jess and Sam, Nat and Ronnie, Aviva and Avi, Ada and Isaac

Fellow channel swimmers and training partners, Tara Diversi and my Vladswim friends.

Dave and Judy Redelman

Finally...Thank you to myself. I did the training, I did the research and in the end I stroked my way from England to France. 

A work in progress..

Five years ago, given the scenario of what was to come I would never have believed one person would be able to survive, let alone thrive. In 2010, I had a series of losses, and I found myself losing interest in almost everything. I didn't want to do any of the things I had previously wanted to do, and at the time I didn't know why. The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality and it was vitality that seemed to seep away from me.

One of the things that seems to get lost in discussions of depression is that you know it's ridiculous, you know most people manage to wake up in the morning and get out of bed. You know most people are able to brush their teeth and have a shower and organise themselves enough to go out the front door, and that it's not a big deal. Yet I was in it's grip and unable to figure out a way around it.

And then the anxiety set in. It's a sensation similar to the one you feel when you slip over, and the ground rushing up at you-but instead of lasting half a second the way that does, it lasts years. It's a sensation of being afraid all the time, but without anything tangible to be afraid of.

People think of depression as being just sadness. It's much, too much sadness, much too much grief at too slight a cause. One doesn't think in depression that you've put on a grey veil and are seeing the world through the fog of a bad mood. You think that the veil has been taken away, the veil of happiness, and that now you're seeing truly.

What I didn't know then, and do know now, is that endurance can be the entryway to forging meaning. After you've forged meaning, you need to incorporate that meaning into a new identity. You need to take the traumas and make them part of who you've come to be, and you need to fold the worst events of your life into a triumph, creating a better self in response to things that hurt.

So now people say, "Do you feel happy all the time?" I don't. But I don't feel sad about having to eat lunch, or brushing my teeth, and I don't feel sad about taking a shower. I feel sad about professional disappointments, about lost relatives, about jelly fish. Those are the things that I feel sad about now. 

And I often ask myself, what is the conclusion? What I have come up with over time is that the people who deny their experience, the ones who say, "I was depressed a long time ago and I never want to think about it again and I'm just going to get on with my life," ironically, those are the people who are most enslaved by what they have. Shutting out the depression strengthens it. The people who do better are the ones who are able to tolerate it and not run from it, those who can tolerate their depression are the ones who achieve resilience.

Our needs are our greatest assets. It turns out I've learned to give all the things I need.

We don't seek the painful experiences that colour our identities, but we seek our identities in the wake of painful experiences. I could not bear a pointless torment, but I can endure great pain if I believe that it's purposeful. Ease makes less of an impression on us than struggle. Maybe I could have been myself without my delights, but not without the struggle that has driven my search for meaning.

These days, my life is vital, even on the days when I'm sad. I have discovered a resilience and endurance inside myself that I had never formulated until that day 4 years ago when hell payed me a surprise visit.

What Would Rachael Do?

This is one of the most inspirational and touching things I have experienced. Lovely Anna wrote this on her arm prior to a long long swim in very cold water. 

Vitality