Sharkbaiters: Row, Graham, Pat, Karen, Cheryl, Dee1, Dee2, Kerry, Andrew, Greg.
Sharkbaiters: Row, Graham, Pat, Karen, Cheryl, Dee1, Dee2, Kerry, Andrew, Greg.
Dawn’s first ocean swim from North Beach outside the Wollongong Surf Club to the rocks outside the Wollongong Continental Pool.
My greatest fear is getting eaten by a shark.
So it seems obvious what I need to do… get swim fit and start open water swimming.
It took me two months to prepare myself and pluck up the courage to do it, and it’s a challenge I highly recommend of anyone who lives near the sea.
Steven Spielberg ruined the ocean for me.
Jaws is a nightmare.
The image of the hand in the sand that belonged to the sexy night-swimming lady in the opening scene of the film still haunts me to this day.
Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun…
*Chomp*
Dead. The End.
When I first started swimming at the Wollongong Continental ocean pool with my long flippers, I’d enjoy a heavy panting one-minute break after each lap.
From the safety of the pool I’d look out to the rocks beyond as the ocean swimmers, who call themselves the Sharkbaiters, navigated the slippery barnacled surfaces to plunge into the deep.
Once you’re out there, you’re in no-man’s land.
It’s the home of creatures with tails, gills and sharp teeth that can breathe under water.
Not to mention rip currents, heavy swells and ever-changing weather conditions.
As a scared little mammal with soft white pasty (and most likely tasty) skin that moves in the water like a sloth on land, I’m easy prey fo’ sho’.
Once I reached my goal of swimming non-stop for two kilometres, I fisted the air in triumph and shortly after peed nervously in the pool. Shit, this means I’m ready to open water swim, I thought.
The morning I decided to take to the sea I did about three nervous poos. In the toilet.
I remember feeling as scared about swimming in the open water as I was jumping out of a plane, when learning to skydive.
The second scariest thing about open water swimming (next to being eaten by a shark) is me taking a massive gulp of water, choking and then drowning.
Later my dead body bobs to the surface to be washed up on North Beach outside Diggies café where two little children are playing in the undertow.
They poke my bloated belly with a stick before screaming and running to tell their mother of their discovery.
That would ruin a childhood, no doubt. Or create the next generation’s Stephen King.
The third scariest thing is I could have a panic attack half way, and need to be rescued by one of the other swimmers.
Or worse yet, drown one of the other swimmers as they tried to help me.
So. Much. Fear.
Regardless, I carried my fears and anxieties with me that day.
I was determined.
I got to the pool. And I was late. I saw the Sharkbaiters jumping off the rocks. I’d missed the boat.
Noooooo, I said to myself, and immediately ran barefoot along the Blue Mile.
The Blue Mile is a walk-way along Wollongong’s waterfront frequented by the early morning dog-walkers, runners, cyclists, and privileged St Mary’s High School girls taking selfies of themselves on the latest i-phone while drinking vanilla lattes from Levendi café.
So I’m running down the mile in my surf steamer, two swimming caps and goggles watching the swimmers. I look like a crazy person doing a swim-run-swim race, and I am the only competitor. I am coming first.
It is easy to keep up with the Sharkbaiters on foot.
Eventually they get to their half-way point in the deep, parallel to the Wollongong Surf Lifesaving Club, and I run into the waves from the beach, swimming out to the group.
I trail them. I stalk them. I am shark-like. Shy and inconspicuous.
Swimming in the ocean is different to a pool.
Every so often it is necessary to lift your head completely out of the water so as to keep tabs on your location.
The swell rocks the body like a nurturing mother, all encompassing, powerful and life-giving.
Simply putting your head down, bum up and bilateral breathing doesn’t work.
Unless you swim between two people who are keeping an eye out for you.
There is no line on the bottom of the ocean to follow, and even if there was you wouldn’t be able to see it through the deep.
At the end of the swim, we arrive at the rocks outside the Conti, I am stationary paddling with a big shining smile. I am pumped. Elated.
The group start helping each other climb out, and are suddenly surprised to see me reaching for a hand up.
“Where did you come from,” one asks?
“I joined you from the beach and stalked you,” I said.
“Oh.”
Then they helped me out of the water with their limbs still intact.
And we became immediate friends.
Yoga teacher, skydiver, martial artist and journalist. Yoga keeps her centred and reinforces her core belief that the greatest gift to each of us is ourselves. When Dawn isn’t teaching yoga, she works as a skydive camerawoman, grapples with her mates at Gracie Barra Shellharbour, and does media and promotions for stuff she loves.
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