BOG OFF
Hosting more world championships than anywhere else,the Welsh town of Llanwrtyd Wells – and its annual bog snorkelling competition – was an obvious destination for Graham Little on his year-long quest for glory
Officially the Smallest Town in Britain, and unofficially the World Capital of Silliness, Llanwrtyd Wells is an old Victorian spa town in mid-Wales. Just over 600 people live in Llanwrtyd, an hour’s drive north-west of Cardiff, but the population swells considerably during the many bizarre events staged by the town throughout the year, of which the World Bog Snorkelling Championships is the most revered.
My New Year’s resolution a few years ago was to become a world champion in something. And, given that I’m a good swimmer and come from Ireland – Bog Central – I felt the bog snorkelling world title could be mine.
There were a couple of catches. The first was that competitors have to wear a mask, snorkel and flippers; the second was that the only swimming stroke allowed in the competition is doggy paddle.
Like any sporting contest, especially a world championship, preparation is key. I briefly contemplated doing lengths of doggy paddle in my local pool to get the finer parts of the stroke perfected, but I was working as a sports presenter on local television at the time and didn’t want a story going round that I couldn’t swim.
What is it that pride comes before again? Oh, yes, a throat full of putrid bog water. Not even dogs are good at the doggy paddle, and a little practice with flippers would have convinced me that the arm strokes are counter-productive.
Competitors have to swim two lengths of a 55m trench about a metre deep, cut into the ancient peat bog of Waen Rhydd.
I arrived by car with two friends who were originally coming along principally for moral support, but once there were press-ganged into entering as well.
We followed the signs from the tiny town “centre”, down a side road, through a gate, up a mucky lane and into a sodden field containing hundreds of cars, three TV crews, a press tent and a registration tent festooned with the sponsor’s banners.
The world record is one minute, 35 seconds, set by the incredible Phillip John of Bridgend, who first won the event at the tender age of 15, but he has since joined the Marines so wasn’t competing. The best time of the day was 1:47, which was beatable.
Unfortunately, the snorkel and mask set I had bought from a supermarket the day before looked suspiciously like a child’s novelty set and had “Not to be used in open water” written on the side of the packet.
After self-consciously squeezing myself into a pair of skimpy swimming trunks in the middle of the field, I plopped into the bog.
I tried to adopt a sprint start position, but that’s not easy wearing flippers on a track of slippery mud. The pole at the end of the trench looked miles away. My opening push was poor, but I soon settled into a rhythm and trundled forward.
With head down and arms pointlessly paddling, I churned forward, but the improperly fitted snorkel, wobbling too close to the surface, soon filled with minging, grey bog water and I began hacking like a Woodbine’s taste tester. Snorkel and mask by this stage were ripped off but balancing on my head. I finally reached the turn and asked for a progress report from the steward. “It doesn’t look much like snorkelling,” was all she could say.
The home leg took forever. Every so often bits of wood, roots or bones would brush against my legs and arms. I was utterly knackered as my unconventional and inefficient stroke churned the bog. I finished in a poor 2:38, almost a minute behind the winning time. My two friends slipped off, selected a different snorkel and mask, and finished in 2:18 and 2:28.
“What position did you finish in, Graham?” one of them asked as we drove to the airport later.
“Oh, I don’t know, I didn’t check, but the results will be up on the website later,” I replied wearily.
“No, I mean what position did you finish in, out of the people in this car…”
He was right. I was humiliated. It was one thing not to be the best in the world, it was quite another not even to be best in our Fiat Punto.
I flew back to Belfast in shame.
I discovered a burgeoning boil on my leg in the shower the next day and texted the boys to tell them I thought I’d developed a sore from being in the bog.
“That’s because you were in there so long,” came back immediately. Talk about kicking a man when he’s drowned…
A MAN WITH A MISSION
Graham Little’s book, No Prior Experience: Diary of a Silly World Champion, charts the former sports reporter’s year-long quest to win a world title in… anything.
In Ireland, Scotland, Wales, England, Canada, Finland and Nepal he competed in events ranging from competitive nettle-eating to elephant polo. Along the way he was officially crowned the World’s Second Biggest Liar, but his story is completely true. The book is published by The Brehon Press in Northern Ireland.
It’s available on Amazon or, for more information, visit www.npemedia.com
HEADING TO THE BOG
Llanwrtyd Wells is 100km north-west of Cardiff and hosts a range of eccentric events and silly world championships each year, all organised by the incredibly innovative not-for profit Green Events Ltd. The World Bog Snorkelling Championships take place on 31 August this year; enter via www.green-events.co.uk
A range of accommodation is on offer (www.llanwrtyd.com), including the Carlton Riverside Restaurant in town, which was the AA’s 2008 Welsh Restaurant of the Year, www.carltonriverside.com
