It’s a good feeling to be at an inaugural swim. Especially one that has the potential to become an ocean swimming classic. One sometimes wonders what it was like at the first Big Swim, or the first Cole Classic, and whether those people are still swimming, and which of the 200,000 people around you they might be. Well, today we had the opportunity to be in the first big swim from Tamarama Beach to Clovelly Bay, and we loved it. We hope they run it again every year. But it was a bit of a challenge.

The swim itself was challenging enough, but the real tough stuff happened before we made it to the water. First, there was finding Clovelly. Its not a real big beach. But we found it, and we found a free car park with no worries at all. Yes, a legal one. Feeling pretty good so far. Onto the shuttle bus.

Our next navigational challenge was the Tamarama Surf Club. We did not expect this. One would think that navigating swim registration in a single large room would represent a minimum of fuss. Not at Tamarama. At Tamarama they do things a bit different, which would be fine, if they told you about it. We walked in, found the “pre-registered” table, checked off our name and picked up the envelope with our stuff in it. As per normal. So far, so good.

Once outside, we find that the only thing the envelope contains is the timing chip. Once outside, we discover that we were supposed to move to another part of the crowded room after picking up the timing chip, in order for someone to put the chip on and write a number on our arm. We go back inside and do this. We are about to walk out when we realise that we don’t have a swim cap. This is because we have to go to yet another part of the by now very crowded room to find our swim cap, which is in a box and coloured according to our wave. Of course, the waves today are not by age group, they are by time, and the list indicating which swim wave we are in is stuck up on the wall outside. Aggh!

But back to the important stuff, i.e. the swim. Finally we found ourselves running into the water, aiming for the infamous Tama rip to take us straight out the middle and through the break, which it did. We love that Tamarama rip. Duck under a few and suddenly we’re out the back and turning south towards Bronte Reef.

Maybe we’ve just been out of the water too long, but we really, really enjoyed the next 2.4 km. But it was one tough son-of-a-scumbag to swim, and we ain’t sure it was 2.4 km. Especially the way that we swam it.

Straight after turning that first buooy, we stuck up our head and got smacked in the face by the swell. We started on our stroke and found our arm on one side pulled under, and our arm on the other side waving about in empty air. We did the only thing one can do in these circumstances. We stuck our head back under the water and swam. We checked out the little sandbars on the bottom. We moved our arms and kicked our legs. Every now and then we’d stick our head up again, in order to get smacked in the face and breathe in a bit of salt water.

Right about this point, we, along with 600-odd others, contemplated the next 2.35 km.

Usually, we pride ourselves on our ability to swim straight and true, like the proverbial arrow between the buooys. But not today. That swell had us completely confused. So we followed the people around us, who, presumably, were following us, since none of us came anywhere close to the buooys.

James Goins, the font of much swim wisdom, and the only reason we made it through the registration process, told us that someone had navigated the entire way looking underwater. They did this by following the bubbles of the divers below – the ones distributed along the course, protecting us from the sharkies. Personally, if a sharky came along, we’d prefer to be on top of the water, looking like a weird white thing with a blue stripe across the middle, than down below in a wetsuit looking like a seal. The water safety is a lot closer to hand as well.

We, of course, never saw the bubbles. Had no idea there were divers down there at all. Which just shows you how bad our navigation actually was.

We plugged along. Past Bronte, past the massive sandstone headland, past the back end of Bronte Reef and at last we were on the home stretch towards Clovelly heads. And we came to understand why the organisers held this one at high tide. As we approached the heads, the reef below got shallower and shallower, until one could almost reach out and touch the fishies. Indeed, we were in fear of our belly scraping on that reef, until suddenly we flew over the edge of it, like a bird soaring over the edge of a cliff, and found ourselves swimming into the protected waters of Clovelly Bay.

Coming in along Clovelly Bay was a totally different experience to anything else we’ve had in ocean swimming. It was sublime.

This swim had it all. Towering cliffs, interesting surf break at the start, epic journey along coast, powering finish with rocks and fishies a hand span below. It even had blueys. We’re not sure quite how they got there. It was a south-westerly. In any case, we think our bad navigation helped us escape the blueys. Or perhaps being Mr Average has some advantages, one of them being that by the time the rest of the field have passed through, the blueys have stung themselves silly and have no more to offer.

os.c. gave us a tip on this story. Use adjectives, he says. How about “epic”, “unique”, “monster”, “navigationally awkward”, “tough #$@%$#!%#@”, or how about just “water-swallowing”. Yep, that’s it. This was a water-swallowing swim.

We reckon it’s destined to be one of the classics on the ocean swim calendar. Assuming they can hold it more than one year in three. We’d like to write a lot more about it, but quite frankly, we are knackered.

Glenn Muir

David O'Brien reappeared at Tama after invisibility since North Bondi in early February. We guess the challenge of rounding Shark Point was too great a pull to resist.

Glistening Dave takes his snaps at Tama.

Boofheads galor at Tama, to be sure. And they all gravitate to Killer, resplendent in the 2008 strip of the Murwillumbah Brass Monkeys. He's a natural leader, is our Killer. Everyone wants advice from him. They ask for his autograph. He is like Jimmy Carter in his prime -- the kind of guy who, when he enters a room, immeejatly assumes its focus.

Spectators.

Once you're out, you're committed.

Spectators.

Don't do it!

Having a good time, and taking in lots of sea water.

We were reprimanded by a water safety laddie after the swim, a Mr Piss, for our heavy handed coachng of Cat McAlister as she rounded the bouee off Shark Point. "Bend that arm, Cat!" we belowed at Cat from beneath the sea. Poor Cat cops it from us at every swim. Just the day earlier, at Pacific Palms, as we bobbed around by the final bouee, we yelled at Cat, "Bend that arm, Cat!". We always manage to catch her. But that's ok, because Cat swims in the oceanswims.com squad, you see, and we are working with Cat to get her to bend her left arm, which otherwise flails flat through the air on recovery, threathing all those in the lane next to her. Just Cat's luck. Some swimmers, we never see from season to season. Cat? We catch her every time.

Bobbing around in the wide open sea off Shark Point. This is a shark's eye view of you when you need to adjust your cap and goggles.

Around Shark Point. Did you know this point is named Shark Point? Why is it called that? Did any of you wonder about this as you rounded it, bobbing around in the Pacific Ocean out at sea with no way, absolutely no way out? Did anyone see a shark? Was anyone taken by a shark? Only one thing is for sure: the TV helicopters hovering above us this entire swim weren't there because they were interested in ocean swimming.

In synch.

At sea.

Hello?

Reach out.

No press!

Lucky ocean swimmers see bottoms like this one off Cloey. Pool swimmers don't.

Nearly home.

Nearly home too.

Over the bar into Cloey. For those of you who didn't do this swim, this is what it looks like.

Pleasing sight at the finish, half way down Cloey Bay, to be welcomed by cheering party of Mrs Sparkle, characteristically waving metal sticks at us, Mr and Mrs Nolan, and is that Coffs Harbour tragic Dean Hancock at left? Pic is a bit fuzzy. Can't quite tell.

An ocean swim! Let's go!

Another ocean swim. Ho-hum.

"Can't, I'm taken!"

Evil eye.

When we returned to the beach at Pacific Palms, we had our personal welcoming party: Tacoma Jim and Mrs Sparkle, waving this long stick thing at us.

They'd heard about Glistening Dave at Pacific Palms, so when we arrived to check in, and Dave gave his pseudonym, the lady on the check-in imeejatly said, "Oh, you're Glistening Dave... We've been waiting for you ..." Yes, they'd certainly prepared, having heard that Dave had no friends -- they'd seen his photograph many times on oceanswims.com with all his friends, ie no-one -- and when they did the presentations, they broke new ground for ocean swims by starting at 5th, although neither 4th nor 5th received prizes, then they called 3rd through 1st. Dave was 1st in his preliminary codgers age group, still beaten, mind you, by the codger who won the 60+s, but despite calling out all five, no-one -- No-one! -- would come up to join him to receive their prizes; no-one would own up. But we say to the Glistener, Just carry on old friend, singing your own song, writing your own words, beating your own path, for one day, maybe one day, there will be a friend out there who will find you.