Julian Critchlow swam the Channel on 4th September 2004 in 14 hours and 8 minutes.

People ask me "So...how was it to swim the channel?" and my immediate reaction is "I am not sure...did I really do it?". And despite it being only a few months since I did it, the memories are already beginning to fade fast.

So before dementia sets in completely and I convince myself that I imagined it, I thought I would write down a more complete record. Here goes...

The preparation 

The week before the swim was kept fairly busy planning the swim, buying supplies and watching the weather. I worked a lot on my "checklist" to ensure that it was complete and would include everything that I needed on the day. At 5pm on the Wednesday before the swim, I went into Sevenoaks to buy the key ingredients and in 1 hour I had it all done. Which was a lot faster than I had budgeted for!

At home, I assembled the components and packed them into the 4 holdalls, separating the pre-swim, during-swim and post-swim selections. Now I was really worried - I might actually have to do this!

So as a distraction, I turned to the weather. Having spent 6 hours in July swimming around Dover harbour being pelted with hail the size of golf-balls, I had very low expectations for the weather that summer. Comparison between different weather sites such as www.bbc.co.uk/weather and www.weather.com began to form a pattern: The weather looked like it would improve towards the weekend, be briefly acceptable, and then decay again. Although my tides officially started on the Sunday, the weather looked increasingly like it would be the determining factor. And Saturday looked increasingly like the best day - warm, sunny and most importantly of all, with very little wind.

I had a phone conversation with Chris Osmond, my pilot, early in the week and agreed that we would play it by ear but be ready to go at any point. As we approached Friday, I was more and more determined that if the weather was good then - this summer of all summers - we should go. Even if it meant going on a Spring tide.

On Friday, Chris rang to say that we were a go on Saturday and to meet him down at the Marina at 2am ready to go off at 3am.

The night before 

The plan was straightforward. Pack the car with supplies and the children off to their grandparents. Go to bed really early so that Sarah and I got some sleep prior to the swim. Then drive to Dover for a 2am departure and Sarah driving back to look after the children for the day. All being well, Sarah would then return with the children to celebrate my triumphant return - something I was rapidly losing confidence in.

So the car was packed. Children dispatched. And at 6pm, Sarah and I retired to bed. At 7pm, I still wasn't really asleep. So at 8pm, decided to watch a movie. At 10pm, I need another distraction - so decided to type a response to the "letter in a bottle" that I had bumped into on my last training swim. By 10:30, I was tired and retired...only to be woken at 12:00 by my alarm. Well that was a great night sleep.

But the adrenaline meant sleep was the last thing on my mind. I dressed and, most importantly, went for a shave. A very, very, very close shave. I had experienced bad "stubble burn" in the past from my beard which grew over long swims and cut my neck and chest (where my chin touched occasionally as I breathed). I was not going to risk that this time.

At 12:20am, we set off for Liz's house to meet up with her and Tracey so that we could travel in convoy to Dover - and on arrival proceeded to wake most of the row of houses in our excited early morning greetings!

At 12:30am, we set off and by 1:45am, we were turning off the motorway and into the marina. Being a bit early, we availed ourselves of the facilities - conscious that the boat "head" would not be as attractive option...but the only choice for the next 18-20 hours!!

At 2:00am, Chris appeared with his own supplies and we all went down to the Seafarer with a trolley load of kit. Soon afterwards Tony, as crew, and Brian, as official observer, arrived and by 2:15am, Seafarer was ready to go.

Log entry: Sat. Sept. 4th 2004. Departed Ide Hill 12:30am arr. Dover marina 1:30am dep. marina 2:15 to Samphire Hoe.

The departure 

Chris fired up Seafarer to warm up the engines and he & Tony hustled around the boat preparing for the "off". Liz, Tracey and I entertained ourselves by organising the bags on the seat. Each bag had been label led by an "anally retentive" channel swimmer so that the Support team could read off the Checklist where each item was and find it easily in the dark. This attention to detail would easily qualify said swimmer for treatment for compulsive obsessive disorder but also proved a spark of genius when the support team need to find, say, another pair of goggles in the pitch black.

The organising bags on benches was not quite as useful though since wherever we put the bags, Chris or Tony wanted to put a tender float into the locker underneath. And as soon as we set sail, the movement of the boat dumped all the bags on the floor and they were soon washing around in sea water (p.s. make note to self - get waterproof bags next time!).

During this period of uncertainty, Tracey and Liz decided to strip off...revealing not that they planned to swim with me but that they had donned full "team" regalia - with baseball caps branded "Julian's Water-babes" and T-shirts with the immortal phrases "Freda says swim to France" and on the back "A mere ditch that shall be leaped".

The first was a reference to the fact that I had ALWAYS done exactly what Freda told me too since day one. If she said 6 hours, I did 6 hours. On one occasion, my shoulder began to play up on the Saturday and so I didn't go down on the Sunday - but I did go down on the Tuesday and complete the sets, and retained my perfect record! So if Freda said "swim to France", then I wasn't going to argue.

The second phrase was the quote attributed to Napoleon when asked about crossing the channel to invade England!

Backing out from the dock, excitement grew and we knew that we wouldn't be back for another, at least, 30 minutes or possibly longer if I managed to stay in! It was at this point that to distract myself from the swim ahead I asked Tracey whether she had taken her seasickness pills. Tracey, ever the professional, told me not to worry and that everything was in hand. Actually it took between 6 and 28 minutes after I started swimming for Tracey and Liz to deposit everything in a nice yellow bucket.

The ride out from the marina around the breakwater and down towards Shakespeare Beach and Samphire Hoe was all too short. Halfway around, Chris indicated that I should start to get ready. This was a bit of a shock since when I supported Astrid on her swim in July, we had positioned ourselves off the beach and Astrid had had quite a leisurely time getting ready. Instead I busied myself stripping off and Tracey rustled around in the bags to find the Vaseline for the obligatory "greasing up". Again demonstrating her professionalism and long nursing training, in seconds Tracey dispensed most of a large tub of Vaseline on my chest, on my chin, under my arms, between my legs and on the front of my swimming trunks. The efficacy of the latter application was unclear to me but who was I to question the professionals?

Then we were at Samphire Hoe. The weather was calm but the waves were still pounding the shore and bouncing back, creating a nice chop. This was all to familiar from training in the east end of Dover harbour or, as we affectionately referred to it - the "washing machine" end. Chris, not surprisingly, was keen to get me in and to get Seafarer out of the chop and announced "off you go then".

I clambered onto the side, looked down into the dark, thought "Um...maybe not" and jumped.

Log entry: Julian entered water just after 3am, immediately lost goggles! Swam to wall- start clock! Light sticks & new goggles attached, set off at 3:10am. Tracey sick - 3:16!! The first of many. Liz sick - 3:38!!

Descending into the water from some height, I was submerged for second in the cold, before spluttering to the surface. I reached up to pull down my goggles to find that I had no goggles on my head. Now I had a decision to make: get new goggles or swim to the shore and start the crossing. Since it was going to take a couple of minutes to find my spare goggles, I decided to swim to the shore and start, picking up the new goggles on return. Swimming head-up to avoid too much salt going into my contact lenses, I ungracefully paddled my way to the steps. It proved about the most difficult part of the swim as I was thrust around by the chop. But eventually I reached the steps and seriously contemplating declaring it a "great crossing" and going home to a nice warm bed.

But a moments reflection suggested that "0 seconds" whilst a clear record for the shortest ever attempt at the channel would not be easy to explain to all my sponsors nor to my work colleagues who would find an 8 month sabbatical training for a 5 minute dip in the sea at 3am a little hard to swallow. So I had no real choice but to at least start the crossing and then to figure out how long would be an "acceptable" time before I quit. The time was 3:05am.

So first things first. I swam equally ungracefully back to Seafarer and reached up for a new pair of goggles. Of course, in the haste, these goggles were covered in grease and as I snapped them over my head, one side flipped loose. I tried to tread-water and repair the damage but pitch black, cold sea water and grease did not make this a feasible plan of attack. Luckily attention to detail would again be rewarded as Liz found my third pair of goggles and we swapped the defective pair for this pair. At last goggled up, about 50 metres from the English coast, I turn to attack the other 34,950 metres ahead of me!

No time like the present...let's go!

Swimming in the dark 

My training under the watchful eye of Freda Streeter had been excellent. I felt strong. I felt confident. But I had absolutely no idea where I was going. However with Seafarer to my right and the shore behind me, I figured France was straight ahead! So for half an hour I focused on putting arm-over-arm and thinking through exactly how long was a creditable amount of time to swim before giving up!

Since I was swimming using bilateral strokes, I would breathe to the right - admiring the navigational lights of Seafarer - take 3 strokes and breathe to the left - admiring the blackness of the eastern English Channel - take 3 more strokes and be back to the start. On Freda's advice, I had not worn any watch so I had no real idea of the time. But I was conscious that 300 strokes at 60 per minute was 5 minutes (I had checked my stroke rate during my one of my 7-8 hour training swims as something to keep my mind entertained!) and counting this 12 times would get me to my first feed.

After about 30 minutes (or 6 times 300 strokes), I began to get worried on every 6th stroke. As I breathed left, I was no longer seeing the darkness of the eastern channel, but instead I was seeing the bright lights of Dover. I was pretty sure that I had agreed to swim to France rather than Belgium so surely Dover should be behind me? But Seafarer was following me to my right and every time I turned towards it, it held its course and I had to veer away. So I took the hint and continued in the direction that it was pointing in.

After another 6 times 300 strokes, I began to wonder where breakfast was! Presumably after 1 hour I would deserve a full cooked veggie breakfast from Chaplin's...but would they be on time (they had better be since they were told in no uncertain terms that missing a feed slot would result in one of the support crew walking the proverbial plank on the way back!!). So where was my feed? At last, Liz signalled me in and there was the feed. One cup of Maxim. Ahhh. After a quick "everything okay?" from my fearless, but yellow, crew and I was back to counting strokes.

Log entry: 5:20am Sun beginning to colour the sky, took photo.

And so it went on. 6 times 300 strokes = half an hour. 6 times 300 strokes = another feed. 6 times 300 strokes = half an hour. 6 times more and...hey isn't that the sun coming up. 6:05am was my third feed. 6:11am the sun rose.

Log entry: 6:00am Sun up, lovely clear day, v.calm seas, J. seems to be going well. 6:13 Sunrise - & photos!

Never before was there, or will there ever be in the future, a more glorious sunrise than on the 4th September 2004. The cloudless sky began to lighten. On each breath to the right I could make out more on Seafarer, more of the crew moving around organising things, more of Brian writing notes on my swim. 3 more strokes then a breath to the left and I could see the horizon & a relatively benign, flat sea. The weather forecast was proving right with a clear, cloudless and relatively windless day. Perfect!!

Then the sun peeps over the horizon. The red ball grows and psychologically the heat begins to return to my body. Of course, the actual heat was a few hours away yet. But the appearance of the sun gave me a huge boost. And what's more feeds were now going to be every 6x300 strokes instead of every hour!!

Onward to the midpoint buoy 

The next couple of hours went rapidly. Now I was into the swing of things. And so were my crew. Each time Liz fed me, she wrote the time on my cup so I could keep track of progress. I also began to get Milky Ways with the Maxim which felt nearly as good as a Chaplin's breakfast when you are 4-5 hours out in the middle of the channel.

Log entry: 7:10am feed - midst of shipping lane, v.close to some HUGE cargo ships & consequently come big wash! 1st video (test)

Log entry: 7:44am - J having difficulty wee-ing - boat went a bit ahead to give privacy! Mission accomplished! (2nd video clip)

Log entry: 8:10am Tide turning. This feed seemed slightly slower, stroke rate steady.

At 8:35am (5:30 hours), I went for my usual feed and Tracey mentioned in passing that they had seen the midpoint buoy. This was really exciting. If the buoy was within view, then I must be on track. If I could get there by 7 hours then a 15-16 hour swim was within reach. As I repeated my 6 sets of 300 strokes, I considered how best to ask at my next feed how far away from the buoy we were. Just like a little child in the back of a car, the temptation to ask "how far to go now?" was immense...and just has futile!

Log entry: 9:10am feed - Chris pointed out M.P.C. Smart-ass swimmer replied "which channel"?! Informed Sarah & Monica Lee & relayed S's message via w/board. Crew managed tea & biscuits but only 1 stayed down!

But at 9:05am (6:00 hours), I plucked up the courage and asked "how far are we actually from the mid point buoy?". The response was a huge shock - "we've just passed it". 6 hours and halfway. Even without a spreadsheet, I could work out that 2x6=12, which when you add a bit for a slower second half means 13 hours was in reach. 13 hours was inconceivable to me. I had hoped for 15-16 hours with a realistic expectation of possibly 17-18 hours. So 13 HOURS. I could be home in Dover before I had expected to even finish!!

The next hour was great. Now full of confidence I pushed on. The sun and a couple of stars helped me navigate but I could also feel the change of direction as the tide swung around and started to flow back into the Atlantic. The sun was also beating down on my back nicely and the warm was flooding back into my body. 6 hours was the cold water qualification swim - and, although not my longest swim by far, it was a big milestone to pass. Now I began to believe that I could accomplish a "reasonable" swim before I would get pulled out of the water.

Log entry: 10:15am In French shipping lane, weather remains perfect. Slight swell due to traffic & slight increase in wind. 1 of the Water-babes enjoyed bacon & egg courtesy of Chris. (The other looked on enviously!). Text messages of good luck & inquiring as to progress from: Peter (my friend who had hoped to come); Sarah-several!; The Cockers; Sue Hard; Harriet; Monica & Ali; PJ phoned - on behalf of G. Common! Colin & Lynn Goater; Jane Lynch

The journey to Cap Gris Nez 

The boredom was really beginning to bite now as I pounded through hours 7 and 8. Equally the milestone of "my longest ever swim was within reach" and the French coast was clearly getting closer as the tide swept me along toward the Cap. At 11:05, my 8 hour point, I looked at the time on the cup and thought "all new territory from now on". The fact that I had done a 15 hour split swim with 8 hours on a Saturday and 7 hours on a Sunday didn't prevent me from feeling a "pioneering" spirit rise in me.

Log entry: 11:42am J. appeared tired for the first time, arms looked heavier, although stroke rate remained constant. T asked some cunning questions which were answered with the expected humour. T. announced - she feels like food - hoorah, normality returns. J. asked us to record a passing cargo ship (clip 3). "So now he's a bloody film director too eh" from Chris. Now seems less tired & swimming fine again.

Now as I counted 6 times 300 strokes, I knew that I was moving towards 8 hours 30 minutes. And then after the feed, I was racing towards a clear new personal record of 9 hours continuous swimming. The 9 hour feed was a moment for reflection as I began to feel that now I was in territory that any reasonable person would classify as a "reasonable attempt at the channel". Now the only choice was to make the push to France or quit within sight of the continental shore- I pushed on!

Log entry: 12:30pm Chart plotting shows excellent progress, if J. can put in a fast final hour to maximise tide he could do v. good time.

The next hour was spent admiring the many and varied container ships, passenger ferries and the occasional Seacat passing by. I understood later from the support team that we had also had a negotiation with a container ship that demanded we alter course, only to be told that altering course at the speed of a couple of knots (i.e. my swimming speed) was not going to make a whole lot of difference. They decided to change course to go around us!

Log entry: 12:42pm feed - delayed by a couple of minutes due to cargo ship coming bit close. We had to flash light - 5 flashes - to indicate that we can't take evasive action - & then they changed course!

But my mind was elsewhere. Counting strokes had worn thin after, say, the first 300 strokes. Now we were well into the 120th recital and my brain began to search for other more entertaining pursuits. The most obvious of these is route plotting. In my mind I could picture the point at which I had set out and then the change of direction as the tide went into full flow. Then the reversal as the tide changed and the acceleration as it went into full ebb. A few basic assumptions and a quick look around and a nagging thought began to grow in my mind - the tide must be soon to be on the turn again and if we are heading now directly towards Cap Gris Nez then soon we wouldn't be!

Log entry: 1:10pm Increased maxim concentration. Up to now has been 1/2 & 1/2 with hot water - stroke rate decreased slightly & J looking tired so will reduce water.

Log entry: 1:40pm J. requested no more tea. Tired, had little chat re. excellent progress, showed chart etc. Reqd pain killer for arms at next feed.

Log entry: 2:00pm We phoned Sarah to ask for more motivational messages for white board - from parents etc.

At the 2:05pm (11 hours), I finally raised the courage to ask. "We're not going to Cap Gris Nez, are we?". Chris replied "No - we're going to land further down the coast." "Are we going to Wissant then?" I asked. "Don't worry" replied Chris, "Just keep going.". The next half hour slipped by as I tried to explain to myself why we hadn't turned earlier on the very first tide or headed further out rather than along the coast, so that we could still be targeting Cap Gris Nez. Instead I realised that my 12-13 hour target was now an illusion. I had experienced the journey to Wissant with Astrid in July and knew that it would add at least an hour or two to my crossing.

Log entry: 2:10pm Paracetamol given for arm muscle pain (& contains caffeine & decided good idea because J wants no more tea) Informed J. of constant stroke rate. Tide slack before turning again.

Log entry: 2:20pm Messages received from Sarah's mum & Mike.

Log entry: 2:45pm texted & phoned Jean-Marie but he is unable to get up here - sent words of encouragement!

At the 3:05pm (12:00 hours), I had more problems to contend with. I had been swimming towards a buoy that lay between me and the shore and as I took every stroke I watched it drifted inexorably and increasingly rapidly to the right. The tide was now in full flow and I was heading towards the North Sea rapidly. At this point, Chris decided to have another word and explained that our only hope of getting in over the tide was to reach the shallows. This meant sprinting for at least an hour and could I do that? In my current state of annoyance at having missed the Cap, an outlet for my anger was just what I needed and my stroke rate picked up and my feed time was slashed. I wasn't coming all this way to end up heading back to England!

Log entry: 3:15pm 2 1/2 m off Wissant - J. enquired as to likely landing spot - prob. Cap Blanc Nez - promptly did 58-59 strokes/min!! Wow - that was a good Milky Way. Sea flatest it's been all day, v.smooth, just a ripple [Video clip 4; Buoy=Abbeyville] France looks tantalisingly close! Tide is pulling J sideways, we have decided to get Chris to ask J to give one final push to get closer to land & out of the strong tidal flow - he might sound more authoritative than us!

Cap #2 

In retrospect, it was remarkable that at no point during my training had I ever looked at a map of France. I had always assumed that it was fairly unmissable if you headed south and so there was no real point in understanding the "nuances" of the French coastline. During the next hour, I regretted that lack of knowledge.

As I "sprinted" - a generous word for my lifting my stroke rate by 10% after 11 hours swimming - I tried not to get distracted about where I was heading. But it was hard to ignore the occasional glimpses of France assembling themselves in my mind. Cap Gris Nez was now a distant memory off to my right. A town that was presumably Wissant was also rapidly becoming a fading objective as well. I was clearly heading for another Cap, which I was told was called Cap Blanc Nez.

Log entry: 3:35pm Gave feed early to give extra choc boost. Chris explained about 1 final push for 1/2 - 3/4 hr to get into shallower water & reduce impact of tide.

Log entry: 3:38pm 61 strokes/min?!! Milky Way didn't even touch the sides - chewed as he swam!! FANTASTIC!!

But, however impressive I found the white cliffs of France, they didn't seem to be coming any closer - instead they seemed to move slowly but steadily to the right. I remonstrated with my crew and Chris that I "wasn't making any progress" and received the obligatory response that "you are, you are". But I also knew that it was their job to keep me motivated at this point and I remember on Astrid's swim getting changed so that she would think we were about to get in with her to swim to the shore, when, in fact, we were at least half an hour from that point!

Log entry: 3:53pm J. still managing 63 & 64 strokes/min after all this time. Making gd progress into shallower water.

The alternative though was giving up... and having come that far, I thought that I would stick with it as long as Chris, Tony, Brian, Liz and Tracey were willing to keep going. And so I plodded on.

An unusual sight - someone going up the beach at Sangatte!

Log entry: 4:10pm Refused food & practically poured drink over face just to get on & in there. Stroke rate still high (58) - so determined & focussed. Tracey is in awe!

Log entry: 4:18pm Sudden change of sea state as we hit "The Ridges" - sandbanks in front of Cap Blanc Nez.

Log entry: 4:40pm Decided to wait & see if J. needed feed. He is so focussed but getting frustrated at apparent lack of progress, so while going well we will not interrupt! Calls/texts flooding in! Guy & Martha; Mr Critchlow: "Hang in there & see you very soon in Dover." Fiona McKenzie rang to say Good Luck. Texts from my dad.

After an eternity going nowhere, even I had to concede that we were getting closer. Tony prepared the dingy to launch and I asked at my last feed for my letter to be given to him so that I could take it at the last minute before going up the beach. I had hit the shallows now and could feel the pace pick up. I still had the tide but now I had the upper hand. As I swam on, I watched the sandy bottom move by and every so often I tried to put my feet down. Unfortunately it turned out that this was only plankton tricking me and my feet repeatedly reached down to find just water below me.

Log entry: 5:13pm J. landed with Tony in dinghy alongside. Officially 14 hrs & 8 mins (his watch was 5 mins behind mine). Met crowd on beach (see video) who agreed to post letter & wanted photos. In typical Julian style, the dinghy offer was rejected & J. swam back to the Seafarer.

But all good things come to an end. I kept myself entertained by contemplating swimming over to Tony who had his feet up on the side of the dingy and capsizing him into the water, I finally reached the beach. Conscious that I might feel a little giddy as I stood up, I cautiously put my feet down but actually found I felt fine - probably a reflection on my "sprinting" more than anything else!

I took the letter from Tony and made my way up the beach to dry French sand. As I walked up the beach, a crowd of French beachwalkers converged on me and asked whether I had come from England. It was great to be amongst a group of people who were clearly thrilled to meet a channel swimmer and when they asked for photographs with me, I felt like a true celebrity. I handed over my letter to one gentleman who kindly agreed to add a stamp and post it back to the English boy who had set it adrift many weeks before for its 3-way crossing of the English Channel.

As an aside, one of the ladies who took a photograph, retrieved my address from the letter, and sent me a copy of her photo. It is the only photo I have of me on the shore!

Tony offered to take me back in the dinghy but I was determined to find out what the current was like when it was behind me and so I decided to swim back to the boat. It took me barely any time at all - and my first words were "See - there was quite a current!"

France to England by boat 

Having had the emotional reunion with my support crew, the priority was to get out of the trunks and into some warm clothes. This all happened in a blur and I was soon sat on the engine housing, fully dressed and warmed by my fleece. The dinghy stowed and we were off back to Dover - and within seconds, I wanted to be back in the water. Boat, sea and diesel do not go well together with me. So I flopped onto my back and warmed by the engine drifted in and out of consciousness for the 3 hour return journey.

As we approached Dover, I was once again sitting up and looking forward to seeing steady, dry land. Dusk was well and truly upon us and we entered Dover harbour in the evening light and the marina illuminations. As we rounded the end of the breakwater and entered the marina real, we could hear some faint cheering and a much louder bark - my brother's dog, Buster! We rounded the end of the pontoon and filmed our approach. Daniel, Megan and Robert were holding aloft a banner proclaiming "Well done, Daddy" and cheering as loud as they could. My parents, brother - Guy - and his wife Martha, Freda, Ali, Mandy and Ian & family from Ide Hill made up a very welcoming, welcome party.

Some champagne on the dockside. Some photos. Then all the kit was retrieved (with the exception of a whiteboard) and shipped back up to the car. The final 1 hour drive from Dover and we were finally tucked up warm in bed in Ide Hill. Quite a day. And certainly one of the most memorable of my life.