I delayed writing this post – at the time it felt like something that had happened to someone else and I thought it would take time to sink in. It still feels like an adventure that someone else achieved!

At 0145 on the 12^th June 2024, we had a date to meet with the pilot and the crew of the Anastasia at Dover marina. Whether 0145 is in the middle of the night or constitutes an early morning is a moot point – I’d like to think that years of traversing hospital wards at unseemly hours contributed to my tolerance of that eerie hour (after 4 hours of sleep the night before). Packing for the boat had focussed on warmth – 2 sleeping bags, thermal underlayers, fleecy leggings, fleecy cycling tops (wrong sport, but very warm!), 2 woolly hats, big fleecy socks and a year’s supply of teabags. We undertook a quick tour of the boat, including, disconcertingly the life-raft and the life-jackets, failing to put the crew at ease by asserting our familiarity with the use of the defibrillator. An hour’s journey around to Samphire Hoe for the start allowed Jane enough time to grease up and attach lights to her posterior. She tried to maintain that she had some sandwiches in her Duffel bag (Victoria Wood joke) before disappearing into the blackness of channel water.

The rules of a channel swim dictate that the swimmer has to start on dry land, so after Jane’s swim out from the boat to the beach, she waded ashore and performed the obligatory wave before once again diving into the shadow of dark water. Vicki and I had the picturesque photo opportunities of swimming into the sunrise. We had a Whatsapp group of friends and family – many of whom hadn’t realised that we’d be swimming in just swimsuits and suddenly woke up to the fact that the cold is as big a challenge as the distance! At 0846, we recorded a water temperature of 12 degrees and  an air temperature of 14.6 degrees.

Inhalation of diesel fumes on my first swim did not facilitate my stomach to find it’s sea legs. Despite use of Cinnarizine, the boat bucket saw action and fuelling became limited to black tea and ginger biscuits initially, with cold boiled potatoes later on.

We became familiar with new landmarks – emerging from English waters into the first shipping lane and the appearance in the distance of big boats. We developed a routine – jump in (behind the current swimmer), overtake the swimmer, swim for an hour, sing silly 1980s songs to yourself and then realise that you don’t know the words after 3 lines, make up a few lines, handover, climb up the back of the boat, change into a new (dry) swimsuit, put on every item of clothing that was packed (I defy anyone to beat me at the dressing up game at children’s parties after this) with cup of tea in hand. Second cup of tea when first drained and then eat. Following this we reached the separation zone – Caroline’s definition of this was “like the middle bit in the motorway” i.e. a no-travel zone for boats. Our tides were deemed to be unusual, but we ploughed on through. My third hour featured jellyfish (but no stings – I am hoping that I am forgiven for poking one in the head!) and movement into the North East shipping zone aka French waters. It was as if the weather approved of our venture and the sun came out to play as Jane dropped in for her 4^th swim of the day.

We hit the point at which we were a mere 7 miles from France as the crow flies. Unfortunately we were swimming. The hotel at Boulogne was identified as a landmark and resolutely stayed as a speck in the distance for what seemed like hours. Jane argued that we needed to swim along the coast for bit to look for “a nice beach” (another Victoria Wood joke). We had an army of supporters sending us messages on Whatsapp, providing tailwind to our swim (I strongly suspect that trackers provided distractions from work). Our 5^th swim complete, the air temperature began to drop. What had been a balmy 27 degrees now became 16. The “fun” of a 3-woman relay became apparent and 2 hours to eat and re-warm seemed a challenge in itself.

Just prior to my 6^th swim, I received the instructions for how to finish off. I was assured that we were a mere 750m from France, but that we were having to swim into the current – it was estimated that this was a 30 minute swim at most. I needed to either touch a rock or walk out onto the beach. One message encouraged me to swim like Coach Wales was yelling at me! Much to the excitement of those on the boat, the rib was launched as I was swimming. With France in touching distance, a last push was called for.  I could feel the tide. The team on the boat decided to give it one last changeover, so Jane jumped in to follow the rib to shore. Just as she touched French earth, the sun came out and a seal popped up his head.

Our time was 18 hours and 3 minutes. The 12^th successful all female 3 (wo)man relay.

Enormous thanks need to be extended to Rob Thompson, the pilot of Anastasia, all the crew, our observer Garry Salter and most especially to our crew Caroline Sims, who literally dressed us after every swim, made so much tea that we got through every tea bag that we possessed and to all the folks who cheered us, sent us messages, whooped along the way. However, most of all, especial and ginormous thanks need to go to my fellow adventurers and partners in crime – Jane Scott and Vicki Watson.