Ah, yes, we hear you say... Many swimmers weren't on the beach at Long Reef, but Glistening Dave was. He has a duty, you see.
Very different scene at Sorrento, leading into the Pier to Perignon. No tsunami here, either, but blueys on the backbeach, unlike Long Reef.
They'd put out the booees at Long Reef, and even with the beach closed, plenty of mugs went out to swim. But not officially.
Before they swam unofficially, however, they debated what they were about to do. This was no light decision, after all.
We were there!
Some weren't invited into Glistening Dave's photograrph. He plays favourites.
The Pier to Perignon is a race for the rank and file.
Confessions of a Wettie Wearer Chapter 8
Vanilla slices, coffee and currents: Pier to Perignon 2010
Is it wrong to eat half of a vanilla slice before a race? I think not. Not if you saw the decadent, delightful delicacy I purchased pre-race today. (See picture below). We know that swimming is the great equaliser, the past time that draws strangers together and as Mr Oceans reminds us, it’s “the culchural stuff. The swim is just the catalyst for the culcha.” And so, in the spirit of “culcha” I visited a fine foods business and spent $11.20 on a delightful latte with one sugar, and this little treat. Who, in their right mind could leave this in their car, to eat after a race? Not I! But how to justify this indulgence? Easy! My little family of Chestnuts (collective noun for a group of Chesters) believe.... ”You can’t wait around for other’s to honk your horn, you’ve gotta blow your own” And so my vanilla slice indulgence was a metaphorical horn blow.....for I was about to embark on my very first Pier to Perignon......Go AquaGirl!
Race fuel.
This race, steeped in history and comradeship is one like no other. Twenty-two years ago it started off as a bet between two swimming buddies (one being our good friend and “newd” swim advocator Ted Baillieu, the other his friend, Robbie Robertson) to race each other to Portsea from Sorrento, with a bottle of Dom Perignon at stake..Now, the prizes for first man and woman across the line, and first man and woman across the line SANS wetsuit, receive this very same coveted prize and carry on the tradition, just as it happened in 1989.
Being my first time, I was tentative, and yes, left the wedding rings at home again today. Before I left home, I had resigned myself to one rule....just go out there and swim. I was trying not to get too weighed down in competitiveness, or race strategy. Doing that could lose the magic of the event. I’d been very lucky to get in, as the race is capped at seven hundred competitors and fills up really quickly. Now I’ve completed it, I know why.
The weather was gloomy and overcast but the conditions were perfect. Pre-race, I’d met up with Jo from the great Dromana Bay swim, Oceanswims’ own James Bennett, who was about to embark on his tenth Pier to Perignon, and Leon, James’ swimming friend. (Make sure you read James’ report)I listened carefully to their race tips, not with the intent of course, of slaying minutes off my final time, but all in the aide of ensuring I had an enjoyable swim. The advantage being, that as this was my first one, so I had no prior times to compare to, and no preconceived ideas.
I took a moment and looked around at the start line, with all seven hundred competitors starting together and it reminded me of a school reunion. Old friends shaking hands, jovial comments of playful sledging, race catch ups and reviews amongst friends, old race strategies being whispered from one ear to the other, hand signals mapping out important land marks and points in the course to be made aware of. It was quiet, contained, almost reverent. Not the usual hustle and bustle that surrounds a race start. Bagpipes echoed out over the water, the ferry moved away from the terminal and families lined the beach and pier, to farewell their thrill seekers.
Wistful.
The dullness of the day left the water with a deep emerald green hue about it and within the first two hundred metres of this race; I had seen an enormous stingray mooching about on the sea floor. Mother Nature was treating me already. And so, as with most races I’d competed in over the season, the decision had to be made, swim wide or hug the buoys. The advantage of swimming wide at this course, mean t I’d have the strong current sweeping me along, but buoy hugging felt the safest option. I was arguing with myself as I was stroking along. I looked to my left and right and thought I’d go with what the locals were doing and the locals were taking advantage of a ripper current out wide. Decision made. I made my move and felt for a while that I’d missed the point. But then ...I felt it and it felt like I was being dragged along by a long stretchy elastic band; it was glorious.
I didn’t notice turbulent waters as I passed Point King; I was probably just too euphoric. It was quiet out there; no traffic noises, or boats, or people or loud speakers, just me and the water. I was surrounded by swimmers for a change, as you’re sure to be swimming beside at least one other person when you start with seven hundred. This offered me the safety net I was looking for, and yet I still felt like I was out there on my own having a wonderful adventure. I could just swim and swim forever like this.
Long deep strokes, one after the other, looking ahead for the final buoy. When I saw it I knew I’d have to make my way into shore sooner rather than later. I felt almost disappointed ....can’t this go on for a bit longer? I felt like I was being forced to leave a party early when things were only just starting to warm up. But nevertheless, it was no time to argue with myself now, otherwise I’d be washed past the Portsea pier before I knew it. I did have the first and only fight on my hands coming back across that current and felt my legs being dragged back in the current’s direction as I was starting to pull in. Such a strange feeling. My muscles felt tight and I had to work a bit harder....love a bit of muscle burn. And so my first Pier to Perignon experience had ended with a 50.11. That time is purely an indication of the fast conditions and not of my swimming prowess.
I felt high all afternoon. I saw our James Bennett collect his ten year prize, but sadly he missed out on the trip to Fiji. He still had a smile from ear to ear, just as I had, he with his tenth and me with my first. Leon loved it too, so did Dromana Jo. Our bus trip back to Sorrento had a bit of light entertainment where James and Leon found some new friends, non-swimmers but strong supporters of Lycra...ladies of my own heart.
I knew one thing. For as sure as I was going to celebrate my first Pier to Perignon with the second half of that delicious vanilla slice, that I had just found my new favourite Victorian open water swim and promised myself I’d come back again next year.
Not many official swims left for me now; Bonbeach on the 14th March, an interclub race at the end of March and then Byron Bay in May. I’m really looking forward to that.
Hope you had success in your own swimming adventures over the weekend.
Till next time Thrill Seekers,
Nicole Chester (AquaGirl72)
Follow the adventures of Aquagirl72 on her tweets (click here)
James Bennett ends his season with the Pier to Perignon... But it was an eventful journey on the way...
Somewhere around September 2009 I started counting down towards two major events in my life -
1 – turning 40; and
2 – the start of the ocean swimming season.
Both events are significant obviously; however I was looking forward to one more than the other. The only silver lining I could see was that I would be among the youngest in my new age group (at least for a year or so). I tried to channel my mid-life crisis into training for the new season; however this was difficult given the small windows of opportunity that exist for middle aged men with young twins living in the leafy eastern suburbs of Melbourne. I still think there would be a market for a 24 hour Olympic pool but I guess the business model is yet to be proven.
I had also told OS.C that I would attempt to write up a few races over the season, a task that I manifestly failed (until now). Fortunately AquaGirl has been an active Victorian correspondent and provided great words and pictures from various races in the wetsuit state.
Perhaps a way to set the scene (and lessen my guilt) is to provide a re-cap of my season so far before providing a description of the big race – the Pier to Perignon. Often the last race but always the main race as far as I’m concerned. 4km along the coast from Sorrento to Portsea. Scenic route, seismic currents and an army of loyal followers make this the highlight of many people’s season.
The race started as a bet between two mates a bit over 20 years ago and now has a limit of about 700 swimmers which is reached very quickly after entries open. The first male and female win a bottle of Dom Perignon (hence ‘Pier to Perignon’) and recently this prize has been extended to the first non-wetsuits swimmers of each gender. There are no age groupings and the organisers tend to promote the event “as more about personal achievement, rather than competition.”
Firstly to the re-cap . . .
Swim for Your Life, Brighton, 12 December
YUK. Nobody’s fault (certainly not the organisers) but the day just seemed to go all wrong for me. The weather was cold and windy and the water was very choppy. Suffice to say that the beginning of the season was not much fun; however 18 minutes later I finished the race . . . . . . and then things got worse. My trusty co-pilot and the twins had been braving the elements on the beach and at some stage she had lost her diamond and ruby ring in the sand. So we searched and we searched and we searched. I mentioned our plight to the announcer, who then encouraged people to help us, and they searched and they searched and then it started to rain. At this point the expression “should’ve stayed in bed” seemed very pertinent.
The next few hours were spent on the phone to the insurance company and anyone who might be able to supply a metal detector. The wonders of Google led us to an eccentric gentleman in Sydney who had limited social skills but had managed to set up a national network of ‘treasure hunters’. Two hours later a crack team was deployed to Brighton and the ring was found. A happy ending to a miserable day.
Point Leo Swim Classic, 26 December
The biggest challenge with the Pt Leo swim is usually ensuring that the body is not too battered from the day before; presumably this was at least one factor behind the 2pm start. The solitary drive down was a nice contrast to Christmas day which involved over-excited gangs of children juiced to the eyeballs on sugar distributing 3 cubic truckloads of wrapping paper about the house – all standard stuff really.
I arrived in good time and wandered to registration to collect the usual paraphernalia – timing band, cap, swim info and of course the ubiquitous t-shirt that accompanies almost every ocean swim in Victoria. For better or worse about ¾ of the t-shirts I have received over the years have gone straight to the charity clothing bin. They aren’t necessarily ‘bad’ but so many of them seem to be made of average fabric with uninspiring designs. Thankfully, Pt Leo is a consistent provider of good quality t-shirts with a pleasantly low key emblem on the front and sponsors on the back. Last year I registered on the day and consequently missed out on any t-shirt that might have a remote chance of fitting me – needless to say I had pre-registered this time and was rewarded with a black XL shirt from a prominent sponsor.
The first buoy at Pt Leo is about 70m out at which point you turn left and commence a clockwise diamond shape course. The first turn is (IMHO) a bit close to shore and the peloton is usually still a mass of tightly knit bodies that tries to squeeze around the apex of the buoy; fortunately the second turn is several hundred metres later and allows the pecking order to establish itself before heading into the back straight and beyond.
When I first moved to Melbourne many years ago I was constantly told that Pt Leo was a ‘surf beach’ which seemed to imply waves of a reasonable size; however every time I went there it was completely flat. These observations proved 100% consistent until I did my first race there (circa 2003) whereupon it finally lived up to its ‘surf beach’ reputation. Ever since then it seems guaranteed that a box full of waves will be delivered to Pt Leo on Christmas Day and opened on Boxing Day for the enjoyment of all race competitors. The paradox for me is that I love ocean swimming but I hate it when it’s rough – maybe it’s because my speed decreases exponentially with the size of the waves or maybe I am just a wimp in a wetsuit who struggles to swim over the hills.
At Portsea, at the finish, Aquagirl's world went awry.
Great Australia Day Swim, Brighton, 26 January
On Australia Day there was no less than 4 swims for the Victorian based ocean swimmer to choose from – Brighton, Mount Martha, Williamstown and Inverloch. I headed for Brighton on the basis of proximity and curiosity. The curiosity element was due to Michael Klim lending his name to the event in the form of the Klim Relay Swim, a charity fund raising event to be conducted after the main race. Many punters will be aware that Daniel Kowalski has been a regular and successful competitor on the Victorian ocean swimming circuit but I had never seen or heard of Kilm taking part in such events.
The first thing I noticed as I headed for registration was the tsunami of corporate sponsorship associated with the event – health funds, high performance cars, high-end clothing labels and skin care products to name a few. My registration ‘show bag’ had no fewer than three items of clothing (cap, t-shirt and wind-cheater) and enough glossy brochures to fill a mail box. The weather was beautiful and there was an almost carnival like atmosphere with mascots handing out balloons, beach tents popping up along the waters edge and the bald one himself wandering through the crowds, happily signing autographs and posing for pictures.
Thankfully the water was flat which provided a pleasant and welcome contrast to my previous races. The course started in deep water and went clockwise around the Royal Brighton Yacht Club. The distance was purported to be 1.2km (the Victorian default it seems) but I have my doubts given that only 7 people managed to go under 20 minutes and the average time was 31 minutes – not that I’m complaining given the glorious conditions.
The only downside to the race was the serial toe tapper who latched on to me somewhere on the back straight. I tried to harness my irritation and speed away from this podiatric pest but my efforts were to no avail. I briefly contemplated stopping to give my passenger the proverbial earful but decided it would be a waste of energy. Fortunately the last two hundred metres provided an obstacle course of slower swimmers that allowed me to escape, albeit with only a seven second advantage at the finish.
The main race was followed by the Klim Relay that was conducted in a good natured and entertaining manner and involved Daniel Kowalski, Johh Konrads (I think) and of course Michael Klim. A nice end to a good day out.
Queenscliff Blue Water Challenge, 30 January
Queenscliff has always been one of my preferred swims on the Victorian calendar. Great location, great t-shirts and (usually) well organised. Unfortunately last year was marred by bad weather and a 45 minute delay on the start line. The delay itself was annoying but it was made exponentially worse by the complete lack of any communication or explanation from the organisers – thankfully this year was back on track and I (like AquaGirl) had a great swim.
Queenscliff also provided the first chance to go head to head with my friendly rival who also just turned 40 and also has two young children (ie no handicapping or adjustments needed and no excuses allowed). We finished the last season tied on two races each, although I think I was lucky to beat him in last year’s Pier to Perignon (more about that later) and I suspect we were curious to see who would prevail in the first hit out of the season.
AquaGirl reported that “The start was clean and without biffo”, however this was not my experience; it certainly wasn’t the worst I’ve encountered but I’m starting to suspect that any wave start involving a large number of males will almost inevitably involve a degree of “rubbing shoulders”. Fortunately I found clear water within the first hundred metres and my rival was within sight, albeit slightly ahead of me. The back straight is a long slog at Queenscliff and a slight chop added to the difficulty factor this year. At some stage my rival seemed to have given me the slip, or more precisely I had lost track of which black seal I was pursuing.
After the back straight we took a sharp right hand turn and headed back towards the pier. I seemed to be tracking a loose group of about 5 swimmers as we headed towards the last buoy situated about 100 metres out from the finish line. As we made the last turn I did the clichéd internal yelling at myself to try and muster up some miraculous surge of speed to blast me over the line ahead of the pack. Needless to say it didn’t work.
After crossing the line I saw my rival just ahead in the finishing chute, turns out he had beaten me by just five seconds which wasn’t too bad (as I was to discover in a later race). We grabbed drinks and a banana and commenced our race de-brief as the endorphins started to wash over us. Upon finishing our dissection I wandered back to relive my trusty co-pilot of twin watching duties. She headed for a swim and I took over supervision of our daughter’s seaweed collection project.
An enjoyable return to form for Queenscliff.
Port to Park, South Melbourne, 6 February
Saturday 6 February provided another choice of swims for the Victorian punter – AquaGirl and my rival went to Dromana while I stayed closer to home for the Port to Park in South Melbourne.
I have two memories of the Port to Park swim over the years -
1 – Winning my age group at the first swim in 2007 (I suspect this was due mainly to another clash with Dromana); and
2 – Deciding not to do the swim in 2009 because it was 45+ degrees.
Not surprisingly neither of these memories were re-enacted for the 2010 swim. The weather was pleasantly warm, albeit slightly windy and choppy, and my result was not quite as illustrious this time.
The swim is a straight line course about 50 metres out from shore; basically follow the buoys and turn left at the last one. My wave consisted of males and females and two age groups (I think). After the usual starting flurry I settled into a rhythm and seemed to have a fair bit of clear water, although visibility was not great. Somewhere around half-way someone pulled alongside and proceeded to edge past– I tried to delude myself that I was leading and this imposter was stealing my glory but alas he continued his steady progress and completed his passing exercise. Several minutes later I crossed the line and discovered (to my pleasant surprise) that I had in fact been relegated from second to third in my age group. After giving my name to the relevant scribe I began wandering back to the clubhouse for an enjoyable (but basic) shower and sausage in bread.
The presentations were underway in good time and I was rewarded with a $25 voucher for a prominent Mexican restaurant which (I’m fairly sure) was the same reward I received a few years earlier when I won my age group. This year winners received a bottle of French bubbles and a matching ice bucket (there may have also been other goodies that I did not see in the winner’s bags) – suffice to say sponsorship seems to have increased for the Port to Park swim, a fact reinforced by the numerous spot prizes. If next year’s swim doesn’t clash with any others then I suspect they will get a substantially larger number of punters vying for the goodies on offer.
A good swim close to home.
Point to Point, Hampton, 13 February
Challenging is a word that comes to mind (and I think featured in AquaGirl’s report at least once or twice). My first challenge was dealing with the parking meter that ate my $$ and didn’t deliver a ticket – I contemplated ringing the ‘faults’ hotline but in the interests of time and peace of mind I simply walked to the next meter and paid (again).
Challenge number two was staying optimistic as I looked at the murky unfriendly water and challenge number three was accepting that my friendly rival would probably kick my proverbial given his superior rough water skills. I decided to lower my expectations in the hope of minimising disappointment.
The Hampton course is fairly similar to South Melbourne – deep water start, straight line course, turn left at the end. When I was walking to the start I had noticed that the numerous buoys weren’t in a particularly straight line, consequently I decided to stay out from the buoys and hopefully plot a ‘straighter’ course of my own. Approximately 23 minutes later I concluded that my strategy may have had intellectual merit but in reality it sucked and probably added unnecessary length to my ordeal. Sticking to the buoys may not have involved a dead straight line but it would almost certainly have reduced my margin of error.
As I crossed the finish line I saw my friendly rival already sipping a drink and looking relaxed. He assured me had only been there for ‘about a minute’, however I think he was just been polite given the official results show it was closer to three minutes. I was down two nil for the season. I consoled my self with water, red snakes and inward assurances that it was all good training for the big race in two weeks time.
Cerberus, 20 February
The penultimate swim of my season had arrived. The weather was hot and windy and the water was indeed “lumpy”. After registering and getting my head around the new course (long rectangle, two buoys a long way out and one buoy just near the finish), I wandered along the beach looking for somewhere to set up base. I soon found my friendly rival and we commenced our preparations and observations of the earlier waves. We quickly concluded that it would be tough heading out and (hopefully) assisted coming back in.
The new start was near the end of the beach and involved a warning along the lines of “those two blokes with the surfboard are standing next to rocks so steer clear of them” – so we did. Moment’s later a mass of 40+ males in yellow caps were heading out towards the first buoy. To be precise there were 108 of us – easily the biggest wave of the day and close to a quarter of all swimmers in the race.
Once again I could see my friendly rival just ahead of me and I swore (literally and figuratively) that I wouldn’t let him get away this time. The chase was going well until somewhere past the first buoy where waves and slower traffic intervened and once again I lost touch. Disappointed but not deterred I pressed on to the next buoy whereupon we turned back towards the beach and picked up some tail waves.
From this point on I seemed to find a rhythm and was starting to pick off yellow caps who had perhaps gone out too hard in the first half. The final leg was a long stretch with one last buoy about 100 metres offshore. As I approached this last turn I noticed I was closing in on my rival. Inspired by my progress I pushed on and edged closer, then edged past, then touched sand, then stood up and ran the last 50 metres or so through the shallows and up the beach across the line. It felt good, not necessarily in a “nerh nerh, beat you” kind of way but more that I had extracted a good swim from myself.
Good preparation for the big swim.
Pier to Perignon
The day grew closer, the weather forecast became more average… was this to be the season of mediocre conditions? My friendly rival and I drove down together given that our respective co-pilots and kids were staying home. During the drive we swapped numerous swimming anecdotes from races gone by and races we would like to do as we surveyed the grey skies ahead of us. Possible showers and windy was the prediction emanating from the Bureau of Meteorology but I decided that blind optimism and pig headed ignorance of the evidence was always the best approach. Thankfully the windscreen wipers stayed off and all the water we could see was surprisingly flat.
We arrived in good time and walked the last few hundred metres of our respective pilgrimages. My primary mission was to do the swim and thereby enter the hallowed club of those who had swum the event 10 times; my rival’s mission was to redeem his result from last year, a memory that still caused him to wake in a cold sweat from time to time. At last year’s race I had given him some magnanimous advice which he manifestly ignored – “head out to the deep water to get the maximum tide assistance” I said, so of course he stuck to the shore and has been haunted by the inevitable result ever since.
After registration, we mingled with various familiar faces from last weekend, and the weekend before etc. My phone buzzed with a text from AquaGirl who had just arrived at the beach and soon after we were chatting face to face and enjoying the anticipation that starts to build before big events. At about this time I realised that my goggles had broken – my heart skipped a beat and an extra dose of adrenalin was dispatched internally to help me deal with this equipment failure. I was reasonably sure I had a dodgy spare pair somewhere but I hadn’t worn them for several centuries, however before I knew it my affable adversary had shoved his high quality back-up pair into my hand. A lovely gesture that is (hopefully) typical amongst ocean swimming rivals. (A pair of View Fully Sicks is on its way to you, James. You will never use another goggle again, apart from Fully Sicks – click here to find out more: os.c).
Your correspondent James Bennett receives his Pier to Perignon 10-year award from the event's "humble founders".
By now the water was starting to fill up with the proverbial black seal colony getting ready for its annual migration. We slipped on our wetsuits, slapped on our pink caps, squeezed on our goggles and joined the masses for the ritual warm up in the shallow waters and beyond. I headed out past the last moored boat to see if I could feel the current. I stopped, looked down and become conscious that I hadn’t stopped at all – the tide was already trying to take me to Portsea. I laughed to myself momentarily before realising I could’ve just done something very stupid, fortunately I made it back to the shallows without going beyond my usual level of warm up exertion.
The moment of truth and departure was almost upon us.
The start takes place in one wave and seems to go remarkably smoothly given the number of people involved. There seems to be a fair degree of ‘self-seeding’ with the slower swimmers generally letting the psychos lead the charge. Several years ago a friend remarked that the start looked like some kind of bizarre religious ceremony, which I guess it is in some ways.
My general understanding has always been that everyone is supposed to be on the beach for the start, however this year (and last I think) there was a small group of people that just started walking slowly into the water about a minute or so before the start, the unfortunate ripple effect ensued and soon almost everyone was wandering in assuming there had been some official directive or relaxation of procedure. Presumably the logistics of getting everyone back to shore are not possible in the few seconds available. Disappointing that people don’t self-regulate but hopefully the finishing order wasn’t significantly altered by it.
And off we went, all out to sea, some chasing a bottle of Dom Perignon, many chasing a PB or ego points and many more just looking to enjoy this iconic swim on a slightly grey day. The course is fairly straightforward in some respects – swim out to sea, turn left, swim to Portsea then turn left again; however within that framework there are lots of different ways to navigate. It’s possible to start from Sorrento at a 45 degree angle and weave through the moored boats on the way out to sea, the other option is to take the clearer path straight out before turning towards Portsea – I have concluded that the latter is preferable because you catch the current quicker and avoid the boat based obstacle course. I was busily executing this part of my race plan when I noticed that my friendly rival was doing the same alongside me. We eyeballed each other as we headed out with the tide until (as usual it seems) he started to pull slowly away from me. I wasn’t too worried at this point given we had a long way to go and knowing that I would be rewarded with my special plaque from the humble founders no matter who beat me.
And so the annual migration spread out as we headed inexorably for Portsea. The water was generally calm and free of any marine life that might entertain or endanger the rubber army that was cruising along the surface. My swim seemed to be largely a solitary affair this year; any groupings seemed to be occasional and brief. I had the occasional look through my new goggles to see if there were people farther out to sea (there were) but I assured myself they were probably doing the same speed.
Pier to Perignon founders Robbie Robertson and Ted Baillieu front up each year to keep their dreams alive. Here, they're celebrating a laydee swimmer who's done something remarkble, ten Piers to Perignon, 15 or 20, or something like that. We're not sure, but we can glean from the body language and the props. The wunnerful thing about this swim is that, whilst it awards prizes to the overall winners, there are no categories, the emphasis is on participation, not elites, and it rewards participation through repeat performances. It's an iconic swim.
The turn-off to Portsea always seems to come quicker than expected. Many have been known to miss it completely and then face the horrendous task of swimming back against the tide to finish. I started to plot my trajectory accordingly and joined up with the various swimmers who were all converging on the apex of the turn. The finish was in sight and everyone seemed to rise to the occasion. I settled into a long loping stroke for as long as I could then switched to the running on empty, adrenaline fueled flaying of arms type style that we all do sometimes.
A few moments later I was staggering over the line, handing back my transponder and heading straight for the muffins, bananas and red cordial. I re-fueled and felt the warm rush of endorphins wash over me while watching the masses emerge from the sea and replaying the race in my mind. My stopwatch had ceased on exactly 42 minutes and I had enjoyed my tenth race – both of these facts were good but in the short term I tried to focus on the latter, although I knew I would indulge in some over-analysis of times and positions when the full results were available.
I soon found my rival who seemed to think I had beaten him. I didn’t argue but I was slightly sceptical given that the last time I had seen him I was looking at his feet. Sure enough he was right and I had crossed the line ahead of him which meant we had tied the season two all again. I later realised that we had actually gone head to head in the same four swims in both seasons and had the same result at each one. I declined to mention this to him given that our rivalry has a pleasantly low key element to it and I didn’t want him to think I was obsessed or anything.
We headed for the road to find the bus that had been entrusted with our bags but found no bus, no bags and about 20 wetsuited bodies loitering around. We quickly established that the bus was already making return trips to Sorrento and would be with us soon. A short while later we headed back to the beach and encountered AquaGirl coming up the path – she was pumped on post race endorphins and had obviously enjoyed the swim immensely. We smiled as we re-capped and re-lived the buzz we had all just experienced – three addicts still enjoying their high.
The race was won by Zac Charlton with Ebony Ebenwaldner the first woman home which (from memory) was similar to the 2008 result where Ebony was the overall winner and Zac the first male home. The first male non-wetsuiter was Ed Roche and I think the first female was Aida Tuciute (apologies if I got that wrong).
A little while later I was shaking hands with the humble founders and accepting my framed montage of the course that is given to those who have completed ten swims. About seven of us were introduced with a few background words that we had been invited to supply in the days before. After that approximately ten names were read out in quick succession because they were “too lazy to respond” to the humble founders.
Numerous pictures were taken and various handshakes exchanged before the crowds dispersed. We headed back to wait for the bus and lament what was the end of the season for many people. We boarded the bus with our fellow swimmers and a bunch of people who (it turned out) had spent a few hours getting very relaxed at the Portsea pub. As we disembarked at Sorrento I asked if they had been watching someone do the swim, “Was there a swim race??” came the reply – I was about to launch into a passionate narrative about ocean swimming and the Pier to Perignon when I thought of the classic phrase “if you have to ask I cant explain”. AquaGirl and my friendly rival didn’t need to ask and neither did the hundreds of others who had just taken part.
We said our farewells and headed home - another edition of the Pier to Perignon had come to a close.
And here they are... the 10 year winners. These mugs are the ones most celebrated. We love this swim.
