The Winter Rip is an extreme open water swim. Our historic crossing on 2nd June 2019 confirmed this description. The story of our crossing is worth telling.
The Unravelling
This photo shows our group of four swimmers some two kilometres and one hour into our crossing and about one kilometre from our finish at the Point Lonsdale jetty marked by the red dot. The open seas of Bass Strait are on the horizon. The pilot boat with the second group of four slower swimmers is about five hundred metres behind us and out of the frame.
I am the swimmer at the bottom of the photo. Eugene, our kayaker, is on the right. We are crossing the shipping lane and following our planned route and, until this moment, had been swimming in a tight pod in accordance with our pre-swim plan.
At the moment this photo was taken, the incoming flood tide had turned colder (about 11.5C) and stronger and had started to push us apart. The swimmer on the right withdrew from the swim and Eugene took him to the pilot boat leaving us three remaining swimmers without kayaker support.
The two other swimmers, Peter and Sam, decided to swim out wide and fast towards Bass Strait and then swim-in with the flood tide to the jetty. I wasn’t aware of their change in plans and I quickly lost sight of them.
I continued swimming towards the jetty but was being pushed backwards into the Bay. I was soon about two hundred metres off our original route and without support.
Lost, Briefly
Twenty minutes later, Eugene had finally delivered the withdrawn swimmer to the pilot boat. He would soon be re-joining us. But when I looked, he was paddling along the original route which was away from me. I realized that the support team didn’t know where I was.
I had been swimming now for about 80 minutes and still had 1 kilometre and another half an hour in the water. I had to decide quickly, should I continue swimming into the strong tide and towards the jetty or should I swim across the tide to Front Beach at Point Lonsdale but swimming off our agreed route by 500 metres. What to do?
Eugene was still paddling away from me. I quickly decided to swim towards Front Beach. I felt the enormity of being on my own in this huge expanse of wild water. I repeated, ‘Stay calm. Swim hard’. There was no other choice. At worst I would drift back to Queenscliff with the current but that would mean another hour or so in the water and I was starting to feel the cold.
I called out but Eugene couldn’t hear. No-one could hear. I kept swimming. I was now being pushed sideways in the strong current. I stopped again. Eugene was in the distance. I called out to him again. Nothing. I kept swimming. ‘Head down. Swim hard’. I felt a tinge of fear but reminded myself that I had prepared for this swim in far worse conditions. I swam and swam.
I stopped and looked again. Eugene was barely visible. I shouted out to him. Futile. The pilot boat was almost to Queenscliff. I could see the breaking surf at Front Beach. I looked towards Bass Strait and saw open seas. I was now completely alone in that huge expanse of water. I swam. It was hard. I kept swimming. I had been without any support for about thirty minutes. I tried to not think about the cold.
Found, Chiefly
Eugene was in the distance. I looked. Stopped. Then looked again. Was he paddling towards me? I looked again. He was. And furiously. Found. I then started swimming quickly to shore knowing I had been located.
It was a relief when I touched the sandy bottom at Front Beach with Eugene alongside. I had taken an hour and forty five minutes for the crossing and had swum much of it without any cover.
This is the GPS of the two groups of four swimmers that started at the same point and same time off Point Nepean. The four swimmers in the red group were swept sharply off course and towards Queenscliff. Peter and Sam followed the Green line. My route is the yellow line.
Prepare as if your life depends on it
In October 1987 I was in North eastern Nepal preparing to climb a 24,000 foot ‘baby-peak’ near Thorong La Pass. Our Sherpa climbing guide, Ang Puri, gave a pre-climb briefing to our group. He looked at us and said only this: “The Himalaya wants you dead”. His words jolted us into preparing for our climb as if our lives depended on it, and they did.
But I have never forgotten his words. Whenever I am preparing for extreme conditions, I prepare as if my life depends on it, and it often does.
When I walked out of the sea at Front Beach on 2nd June 2019, my first thought was ‘The Rip wants you Dead’. On this occasion, my preparations had thwarted that very real possibility.
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