A COUPLE of weeks ago Ger Carty had a nasty shock while swimming off the Galway coast; with almost six hours of an English Channel qualification trial complete, his boat man alerted him to a looming danger.
“The water was cold, with a lot of jellyfish and I saw something the size of a car swimming beneath me. I thought it was coral or seaweed on the sea floor and then I saw it moving, and then moving again. When I stuck my head up, my boat man said, ‘Gerry, ye might want to get out; I think it’s either a killer whale or a dolphin’. I leapt out into the boat as a fin breached the surface.” A playful dolphin emerged, but it “could have cracked a rib” and with the English Channel swim set for September, he’d hate to be denied a tilt at a prized achievement among the sea-swimming fraternity.
Training comprises a punishing routine of early morning pool swims, gym work and evening and weekend training spins in the ocean. Since January he’s clocked up 750km in pool and sea, strips fit at 89kg and stands 6ft tall. Weather permitting, Carty will attempt the 21-mile solo swim in aid of cancer research during a “five-day window” from September 5th, and in accordance with Channel Swimming Association rules.
Ocean competitors wear only swimsuits, caps, goggles, earplugs, and occasionally copious amounts of grease. Physical strength, fitness and technique are the least required of a top swimmer; character and endurance define the exception. Carty has established his credentials in previous ocean events, winning the Dún Laoghaire Harbour swim in 2004, several masters’ awards and is an Irish record holder at 800m and 1,500m.
Chairman of the Ireland Long Distance Swimming Association Stephen Miller reckons he is the best sea swimmer in Ireland for his age and among the elite 20 ocean-going athletes of some 1,000 in Britain and Ireland. Miller refers to him as “teak tough” with “guts, determination” and enviable stamina reserves. But it was the gruelling seven-mile Rathlin Island to Ballycastle crossing in August 2008 that left a lasting impression on Miller.
The prestigious invitation-only event franked Carty’s reputation as a top ocean competitor; he was then 39 years old. Nineteen set out from Church Bay, Rathlin, on that day, but only five finished. The Dubliner was first to make landfall on the other side in three hours, four minutes, ahead of a trio who had successfully completed the English Channel crossing. So the form line for a successful September shot looks promising.
Tides and currents are notoriously unpredictable in those northern waters where water temperature of 11 degrees induces rapid hypothermia. Combined with a two-metre swell, stinging sea lice, jellyfish as large as “dustbin lids” and occasional basking sharks, the crossing amounts to a fearful endeavour. Carty’s victory was only the third occasion in 50 years the passage had been completed. “It was like swimming in a washing machine with ice stuck to your forehead, but there was no way I was getting out . . . I’ve never quit a race; I’d be ashamed, too embarrassed about what way my family and friends would react.”
Jeff Wilson, who helped organise the 2008 Rathlin swim on behalf of the association, believes that beneath Carty’s jocular, friendly veneer is a “tough, quiet character with steely determination”. Wilson recalls the injection of pace from the winner at a critical moment “when the currents converged and the tides were turning. It meant he was the one who got across first”. He recognises qualities he believes could one day propel Carty across the North Channel – the 21-mile span between Northern Ireland and Scotland completed by only 13 people since 1947.
The success rate for the English Channel swim is lower than 10 per cent.
Water temperature is a few degrees warmer than northern waters, but raw sewage, debris, cramp and more than 400 commercial shipping movements compound the ubiquitous menace of jellyfish and torturous cold.
The tide, like the weather, is unpredictable and alters course every six hours, while the currents can be treacherous – meaning timing is critical: an inability to accelerate close to the French coast can be the difference between success and failure, even life and death.
In 2001, Swiss-born Uli Staub (37), coach to the Liechtenstein triathlon team, disappeared close to the French coast in a two-metre swell having spent 16 hours in the water. His body was washed ashore at Ostende in Belgium a week later.
Carty realises the risks, but thoughts of drowning, stinging jellyfish and hypothermia are shelved. A courageous mental and physical conditioning defines the channel-swimming elite, where technique has been likened to repeatedly hitting a heavy bag for just shy of 11 hours on a good day. Sea swimming at its most manageable dictates a staccato momentum, with waves pushing the body this way and that, requiring an athlete to constantly reset stroke and equilibrium.
“You’re on your own in the water,” Carty says. “It’s a lonely sport where the only one you can depend on is yourself. Some recite poetry in their mind, while others do mathematical equations. I count backwards from 300 and just relax, try not to think how far I’ve come or how much further I’ve to go.” It’s 22 miles from Dover to Calais, but considerably longer for a swimmer who refuses to concede a beginning or envisage an end.