Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [33]
On every Channel crossing he had at least one deckhand. On my crossing he wanted to have the best, his fourteen-year-old son, Reg Brickell Jr. Brickell asked if we had spoken with the Channel Swimming Association and if they had lined up an official for me, a man named Mickey Moreford. When I told him yes, Brickell lit up and said Mickey was the best.
The fee for the swim would be roughly one thousand dollars. The agreement was that once a swimmer set off, the pilot would be paid, whether the swimmer swam only one hundred meters or the entire distance across the Channel. There was no negotiating on this point. The Channel Swimming Association also got paid a fee, for supplying an official to monitor the swim and the condition of the swimmer and to ensure that the swim was achieved under English Channel swimming rules. The swim began as soon as the swimmer’s foot touched the water and finished when the swimmer fully cleared the water on the other side. The swimmer couldn’t touch anyone or anything during the swim and could not use any type of flotation equipment, fins, or paddles. The swim had to be done under the swimmer’s own powers of endurance. A swimmer could eat during the crossing; in fact, it was the swimmer’s responsibility to provide food for the entire crew as well. The only thing a swimmer had to keep in mind was that during the feeding time, he or she could float on his or her back and feed but could not touch any of the crew or hold on to the boat. Food was tossed to the swimmer much the way a seal is fed.
While some swimmers crossed the Channel during the day, Brick-ell preferred night. The wind was less strong; the water was calmer. Would I be okay with swimming at night? he asked. I had no problem with it at all. In fact, I told him, I loved the serenity of being on the water at night. He smiled. We liked each other. I had a very good feeling about him. He was confident in himself and in his abilities, and I think he felt the same way about me. I was so eager to swim.
The first tides that Brickell would have available would be in two weeks, at the beginning of July. I was thrilled that I might be able to swim across the English Channel on the Fourth of July. But if the weather wasn’t favorable on July 4th or during that week, an Australian swimmer named Des Renford had the next set of tides booked with Brickell, so I would have to wait until after the end of the month for another chance. I didn’t like the idea of having to wait at all. I was already set to go, and it was hard for me to think that I was going to have to wait around two weeks for my attempt. If I didn’t get to swim then, all my training would be thrown off, and somehow I’d have to stay in shape but be rested.
Brickell asked me if there was anything else I needed to know. For the time, I told him, I had run out of questions. He suggested that I meet with Mickey Moreford in the next couple of days, just so we would get to know each other. I’m sure Brickell wanted me to meet Mickey because he was so enthusiastic. He was a complete English Channel swimming fan.
The next day my mother and I were invited to Mickey Moreford’s home in Folkestone. Mickey was an older man, perhaps in his sixties; he was thin and slightly stooped over. He also had a wife who retired to another room, as well as a blue-eyed blind dalmatian named Buster that he loved beyond words.
Mickey was excited about my goal. He told us stories of all the successful swims he had been on as the official observer. He opened a scrapbook and showed us the signed black-and-white photos of swimmers from twenty years before. He said that he would hold a page in his scrapbook for me. When he turned the page, he said, “Oh, this is the Greek swimmer.” Tears came to Mickey’s eyes, and his voice tightened.
The Greek swimmer had been swimming