I was annoyed at myself for the lapse in concentration and went back to swimming the most efficient way I knew how. Instantly it took the pressure off, I felt more relaxed and it became easier again. A few minutes after my feed, Phil gave me the thumbs up as I was swimming much better. I felt a little tired and lethargic, though – I was swimming well enough but my legs felt like jelly. I thought it must be the jet lag and told myself it would pass. At one and a half hours I had some of Gemma’s soup, which tasted amazing, and Phil said I was swimming much better.
It started to go wrong at the two-hour mark. I came in again and just after having some sports drink I turned my head into a wave and accidently swallowed a mouth full of seawater; within thirty seconds I started to be sick. As I’ve mentioned previously, I have been sick many times on these swims; it has unfortunately become common practice and as soon as I start it takes a good while for me to stop. I try not to get fazed or shocked by it any more as I know eventually it will pass. I try not to pre-empt it in my mind, but unfortunately it has simply become part of me doing a channel crossing.
For the next half an hour I felt I had even less energy; it didn’t help having to slow down to be sick and then continue swimming. I couldn’t allow the sickness to have power over me, so I tried to keep pushing through it and not stop for too long. I also didn’t want to highlight any concern to the boat as I didn’t want them to think I was in trouble and potentially ask me to exit the water out of fear for my health and safety. I was also anxious not to worry Gemma, though she was probably immune to worry after the last swim, when she had seen nature throw everything it had at me.
At the next feed stop, after two and a half hours, Phil seemed upbeat and happy. He said, ‘You’ve covered ten kilometres – I’m expecting in the next thirty minutes to be halfway.’
Even though he was upbeat, I still wasn’t feeling great. I was given one of Phil’s carbohydrate gels, which had been diluted with water. I saw him stirring the drink with his finger and thought, laughing to myself, ‘I don’t want to drink it now he’s had his fingers in it!’ He did this again another time and I told him to please stop putting his fingers in my drink; he responded by pretending to spit in it. You could have a joke with Phil, which really helped me to distract my mind from focusing on how bad I was feeling.
He does have his own ways of doing things, though, in order to get you across. For instance, if any coaches go with a swimmer to do the Cook Strait, they have to stay on the main boat and not on the RIB with Phil. The reason is that he wants to have full control of guiding and supporting the swimmer across as he believes it would be confusing to hear two voices and potentially mixed messages. On this occasion, Gemma was allowed on the RIB with him, but she could tell he didn’t want her saying too much. If you want to book this swim, it has to be through Phil if it is to be official – there are no other organisations that are recognised for this crossing.
Phil passed the drink to me and unfortunately I vomited it up again. I knew it always took a while for the sickness to stop once it had started, so I had to be patient; I just felt so weak! For the next thirty minutes I slowed right down from lack of energy and I was just praying for it to pass. At hour three he tried some flat Coke, which had been my saviour in the past. When I came in I told him, ‘I just had a rubbish thirty minutes!’ I was starting to think I would have to swim the whole way feeling weak and sick. I swam off and was sick instantly from the Coke, which had never happened before. I was fed up with how I was feeling – I couldn’t get any rhythm as I was being constantly interrupted.
I pleaded to the ocean gods in my mind, as I had done at my low point in Japan. I said, ‘Please let me just finish without any problems – haven’t I been through enough? Just give me something positive on these swims. Surely that’s not too much to ask?’ It had worked before and I felt comfortable talking to the ocean as if it were a person. I had developed a love/hate relationship with her throughout the swims – it could be my best friend and then at other times my worst enemy. The ocean gods would decide my fate on the day and all I could do was keep putting one arm in front of the other until I ran out of water.
Suddenly, as if my call were being answered, I saw a glimpse of a fin powering towards me, then out of sight. It was so quick that it was impossible to make out whether it was a dolphin or a shark. The only sign I had that it was a dolphin was the laughing and ‘Woo!’s that came from Phil and Gemma on the RIB. I’m sure it would have been a different reaction if it had been a shark. Suddenly I was surrounded by dolphins – there were at least twelve of them. It was amazing, and beyond magical after all the challenges I had gone through; they were all worth it just for this moment. It was remarkable – they fell into a diamond formation with me. There were a couple directly in front, a few below and some on either side. At first I thought they must be curious to check out who or what I was. It was incredible how close they were to me: the ones in front were literally within touching distance, 2 or 3 inches away from my fingertips. I was anxious not to touch them and so I started swimming wider than normal to avoid them. I now had my very own unique training partners and the feeling was hard to put into words; it was extremely emotional. My heart was beating really fast with excitement. Sharing their world was such an honour. When I had wished for something positive to happen, I could not have imagined I would be given this unforgettable gift. I wondered whether this was some kind of reward from the ocean gods for having passed their tough tests up to now. For the previous five swims I had raised thousands of pounds for whale and dolphin conservation and had become passionate about the protection and wellbeing of these amazing mammals and now I was sharing the water with them.
I felt really mentally tuned in with the dolphins, as if we shared a mutual respect and common understanding through swimming together. We couldn’t communicate vocally, but they were happy to be so close to me and I felt the same way. There was something very right about the situation I was in. I felt completely at ease and the tiredness suddenly seemed meaningless – even the swim didn’t seem important at that moment. This was man and nature at its simplistic best, no small tank keeping them restricted, no overcrowding just me and them.
The pod drifted forward at my speed and one dolphin kept circling around me over and over, each time getting closer as if he or she wanted to make contact with my hand, but then wasn’t sure. I felt a little dizzy as I swam mesmerised, looking in front of me and from side to side. I didn’t want to miss one second of this interaction. It wasn’t until I felt my neck getting sore after thirty minutes of doing this that I realised I had better start looking downwards again to take the pressure off it.
As I did this, I got a terrible shock. There was a shark approximately 5 metres below me. It was moving slowly and gracefully, its tail and body swaying from side to side, drifting along. It was hard to tell the actual size of it as it was a few metres down and the depth can be deceptive, but I would say at least 6 feet long. I had a choice: I could focus on either the shark or the dolphins. I chose to focus on the dolphins and the magical experience I was having. I had worked hard in training and the swims themselves to find a way to channel discomfort and pain and to keep my mind positive, free of concerns. This was no different: I needed to focus on the positives. I diverted my eyes back to the dolphins and pretended I hadn’t seen the shark. I tried not to think that it was a potentially dangerous situation, deciding not to inform the RIB either so that I did not raise any alarm. I didn’t want them to pull me out when I felt so well shielded by the dolphins. I couldn’t allow my mind to wander, as it served no benefit; I had experienced previous shark sightings in Japan and Hawaii, where I stayed calm, so I knew I must do the same here.
The reality is I swim in the ocean, where there are sharks – it is their home. I choose to be there. When you look at the actual facts, there are higher risks in my day-to-day life than being attacked by a shark. I think they are amazing creatures and quite misunderstood. I believe human beings have cre
ated this negative image of them through films, which have made us fear them. I don’t believe a shark would actively hunt a human as we are not their normal food source; attacks may well happen from mistaken identity. I appreciate it is a very subjective view, but on the Cook Strait it helped me to keep a clear mind and to carry on with a swim that I had worked so hard for. Whatever the debate about sharks, I know the risks when I enter the water and I’d have no complaints if something did happen to me through a marine-life attack, intentional or otherwise. It is a risk I am willing to take to fulfil my dream and live the life I want to lead. There are risks every day that we choose not to concern ourselves about – we don’t know what’s around the corner and if we are afraid to do the things we love, we won’t be happy. The important thing is how we deal with these fears in our minds, judging if they are a true threat or if we have convinced ourselves otherwise. When people cross the road, they don’t pre-emptively worry, ‘What if I get knocked over by a car?’ They just cross it. Similarly, you cannot afford to overanalyse ocean-swimming. It’s about keeping it simple, thinking positively, embracing your effort and making sure you do everything you can to keep each arm going over until you reach land and complete the swim.
I didn’t look down much after that, and after a while I noticed at a glance that the shark wasn’t there anymore.
I stopped for a drink on three and a half hours and I was convinced the dolphins would get bored and swim off. Amazingly, this wasn’t the case: they stayed with me until I had finished my drink and then continued on. Phil joked that there would be an extra charge for this. He spoke back and forth to the main boat via radio about how incredible it was to have them there, and for so long. In all the Cook Strait crossings that he had been a part of (just over ninety at that time), he had never experienced anything like it. Gemma had never seen a dolphin at all and was absolutely blown away. She had taken three different cameras with her on the RIB and took a few photos on her mobile phone to post out to Facebook for those who were waiting for updates.
I still felt lethargic, but the dolphins had given me an amazing extra boost and kept my mind occupied. The next thirty minutes were again magical. The dolphins remained with me; some went to play with the main safety boat, which was behind me now, and they carried out a real show of flips and somersaults, which the crew thoroughly enjoyed. But there were always at least two or three with me the whole time; I was never left fully alone. I became more confident about positioning my arms and hands where they would normally be, realising the dolphins knew exactly where I was and that they would just pick up the speed to avoid me touching them if they had to. I treated them as training partners who I was trying to get to pick up the pace, and they reacted accordingly – still in front of me within inches, they would just do an extra flick of the tail to stay ahead.
Conditions were a little choppy, although I had been through much worse in Japan, so again it was about putting it into perspective and keeping a positive mindset. A wave came over the top of me at one stage and I tried to swim with it; I picked up speed and I was literally over the top of one of the dolphins, and as I came down again there was an effortless small flick of the tail to stay ahead. I felt very slow next to them. I was swimming alongside perfect swimming machines who can reach up to 30 miles per hour, five times faster than an Olympic sprinter in a calm pool. I still had fun trying to race them, although there was only going to be one winner. The dolphin that had been circling me from the start came so close that it touched my hand with its tail. I also had others come from different directions, determined to get as close as possible.
In addition to the dolphins, I also had a very large albatross floating near me, just far enough away for us both to feel comfortable that we wouldn’t approach each other. I didn’t fancy wrestling it in the middle of the channel – there was enough excitement with the dolphins. On the next feed another thirty minutes later, the dolphins again waited for me. It felt as if they sensed somehow that I needed the support. I wondered whether there was anything else going on below, like more sharks that I couldn’t see and chose not to focus on. Although Phil had insisted at the start of the swim that there were no sharks in the Cook Strait, I found out later that he told tell Gemma about one occasion where a shark had eyeballed a swimmer who was attempting it and she had to climb out for safety reasons.
After another feed and an hour and a half of the dolphins swimming with me, Phil said, ‘We’ve lost thirty minutes from you looking at them – ignore them. I know they are distracting.’ It was said in good spirits and I know he was right, but it was just so difficult to not focus on them. This was one of the greatest moments of my life!
I started to think about my stroke technique and I said in my mind, ‘Thanks, dolphins, for all your help, but I really need to focus.’ I didn’t want to think that and I regretted it instantly, as within a matter of seconds they disappeared and were gone. It was almost as if they had read my mind and knew their job was done. I selfishly wished for them back, but it was too late. I will never forget the time I shared with them – it will never leave me and will be imprinted in my mind for ever. It was a great privilege to share their water. I now felt I had more energy and the experience had given me a huge lift. Now more than ever I had to finish the swim after having the dolphins there to support me. I owed it to them as well as to myself.
I was now well over halfway and needed to get back into my swimming zone. There were smiles on the boat, though. I liked breathing towards the RIB and seeing Gemma smiling away; it reassured me that there were no immediate issues. I remember Phil telling me about the three separate currents to manoeuvre through and I was conscious of them throughout – apart from when the dolphins came, of course, which took all my focus.
I decided to feed on Gemma’s homemade soup to settle my stomach; it was the only thing that I trusted not to make me sick. I still wasn’t feeling like I was full of energy, but I was better than I had been a couple of hours earlier.
Shortly after the feed I shouted out, ‘I’ve just seen a huge jellyfish!’ The mood suddenly changed, and Phil shouted back in a concerned voice, ‘Just, go, go, swim!’
I wondered what was wrong, but there was no time for explanation. I just instantly picked up the pace. I had been in this situation before and I was used to increasing the speed if necessary. I had no time to think about being tired now – it was a matter of head down and swim faster. When this had happened on the other channel swims I had kept a calm head; there was no panic and I had confidence in my stroke to pick up the pace. As I breathed into the RIB, Phil was waving his arm to push me on faster. He kept looking directly ahead as if there was some concern about where we were going. My thought was that the current was changing. The Cook Strait was going to stamp its authority to remind me why it had been chosen as one of the toughest seven swims in the world.
I started shouting to myself, ‘Come on, Adam, come on!’ I relished the challenge, I had discovered through these swims: I’m at my best when I’m up against it out there and have no choice but to push harder. Throughout the swims, I would tell myself, when this situation occurred, ‘We will see how good you are now, and how much you want it!’ I had a lot of confidence from the Tsugaru Strait and I thought, ‘This is nothing in comparison to the last one – now don’t think, Adam, and give it everything you have!’ In one sense, not knowing how long and how far you have to sprint for is a good thing, as you can convince yourself it will be over soon and keep pushing through it.
It was very strange, but by sprinting I seemed to have more energy. After a while I felt like I had swum more than thirty minutes at this speed, but there was no sign of waving me in to the boat for a feed. I knew it must be important to carry on. I had a little glance up ahead and I could see slightly to the right of my eyeline some isolated rocky islands known as the Brothers, or to the native Maoris as Nga-whatu, which means ‘the rocks’. There are actually two islands and a bunch of small rocks. They are now home to one of the world�
��s rarest reptiles, the tuatara. Captain Cook’s ship was nearly wrecked there in 1770 and a 41-foot lighthouse was erected in 1877.
The fear was that if the current took me to the west of these rocks, the swim would be over as I wouldn’t be able to make it in to land. After a while I knew we must be making good progress as Phil was punching the air, looking a lot happier, and Gemma was smiling. It’s funny out there in the ocean: as you are not communicating with the outside world for so long, you start studying body language and interpreting visual clues. That is why I would always advise anyone supporting someone on a swim that the best thing to do is look happy whatever happens, as the swimmer is analysing you closely, looking to work out the situation from your own reaction. If he or she feels that it’s going badly they may give up, feeling it’s a lost cause. On these swims you have to remain calm and positive and believe you are in control of your own destiny.
After an hour and a half of no feeds and constant sprinting, Phil gave me a hand gesture to say, ‘Slow it down.’ I realised then that we must be out of trouble. We came alongside the Brothers, and although we were right next to them, we were to the left-hand side and out of danger of being pushed out. Phil signalled to me again to come near the boat. He said, ‘We have about three kilometres to go, and it’s now straightforward to the end.’
Man vs Ocean - One Man's Journey to Swim The World's Toughest Oceans Page 18