Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [62]
Somehow, realizing that once again I had hit a brick wall, the dolphins reappeared. A dozen or so this time, they moved in closer to me and let me ride their slipstreams. We quickly cut across the rip, and then they disappeared.
As the sun began to set behind the South Island, ten dolphins swam over to the paddlers and me, in a tight formation. Their voices were higher pitched now, their squeaks more frequent, and they were no longer chattering happily. It was as if they had become very serious.
When we got to within a half mile from shore, the sun set and the dolphins moved in closer, as if to protect us. This was the area Cataldo was worried about. Here the ocean floor dropped and the Antarctic Current welled up. The water suddenly dropped to fifty-four degrees and took my breath away. It wasn’t the cold, though, that was the real danger. With this current change came an increase in plant and animal life. Cataldo knew this was a favorite feeding area for large predatory sharks.
We were five hundred yards from shore and had a choice of entering one bay or the other. Cataldo chose the one to the left; it was about a hundred yards closer. The dolphins turned to the right. I turned left to follow Cataldo. The dolphins began chattering excitedly moving erratically. Within a moment I knew why the dolphins had turned the other way; there was a current to the left, one I didn’t have the energy to cross.
Cataldo and I turned right, following the dolphins. Here the current was sweeping north, and Cataldo urged me to hurry. If I didn’t, I would be swept out of Picton Sound. But the dolphins were inches from my fingers, and I knew they were guiding us in to shore. As I grabbed long strands of thick, brown bull kelp and pulled myself onto some rocks to clear the water, I heard the dolphins and crew chattering and cheering. We had made it across Cook Strait. In twelve hours and two and a half minutes, we had completed the crossing, with the help of so many from New Zealand, and I became the first woman to make that swim. It was the roughest swim I had ever finished.
After I climbed down from the rocks and slid back into the sea, Cataldo again told me to hurry. I thought he was joking, but he was adamant. Once he conveyed why he was concerned—he was afraid a shark would attack me, especially in this bay, where sharks frequently fed—I sprinted to the boat. He and Robbie quickly helped me into the skiff.
That evening we motored back to the North Island through gale-force winds. At one point, our boats nearly sank from taking on so much water, but I had no idea; I was asleep. Church bells had rung throughout the country when we’d finished the swim, and the following day at noon, church bells once again rang at the same time, to celebrate the crossing.
More than anything I now understood that no one achieves great goals alone. It didn’t matter to New Zealanders that I wasn’t from their country. It only mattered that I was trying to swim their strait. They had cheered me on for hours, and in doing so, they had cheered the same human spirit within themselves. Through the Cook Strait crossing, I realized that a swim can be far more than an athletic adventure. It can become a way to bridge the distance between peoples and nations. During the Cook Strait swim, we were united in a human endurance struggle that surpassed national borders.
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Human Research Subject
Despite traveling to the far-off reaches of the world, taking on challenges, I actually had a very normal life. After graduating from high school, I was admitted to the University of California, Santa Barbara. When I arrived there, I knew my focus would be on my