Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [17]
The sun was beating down on the water, the glare so strong that it was hard to see the cove. It appeared to be small and well sheltered by low cliffs covered with shrubs. Except for one small boat, there was no one else in the area. A strong breeze, maybe five knots, was ruffling the water and that intensified our mood. We were not certain whether we would swim that evening; it all depended on having good weather. August was usually a fairly calm time in the Catalina Channel, but anything could happen.
This uncertainty put us a little on edge, and knowing that we had to wait until midnight heightened our anxiousness and excitement. Andy, Dennis, and Nancy decided to put on their swimsuits and paddle over to the island to explore. Stacey and I decided to go back below and try to sleep. We knew we were going to have a very long night. And I didn’t want to waste any energy now.
I crawled back into one of the bunks, put a pillow over my head, closed out all sounds, and took my mind away. Time passed—I’m not sure how much—and when I awoke, Mrs. Fresonske was offering us large bowls of chili filled with beans and beef for dinner. It was delicious, but it was not a good choice for a long-distance swim. At that time, carbo-loading and the reasons for it hadn’t been discovered.
At about ten p.m. Ron gathered us in the cabin and explained how we would coordinate with the crew.
The boat we were on would be positioned about a half mile ahead of us. We would use the lights on board the boat as navigational guides. While floodlights would have helped us see the boat better, the crew was afraid that a lot of light would attract fish, and decided to use only the cabin light and the small red and green lights on the bow and stern.
We would be swimming in a V formation, like a flock of pelicans. We would swim using the English Channel Association rules. We would wear only bathing suits, bathing caps, and goggles—no thermal swimsuits or thermal hoods or fins. We would tread water or float when we needed to rest. We were not allowed any type of artificial support or flotation. And we could not touch anyone on the boat at any time during the swim or we would be disqualified. That meant that our food and drinks had to be tossed to us; we hoped none of the food spent too long in the salt water before we recovered it.
Ron positioned me at the top of the V, with Andy on one side of me and Stacey on the other. Dennis would swim beside Andy and Nancy would swim on the outside of Stacey. It was strange and sad that Ron didn’t mention Dale. She had caught the flu. She and Ron had discussed the option of postponing the swim, but she didn’t want to hold us back, and she’d called that morning to wish us the best of luck.
Ron said that Mr. Yeo, one of the Seal Beach team fathers, would be riding a paddleboard beside Dennis and a Seal Beach lifeguard would be paddling a kayak on the outside of Nancy. Every hour or so the lifeguards would trade off with the four lifeguards in the main boat.
The dory rowed by Lyle Johnson and John Stockwell would precede us by about twenty-five yards. They would row the entire distance across the channel and would have a small white light on their stern to guide us. Our paddlers and kayakers would strap small flashlights to their boards and kayak so we could see them during the swim.
At eleven p.m. Stockwell and Johnson began shuttling us ashore in their dory. When I climbed into the boat Stockwell and Johnson began rowing, and with each pull on the oars, I felt my excitement growing. The night was so