Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [122]
The fog was so heavy it was drizzling, and the balloons sank to the water’s surface and floated rapidly northward. No one on the Soviet side of the border could have seen them anyway; the fog was too thick.
Just as we were about to shove off and head to the very southern tip of Little Diomede to start the swim, David Soolook said something in Inuit to Omiak, then jumped out of the boat and headed uphill toward the village. While we waited, the fog grew heavier and the villagers put five more boats in the water. Pat informed me that the villagers wanted to share in this celebration, so they had decided to join us.
What’s going to happen next? I wondered, shaking my head. This created a real problem. None of these villagers had clearance to enter Soviet waters except our immediate crew. None of their boats had life jackets, and none of the villagers could swim. Worse, they were using some of the older boats, and the skins were stretched, tattered, and worn. I voiced my concern to Omiak and he assured me that the boats would be fine and promised that the villagers would not enter Soviet waters. They would only go halfway. None of this made me feel comfortable. And then it got worse.
When David Soolook returned, he was carrying seven rifles. The crew had decided to go seal hunting during the swim. Somehow I had to tell them that it wasn’t the right time to hunt seal. I was concerned that they might miss and hit me, or attract sharks, but what worried me more than that was the Soviets’ perception of the rifles. What would they think if they saw the Inuit landing with rifles?
David Soolook and his crew were not prepared to relinquish their weapons; they didn’t trust the Soviets. So I explained that things were changing, that the reason for this swim was to foster trust; we had to put aside the fear and work together.
After a tense and long discussion with David Soolook and Pat Omiak, the villagers agreed to leave their rifles at home. But by now our visibility was less than two hundred yards, and it was drizzling hard. We were just about to push off when David Soolook again jumped out of the umiak and ran back up the beach. Ten minutes later he returned with a rusty old compass. When he tried to start the motor, it wouldn’t start. Finally, after another ten minutes, we were moving.
On the outer edges of Big Diomede, long trailing bands of fog were forming, like warning signs. Fog was gathering into sheets, and trying to see through these bands was like looking through cotton batting. How would we see the Soviets if the fog filled the strait? Where would we meet them? What would happen if we landed in a spot where we weren’t supposed to? What would they think when we reached the border ahead of schedule? Would they understand? All I knew was that I had to get in and swim soon, because I couldn’t stand one more delay.
By eight-thirty, the entire village had finally assembled by the edge of the Bering Sea. They shouted good wishes to us in our two boats and to the group of villagers, along with Maria Sullivan and Dr. Nyboer Sr., who were climbing into the five additional umiaks.
20
Across the Bering Strait
We motored south in the umiaks, along the craggy shore of Little Diomede toward the southern tip of the island, where we would begin the swim. Ethereal clouds swirled around the island, and the air was filled with the smell of seabirds and salt and charged with expectation. As we reached the southern section of the island, we moved through a heavy blue fog. Our visibility decreased to one hundred yards; we could just see the shore. It was very rocky, and we could not land the boats. We were afraid that the rocks would puncture the walrus skins.
At that same time, I was thinking of my own skin. Take your sweats off. Let your skin cool down to the air temperature. That way it won’t be such a shock when you hit the water. I cringed. I knew it was