Molokai Channel
Molokai – 3rd time lucky and a swim full of apprehension and emotions.
Molokai turned out to be my curse for the seven! First trip in July 2024 I was weathered out although my 3 older children enjoyed a great holiday in Hawaii. Second trip 31 March 2025, I was bitten by a cookiercutter shark 17km from Oahu and my swim was aborted. At the time, my dad was in palliative care with not long to live and this swim meant so much to both of us. I felt like I had failed to give us both one last memory.
Third trip early March 2026 I was going back to finish what I had started back in the summer of 2024.
These swims always ask something different of you. For Molokai, it was courage and bravery. The trauma of being bitten, coupled with my dad dying just weeks after I’d had surgery, left a gaping emotional wound directly tied to this channel. I was definitely nervous, emotional and scared. But I had to pull on my big girl pants and get on with it. Not swimming, not finishing and not closing out the 7 were never options I had considered – I was just going to get it done.
The plan this time round was different to my first swim: a 3:00 am start from North Papohako Beach (Molokai), meant less time swimming in the dark with the sun up before reaching the deepest parts of the channel where the cookiecutters live. Swimming during the day presents other risks but gets us over the one that in the previous swim season took out 3 swimmers (within a month of each other). Sliding off the boat into pitch-black water was slightly terrifying. I paused, pictured myself wrapped in my superhero cape, took a deep breath and committed—swimming to shore and starting the swim.
I have never been happier to see the sunrise after three hours of swimming, or to hear dolphins moving around me. There was a moment of absolute horror when a fin broke the water directly in front of me. It wasn’t until my brain caught up that I realised it was a dolphin. Breath out. The dolphins stayed with me and my kayaker for a few hours as I made my way across the channel. When I first heard them, I knew the day was going to be successful. My dad had sent me a sign and he was doing what he had promised to do before he passed away – look after me on these swims.
What did I do for the next 14 hours and 15 minutes? During the night, I sang to myself and listened to my stroke count. I’m generally pretty good at compartmentalising things in my own head. I visualize a cabinet, open the drawer and lock away all of my thoughts that need to be kept under lock and key and then close the drawer. That draw does not get opened during a swim. While I know I can shut my thoughts down, leading into this swim and on the advice of my very good friend Rob Woodhouse I sought out a sports psychologist and had a few sessions.
I’m not ashamed to admit I needed a little extra help. My mental strength is something that I can control and these sessions were not only about adding more tools to my toolbox but also ensuring that I did everything in my control to make sure that I didn’t fail this swim. I wasn’t going to overlook anything for this swim.
A big part of the work that I did with was learning about fear. I talked openly about how I was feeling and learnt that if I embraced fear and developed a positive relationship with it, it wouldn’t cripple me. I allowed myself to think about sharks during open-water training and to notice how my body reacted to those thoughts. Over time, instead of feeling overwhelmed, I learnt that I could welcome those thoughts and then, with music (in my head), focusing on my kayaker, or simply being more present, I could deactivate those negative thought and not derail my swim. It didn’t mean I wasn’t scared—I still was—but I now had a toolbox full of tools at my disposal. Knowing this, made the swim far more enjoyable and allowed me to celebrate my body and my mind, rather than allowing negative thoughts to dictate the day.
I had two songs on my play list —Hot Stuff by Diana Ross and a Taylor Swift song I can’t quite recall. I tend to get stuck on the first verse and struggle to jump tracks, but I know I definitely had a few songs doing the loops. I also spoke to my dad, Caina, and Speedy throughout the swim, asking for their guidance and strength to help me close the day out. Thinking about my Dad was a huge part of my day. I’m sad that he didn’t get to see me close both the swim and the oceans 7 out – he would have been beyond proud.
I can’t tell you how crystal clear the water was or how much fish life there is in the channel—because I swim with my eyes closed. This is something I’ve done for all of my swims. I do this as a way of keeping my thoughts quiet and stopping my mind from running away with its imagination. I do know that, aside from the dolphins early on, Matt and the crew saw a whale toward the back end of the swim and at one point, something very, very big swam beneath me—the water eddy it created as I moved above it was unmistakable. Nope not stopping to think about what it might have been! Aside from these, there was one thing that kept me on my toes all day—the box jellyfish stings. Good lord, they are electric and certainly give you an electric shock. I had Angel’s jellyfish paste on and they still left an impression. I would hate to meet them in the water without that paste on.
The back end of a swim is always the toughest. This one, though, came with far better conditions than previous swims. I didn’t have to fight the water or the conditions and was able to maintain my stroke the entire way—such a welcome change. My swim cap even stayed in place for once (unlike Tsugaru, where it was coming off every two seconds). So, for a change, I actually felt far better physically and mentally than I normally do on the backend. That’s not to say it was easy, or that I wasn’t fatigued—or just sick of myself and my own thoughts—I absolutely was. It just wasn’t as bad as I usually experience.
I did have one wobble with 16.5 km to go. I don’t talk much during swims—I listen, feed, and take instructions if there are any. A few feeds earlier, Matt had mentioned we were well over halfway. Process that with a fatigued brain and the maths was very optimistic: I must be deep into the 30 km zone, maybe only 9 or 10 km left—three hours, that’s manageable.
Several feeds later, when I did ask, Mike told me there was still 16.5 km to go until he got in the water. I had my own pity party, I had overestimated where I was in the swim and had a lot more to swim that I had anticipated – not good for my tired head to process. I put my head down after that feed and wore a fairly sour expression for the next hour or so, mentally calculating how many feed cycles there were between Riley—who was paddling at the time—and Gerard, who was next. After a few feeds, I took a very big breath and acknowledged the truth: the problem was me. I was getting upset unnecessarily. So I dialled it back in and got on with the process of finishing those final 16.5 km.
The closer we got to Allan Davies Beach, the more challenging the conditions became. The surf crashes into the headlands and washes straight back out toward you. Combined with swirling currents underneath, 2.5 km took 1 hour and 15 minutes. It certainly kept things interesting and felt like it was never going to end.
One of the things I’ve loved about this swim from the first moment I heard about it is that Mike and some of the crew jump into the water and swim you in to finish. It’s such a cool experience—and he’s the only swim pilot who does this. I’d imagined landing on Allan Davies Beach and scrambling through the shallow, rocky water to then stand on the beach fist pumping the closing out of the 7. Ha, that was not to be. Instead, with a low tide, Mike decided I’d need to climb up three rocks to formally end the swim.
My first attempt I fell given my brain and body were doing two different things. Second climb I managed to stay upright and the swim was called. We then swam back to the boat and headed to the marina.
Molokai was unfinished business for me—the place where I was bitten, where I didn’t finish, and where grief and fear intersected. I learnt that courage and bravery are everything and that I can deal with fear.
Finishing Molokai didn’t change what came before it; I chose to write my ending – with success, with courage and with bravery. With this crossing complete, the Ocean Seven quietly has come to a close.
