270° In San Francisco: Swimming the Perimeter - Drew Downs

Well, it was a crazy idea for a swim - to try to go around San Francisco, that is to say as far as it is possible to go around a peninsula. A border-to-border San Francisco swim (the same as going around the county) is basically seven miles north, seven miles west, and seven miles south in the ocean with a mile or so more to get out of Candlestick at the bottom of the city - about 22 miles. To put it another way, it is Bay-to-Breakers with an additional 6 miles to start and 5 miles to finish. And that last seven miles - well, it is a doozey!!!!

I went to bed at 8:30pm with a few Excedrin PM to make sure I would go to sleep, only to be pummeled awake by a 1am alarm. I ate a couple of rations of hot oatmeal and bananas and headed out the door at 1:30am. Roper and I met at the club at 2:30am - he was all dressed in his slickers and ready for the adventure. We were on Darryl's derelict fishing boat, Serendipity, pulling out of his Fisherman's Wharf dock on Jefferson street right at 3 am. We couldn't use the club's Zodiacs because we were going to be in the open ocean for a long time. So I payed the price, $40/ hour, for what I anticipated being an 8-10 hour trip. This really puts the capper on stupidity, doesn't it? I had been on and off about making this swim. The excuses really piled up the week before. I got the, now almost mandatory, Silicon Valley pay cut the week before - which made a few hundred dollars for a swim through shark infested territory seem excessive, particularly to my wife. And then on the first leg of the cross Tahoe Roughwater Relay the Saturday before, I thought that I was going to die. I could not get my breath and I could not imagine swimming any substantial distance at all. And so, I decided not to do the San Francisco swim. But, when I got home there was a small check waiting in the mail from my Mother, who is trying to divest her estate, which made up the difference. And then I swam in the Bay on Monday and felt great. And then Bob Roper asked me in front of a group whether I was going to do it. And I meekly said, " yes."

Roper fretted on the 1 1/4 hour boat trip to Candlestick, because the wind, she was a blowin'. He warned me constantly that we might have to pull at the Gate. The Golden Gate, of course, refers to one of the world's wild stretches of ocean. Finally, Candlestick Park came into view at 4:15 am. I donned a thermal cap, lathered my neck up with Bag Balm (a lanolin based amalgam used to salve cows teets) to protect against chafing, and then went for my goggles, only to find them missing. Three months ago I ordered new optical goggles. They didn't come. On Saturday I jumped in the water for the final leg of the Lake Tahoe race before I realized that I was wearing my optical goggles on my head and not my eyes. They came off with the jump and disappeared forever. The race was finished nearly blind. But what surprise when, upon arriving home on Sunday, I found that my new goggles had arrived in the mail, in the nick of time for the big swim. So imagine my dismay when I couldn't find them in my bag. I searched through everything, cursing my stupidity (in a mild Mormon manner). And, finally in dismay I put on an old leaky pair without the correction. Then just prior to jumping, Roper stumbled on the new goggles that had fallen on the dark deck.

Click to Enlarge	Click to Enlarge
Currents: Chart A	Currents: Chart B

So, here we are, in the dark water at 4:15am groping our way towards Hunter's Point. A flashlight beam in the eyes gave me to know that Roper had something to communicate. Of course, words are gibberish when your ears are full of wax and water and covered by a thick hat. And the normal hand signs don't work in the dark. So the boat came over and Roper yelled in his inimitable way that I was going to beach myself unless I swam out. I now conclude that an already rising ebb current was pushing me north into Hunter's Point. Soon the flashing light, easily visible underwater, became like the bell to Pavlov's dog. I got the flash; I turned right. I got the flash; I turned right. Finally I just decided to swim toward the lights on the San Mateo bridge. About that time Roper yelled out that we had turned the corner and that an hour had passed and it was time for a feeding. And behold, what I had seen as the San Mateo bridge had morphed into the San Francisco Bay Bridge. Talk about being confused. I'm glad I had a boat with me.

I reminded Bob that he was also the safari photographer, and he went about it with a passion. As we neared the Bay Bridge the light was beginning to break. I rolled over on my back, posed for Roper, and watched the Bay Bridge go by. Another half hour had passed and it was time for the regular half hour feeding. Roper would yell, "It's time for a feeding" and would stick his finger in his mouth to make sure I understood. A feeding. Reminded me of being in the zoo and trying to make it to the otter pool, or the seal haven, or the lions' cage for "the feeding." So, first I was Pavlov's dog and now I had to have "a feeding." I had reduced myself to an animal. Also, after a few hours of stuffing Power Gel and Power Aid down me, Roper's signal of a finger in the mouth took on new meaning.

The next feeding was outside Aquatic Park. We were now really flying. We were at the maximum point of a 5.1 knot ebb current. I was directed to swim straight into Fort Mason at this point (perpendicular to the desired path) to avoid a head-on with a heavy freighter. Then I had to swim back out into the channel to get to the south stanchion of the Golden Gate Bridge for another feeding. By the time that was done, we were clearly being blown right out into the Great Pacific. The Serendipity came over to my right side to make sure I turned left. I had to take a southerly bearing to make it to Mile Rock.

Mile Rock is a mile from somewhere, I suppose. It surely doesn't seem like a mile from the Golden Gate Bridge - more like ten miles. It has a big candy cane striped cement tower on it that you can see from the Gate. But, it just never seems to get closer. I have no idea what it is doing there. It has gang planks on it, and ladders, and chutes. Could have had a lighthouse on it. Could have been a fueling station. Maybe a fog horn. Maybe Santa Claus put it there to steer his reindeer. Whatever, you have to circle around the outside of it, or risk getting caught in an ebb current that will take you back to the Golden Gate Bridge. And there we had another "feeding."

This was as tough as feedings go. The boat was no longer serene but was bucking like a bronco. The first banana sank to the bottom of the sea. I would kick up and Roper would reach down just as the boat rolled toward me so that I could make an attempt at lunch. Finally, he would just throw a bottle at me and I would go swimming for it. It took two or three attempts for me to get my trash into the bucket that Darryl passed down. He commented that this reminded him of his old days fishing out in the ocean, which is why he was glad that those days were well past. And, this was a calm day.

Swimming takes on a new dimension here. You might lift your arm for a stroke, but it may never clear the water. You roll your head for a breath, but breath only water. You are swimming uphill and then flying downhill. A kick will sometimes find only air resistance. As we passed Seal Rock and the Cliff House the wind and waves relentlessly pushed us towards the beach. At one time the Captain panicked. He said that it appeared that the surfers were farther out than we were. Roper was yelling at me to go out....go out.....go out.... I said I was trying to follow the boat. So finally, they turned the boat straight out toward Japan, and we got out of harm's way. But, from there we had to crab toward the open ocean to get down the beach.

We got to Golden Gate Park, a windmill and open verdant area being the marker, and I could see the rise that holds Fort Funston with the county/city line just beyond, only about 3 more miles down the beach. I had swum 19 miles already and the end was within sight. But, it was not to be. I felt like I could swim forever, and indeed I could have, and still never made it to Fort Funston. The tide had turned and was relentlessly pushing me back toward the Gate, even an hour before the ebb at the Gate was over. I swam in place for a half hour or so. That windmill, she just stayed in the same spot. So, I was vanquished by the sea. On the other hand, you could say that I just invented a new swim - the Park-to-Park swim. The new world record for the Park-to-Park swim is 4 hours and 48 minutes.

My next shot at going around San Francisco is next year, when we get the next similar morning dynamite ebb. But, somebody else who is faster than me could yet have a chance at doing it this year. Here are some hints.

Swim a lot faster than me. Or, leave 1 to 1 1/2 hours earlier than me (1 1/2 hours before slack at the Golden Gate). For me, that would have meant leaving Candlestick at about 3am. Of course, that would mean you wouldn't see daylight until you were out in the ocean.

I have enclosed two current charts from SFPorts. Chart A shows the current at about one hour prior to slack tide after the flood at the Golden Gate. You may note that it is already slack or even ebbing close to the shore near Hunter's Point. That is why I was getting pushed into the shore. You could get a head start on the ebb by starting this much earlier. Chart B shows the current about one hour before slack tide after the ebb at the Golden Gate. Note, that even though the ebb is still strong at the Golden Gate, it is already flooding along the coast. This is what stopped my progress at 5 hours. A swimmer my speed needs that 1 to1 1/2 hours of additional time to get to the border.

Now, remember, criminals - even swim criminals - head for the border. Consider this a challenge.

Grandpa Downs (#4 back home, #5 due last Tuesday)