This year I've learned a bit about about tides and the effect they have on the sea. It's a useful thing to know something about when swimming the Channel. This is how it goes... Every month there are spring tides and neap tides. A spring tide is when the difference in the height of the sea between high tide and low tide is extreme - resulting in a large volume of water flooding in and out during the tidal period. A neap tide is when the difference in height between high and low tide is less. The tides are not so strong during a neap tide - a smaller volume of water to rush from high tide to low tide and back again. Channel swims are traditionally swum on the neap tide - as the swimmers don't have to swim against strong tides as much.
This weekend was a high spring tide in Dover.
Saturday...
Up at 6am, I'm driving down to Dover yet again. Really, really not in the mood. Again. This week I am officially tapering though. My big swim is supposed to be somewhere on the next neap tide - which lasts between 26 August and 4 September. Freda has told us we will be doing 'easy' swims this weekend.
As time goes by there are fewer and fewer people training on the beach as more and more successful swimmers finish their season's training. Some of them come along to the beach to say thank you to Freda and Barrie and to hang out and give the rest of us support and help with our feeds.
Today there are only about 8 or 9 of us training. It's slightly dispiriting and nerve wracking. Among the swimmers still to attempt the Channel are Will, just graduated from Imperial College; Victor, who hopes to be the first black African to swim the Channel - amazing for someone who never trained in cold water before leaving Zambia a couple of years ago; Kevin, who has swum the Channel 32 times and Smiley Katie who attempted to swim a few weeks ago in terrible weather and ended up in hospital with flooded lungs but now is recovered and having another go. And me.
'Three hours' Freda tells us all. It's what I was expecting. Three hours is an easy swim these days. The tide is really low. Bang on 9am, I head out. Water seems cold today and I spend the first hour or so pissed off and worrying about the big day. As I swim past the beach where we come in for our feeds on my first lap of the harbour, the tide starts to rush in. I'm swimming parallel to the the beach for about ten minutes and keep looking up and it's still there, it's still there. It's not moving and neither am I! I'm swimming against the full force of the high spring tide flooding in to the harbour. I can see the water rushing past me in the opposite direction from the way I want to go. It's spectacular.
I usually take between and 1 hour and 1 hour 5 mins to do a lap of the harbour. Today I take 1 hour and 15 mins for each lap. I come in to feed after two laps - at 2 hour 30 mins. Only half an hour to go. I seem to be very slow today, which concerns me. Three hours of cold air and grey skies. It seems like autumn today - not still summer. When we come in the tide is as high as I've ever seen it. The amount of water which has flooded in over the last three hours, since we started our swim, is impressive. I can feel its mass and volume. It's tangible.
Saturday night...
Two of our new Channel Swimmers Matt and Xanic have volunteered to help Will, Victor and me try out swimming at night, which we will have to do as part of our Channel attempts. We eat dinner together and then walk down to the beach at 9.30pm. It's dark in the harbour. We have a big flash light on the beach. I'm cold and the last thing I feel like doing is stripping off, putting on my still damp costume, and having a dip. Nevertheless, strip off I do. I wonder what the locals make of us? We have some 'light sticks': chemical filled plastic sticks that you snap to start a chemical reaction that makes them glow. The swimmers wear these whilst swimming in the dark - either on the back of their head jammed underneath their goggles strap, or safety-pinned to their bum. This is so that boat and crew can spot their swimmer easily when swimming at night.
Will, Victor and I secure light sticks to our heads and wade into the water. Compared to the air temperature the water seems warm and embracing. It's very strange at first to swim along staring into the blackness, but like all things we get used to it. My goggles are completely steamed up though, as my core temperature is obviously higher than the fresh night air. I swim for about ten minutes and then get out. That was enough, thanks.
Sunday...
I wake up grumpy. Looking out of the window I see it's grey again. Great. Can we have some sun please? I'm not in the mood for swimming.
Freda gives us three again. Again the tide is very far out at 9am. In fact as far out as I've ever seen it. We have to wade through the cold water for about 200m before we get out far enough to swim. It's only waist high but I can't bear the torture of inching in any longer. We're warned that it's a high spring tide today and told not to go out too far in case we get caught in a rip.
I've discussed with Freda about my slow speed yesterday. I wonder what is to blame? Some of it can be attributed to the spring tide but not all of it. She tells me to pick some points in the harbour and do some speed work sprinting for periods of time.
I'm trying to work generally harder than I have been doing. It pays off. I swim the first lap of the harbour in just over 1 hour. The second lap the tide starts rushing in again - we really have to work hard against it and I swim the second lap and come in for a feed at 2 hours 15 mins. Today there are so few people in the harbour that I don't see another swimmer for the entire duration of the swim, except for my feed. It's lonely out there. The last 45 minutes goes quite quickly and I try to sprint the last ten minutes - I'm not going to stop sprinting till I hit the beach. It's a tough workout and my shoulders feel like they've been taxed more than usual. Good.
This weekend Will, Victor and I have been hanging out and discussing our nerves as all of our swims get closer and closer. We are all very nervous and discuss how nice it will be when it's all over. We joke and laugh and realise that we all feel the same. We wonder what it will be like that last moment before the swim - standing on the beach waiting for the off. How overwhelming. Hellish, we're sure.
I realise not for the first time that we are all desperate for not only our own success but for one another's. That's Channel swimming for you.
Saturday, 3 hours, 63F
Sunday, 3 hours, 63F