...swimming from Cape Cod to Martha’s Vineyard with the help of wonderful strangers and family.
Who knew?
The morning was clear and calm, and we could even see the
finish line when we got to our starting beach, but only just barely. Martha’s
Vineyard looked like a single brushstroke of green on the horizon. The island
was the definition of “yonder.” Our on-water team consisted of two motor boats
and two kayaks and eight people, one of whom was Rob’s niece Kate Powell. Kate
makes everything better wherever she goes. Our land team was one person: Fifi
Burton, a mover and shaker extraordinaire who would turn 88 a few days after our
swim. We were so set.
“Are you the ones swimming to Martha’s Vineyard?” asked the
wide-eyed teenaged lifeguard at the Menauhant Yacht Club on Cape Cod.
“Yes. Me and my husband,” I said, pointing to Rob.
“Wow,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “Good luck!”
They say you can’t go home again. But this place where Rob
spent his childhood summers and which felt as much like home to him as any
place he had ever lived, welcomed him back with open arms. Those arms easily
stretched wide enough for me, too, no questions asked. Even the sea clamed and
warmed herself for our arrival. But this swim wasn’t just about looking back.
We had to involve strangers and acquaintances of acquaintances, who all became
as close as old friends by the time the day was over. But I’m getting ahead of
myself.
The idea of swimming from Menauhant on Cape Cod to Oak
Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard – 6.5 miles of current and creature-filled filled
sea – took hold of Rob’s imagination last year when his friend Liza Gregory
posted an article about a couple of Menauhanters who swam from Nobska Point to
West Chop, a much shorter distance between Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard with
fewer current issues. That point was a natural choice for a crossing, but Rob
remembered standing as a kid on the beach in Menauhant and looking toward
Martha’s Vineyard and wanting to cross that body of water in that place somehow.
“I didn’t necessarily think about swimming it, but I wanted
to get over there,” Rob said.
The child went on to become a nationally rank college
swimmer specializing in the 200 butterfly. He took up open water swimming after
a ten year break from the water and proceeded to excel at races in lakes,
rivers, bays and oceans. But his family had sold the summer home in Menauhant,
and we hadn’t been back to Cape Cod for anything other than funerals since he
started the open water phase of his life.
I never swam growing up, but it looked like fun when Rob did
it, so I joined him and gradually worked my way up to longer distances. So when
Rob said he wanted to do this swim, I said “me too.” We started planning in
2011. We knew we needed to pick a good day with favorable tides and we needed
escort boats and kayaks and a place to stay and a Coast Guard permit. Planning
for the swim turned into a second hobby. (Training for the swim I don’t even
want to think about. Thousands of laps in an over-heated 25 yard pool. Ick.)
Since Rob is faster, our swim would be like two solo swims
and we needed two boats and two kayaks. And the captains and paddlers had to be
experienced. This stretch of water is where the Vineyard Sound and Nantucket
Sound meet in a big swirling mess. There could be cross currents up to four
knots and there were shallow areas that could kick up big waves. And there were
sharks. Okay, the sharks were further east and north, but still. They were the
big ones.
I live to research, and luckily I easily found a Cape Cod
kayaking forum and posted my request for information and possible assistance. I
got some replies along the lines of “sounds like a great adventure” and “are
you crazy!” But I got our first member of the team, Mark Stephens, who was
extremely experienced in the waters all around Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard.
He suggested we get a copy of Eldridge’s Tide Book which we did and then spent
weeks pouring over. We learned the difference between spring and neap and ebb
and flood tides and were able to pick a good week, that of July 9th,
when the window of slack tide wouldn’t be in the middle of the night or at 6am.
No one was swimming in the dark.
We still needed boats, but felt confident to go ahead and
apply for our Coast Guard permit. It was becoming real. Then I mentioned the
swim to open water swimming pioneer Lynne Cox, and she had a friend on Martha’s
Vineyard who might have a line on a boat. Sure enough, Michael Wooley found
captain Brian Peltier for us and we were halfway there. (By that way, I owe the
Coast Guard a big shout out. They were very professional and friendly and even
a little excited about the swim.)
To get us the rest of the way, Rob starting poking around in
his memories and came up with Fifi Burton’s name, the matriarch of Menauhant.
She offered up her youngest son, Mike, and we had our second boat. Our first
kayaker then recruited a second, Dave Briggs, a worldly waterman, and we were
all set. Everyone seemed excited about the adventure. Our job now was just to
keep our fingers firmly crossed for good weather. We started checking water
temperature websites in June when the sound was 55 degrees. Gulp.
Now we just had to finish training, which included three
open water races in two weeks, the longest of which was almost five miles in
challenging conditions. We were as ready as we could be, but we were still
apprehensive about the anticipated rough conditions which can make a 6.5 mile
swim into an eight mile or longer swim. And the cold. I was worried about the
cold. I was prepared to wear a wetsuit, but I really didn’t want to.
With Kate on board, it was already a family swim. The three
of us had done crazy athletic endeavors before, and I would trust Kate with my
life, and more importantly Rob’s, so I was glad to have her along. But the
unexpected pleasure came when Linda Calmes Jones opened her house to us.
Emails flew, and we picked the actual date, July 11th,
once we saw the weather looked good. We packed up the car, kissed the dogs and
pointed ourselves north. The day before we left, a great white shark was
spotted in Chatham, which was north of where we were planning to swim, but
still a little unsettling. We joked about it a lot to keep the nerves at bay
and because it made us feel tough. You can’t even start a swim like this if you
don’t feel tough.
After meeting Kate in Boston and relieving the city of a
goodly amount of sangria and ice cream, we all headed for the Cape. It was an
easy drive to Fifi’s house with an easy stop for flowers and a card for her
upcoming birthday. It was a joy to watch Rob reminisce with Fifi about all the
people they knew. It was even more fun to watch Fifi use her power to order
Kate – who she could easily see was the youngest – to fetch things for her. After
an enjoyable hour of crazy stories, we strolled down to the beach of Rob’s
childhood and got in for a shake-out swim. The water was gently rolling. It had
to be the nicest water I have ever been in. Friendly. There is something about
very clear salt water that is neither warm nor cold that is both soothing and
energizing. We all were having a good time when I nearly ran into Rob talking
to a guy we knew from Charlottesville, George Sampson. Rob knew he also
vacationed at Menauhant, but what were the odds? George ended up coming to see
us off on our swim. Things were going so well, it was as if the universe was
rolling out the red carpet.
Now if this were a movie, it would be time to cue the
ominous music. But nope, things just continued as if guided by an invisible
loving hand.
We dried off and headed to Linda’s house where we would be
staying. Linda is Rob’s now-dead father’s second wife. We never had much of a
relationship with her, and on this trip we saw how much we had been missing.
She became a new member of the family.
We killed Tuesday with errands and more ice cream and
sitting around. We touched base by phone with our captains and kayakers. Wednesday
morning we filled our bottle with our sports drinks and packed our bags and
headed for the beach at 8:30am. Our starting point is called the baby beach in
Menauhant parlance. Not too intimidating.
Kayaker Dave was the first one there, then Mark came soon
after. Brian and Mike pulled up to the dock in their boats and we met Karen Kukolich
who would be on Brian’s boat and who could have well captained her own boat as
gifted as she was about all things aquatic. (Although she is far too young, she
reminded me of my Aunt Shirley, one of the most competent and loving women I
have ever known.) Mike brought his nephew Mack, a bright and friendly teenager,
and we introduced everyone and divvied up our bottles and clothes and then it
was time. Several folks come to see us off in addition to Fifi. Mrs. Carr, who
along with her husband bought Rob’s family’s beach house, Jeff Gwynn, who had
swim from Nobska Point and West Chop, Jeff’s wife, George, and a few happy and
curious other people we didn’t know.
Rob and I kissed each other twice – once for ourselves and
once because Fifi called for an encore - put on our goggles and walked into the
glassy water and started swimming. Two
hours and forty minutes later, Rob walked out. 55 minutes after him, so did I. Time
disappeared for me during most of my swim, and I just felt enveloped by love.
Love of swimming, love of the ocean, love of all the people involved old and
new, just love. I know it sounds sappy, but it’s what it was. Until the end of
course when the island didn’t want to let me come ashore. (The currrents kicked
up as we knew they would, but it was still a little bit of a shock.) But if it
hadn’t gotten hard, I might have felt a little cheated. The best part for me was
when Mike brought his boat over and I got to see Rob and Kate. Mike helped
Brian and Karen fend off the boats and ferries that were aiming for me.
Everyone was so amazing, and I want to go back. I want to swim
in that water as much as I can. I know it will not always be that friendly, but
I want to get to know it. I want to get to know it like family. I want to learn
more from the people who helped us. I want to do something, anything for them. It
was home.
Rob said the swim was all he could have hoped for and that the
week we spent on the Cape was more than he could have hoped for. And that week
would never have happened if we hadn’t decided to do the swim which started out
so scary in our minds when we were planning and ended up so sweet. Life moves
in funny ways, just like water.
Now is the strange time. The lonely time after all the
effort. It took eight people to get us across that water and I will always feel
bound to them. I hope they don’t mind.
And I feel even more connected to my husband and his past
and who and what made him. It was a big crazy goal to do what we did and we
were rewarded. Now to pay it back somehow.
Thank you to everyone, from the bottom of my heart. I can see that we’re
home.
