Ferries are for wimps! I want to swim around Majorca
WHEN I was younger, I was frequently rescued by fishermen from the water – they simply refused to believe that anyone who had swum that far offshore had not been swept away.
But I’m much more nervous in the water these days, which is why I have signed up for SwimTrek’s open-water coaching week in Majorca. I am hoping to become a bit more intrepid.
My coach John obviously likes that word because he is soon using it as my nickname while barking out instructions in the Olympic-sized pool where we first train.
‘Don’t cross, Intrepid,’ shouts John, referring to the way my arms move in the water. We spend two hours each day focusing on stroke and breathing techniques, followed by humiliating stroke video analysis and useful advice on dealing with rip tides.
SwimTrek runs several open-water training courses as well as sea-swimming expeditions for latter-day Lord Byrons who want to swim the Hellespont, escape from Alcatraz or navigate the fjords of Oman by front crawl. All are now on my wish-list.
But first for some pool sessions (where I’m told to ‘articulate’ with my hips and avoid ‘early vertical forearms’) and then to the southeastern coastline of Majorca, where our pod gathers. It is made up of swimmers of all ages, nationalities and abilities. There’s a triathlete from Washington, a woman who could not swim at all three years ago, people in their 60s, former champion swimmers and ‘WI breast-strokers’.
We are split into smaller groups of
matching abilities, flanked by two safety boats which also serve as somewhere to rest or warm up.
We are based in the resort of Colonia St Jordi, which is famous for its salt flats, producing the condiment favoured by Roman epicureans and latter-day Michelin-starred chefs.
From the pretty fishing harbour, we swim across the bay to the sweep of sand at Es Dolc beach. Later, from further along the coast, we head out past lighthouse-topped headlands and around rocky islands before heading back into harbour.
As we emerge from the water, we attract curious glances from day-trippers waiting for the ferry to the Cabrera Archipelago Maritime National Park, which Pliny claimed was the birthplace of Hannibal. During the Napoleonic Wars, the park was a notorious prison camp. On our final day we take a rigid inflatable further along the coast to Cap Salines, from where we swim to Na Moltona Island for a picnic lunch, before tackling another stretch back to shore.
Our coach dons a T-shirt bearing the slogan ‘Ferries are for wimps’, and after a week of open-water training, I’m ready to agree.
I’ve improved my technique and learned to navigate using ‘crocodile eyes’ – barely lifting my head out of the water to maintain momentum and balance. Yes, I’m definitely intrepid in the water.