Landing in France

The problem now was that I thought I was pretty much there. Of course, I still had another half hour to go, which dragged on…. and on…..

Still lumpy on the way in to France.

Finally, I saw the dinghy being lowered into the water. I had spent the first few hours swimming alongside that dinghy imagining how it would feel to see it being lowered. Dave got into the dinghy. I was nearly there!!! I swam along, heart nearly bursting out of my chest.

Then I breathed to my left again. Hang on, where was Dave? I could see the dinghy still in the water but Dave wasn’t in it.

Oh no. Maybe they lied. Or maybe they thought I was about to hit land but I’ve suddenly slowed. Or the tide has picked up. Maybe I’m not going to hit landfall after all. Maybe I’m being swept past the Cape.

I felt sick with disappointment but tried so hard not to let it affect me.

I could keep going. I must keep going. I will make this.

Ten minutes from landing.

Of course, Dave had got into the dinghy to prepare it in time and make sure everything was working OK. Ten minutes later, I saw him getting back into the dinghy and he motored over to me. My heart pounded once more.

“Just follow me, love.” Yes, I will, Dave. Right now I will follow you anywhere.

I finally saw the bottom when I was about two metres from reaching land. It was rocks. In all the times I had visualised me landing in France it had been on a beach; I had never imagined hitting rocks. And now here I was.

The waves weren’t particularly big but I tried to time my scramble with the push of a wave. The rocks were covered in barnacles which were pretty sharp. I crawled out on my hands and knees and tried to stand but my vision was a bit blurry and my legs were wobbly.

I knew I had to clear the water line so I saw a rock next to me and climbed up that. I turned around and sat down so that I didn’t overbalance. Only the top bit of the rock was dry so I pulled my knees up to my chin in the hope that that would mean I’d cleared the water line. I had made it.

Happy happy happy.

I looked around me, appreciating the scenery, taking in the rocks behind me glowing a peaceful yellow in the sinking sun.

There was no whooping up and down, no screaming with excitement, just a contented and satisfied song that started as a hum in my heart and built into a glorious tune that sang through my soul during the following days.

‘Having a moment’.

Anastasia stayed about 150 metres offshore but I couldn’t see it at all as it was silhouetted in the sun. Apparently John was screaming his head off and deafening all on board; I couldn’t hear a thing.

Dave was in the dinghy about 50 metres away but also silhouetted. But then I noticed that he had his hands in the air with his thumbs up. I was suddenly struck by the thought that perhaps he wasn’t saying ‘Well done’ thumbs up, maybe he was saying ‘Go higher’ thumbs up. Maybe I hadn’t officially cleared the water line. (Yes, I now know how ridiculous this was.) I couldn’t bear the thought that I might get back to the boat and Jane would tell me that I needed to go back and climb higher.

So, better to be safe than sorry, I slid down the other side of the rock (of all the injuries I thought I might sustain on a Channel swim, a lacerated backside was not on the list) and found a rock that was completely dry. This must be classed as ‘clear of the high water mark’, I reasoned. Just in case, though, I turned towards the boats and threw my hands in the air to signal to them that I thought I had finished, and hoped that Dave would come over and tell me if that wasn’t the case.

Meanwhile, of course, the crew was on the boat watching me going for a climb amongst the rocks, thinking, ‘What the hell is she doing?’

Rational thought: a casualty of 11 hours of swimming.

I then had to climb back over the rocks and into the water to swim to Dave. As soon as I got back in, I started to feel cold and I didn’t want to be in the water anymore. It wasn’t far to reach Dave but I was glad he was there to take me back to Anastasia; 11 hours was fine but don’t make me swim another 50 metres!

Dave hauled me on board, wrapped a towel round my shoulders and zoomed me back to Anastasia. Along the way he said, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to get back in the water to get on the boat,’ and right at that moment, I was so happy because I couldn’t bear the thought I might have to get wet again. It was strange how happy I had been in the water but now how quickly I didn’t want to be in there anymore.

Tired by oh so happy.

The best hug from Jane.

The first thing Jane said to me was '11 hours and 5 minutes'. I couldn’t believe it. I had expected 12.5 – 13 hours. I sort of knew that I was going OK because the sun still had a way to go to the horizon, but I had never imagined anything under 12 hours.

Jane and John quickly helped me get out of my cossie and into warm clothes. They had filled a hot water bottle which I cuddled under my t-shirt and then they sat on the bench on deck on either side of me to keep me warm.

A bucket was standing by in case I was sick – apparently this is quite common once you move from horizontal to vertical and feel the motion of the boat. Usually pilots prefer the swimmer to stay on deck for half an hour or so just in case.

I was fine for about 45 minutes but I had been sipping water all the time (the worst ‘injury’ I sustained was a painfully sore throat and ulcerated tongue from the salt water) and John received about five seconds warning to reach for the bucket in time. Clearly my body had decided it no longer required the litre or so of Ribena and Maxim mix still in my tummy.

The boat trip took about three hours back to Dover. We enjoyed a magnificent sunset and beautiful moonrise.

I finally went below deck when it started to get cold; the wind had picked up and we were pitching from side to side, and I found it hard to hang on.

Cap'n Eddie looking serious...

...and crewman Dave looking not so.

Back on dry land, we packed up our gear, and said goodbye to the crew.

Me & Cap'n Eddie

We headed to the petrol station to buy an ice cream (about the only thing I wanted on my throat, which by now felt like I’d choked on a cheese grater) and went back to the caravan park, where my mum had driven down to Dover and was waiting to welcome us back. Dave & Evelyn had decorated our caravan with a banner, with my mum adding the UK & Aussie flags for extra decoration.

I enjoyed a wonderful hot shower and finally stopped talking at about 10.30pm when I collapsed into bed.

What do you dream about when it's just come true?