Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [35]
A few days later, during a training session, I met both Sandy and Stella. They had been working out together when my mother and I arrived. Sandy was from Auckland, New Zealand, from the North Island, and for years she had dreamed of swimming the English Channel and then, one day, perhaps becoming the first woman to swim between the North and South Islands of New Zealand. This swim was only ten miles, but the currents between the two islands were fierce. Only three men had achieved the crossing.
As we treaded water in the harbor, Stella spoke about her years in the convent, how she was so happy to be free and how she had once been invited to Bahrain by a sheikh, to swim in the Persian Gulf. She said the sheikh had fallen in love with her. He’d especially loved her blond hair, but he could not marry a Christian, so she’d returned to England and decided to swim the English Channel. Stella was a very slow swimmer but she was very determined, and I enjoyed meeting with her and Sandy and listening to stories of the convent and New Zealand. There was a real sense of camaraderie between us, and with the other swimmers we met during our training swims. There was a large team from Egypt, a swimmer from India, three or four English swimmers, and a man from Texas.
After the first week of workouts, the tides became favorable for me. Every night after the weather forecast I called Reg Brickell, and every night Brickell said that a storm front had stalled off the English coast and the sea was too rough for us to go. It was hard being on standby for five days straight, and even worse when July 6, the last possible day for my set of tides, passed. Now I would have to continue training and wait to see if Des got favorable weather for a double.
Des and I continued working out each day in the harbor. We pushed each other when we worked out, applauded each other, and kept each other motivated. He was a good friend.
After workouts my mother and I took small trips to explore England and take a mental break from the Channel. We needed to get away, to think about something else, and to learn something. We took bus trips to Canterbury Cathedral and to a butterfly farm in Wye; we explored the small seaside town of Deal and climbed to the top of the white cliffs to explore Dover Castle. We also explored English cuisine and decided that England not only had fantastic fish and chips, but excellent ethnic cuisine, especially Chinese and Indian.
When Des’s tides arrived, at the end of July, the low-pressure region finally started to move. The weather through the first and second days of Des’s tides wasn’t calm enough for Des to attempt the swim. But by the third afternoon, the British flag in the center of the harbor, which we had been watching every single day, was not even wavering. I thought that Des must have been given the green light to go ahead with his swim that evening. We hadn’t seen him, so I assumed he was preparing his bags, getting the food together, and taking some extra rest.
In late afternoon Mickey Moreford arrived at our hotel in Folkestone. He was completely out of breath, bent over and gasping for air. We waited, concerned that he was going to have a heart attack. Ages passed, it seemed, before he caught his breath. Then he said, “Brick-ell’s been trying to reach you all day long. He’s rung you up a dozen times. And he sent me to find you.”
Conditions would not be good enough for a double, so Des had stepped aside to let me have his tides, exchanging his tides for mine, if I agreed. Sure, I told Mickey, leaping into the air, wanting to race