Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [20]
“We don’t have much time before they both go,” said the other paddler.
“Does anyone have extra batteries?” someone shouted.
I heard Stockwell on the walkie-talkie in the dory talking to someone in the lead boat. “They’re searching,” his deep voice boomed across.
“Have them move closer together.”
Then someone whistled loudly and said, “Hey, hold up for a minute.” It was Mr. Yeo. “You guys are going to have to stop for a minute. We need to put some new batteries in our flashlights so you can see us.”
“Ahhhhhh! Shoot!” we said, treading water. “How long are we going to have to wait?” When we stopped swimming, we couldn’t hang on to anyone or anything or we would be disqualified.
“This is really dumb. How could they have forgotten the batteries? Are we going to have to stop the channel swim because of this?” Andy said.
“I’m getting awfully cold just treading water,” Nancy said.
When we were swimming, we were generating heat, but once we stopped, our heat production diminished substantially. In a swimming pool, where water temperatures usually ranged from seventy-six to eighty degrees, we wouldn’t have lost body heat very quickly, but the cool sixty-five-degree seawater began leaching heat from our bodies. Nancy sucked her teeth, making a shivering sound.
Someone was saying something on the radio. It was garbled. Stockwell translated: “They found them. It will only be a couple more minutes. They’re going to turn the lead boat and bring the batteries here. That way you can also have a feeding.”
We had the plastic ketchup bottles on the lead boat, along with thermoses filled with warm tea, coffee, and apple cider, and with fresh water.
While the paddlers fixed the flashlights, the crew in the lead boat tossed us the fresh water first. We rinsed the salt water from our mouths, tossed the bottles back onto the deck, and then were thrown our choice of beverage. Floating on our backs, we drank the warm liquids as the crew shouted words of encouragement. I heard my father say, “Good job, sweet.” I smiled. I was happy he was with me on the swim. He always seemed to know the right thing to do whenever someone needed to make an important decision.
We tossed our empty bottles to one of the lifeguards and the lead boat pulled ahead, becoming once again a small white light on the black horizon.
“All right, let’s get moving,” Ron yelled.
In the back of our minds we wondered who would be the first to get out. Who would be the coldest or weakest swimmer? Who would go first or second? None of us thought, It’s going to be me. And none of us wanted it to happen to anyone. We wanted to complete the crossing as a team. And somehow we sensed that if one of us climbed out of the water, it would diminish the strength of the team. I used that as a motivator and told myself that no matter what, I was not going to be the one to get out. I was going to make this swim.
About two hours into the swim my eyes adjusted to the starlight and I began to relax and stretch my stroke out. I felt as if I were swimming through a black-and-white photograph of the sea at night. Without color, the world I swam through was in stark contrast, reduced to luminous blacks, brilliant whites, and tonal grays. Looking up toward the sky on a breath, I watched the brightest stars travel across the heavens as we moved across the sea. Each time I breathed, I looked deeper into space, seeing stars beyond stars. Suddenly I felt as if I were falling upward. Shaking my head, I searched for a star to fix upon, to help me regain my balance. But I couldn’t find one, so I looked down into the deep water. I felt as if I were teetering on the edge of a great abyss. The sky was expanding upward and outward, and I felt I was on the upper inches of the water, and the entire sea was dropping below me.
My mind searched for some stable reference point, but this was so different from swimming along the shores of Seal Beach. There was no pier, no homes, no palm trees—nothing. I had promised myself not to look back, but I had to. Only there was nothing