Channel swim for Starlight

SUCCESS!!!! Mark made it across the Channel in what was a gut-wrenchingly fantastic effort.

The following puts the day’s events into full perspective:

SETTLING IN

We got the call late Friday arvo that it was “on” for Saturday morning and after a few fitful hours sleep, we left Folkestone harbour just after 4am on Saturday morning. I’m guessing Mark has pretty much never felt as “alive” as we motored to the little beach beneath the Dover Cliffs where he jumped in. There was plenty of cheek too…30 strokes in he rolled onto his side and called to Fred the toothless skipper “Make sure you keep up Freddy”.

Apart from the fact that it was dark for a while, cold, quite windy and choppy and he’d swum about 9-10km, the first 3 hours or so were pretty routine. He settled into a nice rhythm (57 strokes per minute) and was looking moderately bullet proof. Whilst we were still dealing with a bit of a breeze, conditions only improved as the sun got higher and he got some warmth on his back. I have no doubt Mark was already hurting during these stages but from the deck of the boat he was looking good.

JELLYFISH & THE BLEDISLOE

Towards the end of the English shipping lane, about six hours into it, Mark started to wriggle a bit in the water, and his stroke rate became erratic. Looking down below the surface it was clear he was copping a few jellyfish stings – little blue ones and the bigger, orange longer tailed “lions mane” which packed a bigger punch.

This was the start of a pretty rough patch through the “separation zone” which is where the competing influence of the wash from the traffic in the English and French shipping lanes effectively force flotillas of weed and stingers into the middle. From the observer’s perspective, it was tough stuff for a good couple of hours.

Thankfully, this period included the first Bledisloe Cup and whilst mobile service was very patchy, we were able to get score updates from Mark’s wife Heidi and a couple of mates in Moree and Goondiwindi via SMS to convey to the man in the water. Under strict instructions to make sure that any messages contained “happy thoughts”, we were relieved we could tell the truth as things in the water were getting very physically and mentally challenging. There was no mention of the cricket.

Holding up the final 27-19 winning score on the whiteboard was a moment to savour. Mark stopped, popped his head up and spat out “I’ve got two things to say to that … Hands off – Number 7.” Anyone who still has the presence of mind to bring All Blacks captain Richie McCaw to account from the Middle of the English Channel was clearly still very, very lucid.

TOUGH GOING

From here it did start to deteriorate. After 9 hours in the water, and heading into the shipping lane on the French side, the wind was picking up and blowing diagonally into Mark’s face as he turned to breathe. It looked like he was swallowing a fair bit of water, although he says now it was only going part way down his gullet before he spat it out.

This was a pretty rugged stretch and his coach Tim Denyer, a champion bloke, started adjusting the nutrition programme – souping up the Panadol and caffeine intake amongst other things. Through the shipping lanes, Mark was swimming through some very cold water. I guess churned up from deeper pockets by the liners and Mark was visibly starting to look cold from our vantage point on the boat. It took about 2 and 1/2 hours to get through the lane and into the French inshore, approaching 5pm (UK time).

THE DOWNHILL RUN

Once through the lanes, on the boat we were all starting to feel more confident that he was going to make it but this confidence didn’t last long. The wind and chop started to pick up and a strong current was effectively trying to push him around the potential landing point on Cap Griz Nez. Progress was extremely slow and whilst you could literally almost smell the baguettes, we were not making much ground at all. We could see this from the boat, and Mark could sense it from the water.

With more than 13 hours under the belt there was still more than 1.5km to go. Mark’s brother Dave and I had planned to get in and swim with Mark as pacers/motivation for the last kilometre or so, but with things going pear shaped it was clearly no place for amateurs. We were being swept up and toward the tip of the cap very quickly now, and if we missed it…shut the gate.

That would have been devastating.

DIGGING IN

So with the day going pear shaped, the decision was made to send Coach Tim’s offsider Matty into the water for the final stretch.

Tim’s words to the boys on the boat (me, Dave, Dafyd Griffiths – a rugby/uni mate of Mark’s, and Jeff Tseng the cameraman) were “this is where he needs you lads” – and with that things dead set exploded.

For literally the next 34 minutes…after 13 hours and 50mins already in the water…somewhere Mark managed to find something I literally cannot describe. Willing him on and screaming at him to find it is something none of us will ever forget and the feeling when he reached the shore was a mixture of both relief and elation. When they bought him back to the boat on the tender, he was as close to destroyed as I have ever seen a man.

THE RECOVERY

From here it was an extremely long two and a half hour trip back to Folkestone harbour. It was cold, dark and windy and a real struggle to keep Mark in a safe place for the first hour or so. Then, as his core temperature and sugar levels improved (warm tea and wine gum lollies) he visibly started to pick up albeit from an extremely low base. By the time we got him off the boat he was desperate for a solid feed.

It turns out there is not much open at Folkestone at 10pm and it’s fair to say the locals at Maccas were wondering where we’d dragged him in from when we helped him through the door for a quarter pounder and six nuggets.

The human body’s capacity is far greater than I’d ever thought possible.

SUMMARY

Whilst I can’t speak for Mark, from an observer’s perspective it was a completely insane day. Quite frankly, the ballsiest thing I have ever witnessed. After 13 and1/2 hours in the water, battling currents, jellyfish and frigid cold, we literally had to drive him to sprint for the last 34 minutes…think about that…and when they bought him back to the boat he was totally and utterly destroyed. Needless to say, Mark was not in a good way when he came onto the boat, particularly as he started to cool down. His brother Dave was pretty much in shock, there were no high fives, we just had to get him warm and keep him upright (albeit in a sitting position).

Overall, the day was both better and worse than any grand final any of us had been involved in….and the last 30 minutes ignited a really strange frightening feeling of what if this actually goes too far. This was a whole new level. To not make it was just not an option, but for him to push himself as far as he had to and for us to actively and aggressively encourage him into and back out of the abyss is something none of us will never forget. From a “support crew perspective”, we all loved the victory, but none of us have the desire to experience it again.

At the end though, when he touched the French shore-line it was one of the sweetest victories I have ever been a part of, and I wouldn’t have missed it for quids.