The Kaiwi Channel
ft. Lake Tahoe Length
September 4, 2023
Kaiwi Channel Swim
The Channel
The Kaiwi Channel (pronounded ka-eve-ee), which translates to the “Channel of Bones”, lies between the Hawaiian islands of Moloka’i and O’ahu. It is about 28 miles straight across, which makes it the longest of the Oceans Seven swims by quite a few miles. Typically swimmers start from Kepuhi or Pāpōhaku Beach on Moloka’i and aim for Sandy Beach on O’ahu. The water temperature in the channel stays in the mid to high seventies, which is just about pool temperature. What makes this channel difficult, other than the long distance, is the very strong and unpredictable trade winds, the night swimming, and the sea life.
The Kaiwi Channel doesn’t have a flat day - there are always fairly large swells. Combined with chop from strong winds, there is quite a bit of texture out there. Because of the winds, swims start at night to try and take advantage of the calmer conditions.
Night swimming requires skill. It is far more difficult to “zone out” on a swim at night for me because it is harder to see the pilot boat. You are typically only guided by a few lights - often glow sticks - on the side of the boat. Depth perception becomes tricky, and I have to focus a lot more on keeping the correct distance and angle to my pilot than I would in the daylight. It can also get lonely. The crew usually isn’t visible for the majority of the time, so there are no smiling faces to gaze at or activity to watch. It’s you and the water…and other things in the water.
Steven Spielberg employs some of the best “fear of the unknown” techniques in Jaws. He lets you imagine the horror without even showing you the actual shark until nearly the end of the film. What your brain conjures up is far worse than the large, toothy, beast itself (shout out to Hernandez’s Film Lit Class 2012). All that is to say: night swimming is a mind game. The same stuff that’s in the water during the night is there in the day. If something was going to come and eat you, you don’t stand that much better of a chance in the daylight. Alas, our brains are funny organs, and it’s normal to get the creeps in the middle of the night. Like anything, night swimming takes practice, and it is a skill you can improve at, physically and mentally.
That said, the sea life in Kaiwi is a significant concern. There are many jellyfish out there, including Portuguese Man o’ War (okay, technically not really a jellyfish) and Box Jellies. It is not really a concern about if you will be stung, but rather when and how many times. There are also sharks, the most concerning being Tiger Sharks and Cookie Cutter Sharks. We have all heard the very scientific statistic that you are more likely to be killed by [insert random innocuous thing here] than a shark. However, with this swim, there have been a fair amount of shark “interactions”. While dying from a shark attack may still be unlikely, the risk is a real one.
The Training
Due to all of the aforementioned challenges of Kaiwi, I was scared shitless of this swim. Once I booked a spot, I thought a lot about if I was really willing to do it. I often considered the, albeit unlikely, worst: death. Is that a little dramatic? Probably. But, three of the five people that I personally knew who had swum the Kaiwi had been circled or bumped by tiger sharks. We know the sharks don’t really want anything to do with us, but it would be dumb to jump into this without considering the possibility that things could go terribly wrong. Was I personally willing to take the risk? I ultimately decided yes. Was I willing to put loved ones through it? That was a moral conflict I struggled with that I imagine many do at times in their lives. My final thoughts on the matter were cliché but true: I have one life. So many don’t chase after things that they want out of fear or obligation. I don’t want that to be my story.
The fear persisted throughout my training. I found it hard to visualize without imagining what could go wrong. Visualization is so important in my preparation. It is the daily imagining of the challenge that really readies me for the undertaking. It is just as important as the physical training in my opinion. I felt a little disconnected from my swim because of this fear. It was a mind block. However, I got through the physical part fairly smoothly. I did far more pool training than normal to acclimate to the heat of the Hawaiian waters, and I focused on slightly different feeding plans as I was tired of my usual feeds from the last few years.
Soon it was time to taper before my July 28th attempt date. I started checking the weather more frequently and communicating with my pilot more. The weather wasn’t looking good. A hurricane was coming through, and winds were staying at a consistent 20-30 mph. For reference, an ideal wind speed would be under 12 mph for a swim. I kept my hopes up, but day after day there was no improvement. Two days before we were to fly to Honolulu, my pilot and I decided that it would be best to stay home. He graciously agreed that if there was an opening over the next month or two, I might be able to fly over last-minute.
That glimmer of hope helped with the heartbreak, but I didn’t really think it would happen this year. The decision was made while I was coaching at our biggest water polo tournament of the year, and that was hard to be away from home and not be able to process on my own. And the knife kept twisting every time I was asked about the swim by well-intentioned people around me. When I texted my swim friends about the cancellation, though, I was met with some good news. Pacific Swim Co. had a cancellation for the 21-mile length of Tahoe that week, and I might be able to get the spot! I quickly asked my crew if they would be willing to go to Tahoe instead, and they wholeheartedly agreed to the trip.
I swam Tahoe on the day that I was supposed to swim Kaiwi. Tahoe was gorgeous with the amazing stars, bright blue water, and towering mountains. On top of that, my friends at Pacific Swim Co. were piloting me, which was an absolute blast. I hate saying this because Tahoe is a huge undertaking in itself, but it was the absolute best training for the Kaiwi Channel in the way it turned out. First, I had to pivot quickly. My heart was still hung up on the cancellation, but I had to put that to the side in order to focus on the new challenge at hand. We drove up to Tahoe in the morning, swam through the night, and drove back the next afternoon; we didn’t even book a hotel! Adapting to the situation by remaining flexible yet continuing to stay strong mentally was something I practiced in Tahoe. Thank goodness I got that practice, because it would be a similar situation for my Kaiwi attempt, and I had room for improvement in that sector!
Second, the distance and timing of Tahoe was perfect. The fact that it wasn’t Kaiwi made it an easier swim in my mind, and I underestimated it. I was thinking my Tahoe attempt would be a fairly quick swim at about 12 hours, maybe faster (and yes, I laugh that I think 12 hours is quick these days). Oh, I was so wrong. Per my MO, we hit a big current that slowed me down a lot. Additionally, the altitude really got to me (I had done zero altitude training). It felt like every ten or so strokes I would need to gasp for air. The dream of a quick victory faded when the sun rose and I realized how far away we were from the finish. It took me 15 hours to hit shore. That 15 hours, though, was followed by four weeks of recovery and lighter swimming that ended up being the best peak and taper for Kaiwi!
Third, Tahoe was mostly a night swim, so it was great to get that extra bit of training. In my opinion, you can never practice enough night swimming. Feeds sometimes hit differently at night as well. Of course, none of my feeds tasted good in Tahoe. I forced them down, but I hated every bit of food or liquid that I ingested. I am not sure why, since I had felt very confident in my feed line-up from my most recent training. Afterwards, I knew I had to adjust dramatically for my Kaiwi attempt.
Lastly, Tahoe kicked my ass. The day after the swim I woke up from a nosebleed from the altitude. My legs and knees were shot from extra kicking because the freshwater doesn’t allow for as much buoyancy. My lungs were sore for a week from breathing so heavily. But worst of all, I felt ashamed that I had gotten so negative on the swim. There I was being given a shot to swim from my favorite pilots and friends after the disappointment of Kaiwi, and I couldn’t even put on a smile and fake it at the end. I didn’t like that, and I knew I needed to be better. Tahoe humbled me, and I am very thankful for it.
The Swim
It seems as though the minute I canceled my flight to Moloka’i, my fear of the swim disappeared. That mental block that I had been experiencing for months just faded away. What was left was a burning fire to be in the middle of that channel. I realized that I had that fire all along, but it was being doused by my terror. With a renewed vigor, I laid in wait. I kept up my training following a few days of recovery from Tahoe. I got on with my life, but I stuck to the plan: stay ready.
It was a Monday afternoon about 4 weeks post Tahoe when I was sitting at my desk in my classroom making lesson plans. I glanced at my email, and the preview of my most recent unread message said “Looking at this weekend, there is a window available to swim…”. Being in work mode, I was confused at seeing the term “swim window” in my email. Then my heart skipped a beat. Could it be? I read the message from my Kaiwi pilot quickly and yelped aloud. My mind raced there in my empty classroom. Could I go? Could I drop everything and be there in 4 days? Would my crew be ready or even willing? I took a moment to breathe. Somehow I was being given this opportunity - I had to take it. A few phone calls later and my dad and my fiancé were on board. My dad took over helping re-book everything, my coaching staff assured me that they could cover while I was gone, and my fellow teachers offered to help sub if I needed to miss a day of school. As someone who has to have control over everything and who doesn’t like to ask for help, I was really grateful for everyone who had my back without question.
We flew out to Honolulu on Saturday morning, then boarded a 20-person flight to Moloka’i that afternoon. I was not a fan of the turbulence over the channel in that small plane. I was so happy that I would be swimming back.
We spent that evening and the next day sleeping a lot, preparing our food, efficiently re-packing bags, and reviewing the feeding plan. While I only knew I was going to swim five days in advance, this was actually the most relaxed I had ever been before a swim. I have never done a channel on more than a few hours of sleep, and I had gotten a great night’s rest and had a lazy day. Before we knew it, though, it was time to walk down to the beach to start the swim.
Michael and my dad carried the bags while I skipped along behind them. When we hit the sand, our boat was already waiting for us about 200 yards out. We immediately started lathering me up with sunscreen and desitin and then packed everything back into our water-proof bag. My anxiety rose at the moment for the swim ahead…not my swim, but my crew’s! Since there is no dock at the starting point, Michael and my dad had to swim themselves and all of our belongings through the surf and to the boat while I waited on shore. They hopped into the water in between waves and soon the flotilla was on its way. I kept my eyes on them as they became smaller and smaller. They are both swimmers, so I wasn’t concerned about them, but more about the bag sinking. Alas, it went flawlessly, and once everyone was aboard the boat, they gave me the signal to start my attempt.
Before my attempts, I always take a deep breath to settle the nerves and tell myself it will be hard, but it will be worth it. I stepped into the Kaiwi Channel around 5:45pm.
The first few hours went smoothly. I hit a nice groove as I got comfortable in the water. Winds were at a reasonable 10 mph, and the swell was present but nothing too bothersome. I focused on my appreciation for the moment and my awe at the adventure I was on. The sunset was beautiful at about 2 hours in, and the sky began to get dark. As the night swimming began, I was comforted by the fact that I had the big boat and the small dinghy near me. If any friends were to try to come and play, I had eyes from multiple different angles on me. I mentally settled into the darkness, inviting it to bring me peace instead of trepidation. Eventually I realized I hadn’t caught sight of the dinghy in a while. In the darkness, it is just a few twinkling lights. I searched for it as I stroked. At my next feed, it was clear that they had taken the dinghy into the big boat as the swell was getting unmanageable for its small size.
The dinghy was a mental crutch, so I pivoted. I thought about the beauty of the ecosystem I was getting the pleasure of visiting. There were amazing organisms I was going to hear, see and, yes, feel. And that was okay. I studied the green bioluminescence flowing off my hands and glowing in the swell. Magical. I did hear lots of clicking and creaking - just the locals going about their evenings. The water was electric with small organisms that stung. They were light stings that weren’t enough to complain about, but they continued to make me aware of their presence.
I also thought about managing my time in my head. I am that swimmer who knows exactly what feed I am on, what I should be eating, and how long I have been in the water. My guess was that I would finish in about 18 hours. So, I split the swim up into 3 6-hour phases. My goals for phase 1 and phase 2 were to make phase 3 as short as possible. I stuck to that. Soon, phase 1 was complete and I was headed to phase 2 - typically the toughest time period for me in my swims.
At phase 2, 6 hours into the swim, we were deep into the channel and the swell got fairly large as the wind picked up. I enjoyed the challenge and actually picked up my pace as I worked through it. Then, I yelped as I felt a sharp sting on my cheek and lip, and as I opened my mouth, a tentacle zapped my tongue as well. I reared up, ripped the tentacle off my tongue, swore, and quickly started scraping my teeth over the sting. While I haven’t been known to have bad reactions to jellyfish stings, I wanted to get any nematocysts that might be on my tongue off as quickly as possible. I’d rather not have my tongue swell up and block my airway. I told my crew about what happened, but I refused Advil. The pain gives you something to think about. The stings usually ease with time, but I was surprised at how the pain on my face persisted. At one point I told Michael at a feed: “All life is beautiful and all, but fuck those things”.
Michael reported back to my training buddies over text, and my good friend, Luca, said, “She needs to stop frenching the jellies!” Michael relayed this message to me, which made me laugh. It was good to know my friends, despite being so far away, were watching and cheering me on.
As if sensing the pain I was in, I started to hear cries coming from under the water. The noises began to get louder and louder, until it was an almost uncomfortably loud cacophony of otherworldly shrieking. All of a sudden, large shapes moved the water right under me, and the faint outline of something coming right at my face had me yelping as I stopped dead. Michael lunged to the side of the boat yelling, “Lauren, what is it?” in a worried voice. I rushed to placate everyone and told them I thought some dolphins had visited (not a shark!) and kept swimming. They were gone as quickly as they came. I later searched the interesting sounds I had heard, and I believe they were, in fact, some pilot whales!
I continued chugging along, enjoying checking in with my crew at feeds, trying to keep my pace through the swell, and thinking about how beautiful the sunrise was going to be. I told the pilot whales that they could absolutely come back in the morning when I could see them better, and they were less frightening.
At 2:30am, 8 hours into my swim and 2 hours into phase 2, the wind started calming down, and with it the larger swell. I could feel the sea flattening out (as much as Kaiwi flattens), and it encouraged me! The changing of the guards happened around 4:30am when my dad took over the feeding while Michael got some rest. I guessed that my dad had disappeared for longer than expected due to some seasickness from the rough channel, and I later found out I was right. Despite that, he still brought new energy and was impressed at how I had held my speed, which urged me forward.
Minutes before my next feed, though, my left arm caught fire. I’d run into a Portuguese man o’ war, which had wrapped around my left elbow and up my arm. I frantically ripped at the tentacles as I swore. My dad asked what was wrong and I told him, “Portuguese”, as I continued to swim and rip tentacles off my arm, the tips of my fingers getting stung while I was at it. The pain was so bad that I didn’t want to stay in place. I started to sprint to help with moving through the agony. I kept pausing to check my arm for tentacles as I felt the water moving over them as I continued to pull. In actuality, raised welts were forming, and I was probably feeling the water move over those. The best way I can describe the pain is like you have been clawed by a bear, and then some asshole came and rubbed salt in it. I had one hour left before I entered the third and final phase - one hour left until sunrise. But the night wouldn’t give me up so easily. Since the sting was around my elbow, it hurt with every reach and every pull. But, the anger and throbbing did spur me forward. I swam faster.
The sun began to rise around 6:00am. While I was still hurting pretty bad, I was overjoyed by the change in scenery. The water was so blue under the bright sun, and Oahu was close! I had made it through the night and had really enjoyed myself despite the stings. Phase 3 commenced.
My pilot hopped into the dinghy to feel what the water was doing, and it was nice to have him next to me. I watched as he zoomed to an area of water, then stopped and studied, then repeated this many times. We had hit an underwater shelf where the currents change, and there was discussion about where we should aim to land. It was settled that we would continue to head towards Makapu’u Lighthouse, which had been our beacon the entire night. Once we got close to the rocky cliff, we would then take a sharp right to swim towards the sandy Makapu’u Beach for my finish.
Per usual, the end was tough. I was headed straight into the current as I worked towards Makapu’u Lighthouse. It felt like I was inching forward, and I was. My speed had been chopped in half - it took 2 hours to move less than 2 miles. I reminded myself that my original goal was to stay really positive on the swim, and I had done a great job of that up to this point. I faked it until I actually enjoyed studying the cliff and making out more and more of the details of the lighthouse. Makapu’u is a simple white lighthouse with a red roof that looks like a little hat on top. I gave thanks to it many times for being such a bright light to look at in the night.
It was one arm in front of the other, and this point in the swim is where you have to remind yourself that you’re not done until you’re done. Michael arose again, and everyone was awake and cheery as we crawled towards the finish. Eventually they said those blessed words out loud: “this is your last feed”. I guessed I had about 40 minutes of head down swimming to go. I got excited when the seafloor appeared, but even then it was still tough getting into the beach. The swell of the waves started picking me up and pushing me down, and the boat finally stopped and let me swim in on my own. I passed some boogie boarders, who watched me with confused stares. The sandy bottom rushed up, I touched down, and soon I was on dry sand looking back from where I came. It had taken me 16 hours and 55 minutes. I had succeeded in making phase 3 shorter. More importantly, I had joined the club of just over 100 swimmers in the world to have crossed the Kaiwi Channel.
We didn’t have time for a leisurely celebration as we decided to move up our flight from a red eye to a late afternoon one. We showered using the spigot at the marina and deck changed into comfy clothes. We gave our hugs and thanks to our awesome pilot and crew, and we caught an uber to the airport.
On the flight home I closed my eyes a few times, but I was mostly excited about the swim. It was my longest swim to date in distance and in time, and I thought about how far I had come as a swimmer. My first ever channel was my North Channel, which was 21 miles and took me 16 hours and 15 minutes due to a big tide. Kaiwi had only taken me 40 minutes more, but it was seven miles longer! That was more an ode to how gnarly my North Channel was, but Kaiwi had felt so much better on my body and was my best mentally-executed swim ever. I was really proud of that.
And the fear that had dominated me leading up to this? The ocean deserves a healthy amount of fear - she can give, and she can take away. But when I stepped into the sea, I surrendered to her. I followed her lead as I adjusted my strokes to match her swell. I felt her strength and her wonder. And she gifted me with a night of peaceful companionship.
Acknowledgements
These types of endeavors take a ton of support, and none of it would be possible without the wonderful people in my life. A big thank you to my pilot, Ivan, and his crew, Kenneth and Kim. They knew the waters and kept things positive. Their priorities were safety first and finish second, which is as it should be. Mahalo.
Another huge thank you to all who donated to support those affected by the Maui wildfires. We reached our fundraising goal while I was swimming, and it put a huge smile on my face.
I missed my first ever game as a high school coach in my 5 years running my own program to complete my swim, and that scared the heck out of me. I know, this sounds like a small deal, but it wasn’t to me. My amazing coaching staff had my back, though, and knowing they were running the show left me at ease.
Pacific Swim Co. got me safely through all of my training swims in the SF Bay and piloted my Tahoe Length crossing. I can never thank them enough for their skill, but more importantly their friendship and support.
My training buddies at the Dolphin Club and Southend Rowing Club are always ready to listen to any crazy swim idea, and they are honestly more likely to propose them in the first place. To be understood and supported by this community is such a gift.
And of course, my ride or dies: the Michaels. The answer is always yes with these two, and it shocks me every time. I really don’t deserve a dad and a fiancé that will drop everything, often, to travel to a random place and stay up for over 24 hours and sit on a boat moving at a snail’s pace to feed me like a sea creature while I do something that is probably reckless. Perhaps they are as crazy as me? I cannot express my immense gratitude to them for letting me go after my dreams.
