A SWIM FROM EUROPE TO ASIA, 2018

the HELLESPONT

The Strait of the Dardanelles runs like a sinew between the Black Sea in the northeast and the Mediterranean to the southwest. It also connects the southwestern Aegean Sea to the inland Sea of Marmara and serves as a boundary line between the continents of Europe and Asia. As a link to all these expanses of open water, it has become one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. And so it came as no surprise, when we veered onto the coastline (crammed into a taxi with a Turkish Tourism graduate and his Dad) and peered through the thin screen of trees at huge, slow tankers and freighters filled with cargo. What did come as a surprise though, was that giddy James Bond moment when we suddenly sighted the bridge of a submarine, slicing through the central current…

It was suddenly clear that we were a long way from the sleepy rivers and babbling brooks of Cumbria. This was the open heart of Turkish industry – that often fought-over stretch of water, the shores of which are scattered with the dusty ruins of Ottoman castles and ancient cities. And right then we knew that this was going to be a swim unlike any we’d attempted before.

They call it the Oldest Swim in the World – a transcontinental crossing of the historic Dardanelles, from Europe to Asia. We were here with the company, Swim Trek (run by Simon Murie - an English Channel swimmer and coach who broke the Australian record for crossing the Gibraltar Straits), on one of the many swim adventures they organise around the world, from the Galapagos Islands to Croatia.

On the day of the swim, we were thrust into a group of Aussies, Kiwis, South Africans, Irish, Welsh and English - all grouped together in our 75 green caps, amidst a sea of yellow-capped Turks. Then we ambled down the ferry ramp in a slow herd and flowed along the roadside, passing amused bystanders and early risers in their apartments - some of them patrolled their balconies with little steaming cups and watched our solemn sea-bound march like sailor’s wives on their widow’s walks.

Two salient forts – sand-faded vestiges of the Ottoman empire – were perched on either side of the strait. We walked to the bay where we’d be starting our swim, close to one of these forts. A barrier separated us from the sand. Officials walked up and down it, patrolling our confines. They checked their watches at intervals and signalled each other. We were all itching to get started. Wearing nothing but our suits and caps. Goggles hung pinched between our fingers. Colourful jammers and trunks jumbled together.

This was the start of our Hellespont Swim Race....

We’d taken a boat ride across the Dardanelles the day before and been told about the two currents that flow through the strait in opposite directions. A strong saline undercurrent sweeps along the farthest shore. This would make it hard for us to exit. Simon had explained that we’d have to aim left and fight the current and make for a tall flagpole that jutted up from the hills. Then after the flag you could sight several other landmarks – a stadium, the minarets of a mosque… – we’d have to pick these out one after another, until we could cut a direct sprint for the exit ramp at the harbour. Apparently only the strongest Turkish swimmers swam a straight line to the finish. For the rest of us it was likely our paths would turn out like the scribblings of a drunk with an Etch A Sketch.

I shuffled up to the barrier and gripped the metal. Calum was talking excitedly to a huddle of Swim Trekkers. Behind us the recumbent town of Eceabat was just waking up. Stray dogs lounged at the roadside and a few of the early risers had wandered down from their apartments. I stared across the water and measured the crossing in my mind. I reminded myself that the Thames Marathon had been 14km in total. This was closer to 5km.   

Enjoy it, I told myself.

The eastern shore rippled in the heat. A layer of mist had settled over the water. I looked at the little mosques and forts and white buildings of Çanakkale. The coast itself was arid – the vegetation sparse and the shoreline crowded with chalky rocks the same colour as the buildings.

Just then a trio of eager Turkish men muscled their way to the front and stealthily heaved the barrier back. One of the officials caught sight of them and rushed over, waving his clipboard. Amidst the commotion a horn blasted suddenly and the front lines surged forward and sprinted down the sand into the shallows, like wildebeest galloping into crocodile-infested waters.

We wished luck to our group of new friends: Matt, Otto, James, Dee and Sarah. Then we jumped down onto the sand and bumped into another Swim Trekker – the quick-fire Irish whippet, Ed. The night before Ed had been a bag of nerves, inhaling a mound of chicken and rice and jittering at the table. He asked us all about the minor details of our preparations. Now you could see he was determined to get in the water and make it across. He talked in all directions as he weaved his way through the chaos and forgot to step on the starter mat and rushed back and re-joined the group beside us.

“Right lads – you’re only here once,” he called, as he disappeared into the mass of swimmers.

The morning sun lit-up the water as we waded in with the heat on our bare backs. We stopped amidst the rush of bodies and pulled down our goggles. A fever swept across the churned water and I let out a cheer as swimmers dove into the shallows around us. Splashes of water erupted in all directions. And then we slumped forward and went under and pulled ourselves through the swirling green quiet – that veil of bubbles.

When I came up there were swimmers on all sides of me. I picked out Calum’s Selkie jammers and drew up alongside him. And we set off together into the long, bobbing channel of fishing boats, dinghies and kayaks.

The next half hour was as pleasant as any time I’ve spent in the water. The currents were slow and gentle and the waves rocked us and rolled with our strokes as we rose and sank over the chop. The bed disappeared quickly, but the sun still stretched its arrows down far below us and caught the umbrellas of clear jellyfish as they rose from the murk and glowed under faint shoals of fish. Calum and I kept a quick-ish pace and timed our strokes together and cut a path through the criss-crossing wakes of other swimmers and saw the steep sun rays dropping through their bubbles. I let my feet trail and felt the warm water threading through my fingers and washing over me. We didn't stop until we were cast under the shadow of an incoming boat. 

We both looked up to see Simon grinning down at us.

“Stroke’s looking good,” he said. 

He told us we were making a good direct line with the Turkish bunch. If we continued as we were the current could sweep us too far right and cause us to miss our exit. He advised us to cut a hard left towards the boats on our farthest side.  

We took his advice and swerved against the current and kept digging in until we floated onto the glassy waters around the exit ramp, shielded by the harbour wall. A moment earlier a figure had swept past us as we crawled through the water. When we peeled our goggles off we saw that it was James - one of the South African Swim Trekkers. He grinned at us and raised his arms as he burst from the water. 

"I beat the Wild Swimming Brothers."

In the end we made the 5km crossing in just over an hour.

That night we drank with our group and heard stories of encounters with sharks and Pacific Island swim spots and huge events that draw thousands of aquatic attendees. A handful of our swimmers had won medals and the Efes was flowing… spirits were very high! P

ersonally it was one of the best swims I’ve been part of so far. It was totally different to our swims in the Arctic Circle (much warmer) and our swim down the River Eden (much shorter). The challenge had been to stay calm and find an inward rhythm amidst the 700 other swimmers. But that wasn't such a hard task with such beautiful surroundings and far-reaching water clarity and the silent company of all those other people of different nationalities, threading through the water. Aside from the first few minutes the pace had been gentle and unhurried. Some of the older swimmers had even swum breaststroke the whole way. And we'd certainly had enough time to enjoy the water and film and dive down at times to that dim curve where the temperature drops.

So, for anyone wondering whether or not to book the Hellespont swim next year - we make a lot of recommendations for swim events and sometimes you do worry if the swimmer catches a bad day, or bad weather, there's a chance they won’t get a good experience out of it! The Hellespont is different though. Even if the currents turn on you (a boatload of swimmers didn’t make it and still came out on the opposite coast with huge smiles) the atmosphere of excitement and pride is irresistible. You'll be aware all the while that you are taking part in something special. The great march of industry grinds to a halt. The freighters and submarines draw back. And for two hours the Strait of the Dardanelles belongs to a bubble-kicking, current-pawing, salt-water-spitting pod of swimmers from around the world.

All there for the same reason. All enjoying the water with barely a word passed between them. 

This is something you'll remember - this good thing that you did...

DIFFICULTY: INTERMEDIATE

DURATION: 4.5KM (ROUGHLY) / 2 HOURS (TIME LIMIT)

GROUP SIZE: 700 (ROUGHLY)

LOCATION: ÇANAKKALE, TURKEY

Sign up for the next big event on the Swim Trek website

LOVE TRAILS FESTIVAL '18

the weekend had arrived sharply with bouts of london rain. while we escaped to the land of the red dragon and the glorious Gower Peninsular...

We’d been invited by James Wight, founder of Adventure Uncovered, to speak on an adventure/conservation panel at Love Trails Festival. Together we would be examining the role adventure plays in highlighting the need for conservation around the world. We would also be sharing the stage with inspiring adventurers like Ellie Mackay (documentary filmmaker and conservationist) and Alex Staniforth (charity ambassador and author of Icefall), as well as several other great endurance athletes and motivational speakers…

Unfortunately, we missed this talk because our early morning trail run and swim turned into a day-long adventure. In the end, it wasn't the pre-lunch jaunt we expected, although our group still had a great time trudging up and down the Welsh sand dunes, replacing our River Mole Apocalypse Now event with a re-enactment of Lawrence of Arabia.

Afterwards, we were glad to hear that the talk had been a huge success without us - some, I'm sure, would even say it was improved by the absence of a mumbling Cumbrian and his over-talkative older brother.

Love Trails Festival itself went off without a hitch as well. The atmosphere was relaxed, unrushed and friendly - it was more than just a stomping ground for ultra-marathon athletes. In fact, there’s one key element that separates Love Trails from a few of its cousin sports festivals… it’s non-competitive.

This was good news for me given that my only runs these past few years have been once-a-week 3km warm-ups for boxing classes in Brixton’s Friendliest Gym (Miguel’s). It wasn’t the best preparation for trail running, although there’s a different kind of fun to be found meandering across traffic-clogged roads, under railway bridges, passing old cars strewn in parts outsides mechanics, yards of scrap metal, crowded take-outs and car washes blaring music.  

Far from the greasy concrete of London, Love Trails Festival invited lovers of music and adventure to celebrate its third year on the Gower Peninsular – a sand-wrapped stretch of land that juts westward into the Bristol Channel. It’s here that you’ll find Arthur’s stone, propped on a hill crest at Cefn Bryn, and the shoreline of Three Cliffs, spiked with three sharp limestone bluffs.

Dotted amongst the surrounding countryside there are six castles still keeping watch over the distant, misty offing, as well as several caves and sites of archaeological interest, like Minchin Hole Cave and Paviland Cave, where the entire skeleton of an Upper Paleolithic man (between 50,000 to 10,000 years old) was found dyed with red ochre. In fact, many of the nearby caves doubled as natural burial chambers and canvases for cave art, with depictions of red deer running across the rock walls. Standing stones and ritual cairns are apparently common in the area too.

It’s safe to say the peninsula hasn’t lost any popularity since those primordial days of our bedraggled trail running ancestors. The scenery still sprawls in all directions, shaped by wide hills, valleys and bays – the ideal roaming grounds for runners to be set loose outdoors... 

We started on Friday morning when Calum led a coastal trail run along Llwybr Arfordir Cymru, from the Love Trails base at Weobley Castle to the irresistible Blue Pool at Broughton Bay. After cooling off with a dive in the deep tidal pool, Calum then brought his group back for a final 10km run along the Welsh coast, returning in sweaty droves to their respective tents and tepees in the camping field. On Saturday I joined Calum in helping to coordinate the Salomon swim run. Luckily, we were also joined by experienced trail runner/leader Manuel Irsara – he often goes full mountain goat on the steep climbs of the Italian Dolomites – who brought an air of professionalism and running experience. 

The group we ran with talked, joked around and kept together at a shared, steady pace. We clambered over tufted dunes, ducked single file through shaded Welsh jungles, trudged over marshes and fields and hurtled down heathland. All the while we went along with our heads up, enjoying the countryside. The air of non-competition was a relief. Importantly, no one was left beating themselves up at the end of the runs. Instead, everyone seemed content to roam free on the Welsh hills, to stop for water whenever it was needed and to take a little time to bound over the hills and let loose our inner Rovers. There weren’t any races or medals to go out either – not unless you count our short point-to-point swim at Oxwich Bay, where we clambered out over the rocks and paddled and crawled along the shallow coastline and spotted hundreds of crabs scuttling over the ridged seabed and found harmless white warbling jellyfish pulsating in the warm, turquoise water.  

The run back to the festival was close to 12 kilometres. Near the end we bumped into a group of wild horses and they licked the salt off our hands from the swim. Then a lady there told us that these horses roam wild all across the peninsula and sometimes show up tethered in the gardens of Swansea council estates…

In the end, our run extended to about 26 kilometres in total and there were plenty of exhausted legs, cramp and waddling to remind us what we’d done when we got back to the festival.

Over the days we were there, Love Trails hosted workshops, yoga, surfing, coasteering, beer relays and music from The Correspondents and DJ Yoda (a great mix of Otis Redding, The Fugees and Bruce Springsteen...). There was healthy food, acoustic bonfire music, wood fired hot tubs and plenty of stars to remind us we’d escaped the city smog. The odd cultish Wickerman moment notwithstanding – a shot of Saturday wake-up chanting didn’t go down too well with a few of us more bleary-eyed campers – the festival was an awesome experience, even for non-running water-bound types, like myself.

So, Love Trails, it was an absolute pleasure! I’ll work on my running (Double Ironman Calum is probably fine) and with a bit of luck we’ll see you again next year…

Find out more about the next Love Trails Festival

Photos: Adventure Uncovered & Wild Swimming Brothers

THE RIVER MOLE

In 2017 we partnered with Adventure Uncovered and led swims along the Jurassic Coast to the limestone arch of Durdle Door…

It was inevitable we’d join up again for another event. And so, while memories the waves in Man of War Bay were still fresh, we marked Saturday (June 30th) and Sunday (July 1st) off in the calendar and decided to hold another event. This time leading a group of 20 grinning swimmers down the River Mole. 

Calum called this event: Meandering Down The Mole... with Adventure Uncovered.

The Mole is a sleepy tributary of the River Thames that nuzzles its way through the lumpy, leafy countryside of Surrey. It is also one of the most biodiverse rivers in England with a plethora of resident species, like barbel, trout, lamprey, eel... and a few toothy predators too, like chub, perch and pike.   

We'd been inspired by Roger Deakins call to 'break free of the official version of things' and we wanted to lead a swim that would be more than just a smooth, predictable ride. In fact, we knew from the outset that this would be an adventure. The stretch of the Mole we'd traced on the first day seemed to be unexplored and much of it was still unknown to us after our recce.

It was likely that our group would be the first to meander down that enclosed stretch in a long, long while - perhaps even the first ever.  

“We’d been inspired by Roger Deakins call to break free of the official version of things and wanted to lead a swim that would be more than just a smooth, predictable ride.”

On the first day, what proceeded was a 9km scramble, float, trudge and swim down the River Mole. It was a great way to spend a few hours - we saw pale blue damselflies flitting overhead, found a waterwheel that feeds the ornamental lake at Painshill, we ducked through webs of branches, nosed our way through slow-closing sludge corridors, dove into deep swathes of dark water, leapt off rocks, searched for parakeets, spotted cormorants and red kites, met a family of swans with eight cygnets, saw all kinds of endless variations of river vegetation, pretended to be commandos in gardens of waterlilies, climbed a sunken tree, met what we think was an eel and wrestled with slimy tangles of riverweed...

All in all it was a pretty special first day with plenty of hairy moments and a few interesting twists and turns. It turned out to be a little more Apocalypse Now (Mole) than Wind In The Willows, but our group (of varying ages and backgrounds) was more than willing and able to meet every challenge head-on and, most importantly, with good humour.

We finally climbed out the water close to a glittering beacon called the Crystal Grotto - we imagined a cross between Crystal Maze and the grotto under Heff's Playboy mansion. Then we spent the night refueling at the pub and drinking beers at the wooded campsite. 

After waking up the following morning we stretched-off and cleared our bleary heads with some yoga in the forest. I'm not sure why it's taken me so long, but this was my first yoga session, and I really loved it! It turns out those Vedic priests who’ve practised it for several millennia are onto something... 

Once we'd all calmed and stretched ourselves we jumped back into the Mole and swam a 2.8km stretch of deep water under perfect sunshine. It was a chance for everyone to swim freely, at their own paces. We travelled downriver with the gentle current, passing rows of grand houses, and the odd castle, and then turned and came back on ourselves, ending at the West End Recreation Centre, close to Esher station.

“...it turned out to be a little more Apocalypse Now (Mole) than Wind In The Willows.”

Looking back, it was a great two days and we hope you all enjoyed it and feel encouraged to swim wild more often.

We wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who came along and to James (founder of Adventure Uncovered) for inviting us back as guides.

Over the years we’ve been shepherded out of lakes by austere club owners. We’ve been yelled at from riverbanks by landowners and fishermen. For every *insert unfriendly noun* looking to validate their status, there’s a friend around the corner who’s glad to see you using the rivers (and legally you are allowed to swim in them).

Some people talk about rivers like they’re more dangerous than roads, as though a fish with teeth is more likely to injure you than your average hairless primate/human. We've grown accustomed to being in cities and keeping the outdoors at bay, prodding it occasionally with sticks to see if it's still alive... My brothers and me think this is a condition that can be changed. And we hope weekends like this help to encourage others to get out more and to resist the arse-suctioning draw of the sofa.

We'll be doing plenty more of these events in the future!

Find out more info about our Meander Down The Mole.

Durdle Door

Ask a circle of UK wild swimmers to name some of their favourite spots - chances are at least one of them will mention Dorset’s sculpted jewel: Durdle Door…

Courtesy of our happy aquatic community, we'd seen countless photos of this great limestone arch, shaped by the relentless march of the ocean. And yet, we’d never actually been there and visited it ourselves... until now.

On the weekend of September 2nd and 3rd, James Wight and his team at Adventure Uncovered launched their inaugural event: Destination Wild Swim Ft. The Wild Swimming Brothers. A chance for us to join with our friends at Adventure Uncovered - to give beach talks and a few guided swims along the Jurassic Coast. More importantly, it was an opportunity to meet 30 avid wild swimmers and all-round outdoors enthusiasts for a weekend of happy wave bobbing and storytelling.

So, in the early hours, Beth, Calum and myself (Jack) drove South and arrived at Durdle Door Holiday Park, three hours later, where we were hit by a long stretch of sunshine and cloudless skies. The ocean was lit up as the rays caught the crests of low waves… Ideal conditions for our first swims through the iconic arch of Durdle Door. 

We wasted no time in getting into the water. After a walk led by a conservation expert and local ranger from the Lulworth Estate, we immediately rushed down to the beach with our gang of swimmers, foregoing the scheduled talk to instead leap straight into the waves and make for the gleaming arch, leading three groups of swimmers on a loop through the clear, greenish water. 

When we passed under the arch we stopped to peer at the kelp-covered rocks and little fish. Then we span over and stared overhead at the rugged, white bend of the arch - a sight you don't soon forget!

Everyone seemed to be similarly invigorated in that moment. Before we all headed back to the sunlit beach and collapsed happily amongst the chalky shingles. 

Later on, Calum and I gave a talk about a few of our bigger swims, with the best backdrop we've had so far. We also talked about the importance of blubber and the woes of picking up parasitic hitchhikers - like the one Calum found in his ear during our Eden swim. Then we led another, much longer swim around the coast to the shielded waters of Man of War Bay.

Everyone got stuck into the swim (regardless of ability or age) and the blow-up kayaks and paddle-board were kept busy following the group as we threaded the choppy, gleaming surface.

It was great to be among the different characters who joined us for the event - like English Channel swimmer, Lisa Lloyd, who was pregnant at the time. Actually, at the end of the swim, she said that the Man of War steps were much more difficult for her, so instead she opted to swim back around the choppy coast with consummate ease. We all followed in a staggered group, along with surprise guest, Luke, who’d also joined us a few months earlier for our swim in Obonjan.

All in all, it was an exciting, salty baptism to wash away the residue of our respective routines - a great gathering for folk who love the outdoors and being in the water!

That night, in need of some well-earned R&R, we followed a dark coastal path over a hill to a pub and bistro near Lulworth Cove. There we drank a good amount of ale, cider and wine and ate a hearty meal together with a sombre helping of Serious Chocolate. 

The following morning we woke to a dreary sky and intermittent showers. After a talk on free-diving with NoTanx, we took an intrepid smaller group down to Man of War Bay, under the white bluffs of the Jurassic Coast, and found the turquoise waters raging, but still no less irresistible. 

“...large waves lashed the nearby rocks and spat clustered whorls of froth into the air. It was a wild, spontaneous and exhilarating swim...”

Grinning as they went, our group plunged into the waves and came up rolling and bobbing over peaks and into troughs. While large waves lashed the nearby rocks and spat clustered whorls of froth into the air. It was a wild, spontaneous and exhilarating swim (not too cold either) and a great way to end a fantastic weekend with our motley crew of swimmers.

After returning to London we were met with that usual, reassuring sense of withdrawal - a bittersweet reminder of the fun you've had and the importance of spending time outdoors. And so, we want to say a huge thanks to James, his team at Adventure Uncovered and to all those swimmers who came along to experience this untamed stretch of coastline.

neptune steps

GLASGOW: birthplace of Billy Connolly, city of the fabled headbutt-kiss and annual staging ground for a brutal little Red Bull event they call Neptune Steps…

As you’d expect from Red Bull, this event is totally unique, brilliantly organised and completely mad. Once a year, wild swimmers dive headfirst into a canal, channelling their inner urban salmon as they thrash and scramble up walled-in troughs, cargo nets, ropes and ladders... The victors usually receive Neptune’s trident as a trophy, while everyone else settles for a long, glorious de-icing in the onsite hot tubs.

This year, on the morning of March 10th, Calum and myself (Jack) were invited up to Scotland to take part in Red Bull’s annual competition. We drove into the city in the wee hours, looking forward to the assault course and feeling, admittedly, confident. In hindsight, we weren’t prepared at all for how tough it would be! In fact, there was no hope of either of us wielding a trident at the end of it. The best thing we could’ve hoped for was making it to those steam-wrapped wallowing grounds above the finish line.

When we arrived we rushed to the changing tents and joined a jittery, chuckling group of swimmers inside. The blustery Glaswegian cold had seeped in under the canvas and the mood was tense. The salient concern on everyone’s minds was the water temperature:

“Was it 2 degrees?”

“I heard 3.”

“Must be 3.5…”

The coldest water I’d swum in that year was 5.3 at Brockwell Lido, without a suit, but this was different. The cut-off point was 15 minutes. That meant we’d be in the water for a good amount of time, swimming against the currents. And when you get down into those low temperatures a single degree makes a huge difference.

Chattering nervously, Calum and I clambered into our wetsuits and shoes. We quickly realised that we hadn’t done so well in the glove department: I had two right-handed gloves (I’m not sure how this happened!) while Calum had totally forgotten his. Instead he was going to be offering his pink mitts to the icy chill.

Once we were half-ready, we set off through the rain-beaten crowds and headed down along the Forth & Clyde canal, to the starting line. When we arrived, after a few rushed exchanges with the organisers, we strapped our Go Pros on and climbed down onto a crowded, floating platform.  

In every direction, I could see swim-cap-tightened faces wearing a variety of solemn expressions. Some swimmers were frozen with looks of grim resolve. Others stood po-faced, staring directly ahead. Of course, there was also the odd toothy grin crammed in amongst it all, usually belonging to some hard bastard who just lives for that kind of thing. 

After a few minutes of jumping about, keeping warm, we all dropped off the platform at intervals and lined-up to wait for the starter horn.

This was the coldest water I’d ever been in. The only other time I’d felt anything else like it was in the Highlands, off the coast of Ullapool.

‘Breathe…’ I told myself, puffing out my cheeks… ‘Keep calm’.

Eventually, the cold wrapped around my whole body and numbed my extremities – even under the gloves and boots! I cleared my mind and waited until my breathing had evened and slowed. I started to feel almost comfortable, but unfortunately that was when the horn sounded and everyone lunged forward in a mad scramble to escape the churned, roiling water as it wrapped around us.

Feet kicked reaching fingers. Bunched bodies bounced and rolled together...

All the while I stayed close to the wall and used it as a guide to direct myself down the canal. The next thing I knew we were spreading out and paddling against the current, approaching the lock. The first swimmers used submerged ropes to drag themselves quickly up to the cargo net. I came in close behind Calum and flung myself onto the net on the opposite side. I remember letting out audible groans as I heaved my numb weight upwards. It was hard going. This wasn’t like swimming in the arctic when you had to relax and travel inwards to survive. This wasn’t like the mad dashes across the maelstroms in Norway and Scotland either. 

This was pure muscle-powered army-style adrenaline.

In a moment of visceral solidarity, I began to feel like we were soldiers in a Spielberg movie. Heavy bundles of water crashed into neoprene-clad bodies and sprayed drops flew in all directions like bullets. Every time I looked up I was facepalmed by a jet of murky canal water. I clenched my mouth shut and stole breathes intermittently when I was looking down.

‘Man, I wish I’d done more training,’ I thought, as I heaved myself upwards and clung to the net.

At the top, I hugged the wooden barrier and suddenly realised how knackered I was – too knackered, in fact. This was the first indication that I was going to really struggle. Breathing hard, I watched Calum leaping down into the water for the next sprint. I hesitated. Body and mind began to bicker momentarily. Then I dropped like a stone into the canal and pulled and kicked my way back onto the course.

At the next obstacle – a 4m wooden ladder – I came into more serious difficulty. I swam up to the bottom rung several times, only to be beaten back by the oncoming water. Each time my breathing became more rapid and the tall, onlooker-topped walls on either side seemed to close-in. Then I saw somebody catch the rope of a lifeguard’s throwing bag and be pulled towards the bank. Perhaps I can blame a slump in motivation owing to some big job/relationship/monetary problems I’d been going through at the time. Whatever it was, I knew that this was a challenge I was underprepared for and wouldn’t beat. I made one last dash towards the ladder before finally allowing my body to roll over and float back down the walled channel. I decided that, rather than hyperventilating, taking on water and losing the use of my muscles, I’d take this one on the chin and bow out.   

Meanwhile, true to Ironman/Brutal triathlon form, Calum was still charging up through the course like the well-insulated fish-man he is. By now his hands had turned to frozen claws. Nevertheless, he shot up the 4m wooden ladder, managed the next 25m swim, heaved himself up a rope climb, leapt into a sluggish crawl through the next 40m swim, pulled himself up another rope ladder, dragged his numb body through a 40m swim, fought bitterly with a 3m climbing wall, half-drowned during the next 25m swim, climbed the last rope and finally pawed his way through a 35m swim to the finish.

After cheering him on, I met Calum in the hot tubs and we talked with the other exhausted competitors, some of whom had dropped out, like myself – one guy had even fallen backwards off the climbing wall!

We all agreed that we were very glad not to be going through to the next heat. Don’t get me wrong though, it was a lot of weird fun – in the same way that paintballing topless can be fun...

At the end of it all, riding a warm train back down to London, I experienced what I imagine many victims of Neptune’s Steps have experienced before – an overwhelming urge to go back next year and try that whole damn shiver-inducing canal scramble again.

the thames marathon

The thames marathon has celebrated its 8th year with another 14km swim from Henley-on-Thames to Marlow…

Last year, Calum listed it as one of his favourites events and so this year I came along to join the fun. Together we pawed our way down a beautiful stretch of the Thames and completed what is now regarded as one of the UK's top open water marathon swims.

The swim was divided into four different sections and water exit and entry points were set up at the three locks along the way (Hambledon after 4km, Hurley after 10km and, finally, Temple after 11.8km). Much-needed food and drink could be found at each stop.

The event took place on Sunday and we were happy to be out and enjoying the open water for the first time as part of Team Selkie (the event itself was run by Henley Swim). The course took us through 14km of sun-dappled water, surrounded by wooded banks and green brush, accompanied by a ragtag band of tow float tugging swimmers.

If you're looking to take part in this event next year, remember you can choose your category depending on whether you want to swim skins or not. Either way you'll get to experience a beautiful river that seems to be unspoilt by human influence. Henley and Marlow are affluent areas and everything is expertly organised and you always feel exceptionally well catered for.

The river that connects the start and end point seems also to be warmed by a convivial atmosphere, and the passing boats and rowers are always courteous. We had a great time!

Along the way we met a few others from the Selkie clan (keep an eye out for Matty at the first stop in the video above). Then it all ended with the glorious appearance of a steaming stonebaked pizza in the sun - what better way to justify going back again next year (if you’ll have us)! :)

obonjan festival

EACH YEAR the unique Croatian island of Obonjan, close to Sibenik, is host to a festival curated by various different creative groups, each intent on offering an experience that is fun, but not chaotic - relaxing but not dull…

At night, warbling music echoes through the tiered amphitheatre, close to the wash of the ocean. Guests gather on the steps and recline together to a mixture of post-rock crescendos and the steady cardio-graphic rhythms of house and electro. Alternatively, music also plays in the dusty forest bar, drowning out the last few sleepy chirps of the unseen cicadas. There are also DJs hanging out in a rickety beach booth at the harbour, overlooking the dark shore, where waves lap quietly against the rugged rocks and lavish yachts bob happily in the shallows. Meanwhile, contented travellers nurse drinks on low-lit loungers, creating a convivial atmosphere remiscient of the first half of The Beach, before the shark shows up and it all goes horribly awry.

There are a few restaurants on the island too, including The Kitchen, which is a pristine, neon-lit building, slightly at odds with the hand-crafted, bohemian aesthetic sported by the rest of the island, although it does serve delicious and healthy portions. There's also the added bonus of it having a nearby pool with carefully lit salt water sitting restfully over a clear blue bottom. You'll often find a few guests there, wrestling to mount the exhausted animal inflatables after a few drinks, or floating in slow circles to settle their stomachs.

While we were there, my brothers, Calum and Robbie, myself (Jack) and our girlfriends, Beth, Serena and Valeriya, sampled a lot of what the nights had to offer, often ending each exploration at the foot of our tents, sipping Croatian wine and scoffing unfamiliar snacks under the stars. 

“My favourite night, however, was blissfully uncomplicated. The ingredients were: several rows of comfortable seats, an open air cinema, a freshly cooked seafood pizza and The Talented Mr Ripley, with an intro courtesy of a friendly film fanatic from the magazine Time Out.”

While the nights are packed with sights, sounds and things to do, the days sprawl-out like sun-warmed cats, keeping a more leisurely pace. Water sports are launched occasionally from the kayak and paddle-board jetty, but, for the most part, the rest of the island sits wrapped in a hushed, hazy aura of relaxation and warmth. Chilled activities abound, like yoga nidra, for example, which draws a quiet crowd to the shaded forest platform, close to white-swathed massage chairs with views of the shimmering ocean. All the while, talks run frequently in the cinema pavilion and drinks do the rounds at the harbour, where you're never short of intrepid divers, hurling themselves from the concrete blocks. 

All in all, it's a really good time and a great way to detach from urban anxieties. For us, there was only one place we really wanted to be throughout the day, which was in the water. In terms of clarity and temperature, the waters around the island were near perfect, teeming with fish and washing gently over subtle coral formations and sculptured rocks, dotted with spiky urchins (the only downside).

During our time at Obonjan we led two sea swims - one for beginners on the Saturday and one for intermediates on the Sunday, before sunset. On Saturday the currents wrapped around the head of the island and dealt us a few choppy blows. However, the whole gang swam on in a chuckling, chatting bunch and it seemed as though everyone had a very special, natureful experience. Fortunately, we managed to reunite everyone with their flip-flops as well! 

On the Sunday, Poseidon laid his trident to rest and decided to bless and soothe the Adriatic, supplying us with clear, undisturbed waters. Our group doubled in size, seeming even more eager to push themselves out into wilder waters, shepherded by the girls as they paddled back and forth on their kayaks. Congratulations are due for the four braver swimmers who went on after our group stopped and the kayaks were returned. They circled the entire island, completing a swim of 5km.

It was wonderful to join everyone out there, escaping the confines of the pool in our tight-knit group. We were so overwhelmed and delighted with the turnout. To see so many islanders and fellow aquatic souls up for the adventure, donning caps and goggles, regardless of age or ability, only to come out grinning on the other side - this was very special for us. And we hope it was enjoyable for you too!

The three of us also gave a talk at the pavilion before the final swim, where we discussed our Arctic expeditions and the appeal of maelstrom swims. All you fellow Obonjan(…ees?) - we hope you took something away from this and enjoyed your whole island experience. As it turns out, Croatia is great for wildlife too. We even saw two bottlenose dolphins on the boat ride back from Obonjan, a snake in Krka National Park and countless varieties of fish and insects.

Finally, we'd like to say a huge thank you to Jo Keeling of Ernest Journal for inviting us out and allowing us to be a part of the Creative Exploration weekend!

Find out more information about the next festival on Obonjan Island.

the henley mile

Calum and myself (jack) were invited along to the Henley Mile - a light-hearted family affair run by Henley Swim...

Equipped with the usual swim/filming kit (except my bloody goggles), we rushed downriver through the Henley Royal Regatta boomed course and swam a quick, sunlit mile in the non-competitive sporting category, followed by James Silson (our trusty teammate).

Afterwards, we did a brief interview for the Outdoor Swimmer Show and discussed, among other things, the age-old quandary of which brother is the fastest (me). While we failed to reach a conclusion on that (me), we did at least have a nigh-unbeatable swim in the London summer heat, flanked by the neat fields and forests of Henley-on-Thames. The atmosphere was incredible - very friendly and inviting. And there were lots of adventure stalls, an endless pool and trucks of warm post-swim food on offer.

We had a great time in the water, treading water, diving with the Go Pro and doing our best our best to capture the droves of swimmers as they came by. We saw more smiling faces than we could count and everyone made it across the finish line - so, all in all, our category was a huge success! 

If you're interested in taking part next year, you can find all the information you'll need here. We've found ourselves at a lot of UK swimming events over the years and this was definitely one of our favourites. Even if you don't want to get in the water, the stalls and countryside are worth the trip. You can hone your stroke technique in the endless pool, lounge on the grass and watch the swimmers roll in, or… snap on your cap and goggles and hurl yourself down the Thames. Whatever you decide to do, you definitely won't regret getting yourself to the Henley Mile next year. For further choice-assistance, check out the video we made below...

A huge thanks to Henley Swim for having us along!