The forecast shows that it's going to be a windy day, possibly too much to get to the finish. However there are two 2hr slots where things ease enough to make some progress I feel, as long as I can get across to The Mumbles in the first place. And so, another 05:00 alarm follows another late night in order to get across the bay - to be ready and waiting for those weather windows.
I like the challenge of building a strategy to match these sort of circumstances. I'm good at it, and I get a bit of a buzz from getting it right. It's rewarding. But to be perfectly honest, it's more rewarding in hindsight. Today it's a bit of a nervous ball-ache. I try to avoid those doubting questions, those what-if-I-get-it-wrong moments, and just stick to the plan.
I walk down to the beach. Well at least it sounds like a beach, and I can see some sand, but that's all. I assume the water is out there, however a solid mist means that the vis is down to less than 200m. Oh flipping great. The wind hasn't dropped, it's still blowing in at high teens mph, perhaps a little bit more. Perfect crossing weather. My arse.
Go on, give me a break - I dare you.
As I said, if I don't get to The Mumbles then we are stuck. I worked for the miles yesterday, and put myself into as good as spot as I could. At least we now do have a chance. If I go any further N up the bay it would be quicker to walk around though.
If we do get across today then I may be able to scrape a few miles further. However, deep down I have a feeling we may be finishing the day prematurely, perhaps almost, and depressingly, in sight of Rhossili. Well, we'll only see it if the sodding mist goes away that is.
The crossing receives no more than a line or two here. I didn't enjoy it, at all. I paddled across somewhere between nervous and scared, against the wind and a foul tide, with a vis that lifted to about 1/4 mile as I reached the other side. I was hoping for a little lee shelter from the ridge there, but while the swell did drop off, the wind didn't ease until I pretty much reached the beach.
At The Mumbles I was once again thankful of the company of The Boss. The van gave me shelter from the rain, and the company of the lady gave me a figurative ray of sunshine, something the weather was determined not to do.
We sat around waiting for the tide to turn and to see what the wind would do.
We sat around.
And around.
And I just grew more nervous as we sat around.
Eventually I had to make a call. I hate this bit. If I didn't go soon it would be too late. So I popped up the hill and took a look. There was an amount of white out there, especially along the cliffs, but the swell had eased and the wind was along, rather than against, the stonework. And just as I start to ready my kit the mist lifts, completely.
Could be worse.
So I go.
I sneak through the gap, can't be arsed to go around the end, and on into the first bay. Hmm, not too bad. Now I have my spraydeck on and the boat is moving, my nerves ease and I just fall into the routine - get on with the job. And that's the plan really; get on with the job, take a tentative look at each headland, and fall back to the last bay if I'm not happy.
It works - Langland Bay quickly falls behind, and Caswell comes and goes fairly soon too. Oxwich Bay has a bit more of a fetch and the wind is pushing through here - it's a slog. But the following tide once again holds the swell at bay, while the headland gives me enough shelter from the chop, that it's just a splashy slog to get there.
I huddle in the lee, up from the headland, and take a breather. I'm a touch knackered to be honest, but the sun has come out now and that always makes life seem a little more positive. While I refuel I marvel at the aftermath of what must have been a rather impressive (and noisy) landslide, a little further into the bay.
I take my time, relaxing for a moment or two, and when I start paddling again I feel rather refreshed and quite positive. The small tide race on the end is easily dealt with and then Port Eynon lies in front, the last real refuge before Worms Head. This is it, time to make the final call. But there's no real decision to make, I've worked rather sodding hard to get here, and while the last day or two has been a touch unhelpful, the sun is out now, the swell has dropped and the wind even eases. Game on.
I work along the cliffs, it's quite pleasant going now. Maybe I will finally get that smooth ride in to the finish. I remind myself there is always a sting in the tail. I'm not known as an optimist that's for sure, I do think a useful slice of pessimism and scepticism keeps you out of trouble at times. But now, even I think we've cracked it. Just an hour and a half or so to go. Yeehaa.
But then of course I do get stung. It starts gentle though, the tide starts to go against. Well I'll just get there a little later.
However the change in the tide lets the swell come in now of course. But at least it's running along the coast, I can live with that. The eerily quiet walls of water glide powerfully past, but happily they don't rebound back.
There are big breakers running along the reefs to the SE of the characteristic Worms Head. I take a very wide line. It's slow going against the flow, but at least the sun is out still.
As I get ready to come around the end of the elongated headland I realise there is the mother-of-all-tide-races hidden there. It's flowing E down one side and W along the other, the swell is doing separate magic on each side and I feel that, to put it bluntly, I'm buggered now. I don't think I have the strength left to hold onto my blades. This is not good.
It's a long and tense paddle around the end, I try to cut across to avoid the worst, but it just goes on and on.
Calm down, relax. Just do what you do. Paddle.
It seems to take forever but eventually I'm pointing at the beach, I have to back-paddle now and then on the bigger sets but otherwise I'm heading in, slowly but surely, towards the sand. No macho bollocks for me now - I pick the smallest surf I can spot, in the corner by the cliffs, and glide uneventfully in. TFFT - it's over. Quite a day.
As I de-kit the boat and start to trolley up the beach I look at my hands, blood is seeping from my fingers - I had held onto my blades so tightly, I've worn through the skin.
We got away with that one fatboy.
You can't keep doing that.
"I got nine lives,
Cat's eyes'
Abusin' every one of them..."
It's a long drag, up a steep hill, to get off the beach. But in a rather breathless manner I don't notice. I'm back with The Boss, the sun is out and I'm on dry-land, oh by folk, I'm on dry-land.
It was an adventure.
It was a challenge.
There were ups and there were downs.
It took 15 days to cover the 465nm or so.
But that'll do for now.
I'll write up a bit of looking-back-summary, pop up the pics, show the GPS tracks, talk about the boat and other stuff - but for now I'm off for a snooze.
Sweet dreams fatboy.
Congratulations John ! Very well done....!
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