The Big Swim - Palmy to Whale: this one's never easy, just ask The Lawyer

I've had a shocker of a week, hence the lateness of this post.

The Big Swim was last Sunday yet it already feels like aeons ago.

In summary:

Mr Smith of the Smiths of Newtown was a no show as was squad coach Mr Niceguy. They chose not to drive all the way to Palm Beach (Mr Niceguy rides a motorbike).

And who could blame them? Outside, the rain sluiced down in windswept sheets across a gloomy grey landscape. I checked my mobile phone's messages and sure enough Ms Fivestar, who had volunteered to be my bag carrier, had pulled out.

I was in two minds about going when, out of the bloody blue, Spanner put up his hand.

"I'll take you," he said.

If you aren't a regular reader of this blog, you won't know anything about Spanner. Let me give you some background:

1. He is my "life"* partner and the father of one of my two children.
2. He is a mechanical engineer** though he no longer works as one.
3. He is not interested in swimming and never accompanies me on any of my swimming adventures: "Why would I want to sit on a beach and watch you swim?"
5. He doesn't like the beach.
6. He loves sailing and prefers to chauffeur our daughter The Hiss to her numerous sailing events.
7. He slavishly follows the advice of an old Italian he once met, who told him: "Never ever finish renovating your home - if you do, you will surely die."

So, when Spanner said, "I'll take you" I nearly fell over.

We cruised to the northern beaches in the driving rain and Spanner dropped me off at Palm Beach around 30 minutes before the swim started (I mistakenly thought it started at 10.30am but the starter gun for the first wave was at 10am).

The view from the beach was less than comforting. The swell had started to build and lots of white water churned into the shore. The only good thing was the rain had taken a raincheck! The temperature wasn't too bad either - maybe around 23 degrees?

The break at Palmy can be deceptive. It can look benign but once you're in it, it can be a challenge to get out through the sets.

I saw a bloke from my squad - The Scotsman - who said it looked fine out the back of the break. Fancy that - I'm listening to the advice of a man who hails from a country that borders on the North Sea and isn't that far, as the crow flies, from Norway.

Anyway, for some illogical reason his logic calmed me down - maybe it was just the gentle melodic accent.

I didn't have much time to consider the hazards I might encounter during the swim because my wave of 40+ women were herded to the start line for a 10.21am start. Later on that day I read the Beachwatch email update, which stated that Palm Beach was closed due to dangerous conditions (that email arrived in my inbox at 10.30am).

I ran into the surf with my peers and immediately the faster in the group managed to duck under a small but powerful wave. I wasn't so lucky and got dragged back towards the beach. It took my breath away.

I've been in this situation before. One year it took me 20 minutes to get out the back. I thought, "Oh no, not this again." My heart beat went off the scale as I attempted to get under the next wave. I did it! And the next, and the next. I felt such relief. There's nothing worse than feeling exhausted before the first 500 metres of a swim.

I decided there and then to keep my head down and try to ignore the false headland that brings false hope to swimmers who believe they're turning the corner to Whale Beach. But they're not. It's quite a hike out to deep, deep water before the end of the true headland appears. I was breathing left and the headland was on the right so it wasn't that hard to ignore it. I occasionally breathed right to get my bearings.

There are very few marker buoys along the Palmy to Whale course. I think there are four? It is a destination swim but it's still a good 2.5 kilometres of hard slog.

The Scotsman was sort of right about the conditions out to sea - because that's where you are when you make the right-hand turn at the tip of the headland. It wasn't too choppy but it wasn't glassy still either.

I got around the corner and felt OK. I thought, "I'm not even going to think about how to get back into the beach at Whale."

I knew the surf would be bigger at Whale. It's a narrower stretch of beach than Palm, wedged between two rocky headlands. It faces east. I can't remember, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the north easterly kicked in last weekend.

But I wasn't thinking about how to get in, was I? I focussed on maintaining the pace with other swimmers, and managed to latch on to some of the pink caps in the 40-49 males.

This age group are men facing their own mortality. They swim like mad dogs. They have something to prove. And fortunately for me, they start after the 40+ females.

So, like I did last year, as the pink caps started to come through I latched on to them (figurately speaking). They are out to win. I am out to survive.

I followed a couple of them and when they sprinted off, I latched on to the next lot that came through. I did this all the way to the beach. It was a genius move.

As I got closer to the shore, the swell propelled me forward. It's a beautiful feeling - you're literally buoyed as the swell fills out on its way to the beach. However, it's hard to enjoy it.

"I will not panic" became my mantra as I looked back over my shoulder to check on the incoming waves.

They were biggies but I somehow managed to avoid getting dumped. I caught the end of one wave and swam like crazy. Imagine a rat scurrying from a sinking ship - that was me. I didn't even stand up until I was in ankle deep water. No way was I going to get trashed by a dumper.

It worked. It might have looked stupid but I don't care. I ran up the beach, triumphant. I had survived another Palmy to Whale. Woo hoo!

Amazingly, the rain held off for the swim's duration. Lucky organisers. I picked up my bag in the rather disorderly bag drop and caught one of the courtesy buses back to the Careel Bay Playing Fields, where Spanner waited in the car. While I swam, he enjoyed a coffee, pastry and Sunday paper on the Pittwater side of the peninsula.

That evening I checked my results and, as usual, checked on my swim squad mates to see how they fared. I couldn't believe it; I'd pipped The Lawyer by seven seconds. Incredible. How could that be?

The Lawyer is stealthy, speedy, streamlined and usually a superior swimmer who, at squad, hangs out at the front of lane 7 with the fast swimmers. Every so often, coach Mr Mean promotes him to lane 6.

I beat him. He will have to start his own blog if he wants to argue his case.

Clearly The Lawyer has no case to argue!

Rating:10
This is the real thing. No over-the-top commentary. A down-to-business, no fuss swim. After the swim, there was lots of fruit and regular courtesy buses that delivered punters either back to Palm Beach or to Careel Bay Sports Fields - where most competitors choose to park their cars. 

         
Any gripes: None. The organisers know their stuff. This swim has been going for more than 30 years (I think - had a quick squiz on the website and couldn't see any reference to it). This year the inaugural 1km Little Big Swim was held and the swim supported the Kiss Goodbye to MS campaign.   

 
*You define life.
**Spanner recently listened to a radio interview with a professor who specialised in Asperger's Sydnrome, and is now convinced he is a "high functioning Asperger's".

Apparently, a lot of engineers have the condition. Spanner also prefers the company of dogs to that of humans; he doesn't like socialising; he shows no emotion when I try to elicit sympathy or at least empathy from him when I've had a shocker of a week - like this week just gone. He also likes to think of himself as a high achiever (*chortle*).

Christ Almighty. What next?  

Avalon Beach 1.5 km Ocean Swim: a swim to remember for better and for worse

What a day. What a swim. 

Take a look at the WARNING DANGEROUS CURRENT sign, which depicts a neat icon of a swimmer in distress. Today I witnessed (easily) two dozen ocean swimmers assuming this pose (in a more animated and flexible fashion than the stick figure) as two surf lifesavers in a rubber ducky and about half a dozen others in the water with flotation devices successfully returned them to the beach.

The Babe Watch team raise money for breast cancer (I didn't say a thing!)

The swimmers in that wave (40-49-year-old males?) had been hammered by breakers rolling in holus-bolus at the northern end of Avalon Beach. I was in the last wave (read: OLDEST) to enter the water and my cohort was held up by the action in the ocean as swimmers too exhausted to make it beyond the relentless sets gave up the fight and raised their arms like white flags. 

I wasn't about to surrender. I'd paid $35 and driven for almost an hour in the rain to Avalon on the northern beaches. And I was surrounded by old codgers who couldn't wait to battle it out with Mother Nature. If they could do it, so could I (after all, I'm almost old codgerette material myself but without the beer gut).

They had sized up the logical entry point to the surf, which was off to the left of the start line where there appeared to be less foam and a rip that might help them get out beyond the breakers. The race starter also gave tips on the best way out, though he warned against swimming too far to the left because of the rocks. 

The ocean pool at Avalon. These cheeky grommets were jumping into the ocean at the far end of the pool. The surfers get out to the break this way, too

As I ran into the surf on the starter gun, I felt like a player on the losing team in a game of rugby league/American football. Every time I picked up the ball and moved forward, some huge bastard picked me up and pushed me backwards. I'd get back up and go through the whole process again. This happened more than a dozen times as I ducked under frothing wave after wave. It was shallow on the way out for at least 50 metres but I couldn't get a foothold as each wave dragged me into a trough. Finally, I got through it and out to the first can about 500 metres from the shore. 

It's an incredible feeling to make it to the back of the break. Maybe heaven is like this. You run the gauntlet to get there and when you make it all is calm and peaceful. I had a lovely time on my clockwise journey south around four cans (I think). 

Then I had to get back to the beach.

Maybe hell is like this. As I swam in, I was sure I was checking my back. Obviously not. A surf lifesaver screamed at me: "Hey lady, look out for the wave!" I turned and stared into the jaws of death as the lip of the wave snarled at me in a blind rage. I swear to the Great Divine that the monster wave was two metres-plus high (nothing to a big wave surfer, a lot to a small woman). 

Just in the nick, I dived under and into the bloody cauldron. I was gobbled up and shaken like a cocktail. As I held my breath and observed the hectic swirl of bubbles, foam and sand before me I thought: "Remain calm and consider which way is up." 

I'm lying. I really thought: "Shit, you stupid bitch. This is it. You're a Gary Goner." 

Then the wave finished toying with me and I bobbed up for air. I was ready for the next one. Fortunately, it let me off the hook and I managed to make it in and up the beach. 

My numbers might be a bit out but over 600 punters turned up for the swim and 525 finished.

I felt euphoric afterwards. I done good, I done well. Mmm... not that well. My time isn't worth sharing but that's not the point. Ocean swimming is like life. It has many challenges that often have to be met head on. Avalon was challenging but also fulfilling. 

The next swim is at Mona Vale, also on the northern beaches. I might not make it to that one as I'm heading up the coast to see Miss Hissy sail in a national regatta. You never know...

PS: The first swimmer home was Josh Beard, in the 15-19 age group, in 15 minutes flat. The first woman was the phenomenal 49-year-old Christie Krenkels in 17 minutes and 33 seconds.  

Addendum on January 17: Ocean swims http://oceanswims.blogspot.com/2012/01/little-boy-in-turbulent-sea-at-avalon.html#comment-form reports that there were 53 DNFs (Did Not Finish) at Avalon, which comprises 10 per cent of competitors. 

Bilgola Ocean Swim 2012: a Northern Beaches gem

Will I? Won't I? Will I? Won't I? Will I do the Bilgola ocean swim?

Sometimes I do my own head in.

The problem was the prediction for a big surf on Sunday. I don't like big surf. It's scary. I've been dumped, smashed and mashed by dumpers more times than I care to remember. I've also been creamed at Bilgola, which is the reason for the tedious procrastination.

The 1.5 km Bilgola swim starts at 11am. At 8.30 I made up my mind, dragged Miss Hissy into the car and hooned it up the highway to the Northern Beaches. My friend Mrs Loveachat lives at Mona Vale, so we stopped at her place and chucked her in the car. When we arrived at Bilgola we bumped into my friends Mr and Mrs Snorkel. It's always good to have a cheer squad to boost the ego when you stagger across the finish line.

By the way, it was a beautiful day - you can see that from the photos. The surf was up but not as gnarly as I thought it would be so I forked out the $30 late registration fee and joined the other mug punters on the sand at the starting line.

Bilgola is one of my favourite Sydney beaches. It's a sheet of golden sand tucked in between two headlands at the bottom of a narrow winding road, where a small number of luxurious residences nestle in the bushland. A secret hideaway.

At its southern end is an ocean pool where the less adventurous can doddle or do laps. If the surf's up the waves crash over the concrete barrier and flow into the pool. I'm sighing as I think of it. Sublime.

The swim's start and finish was towards the northern end of the beach. The course was clearly marked with cylindrical orange buoys (the best type). Two of these each had a balloon attached so the swimmers had a good guide.

I was in the last wave to enter the water. We were lucky because there was a lull in the sets coming through - the wave of swimmers before us copped some big ones. I made it out to the first buoy much quicker than I expected. The rest of the swim was a delight. It was so different from the conditions in last Sunday's Bondi to Bronte. I managed to get a rhythm going with my stroke as there was no unruly swell to hinder me. Getting back in was harder and I did a naughty thing by ducking back under a wave rather than trying to catch it.

The Hiss, the Snorkels and Mrs Loveachat clapped and shouted as I ran (if that's the word for it) up the beach.

About 45 minutes later the Southerly came in and the weather turned nasty. This is happening a lot in Sydney - sun-drenched mornings followed by rain-soaked afternoons. The Hiss and I drove home in a storm, shuddering every time lightning blitzed the sky.