Isle of Wight Pier to Pier

[Rick O'Shea]

I shall be swimming, for the first time, the pier to pier event from Sandown to Shanklin in August.

Does anyone have any tips for doing this swim? Will it be easy to see the finishing point from the sea? Is it best to keep near the beaches or to head out into deeper water? Also, which side of the pier in Shanklin will signify the end of the race?

I've asked the organiser for help but she said I won't be fast enough to win it, so I should just follow everyone else. There's confidence!
_____________________________

Rick Ambertini

[Leprechaun]

I shall be swimming, for the first time, the pier to pier event from Sandown to Shanklin in August.Does anyone have any tips for doing this swim? Will it be easy to see the finishing point from the sea? Is it best to keep near the beaches or to head out into deeper water? Also, which side of the pier in Shanklin will signify the end of the race?

questions questions questions - all I know is its very much helped by the tide so you will fly along. I havent swum it before but the organiser knows her onions - have faith brother. See you there - several of the Guildford Lido Legends are on an outing that day, but first three of us have to are dodge supermarket trolleys and discarded dogs in the River Lee in Cork this weekend.

[Immy]

Hi Rick - I have entered the Isle of Wight swim for the first time too ("entered" in my case does not necessarily mean I will make it to the start!!)

one thing that I have heard is that Shanklin Pier actually blew down in a storm years ago, so the race goes to where the pier used to be but there is nothing to see - anybody know if this is true? :eek:

several people have advised that the swim is, indeed, tide-assisted - I sincerely hope so!!

Good Luck to those going to the Cork River swim :wave:

[simonelli]

Yes - I did it in 2004 - and No, you can't see the finish buoy! Creepy! You are guided by canoeists. It is tide assisted which means that some can finish the 2.5 miles in about 20 minutes!

Here's my full account of the experience:

It was in 2004 when we went en famille for our annual week on this beautiful Island. As luck would have it, I had a corporate party to entertain at on the Saturday night of our arrival. So we settled into our hotel and then I drove off to the Bembridge Sailing Club to do the 'gig'. I stumbled back into the hotel at about two in the morning and managed four or five hours sleep - what the hell, I was on holiday now and I could be as sleepy and relaxed as I wanted to be the following day.

It was at about seven o'clock that I was woken by Kathryn breathlessly telling me the news that "There's a pier-to-pier swim today - you've got to do it!" - she's so thoughtful about my swimming hobby.

Shell-shocked, bleary-eyed and really not in the mood, I was dragged down to the seafront to check this out. I was asked a few questions about my swimming fitness and given the go-ahead to take part. Great - I was still in two or three minds. A deckchair had been my only planned destination that morning, not a two and a half mile swim! I had only ever done swimming pool miles (approx 60 lengths of a 25 metre pool), albeit quite regularly, and to plunge into the sea on what was a not very warm and slightly drizzly early morning after a hard night's work and not much sleep was not really giving me spasms of delight.

But curiosity got the better of me. If I squinted I could just about make out the destination landmark along the coast that organiser airily waved a hand at. "You can just float and the tide will take you there," an old hand offered. This was the advice I wanted to hear. But, of course, I didn't heed it.

On the starter's whistle, the throng of super-fit, regularly-competing Club swimmers from all around the country, numbering 87 in total, charged into the surf. I followed, gingerly tip-toeing into the shallows, recoiling at the coldness and gradually submerging myself, while the fish-like humans ahead of me disappeared over the horizon.

We had to swim around one large red marker buoy and then head, parallel to the beach, to the final destination red buoy where we would turn right and head towards the beach in Shanklin.

I bravely managed a few minutes of crawl out to the first buoy, but the excitement, the splashing of others easily overtaking me and the exertion of trying to swim faster than usual quickly caused me to lapse back into the easier to maintain breast stroke.

Swiftly resigned to coming in last, I was relieved by the presence of canoeoists who were marshalling the route and making sure they could be on hand if anyone got into trouble.

It was like a watery desert ahead of me. I couldn't see the buoy I was headed for. The salt clouded my goggles and parched my throat and, after a while, my arms and legs ached. The cold of the water made me breathe more deeply and I could feel my chest muscles expanding like they have never done so before. It would have been quite scary without the canoeist who had stayed back to be my one and only evidence of human life on this planet.

"Are we half way yet?" I asked him.

"Nowhere near, mate." he chuckled.

I fell into a gloom. Decisions lead you to places you had no vision of. Why had I decided to to do this? Why couldn't I stop right now and head back to the shore? Of course, I could have done, but something, pride maybe, not letting the family down (they were walking the distance on teh shore to meet me at the finish line) made me keep going.

Some sort of Zen like trance descended as my limb movements clicked into automatic mode. I had long forgotten all the 'correct' methods of swimming and had seemingly invented a brand new stroke - a sort of wild hybrid of breast stroke, crawl and doggy paddle. I think it would be called 'drowning'.

"Nearly there."

I awoke with a jolt. What? Already? It seemed like only five minutes since I had last spoken to the canoeist. True enough I could see the final buoy looming up ahead. Then, a sight which affected both me and the spectators on shore, all the other canoeists paddled up and formed a huge cordon around me, like sheep dogs gathering in an errant sheep. As I struggled towards the shallows, hungry to be able to feel solid ground once more, their arc formation followed behind. It was quite moving.

When I found ground beneath my feet, my legs no longer worked properly. I tried to manfully run the final 25 metres to the finishing line but succeeded only in doing a sort of rubbery wobble going in every direction except forwards. The crowd was cheering, the PA was announcing my name and offering congratulations and my family was waiting at the top of the beach all wreathed in smiles and, I daresay, not a little amazement.

It turns out that I did the distance in 57 minutes and was 85th out of the 87 swimmers. Not because I beat them, though, but simply because they had to withdraw half way through. I hoped they were alright. So, I did, literally come in last.

The rest of the holiday was a REAL holiday after all that!

I haven't been tempted to do it again - not until I'm REALLY fit. If that ever happens!

[Leprechaun]

Yes - I did it in 2004 - and No, you can't see the finish buoy! Creepy! You are guided by canoeists. It is tide assisted which means that some can finish the 2.5 miles in about 20 minutes!

Here's my full account of the experience:

It was in 2004 when we went en famille for our annual week on this beautiful Island. As luck would have it, I had a corporate party to entertain at on the Saturday night of our arrival. So we settled into our hotel and then I drove off to the Bembridge Sailing Club to do the 'gig'. I stumbled back into the hotel at about two in the morning and managed four or five hours sleep - what the hell, I was on holiday now and I could be as sleepy and relaxed as I wanted to be the following day.

It was at about seven o'clock that I was woken by Kathryn breathlessly telling me the news that "There's a pier-to-pier swim today - you've got to do it!" - she's so thoughtful about my swimming hobby.

Shell-shocked, bleary-eyed and really not in the mood, I was dragged down to the seafront to check this out. I was asked a few questions about my swimming fitness and given the go-ahead to take part. Great - I was still in two or three minds. A deckchair had been my only planned destination that morning, not a two and a half mile swim! I had only ever done swimming pool miles (approx 60 lengths of a 25 metre pool), albeit quite regularly, and to plunge into the sea on what was a not very warm and slightly drizzly early morning after a hard night's work and not much sleep was not really giving me spasms of delight.

But curiosity got the better of me. If I squinted I could just about make out the destination landmark along the coast that organiser airily waved a hand at. "You can just float and the tide will take you there," an old hand offered. This was the advice I wanted to hear. But, of course, I didn't heed it.

On the starter's whistle, the throng of super-fit, regularly-competing Club swimmers from all around the country, numbering 87 in total, charged into the surf. I followed, gingerly tip-toeing into the shallows, recoiling at the coldness and gradually submerging myself, while the fish-like humans ahead of me disappeared over the horizon.

We had to swim around one large red marker buoy and then head, parallel to the beach, to the final destination red buoy where we would turn right and head towards the beach in Shanklin.

I bravely managed a few minutes of crawl out to the first buoy, but the excitement, the splashing of others easily overtaking me and the exertion of trying to swim faster than usual quickly caused me to lapse back into the easier to maintain breast stroke.

Swiftly resigned to coming in last, I was relieved by the presence of canoeoists who were marshalling the route and making sure they could be on hand if anyone got into trouble.

It was like a watery desert ahead of me. I couldn't see the buoy I was headed for. The salt clouded my goggles and parched my throat and, after a while, my arms and legs ached. The cold of the water made me breathe more deeply and I could feel my chest muscles expanding like they have never done so before. It would have been quite scary without the canoeist who had stayed back to be my one and only evidence of human life on this planet.

"Are we half way yet?" I asked him.

"Nowhere near, mate." he chuckled.

I fell into a gloom. Decisions lead you to places you had no vision of. Why had I decided to to do this? Why couldn't I stop right now and head back to the shore? Of course, I could have done, but something, pride maybe, not letting the family down (they were walking the distance on teh shore to meet me at the finish line) made me keep going.

Some sort of Zen like trance descended as my limb movements clicked into automatic mode. I had long forgotten all the 'correct' methods of swimming and had seemingly invented a brand new stroke - a sort of wild hybrid of breast stroke, crawl and doggy paddle. I think it would be called 'drowning'.

"Nearly there."

I awoke with a jolt. What? Already? It seemed like only five minutes since I had last spoken to the canoeist. True enough I could see the final buoy looming up ahead. Then, a sight which affected both me and the spectators on shore, all the other canoeists paddled up and formed a huge cordon around me, like sheep dogs gathering in an errant sheep. As I struggled towards the shallows, hungry to be able to feel solid ground once more, their arc formation followed behind. It was quite moving.

When I found ground beneath my feet, my legs no longer worked properly. I tried to manfully run the final 25 metres to the finishing line but succeeded only in doing a sort of rubbery wobble going in every direction except forwards. The crowd was cheering, the PA was announcing my name and offering congratulations and my family was waiting at the top of the beach all wreathed in smiles and, I daresay, not a little amazement.

It turns out that I did the distance in 57 minutes and was 85th out of the 87 swimmers. Not because I beat them, though, but simply because they had to withdraw half way through. I hoped they were alright. So, I did, literally come in last.

The rest of the holiday was a REAL holiday after all that!

I haven't been tempted to do it again - not until I'm REALLY fit. If that ever happens!

Great story - and well done to you! The feeling of finishing a sea swim is always fantastic however long.

For those thinking of it, it may seem a long swim but tidal assisted. you fly along and the difficulty is overshooting the turn in to the beach and the finish.

A great bunch of people that organise it - and a very fast swim too.

We will make sure the date is publicised when Jenny Ball tells us.

[Leprechaun]

We will make sure the date is publicised when Jenny Ball tells us.

It will be Sunday 17th August. Jenny is just preparing forms etc.

[Leprechaun]

It will be Sunday 17th August. Jenny is just preparing forms etc.

SANDOWN – SHANKLIN SEA SWIM 2008
Sunday August 17th.12.30 pm. start. Distance approx.1.8 miles with tide

If you want an application email the delightful Jenny Ball at jenballswim21874@aol.com

Most swimmers will finish well before 1:15 with the tide - plenty time for a beer and a bask in the sun.

[Stevie_k]

Good one Simonelli. I enjoyed reading that.

If you ever near 4000 posts like i am, you'll be all burned out ;) but you'll be one hell of a typist!

[amanda.corndoll]

simonelli, what a lovely post- really enjoyed that! well done to you for the swim too!