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Fw: The Hellespont swim: following in Byron's wake

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  • Nancy Mayer
    From: Robinson, Charles Sent: Saturday, May 08, 2010 1:05 AM Subject: The Hellespont swim: following in Byron s wake To see this story with its related links
    Message 1 of 1 , May 8, 2010
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      From: Robinson, Charles
      Sent: Saturday, May 08, 2010 1:05 AM
      Subject: The Hellespont swim: following in Byron's wake



      To see this story with its related links on the guardian.co.uk site, go
      to
      http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/may/06/hellespont-swim-byron

      The Hellespont swim: following in Byron's wake

      Lord Byron swam across the Hellespont, or Dardanelles, in 1810. Two
      hundred years later, could Becky Horsbrugh manage the same feat?

      Becky Horsbrugh
      Thursday May 6 2010
      guardian.co.uk

      http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/may/06/hellespont-swim-byron

      My passion for Lord Byron's work began in my teens when I studied the
      Romantics at English A-level. The erotic adventures of Don Juan were far
      more appealing to my adolescent self than William Wordsworth's walks
      through fields of golden daffodils. But I only found out recently that
      Byron's greatest passion was swimming. Born with a club foot, Byron
      found a freedom in the water that he could not experience on land. And
      forget poetic or political success: Byron often claimed that his biggest
      ever achievement was one particular swim - across the Hellespont on 3
      May, 1810.

      This stretch of water, from the Black Sea to the Aegean, is the most
      famous in ancient history, separating Europe from Asia. In Greek
      mythology, Leander used to swim across it every night to visit his lover
      Hero, who would light a lamp to guide his way. Byron swam across it to
      prove it was possible. I have a love for swimming too, so when I heard
      that a commemorative swim was to be held exactly 200 years after Byron
      had done it, I knew I had to be there.

      So it was that on bank holiday Monday I found myself lined up with 139
      other intrepid swimmers on the European side of the Dardanelles, ready
      to attempt the crossing. They were mostly British, but there were some
      other Europeans, as well as Australians and Americans. Some were
      experienced channel swimmers; others just recreational athletes - but
      all were united by a love of the water. Excitingly, one of Byron's
      descendants was there too.

      The organisers were anxious. Due to a very cold winter in southern
      Turkey, the water temperature was just 13C - a good five degrees lower
      than it should be at this time of the year. The Turkish authorities had
      kindly closed off the shipping lane for us - the busiest in the world -
      but they had also changed the course at the last minute, so it was now
      well over 5km rather than four.

      At 3pm the hooter sounded and we all plunged into the icy water. It was
      choppy and, in the first few minutes, frantic, as everyone jostled for
      position. The waves pounded our faces and it was tough working out how
      to breathe. I hoped the conditions would calm down at some point.

      We had been given landmarks to look out for on the other side of the
      water, to guide our path. Every few strokes, when I wasn't taking in a
      mouthful of seawater, I looked up and checked I was going in the right
      direction. The swimmers began to disperse along the course as the
      stronger and more experienced led the way up front.

      I admit over the first 500 metres I did have a wobble. It was so hard.
      But then I got into a rhythm. I found other swimmers going at roughly my
      pace and I almost began to enjoy it. I had no real idea how fast I was
      swimming, or how far I had gone. I couldn't see any of the buoys that
      were supposed to mark our path, so I just concentrated on the red and
      white transmitter mast on the Asian side of the Dardanelles, which we
      had been told to aim for. I had no time to think about how deep the
      water was, or how far I now was from the shore. I didn't care about the
      swarms of jellyfish around me. All my concentration was on my stroke as
      I plunged my arms through the waves with as much power as I could
      muster, fighting the strong current that always seemed to be against me.


      My hands were now getting cold, and at times I clenched them to get the
      blood flowing. The first time I looked at my watch I was surprised that
      I'd been going for 55 minutes. There still seemed such a long way to go!
      The people at the front had been hoping to do it in around 50 minutes,
      so that made me anxious. I found out afterwards the winner, British
      swimmer Colin Hill, managed the crossing in one hour 27 minutes, such
      was the severity of the conditions. He had been hoping to break the
      record, which was just 48 minutes.

      I kept going, but each time I looked up I felt more and more alone. The
      other swimmers were now widely dispersed and there was no one near me.
      Just a huge stretch of water, and land which still looked so far away. I
      then realised I was feeling cold - very cold. Too cold. I'd been in the
      water for an hour and a half by now. I was starting to feel confused,
      which I knew was an early sign of hypothermia. Then, like an apparition,
      a small Turkish fishing boat that was part of our escort appeared at my
      side. It felt like my saviour.

      I admitted defeat and made the signal were had been told to give if we
      needed help. My hands and feet were so numb, I couldn't even climb up
      the steps of the boat. A kindly fisherman with a rough, weatherbeaten
      face hauled me out. I was handed some thick blankets to stop my
      shivering and we slowly made our way to shore, shepherding the other
      swimmers in the hot afternoon sun. I shouted encouragement from the
      safety of the boat to the brave souls still in the water, happy that at
      least I could help them finish the swim, even though I had not been able
      to do so myself.

      I had failed in my attempt to emulate Byron's iconic swim, which he did
      in one hour 10 minutes - doing breaststroke. But I was still proud of
      what I had achieved. I'd managed around 4km in challenging conditions on
      my first ever sea swim, and the only thing that had defeated me was the
      elements, not my own fitness. And after all, Byron failed on his first
      attempt too. Maybe I'll return one day and try again.

      ? The event was organised by Swimtrek; swimtrek.com
      [http://www.swimtrek.com]; +44 (0) 1273 739 713


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