Leap of Faith

Port to Purgatory

DNF.  Not an acronym that has ever appeared next to my name after an endurance swim.  And not one that belongs now.

Can Too Coach Paul once said I have a good engine.  Vlad says I swim better when I am tired.  Coach Jai just says that she knows how stubborn I am.

DNF - Cambridge dictionary - an occasion when a runner, rider, driver, etc. who is competing in a race does not manage to finish the race. 

Not then, when a competitor is excluded from a race.

Three challenges confronted me (and others) in Saturday’s Port to Pub.

First, stingers.

It began in the 5½ km loop that ultramarathoners have the delight of swimming before turning to cross the Rottnest Channel.  Chrysaora kynthia - sea nettles.  Dozens of them – caressing my arms every stroke.  The red welts I still carry as a souvenir making strangers nervous that I am self-cutting.  Turning to Rotto, they mercifully abated but sadly did not disappear altogether.  Still preferable though to the Physalia utriculus – bluebottles - that we next encountered.  Like Tegan Engle (my unexpected swim buddy), I squashed one in my armpit that has left a deep track down my back, had one hanging off my goggles for a while that kept swinging into my face and another wrapped itself around the length of my leg.  Fingers, ear, neck…I’ve lost count of how many to be honest.  Turns out (first time that I have been that badly stung) that it wasn’t the best time to discover that I am allergic to them.  I began to experience difficulty breathing, chill and muscle spasms.  I started to panic that the rough conditions meant I was getting SIPE (swimming induced pulmonary edema).  A five minute delay that perhaps broke me, while I slowed to a stop to share my fears with paddler Grant.  The muscle spasm in my stomach had me doubled over in the water and I was about to ask him to call the boat when I projectile vomited (probably) the last 2 feeds.  Relief enough, to put the chills to one side and keep swimming.  The nausea has lasted for 2 days, the insomnia 3 nights (so far).

Second, the conditions.

A large southerly combined with 40km an hour gusts deteriorating as the day went on.  Luckily, I breathe bilaterally so I switched to the right.  Often times, I had to long dog with my left arm such was the impossibility of getting it out of the water.  At one point a large wave broke over my head during a feed.  Sighting mostly confronted a wall of water –taking 3 or 4 attempts to eyeball buoys or the beach at the end.  I cannot believe Grant stayed in the kayak!  Other swimmers were not so lucky as paddlers retreated to boats or anecdotally, in one case, sank!

Third, the rules.

11 hours.  25km.  A 5km loop for me – 1 hour 40.  My last Rottnest solo crossing solo – 9 hours 20.  Tight!  But I knew I was quicker, stronger, fitter.  I also knew that 5 people (2021, Jodie Winnett  -11.07.48; 2024, James Breed 11.04.33; 2023; squad buddy Eric Bateman 11.05.24, Terry Griffiths 11.03.59 and John Everitt 11.02.55) had finished dead on or just after.  8 ‘gates’ (including the finish), we started banking time.  I persistently asked.  At one point, we had 40 minutes to spare – we were flying!  But then as conditions became increasingly vile, the credit slipped away.  Gate 6 was within one minute.  The official was lovely.  She followed Tegan and me shouting encouragement and reassurance.  Everyone behind us was pulled out.  At 22km, the official told us we had 3km to go.  She yelled – you are finishing this race!  Put your heads down she said – you are going to that beach.  We had an hour left until 5pm.  We could see the beach! 

Elation kicked in.  This was it!  I checked with Grant and he confirmed that’s what he understood too  – no more cut offs – I was finishing, I was ringing that bloody bell.  I still felt strong – had never doubted I could go the distance – just in the time – I was ecstatic as I watched the bottom of the ocean grow closer, the detail of each blade of sea grass, the sharpening focus of the rocks as I tumbled off the top of each wave and pitched my arm into the next onslaught.  I’d been swimming for 10 hours and 10 minutes – just over 2km to go – ETA pretty much exactly 5pm.  We were coming to the lee of the land and the conditions would abate – I was thrilled, exuberant, proud, excited, still strong.  Superlative.

Suddenly, I realised Grant wasn’t by my side.  The boat disappeared.

Turning, I could see they were some metres behind and Grant was summonsing me to swim backwards.  WTF!  Reportedly, another official had appeared, barked something in the manner of – it’s too far, get her out and left in a matter of minutes. 

The detail of what happened next and how unsafe the immediate aftermath was, I will leave to a feedback form.  That was how months of training, thousands of dollars and the belief I was walking up the beach was ripped away, my amazing crew heartbroken and a DNF flung unceremoniously next to my name.

Devastated.  Inconsolable.  Mentally scarred and channeling all that energy I had left in the tank to anger and self destruction.  The only triple crown I will be wearing.

Conclusion?  I’ve never been much of a princess.  Who needs a bloody crown anyway!

I cannot control the ocean or mother nature.  I can control my attitude and resilience and how I adapt.  I can choose not to enter swims that add unnecessary barriers to endurance tests.  Port to Pub is first and foremost a mass participation event.  Of the 1600 swimmers that took part last weekend, I swam further than 1539 of them and wanted to and could have, carried on. If it was run solely for the ultramarathon swimmers, they might be able to afford themselves more latitude and flexibility (as they clearly have done in other years). Plenty of other swims manage that. Or started a little bit earlier as they have in other years. 

But I knew the deal when, as a slow swimmer, I signed up. As my late husband would say I am the master of my fate (not Port to Pub). The Invictus poem, for so many reasons, resonated with him and brings me strength now.

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance, My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears, Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years, Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

Triple crossing for a Triple Crown?

Tassie Devil Tamed!

Taming the Tassie Devil

Just over 50 years ago, Des Renford was the first person to successfully swim the 34 km from New Norfolk to Hobart on the Derwent River.  The very next day, Australia Day 1975 as it happens, two other Australians, Dick Campion and Jenny Anderson also completed the swim.  Only one other person, American, Dan Curtis, successfully swam the ‘Derwent River Big Swim’ until 28 year primary school teacher, Emma from Sydney, demonstrated tremendous New Year resolve, smashing out the 34k, swim in record time on 1 January 2020.  In Emma’s wake, the swim has become an iconic Australian open water swim marathon despite being considered one of the most difficult to complete given the unpredictability of the varying weather patterns.  Just over 100 people have successfully swum The Derwent Big River Swim but I am not sure if any Can Tooers ever have.  Yet.

Some time the week beginning 10th February 2025, swim buddy Grant and I, are hoping to attempt the swim as a tandem solo under the experienced leadership of Val Kalmikovs and handler Juliet Dart.

Our journey will take us past the Norske Skog paper mill, a zinc refinery and 4 bridges (oh and of course the Museum of New and Old and the porcelain vulvas).  Our support vessel Miaow will hopefully not collide with the Tasman Bridge pylons like the zinc bulk carrier Lake Illawarra in 1975.  The Tasmanian Department of Health has lifted the Public Health alert following the failure of TasWater sewage just before Christmas.  The possibility of residual effluent and wastewater sludge from the papermill warming the river to one side, it will probably be cold (15 – 20 degrees).  Climate change though has likely impacted the River in our favour compared to Des’ swim in 1975.  Apart from the cold and pooh, we could be challenged by wind – the Roaring Forties come sweeping up the river with Antarctic bite.  And it’s a bloody long way.  What could possibly go wrong?

We need an incentive to keep swimming.  If we make it, it will probably take us about 11 hours (longest we have ever been in the water).  Yes, madness!  Chafing, sun burn and salt mouth (salt water comes some 20km up the river with the tides) will all be a factor.  Hopefully no stingers but apparently trout, salmon, bream, little penguins, sea dragons, black swans (eek) and dolphins. Oh and yes, Tassie Devils can swim apparently.  

Norske Skog produces 48% of Australian news print.  Let’s hope the Valentines Day editions are full of heartwarming tales of 2 ordinary swimmers inspired to just keep swimming by their Can Too cheer squad who raised a motza to help fund innovative, early career cancer researchers find a cure for all cancer.

For us, this swim is truly a BHAG (big hairy audacious goal).

By definition, I am told that a BHAG must be clear, compelling and ambitious and must have at least a 50% chance of success. In my negatively trained legal mind, that means up to a 50% chance of failure!

My recent days have been filled with reflection (ie frequent moments of despondency along the lines of WTF I am I doing and why). My virtual self-help psyche, Google, tells me that facing my fears head-on can be empowering; it can help me build confidence and resilience, and better understand what I’m capable of (or not, as the case may be)!

This will be the fourth (longest and widely acknowledged as most difficult) ultra marathon swim that I’ve attempted. Have I learned anything I wonder?

Yes!  I think I’ve learned to:

Embrace the journey – The adage ‘Rome wasn't built in a day’ rings true.  Great achievements don’t take shape overnight; they require continuous effort, planning and patience. My late husband used to say to me ‘How do you eat an elephant?’ expecting the answer ‘bit by bit’.  Without question (except for his hypothetical nutritional invitation to consume protected wild game), he was right – you can’t swallow the elephant in one go.  He also used to say that getting to the start line of an endurance event was the hardest bit.  Whether our attempt is successful or not, I’ve had the most amazing journey already.  I’ve already achieved more than I thought possible for a very average swimmer and ordinary person.  At swim squad, I swim in lane 1 – the slowest lane.  I’ve never really swum competitively.  Unless that is, you count the local brownie swim carnival; or, being persuaded to swim 50m butterfly for my university college – all the other swimmers had finished before I had completed the first 25m lap, and when I made it to the end of the second, I got a standing ovation equal to the rapture reserved for Eric the Eel at the 2000 Olympics.  I know that I have put in the work for it to be possible for an ordinary person with modest talent to attempt an extraordinary thing and that, is already something to be proud of.

Find your tribe – I am tremendously fortunate to be surrounded by incredible people.  Sometimes going to squad or an open water event feels like meeting characters from National Geographic.  Whether it’s Dean who swam from Newcastle to Sydney, my friend from Townsville that trains in 34 degree water with box jellies, Irukandji and crocodiles or desert swimmer, Brendan Cullen, a sheep farmer from Broken Hill whom I met last weekend that trained for the English Channel by swimming round red gums in the dark in Menindee Lakes.  Despite what you might think, it’s not a solo sport.  As well as squad buddies keeping you motivated, there are coaches, pilots, ‘handlers’ even nutritionists (in my case, I am just following the Gina Chick ‘get fat’ nutritional plan), sports physios etc.  And for me, there’s my training partner, Grant who is truly my right hand man (he only breathes to his left).  These relationships sustain me and I know the tribe is rooting for me, but even so, they won’t think any less of me if hypothermia or the wind get the better of me next week.

Believe – My sailing skipper once said, if she thinks she can, she can but if she thinks she can’t, she can’t.  Coach Jai has asked me to write out ‘I can do it’ 100 times before our last squad on Friday.  Like many, I have a fierce inner critic (mine’s called Nancy).  Nancy is keen to stoke the fear of failure and smash that self-confidence.  But that’s ok.  I’m not adverse to catastrophising with Nancy.  The varying weather patterns in the Derwent can be extreme, the Roaring Forties can blow up Antarctic swells.  Despite the Gina Chick nutritional strategy, I might get hypothermia.  Nancy can bang on as much as she wants because these things are outside of my control and I just need to, and do, accept that.  Given some element of luck admittedly, completing the swim IS possible for me and all that matters is that I have the strength of heart to just keep swimming when it gets tough and cold.  What I have also learned about belief along the way, is that it helps to believe in something bigger than you.  For us, that’s raising money for Can Too. You can join us in donating right here!