Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [79]
Alex and I had discussed using a shark cage, but the cage would be impossible to tow through high surf. And during the swim, if we suddenly got a set of waves, they could push the cage down, taking me with it. Besides that, the drag created by the cage would create a current that would enable me to swim up to 30 percent faster; I would be towed by the cage. To me this was cheating. So we decided to have two boats for the swim, one positioned on either side of me. The larger, thirty-five-foot ski boat would be on my left side, closest to shore, as we rounded the cape; on my right would be a rubber inflatable, a Zodiac. Alex and Sonnichsen would be in the Zodiac, and Mario and Doug and a few other spearfishing friends on the ski boat. They would take turns standing guard, and because of the intensity of the swim, they would change places every twenty minutes. The man being pulled along would hold the tow rope with one hand and a spear gun in the other. We had discussed using bang sticks, but the crew said they were too dangerous; they could explode by accident, injuring or killing the diver and swimmer. The spear guns sounded like a better idea. Two local swimmers, Hugh and Dennis, offered to ride along in the ski boat to serve as shark spotters.
Once the elite diving team, Sonnichsen, and I reached Cape Point, we picked our way through flowering protea bushes and shrubs to the cliffs overlooking the ocean. To the left was the powder blue Indian Ocean and to the right, the deep-cobalt blue Atlantic. Directly below us was a seething white line of foam jutting directly out from the point for at least half a mile. This was where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans collided.
From our vantage point a thousand feet above the beach, we could see the waves breaking. We couldn’t tell how large they were, but the granite cliffs beneath our feet trembled as the waves impacted the beach. We could hear the concussions of waves as they broke on the shore and their echoes as the sound carried around the cove. It was ominous.
Sonnichsen and I had discussed the pros and cons of the start and finish and had finally decided to start on the Atlantic side, in an area called McClears Beach. Our route would take us around Cape Point and back into Buffels Beach, on the Indian Ocean side. The swim would cover a minimum of ten miles, all depending upon the currents.
Alex and John headed back to the harbor to get the Zodiac and meet up with the ski-boat crew. When they reached the point by boat, they would wait for us about a mile offshore. Alex was concerned about the Cape rollers. These were waves that got up to thirty feet high in the summer and one hundred feet high in winter. Caused by storms and calving icebergs in Antarctica, these rogue waves would suddenly rise up from out of nowhere and sink ships that were sailing near the Cape. Alex thought that if they stayed at least a mile offshore they would avoid any problems.
Doug led the way down a narrow rock trail; I followed with Mario and a group of journalists. Doug was carrying a long steel rod. It was the spear gun, but it measured less than an inch in diameter. I wondered how that was ever going to stop a shark.
The path narrowed, grew steeper, and became overgrown with thorny scrub. Doug warned me to be careful where I placed my hands. I thought he was concerned that I would get a handful of thorns. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the problem. There were large venomous snakes in the Cape area—Cape cobras, coral snakes, ring-necked spitting cobras, and puff adders. The Cape cobra grew up to five feet long. It could