Man vs Ocean - One Man's Journey to Swim The World's Toughest Oceans

by Walker, Adam;

The pain in my left shoulder continued to intensify and required a considerable effort on every rotation. It was a real shame as I had been going so well with my new stroke for half of the swim; now it was just about staying in there and just getting the job done.

  I tried to block out the pain as I had in Hawaii and kept repeating to myself again and again, ‘Adam, this isn’t as bad as a man o’ war sting – just keep swimming!’ I dreaded every left arm stroke and that side continued to serve no real purpose in terms of power. This concerned me; I knew if I compensated too hard with the right arm, there was a chance that the other shoulder could pack in as well. I couldn’t afford to overdo it. The fog was still thick and there was no sign of land, which frustrated me, but I thought again about what Freda had said before the English Channel swim: never look at France. If you do, you will never take your eyes off it. It will appear to look closer than it is and therefore have a negative effect.

  In this case, not seeing land frustrated me more as I had no idea if I was making any real progress. The fire service crew kept shouting to me, ‘You’re getting close!’ The reality at this point was that I still had two and a half hours to go. I was leaning more on my bad shoulder and the speed was considerably slower than my normal pace. I was aware of approaching twelve hours as I had counted twenty-two feeds, and when we ignored the twelve-hour feed I knew I must be close. But there was still no sign of land. I had crossed halfway at the five-hour mark, but with the combination of my shoulder and currents the second half was taking much longer.

  Finally, another ten minutes later, I saw land – and it looked less than 200 metres away. I wasn’t sure whether I could trust my eyes and believe it was real, as I had gone so long without seeing anything. It was such a relief to see the finish line. I had grimaced my way through every stroke for the last six hours due to the pain, and as a result the swim had been much more difficult than I had envisaged. However, I knew now I was going to make it, and that is all that mattered at this moment.

  At twelve hours fifteen minutes, I scrambled to my feet and clambered out of the water onto a rocky area. Standing on the rocks was a man I didn’t know; he took pictures of me coming out. I thought it could have been a tourist, although it did seem strange that a tourist would choose to walk in this isolated spot. It turned out to be Forrest Nelson, another open-water swimmer. I was pleased to see a smiling face.

  I was relieved to have completed another swim, but I knew it could be a while before the next one as something had gone in my shoulder. For now, though, I thought I would just enjoy the moment. I thanked my team and the crew and we made our way back to the harbour – mission accomplished!

  I had a few more days left in LA before travelling back home, I felt so sore – not just in my shoulder but all over. I booked myself a massage and recuperated as much as I could. I went to watch a basketball game and saw a few tourist sites, including the Hollywood sign.

  I had considered having a tattoo prior to travelling to LA, as I wanted something to remind me forever of the Ocean’s Seven. I had watched a reality show on TV called LA Ink, about a tattoo studio in which some of the best tattooists in the world worked, and I thought if I ever had one done it would have to be there. I loved the idea, inspired by a television advert, of white horses coming out of the waves, to signify determination. I visited the shop and explained to the artist what I wanted. He said if I wanted lots of horses he would have to tattoo my whole back. I definitely wasn’t that brave, so it would have to be just one horse, which I wanted inside my arm on my biceps. I was more nervous about having the tattoo done than I was about doing any of the swims. I made the decision to go for it; for me it represents motivation and the will to succeed. Two years later my tattoo became the logo for my business, Ocean Walker.

  18

  WHEN ONE DOOR CLOSES, ANOTHER ONE OPENS

  Going back to work was again really tough. I knew my holiday allowance had been used up and it would be a while before the next swim.

  But I didn’t waste any time getting an appointment with my surgeon. I knew the shoulder was bad – it was the same familiar dull ache I had previously experienced. I was worried as I didn’t have private healthcare now, and I knew no insurer would cover my troubled shoulder even if I did invest. I had never let money get in the way of my swims, but I knew I was up against it if I had to pay thousands of pounds for the next swim as well as my surgery. The surgeon said, if I went privately, he’d be able to operate at the end of December or in January. It was the end of October now and I had already provisionally booked Tsugaru Strait for August of the following year. Even if I had the surgery straight away I knew it was going to be a big ask to rehabilitate and allow myself enough time to get back to full fitness. I asked how long it would be if I waited to have it done for free on the National Health Service. He estimated it could be up to a year. I didn’t want to lose yet another year to injury, and told him I would think about it.

  For a couple of weeks I debated what to do. I knew my parents would help me with the costs if I really wanted to go privately, but I would have felt bad as they had done so much already to support me on my swims and the operation could be a lot of money. Eventually the decision was made for me: I received a phone call from the surgeon’s secretary to say an appointment had become available in January on the NHS, so it wouldn’t cost me anything. I was so happy. I thought there might still be a chance to do the swim in August after all.

  It was a very difficult time in my personal life as well. My wife and I had drifted apart and made the decision to separate. When she decided not to come and support me on my Catalina swim, I knew deep down it was over. Although it was the right decision, there was a lot to sort out. In addition I didn’t know whether to train as I would be having surgery in a few months’ time. My job wasn’t secure and so there was a question mark over the stability of my working life, on top of the mental strain of a separation and everything that comes with that.

  I kept dragging myself to train, but I found it difficult staying focused. My brain was saying, ‘What’s the point? Your shoulder is knackered and your life is a mess.’ It took everything I had to not stop training and feel sorry for myself instead. My mind was scrambled with negativity and I couldn’t see a way forward. I knew I had to keep training – it was the only thing that seemed to make sense in my life at this time. I can’t explain why the swims meant so much and why I had to complete them; there was just something in my head telling me to continue now more than ever.

  I moved in with my parents and felt that I had hit rock-bottom. I was also really scared about what the surgeon would find – I knew the last operation hadn’t been a complete success. What if I had caused irreparable damage after another four big swims? I made a decision: whatever the result of the operation, even if I had to swim with just one arm for the remaining three swims, it wouldn’t prevent me from achieving my dream.

  As the date for the operation grew closer, I knew I had to break the cycle and not allow myself to be so down with the shoulder problems and other issues in my life. On this particular morning, I was travelling to London for a meeting at my company’s showroom. I caught the train at Newark North Gate, which is only an hour and a half to King’s Cross. The second stop was Peterborough and as we approached they announced that the train had broken down and we all had to get off and wait for another. The train was really busy and so the platform was full of people. I happened to look up and there was a girl who really stood out – she had some fancy tights on and caught my eye. I went to get a hot drink and contemplated making conversation, which was strange as it would have been completely out of character. I mean, what would I say? ‘Hi! How are you? It’s a shame the train broke down.’ Not exactly the best chat-up line in the world. I then thought she looked cold, so I’d just say, ‘You look cold’, and figure out where to go from there. It didn’t seem a great plan, but what did I have to lose? I started walking towards her but when I was inches away and about to speak, a voice behind me sa
id, ‘Hi, Adam – how are you doing?’ It was a colleague of mine, going to the same place as I was. I turned around and walked in the opposite direction towards her. My chance had gone. But it had been a silly plan, I told myself, and she had probably saved me from a huge embarrassment.

  The new train arrived and I carried on with my day. On the way back in the afternoon, however, I saw her again and sat in front of her on the train. The seats were far too tall to peer over and there was no way I could just start chatting. As I was trying to devise another plan, I looked up and saw, almost in slow motion, a suitcase making its way off a shelf and landing on a passenger’s head, cutting it open. I quickly rushed to the toilet to get some tissue to help him, and fortunately he was OK. I turned around to the girl behind me and said, ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘No, what?’ she asked.

  Her name was Gemma. She had missed the whole incident but I was now talking to her. I’m sure there must have been an easier way to get chatting, but I was grateful to the man and to the case that fell on his head!

  We talked and exchanged details, and then started seeing each other. It was nice to meet a like-minded person who wanted the same things as I did.

  I advised work about the upcoming operation and the fact that I wouldn’t be able to drive into work for a few weeks. Fortunately for me, my boss was also a friend; he was very lenient, considering how much time I had taken off. Most bosses would probably have fired me by now – it was very apparent that the swimming was more of a priority to me than the job.

  The operation was scheduled for 22 January. I was pleased when it came around because I wanted to begin my training for Japan. I was more nervous this time as it was my third operation and I knew there could potentially be a lot of damage.

  I was asked how strong I wanted the anaesthetic and I said I would take the minimum amount as I wanted to hear what the surgeon said. I wish I hadn’t – I could hear him say things like ‘diseased tissue’ and ‘Oh, no – it’s detached again!’ I was scared to look at the monitor as I didn’t want to know that the shoulder was too bad to continue chasing my goal. I knew it would crush me. At one point I went into shock and they increased the anaesthetic. When I woke up, my blood pressure was very low and I was shivering. My core temperature was under 35 degrees, so mildly hypothermic.

  After the operation, the surgeon told me that the tendon had detached itself and was, in his words, ‘of no use’; they had to cut it. This meant that there would always be a weakness there and I would never have the same strength as in my right arm. There was no time to dwell on it, though: I had to focus on getting fit again and time was ticking before the next swim. I purposely didn’t mention the swims to the surgeon; I didn’t want to be put off.

  My arm was immobilised in a sling for six weeks and it wasn’t until the end of May that I could do some light swimming. By June I felt I was able to start training properly again, which gave me ten weeks of swimming before Japan. To say it was a tough task to get to the level of fitness required for the Tsugaru Strait is an understatement. The only positive thing for me was that the swim was 15 miles, shorter than any of the previous swims, although the tides there are some of the strongest in the world. I convinced myself that I was due for some luck and I hoped the ocean gods would be kind.

  I worked hard to become as fit as possible in that short time as my shoulder remained sore after the operation. I was even more delicate with my hand entry on my stroke and just used my pulling arm to guide it forward. This increased my efficiency and saved more energy – I seemed to glide even more than I did previously. I knew I wasn’t as fit as I had been for Molokai or Catalina as I couldn’t hold my times for as long. But my desire to make it was as big as ever and I approached this swim with a positive mindset. I had to keep telling myself I was in control of my own destiny.

  My head was filled with other pressures: I still had to generate the funds and the job was still in the balance. In addition I was trying to sell my old house and deal with separation issues. I couldn’t do anything about the house and job but I was determined not to let money get in the way of my dreams. We put on a fundraiser for the swim and to support Whale and Dolphin Conservation. Gemma’s rock band, Reckless, helped out by providing the live entertainment. Gemma has sung from a young age; she is one of those people who oozes talent and she can sing pretty much anything, while being extremely modest with it. I also had raffle and auction prizes from a number of generous friends including my physiotherapist Tracy Gjertson and sports remedial masseuse Dean Haspey. (I owe these guys a lot as they also worked tirelessly with me, ensuring I was in the best possible physical shape in order to take on the remaining swims.) The cost was over £8,000 so I knew I had no option – I had to succeed as there would be no chance of doing it again.

  This was the first time Gemma would see me in a channel swim. We discussed what is involved with the feeds and what to look out for. She asked me, ‘How would I know when the right time would be to get you out if you are in trouble?’ I told her there was no right time and I wouldn’t be getting out until the finish, so she didn’t need to worry. I had never thought about this before and hadn’t been asked, and I didn’t want to give myself a choice. As far as I was concerned, the boat wasn’t there and I simply had to swim across. It is always sensible to have a contingency plan on a channel swim, but you won’t get a swimmer wanting to discuss or think about it. Therefore you will need to prepare to do your own tests if necessary, asking them questions and monitoring their stroke rate – if it reduces significantly it can be a sign of hypothermia.

  It is good to have at least two people on the boat – if one gets seasick you will at least have another person there to give you drinks and food, as well as looking out for any issues and generally supporting you. It was a great mental boost knowing that John Rayner, a childhood friend, would be coming along on the boat to support me. He now lived in Japan and it would be a six-hour drive for him.

  19

  SWIM #5 TSUGARU STRAIT – AGAINST ALL ODDS

  The flight to Tokyo was a long one – twelve hours in total – and we then had to get a train north for three and a half hours, only to be picked up by John and driven a further hour and a half to Aomori, which was near the starting point of the swim. We arrived and caught a very overcrowded train – Gemma and I sat on the floor in the doorway for most of the journey (not the ideal preparation for a long swim), but for the last forty minutes I managed to convince the train conductor to let us sit in first class as we were exhausted. I think he felt sorry for us. What I love about the Japanese people is how polite they are. I blocked the doorway for hours and every time the train conductor came past he had to step over me but still he bowed out of respect. I can’t ever imagine that happening in the UK. In London they would have told me to shift, in no uncertain terms, or maybe even trampled over me.

  By the time we arrived it was evening, and although I offered to put John up in a hotel, he was happy to camp and I helped him to pitch his tent. There was nothing else there apart from a hotel situated on the top of a cliff overlooking the sea, and a campsite; the nearest shop was an hour and a half away. It was very remote and very beautiful. We checked into the hotel and I couldn’t help but laugh: the Japanese tend to be small in stature and the shower had an extremely low ceiling with about enough room to wash my feet. I am 6 foot 5 inches in height, so it didn’t really work for me. I didn’t care, though; it was a great place to rest up and try to relax for the next few days.

  I realised I hadn’t taken the correct charger for the shark defence unit. I tried to charge it with one designed for a different appliance, but the following morning the red light on the side of the unit was still flashing showing it hadn’t fully charged. This was an irritation that I really didn’t need! My options were really limited as my swim was scheduled for sometime in the next two or three days and the supplier would struggle to send one out to me by then. I didn’t know what to do – it was the Pacific Ocean and I’d alread
y had a number of shark sightings in previous swims. I spoke to John and he agreed we should drive to the nearest electrical shop, over an hour away, and see if we could get anything to fit the unit. It was a complete long shot, but I thought it was worth a go. Fortunately for me, John is fluent in Japanese – they didn’t seem to speak much English in these parts. We arrived at the electrical shop and John explained our predicament. I could read the confusion on the salesman’s face. I guess it’s not every day he gets asked if he has a charger to fit an electrical shark defence unit. He explained to John that the charger for an electronic massage chair would fit. The issue was that the chair cost $8,000 and there was no guarantee the charger would work. I weighed up the options of taking a massage chair home with me in excess baggage in order to potentially protect me from sharks. I decided that maybe this wasn’t a good idea – I would just take my chances.

  We drove back to the hotel and on route I managed to get hold of Mika, who would be my observer on the boat and the English-speaking translator for the pilot. We agreed to meet with Mika and the pilot, Captain Mizushima, at 3 p.m. to discuss the swim. Mika explained that the start of the swim would be from a rock, which would take us an hour and a half to get to by boat. She also explained the very strong complex currents and the importance of speed if the current changes. Realistically, if the current is too strong, the pilot might have to make the decision to end the swim; I would have to follow the pilot’s instructions. Captain Mizushima was a very small chap, less than 5 feet tall. I looked like a giant next to him and he didn’t speak a word of English, just smiled a lot.

  The swim was going to be between Honshu and Hokkaido, island to island. I knew that no individual had crossed the channel this year and I sensed the magnitude of the swim. I just hoped the currents would be kind. I asked Mika to tell the pilot that I had done big swims before and that he didn’t need to be concerned about my capability. I am always conscious that a pilot can take a swim out of the swimmer’s hands if the conditions become unfavourable, and I wanted him to know that I had gone through some tough swims previously.