1st American Women Channel Team

L-R Susan Allen, Susan Cobb, Lisa Smith, Carol McGrath,
Joni Beemsterboer, Karen Drucker

The first women to break the gender barrier at the Dolphin Club became the first American women to form a successful English Channel relay team.  Although Gertrude Ederle paved the way with a solo channel swim in 1926, it took over half a century for six American women to follow in her wake.  Together, they conquered the world's most prestigious marathon swim pinnacle in August, 1989 in ten hours and forty-eight minutes.

For Joni Beemsterboer, a sign posted in the San Francisco Jewish Community Center in 1977 provided the catalyst that led to becoming a member of this team.  The sign encouraged people interested in swimming the Golden Gate to meet at the Buena Vista Cafe for a briefing and test swim.  After sign-in and briefing, the aspirants trudged to the shore of Aquatic Park Lagoon. In the water, Dino Landucci, a venerable Dolphin, piloted the swimmers around the course.  Joni knew she had passed the test when the organizer stopped her in mid-swim and said, "So--for the after party--do you want to bring ground beef or wine?"

Dino suggested to the group that they keep swimming in the Bay to prepare for the longer Golden Gate swim.  Heeding his advice, Joni and her cohorts swam regularly off the beach of Aquatic Park, warming up in their cars afterwards.  In the process, she acquired the then-requisite two sponsors to apply for membership at the Dolphin Club in October, 1977.

Women had been allowed to petition for membership only one year earlier and the welcome was not universally cordial.  Some of the leadership had admonished the club's volunteer legal representative that, "Money is no object.  Just make this go away."  However, the club was located on city property and gender exclusion was no longer an option.  Then, as now, the club required applicants to appear in person before the board.  Joni remembers several male members taking great delight in the women's discomfiture as they stood and stated their reasons for joining.

Early women members of the Dolphin Club

Back then, the women's shower was a tiny tin contraption in a cramped and drafty locker room.  After the hot water handle broke, they used a pair of vice-grip pliers to make crude attempts to adjust the temperature.  Sometimes this was futile given that the hot water for the women's shower was on a separate boiler and regularly out of order.  They also endured the decidedly crude remarks of hardcore male members as they entered and exited the water.  In spite of the hardships the women began to permeate the fabric of the club.  Perhaps because of the hardships they began to form close bonds with each other.  And to the delight of the columnist, Herb Caen, they even began finishing ahead of the men in swim races.

It was this bubbling caldron of fast, intrepid, cold-water swimmers that produced the first American women's channel relay team.  Lisa Smith approached five Dolphins, including Joni to join the effort.  They conducted the usual training preparations, complete with night swims.  As Joni recalls with evident nostalgic fondness, "On the day [of our relay swim], we were a finely honed instrument."  Looking back, it seems natural that of all the swim clubs in the United States, the Dolphin Club would produce this ground-breaking collection of women:  All American, all Dolphins, all women.

A Slightly Bigger Cove

Our favorite swimming hole just got a little larger.  And it wasn't because of global warming and rising sea level.  It was because the Dolphin Club Board of Governors approved a motion to "Extend the 'in-cove' swimming boundaries to include the water west of the western-most dock in the fishing boat marina east of Hyde Street Pier."  This new boundary gives Dolphins license to frolic with the historic vessels Eureka and Hercules.  When the wind is howling from the west, it gives us a calmer place to swim and it adds a little spice to our daily swim routine.

New Swim Boundary in Orange

The original in-cove swimming boundaries were established to separate swimmers and commercial fishing boats using the waters on the west and east sides of Hyde Street Pier.  At that time, the waters east of Hyde Street Pier were an open waterway and swimmers could easily interfere with docking maneuvers, creating a dangerous situation for boats and swimmers.  In return, the commercial boaters agreed to enter and exit the docking area only from the east end of the breakwater and not through “the opening” at the end of the Municipal Pier.

With the construction of the new, expanded commercial boat marina about twelve years ago, we have a protected waterway that exists between the westernmost marina dock and Hyde Street Pier.  Approval of this motion now allows Dolphins to use this safe swimming area without violating out-of-cove swimming rules.

Who's Going This Year?

Few clubs in the world have members who regularly ask one another, "Who's planning to swim the Channel this year?"  This is a common question, however, at the Dolphin and South End clubs.  It's a rare year when at least one person from each side of the shared beach is not aspiring to swim the English Channel solo.

Adam in the Cove

This year, the aspirant from the Dolphin Club is Adam Engelskirchen, one of the club's faster swimmers.  His Channel swim window starts in the second half of August and his training is proceeding according to schedule.  The last weekend in May, he completed his qualifying swim of six hours in water 60 degrees or colder.  This was his last administrative hurdle before climbing onto his pilot boat in England.

He planned his qualifying swim in two parts.  In part one, he would swim around Aquatic Park Cove for a couple of hours.  Then, David Rich would join him and they would swim to the Golden Gate bridge on the end of the ebb and return to the Cove on the beginning of the flood.  Depending on timing, Adam would finish his six hours up in the Cove.

David Rich

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.  The window for starting the out-of-cove portion of the swim was pretty tight.  A twenty knot west wind whipping the surface current squeezed the window tighter.  A noon start of the annual Master Mariners Regatta in the waters near the St. Francis Yacht Club closed the window to mouse size.

Adam began his swim on schedule, looping around the Cove in smooth, steady strokes.  David Rich joined him at the appointed time and they continued around the Cove together.  By the time the necessary pilot coverage assembled, the wind had increased to thirty knots and the current was already heading the swimmers when they turned west around Muni Pier.

Stinging Nettle

Adam and David were able to take advantage of some current and wind shadow from the buildings and piers at Fort Mason.  Once they lost that protection, though, they were at the mercy of howling wind, steep chop, and unfavorable current.  They crept side by side past the breakwater of Gas House Cove, slowing down even more at the opening to St. Francis harbor.  By the time they reached the spit of land at the east end of Coughlin Beach, they swam in place for an hour.  At feeding time, they shot back east 150 yards and it took them another 30 minutes of swimming to get back to where they swam in place again.  The good news is that the rough water and the glacial progress were probably good mental training for the English Channel.

Gas House Cove Breakwater

Adam came very close several times to getting additional preparation for a nasty Channel swim.  All week long, stinging nettle jellyfish had been blooming in the San Francisco Bay.  They don't show up every year, but they were thick in the water this day.  Both Adam and David came within inches of brushing against these nematocyst-encrusted tentacles more than once.  I was piloting in a kayak and, with the buffeting wind and waves, had no maneuverability to steer them away from the danger.  The noise of the near-tempest rendered verbal warnings impossible as well.  Miraculously, neither swimmer crashed into one of these debilitating creatures.

Feeding Time

At the next feeding, the swimmers decided to reverse course and whizzed back toward Aquatic Park.  They continued past the opening, plowed through the confused sea there, and zoomed down the east end of the breakwater.  Rounding the end, they found calmer water on the south side of the breakwater.  At this point, David made his adieus and went back to the club.  Adam swam two more "outside-inside" courses and completed his six hours looking strong and relaxed.

Although he has completed the minimum swimming requirements for a Channel attempt, Adam, like most other Dolphins, is expecting to complete a 10 hour swim before heading to England.  Given his speed, training, and determination, he's well prepared to succeed. 

The Toughest Swim of All

A Farallon Island

People who know the geography of San Francisco City and County usually think of it as a seven mile by seven mile square at the northern tip of the San Francisco Peninsula.  The little known fact is that the City boundaries extend to include the Farallon Islands, a 211-acre archipelago of rocks and islands nearly due west of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Closed to the public and inhabited by only about a half dozen researchers, this area has legitimate claim to the title of "roughest neighborhood in the City."

Denizen of a Rough Neighborhood

"Every September, one of the world's largest and densest congregations of great white sharks assembles in the waters surrounding the Farallon Islands .... No one fully understands what this gathering represents, why great whites, the ocean's most solitary hunters, choose to reside for a period of time in such close quarters.  What's known for sure is that the sharks remain at this location for approximately three months."  This excerpt is from Susan Casey's book, The Devil's Teeth:  A True Story of Obsession and Survival Among America's Great White Sharks.  She goes on to say that Scot Anderson and Peter Pyle, researchers for the Farallon White Shark Project, recorded almost 80 attacks in the year 2000.

Sharks are only one reason that swimming between the Farallon Islands and the continental Pacific Coast is the toughest swim in the world.  The currents are a brutal deterrent to a successful crossing. In most famous open water swims such as the English Channel or the Hellespont, the current flows perpendicular to the swimmer.  In these cases, for a well-planned and well-executed swim, the current moves the swimmer sideways, but doesn't necessarily impede forward progress.  Not so for a Farallon Islands swim.  The land pinches in between Fort Point and the Marin Headlands to a distance of about a mile and a half.  The flow of water here is subject to the "Venturi Effect" where a fluid's velocity must increase as it passes through a constriction.  As a result, the maximum current at the gate exceeds five miles an hour.  Coincidentally, this is the maximum swimming speed ever recorded by a human over a very short distance.  For someone who has swum 26 miles from the islands through frigid water, even a slight ebb can throttle a successful attempt.  Timing an arrival to catch a flood tide is a dicey proposition given wind, waves, ocean current, and flagging swimmer speed.

Rough Water in the Potato Patch

The powerful currents create another obstacle.  The ebb tide shoots through the Golden Gate like the buckshot from a blunderbuss, scattering silt and piling it to form shallow areas just outside the gate called "the Potato Patch Shoal."  Openwaterpedia describes it as "an extraordinarily rough area of living hell for boaters, fishermen, and, especially, open water swimmers."  The shoal got its name in the 1800's when the crushing waves would capsize freighters, scattering their cargo of potatoes across the seascape.

Adding to the difficulty is the water temperature.  57 degrees Fahrenheit is considered cold in the English Channel.  This is balmy for the Farallones swim.  Some attempts encounter water as cold as 46 degrees.

"Stew" Evans

Only two people have successfully made a solo Farallon Islands swim.  The first, Lieutenant Colonel Stewart Evans, completed the swim under basic "English Channel" rules:  one swim cap, one standard swimsuit, goggles, and swimming untouched.  In August, 1967, he crawled ashore at Point Sonita, north of the Golden Gate after 13 hours and 44 minutes of swimming.  Current day English Channel swimmers would cringe at his diet of 7-Up and lemon Jello.  The caption on the video of his swim claims that he fulfilled the final dictum of Channel rules and went from "dry land to dry land."  That claim is suspect.  Jack Gordon writes of Col. Evan's start, "He crossed himself and I then fired the [starter] gun.  He tumbled over backwards into the water at 10:17 P.M. Pacific Daylight Saving Time." Col. Evans is still the only solo swimmer to finish on dry land. Since the Farallon Islands became a wildlife refuge in 1969, trespass by the public is now prohibited and a "land to land" swim is highly unlikely to ever happen.

Ted Erikson

Less than a month later, Ted Erikson, a legendary open water marathon swimmer, swam the longer distance from the Farallon Islands to the Golden Gate.  Like Stew Evans, he wore standard English Channel swimming attire as well as a specialized grease concoction.  Paul Girard was the official observer on behalf of the Dolphin Club.  He records in his log, "6:50 am:  Ted comes up from his bunk after taking a nap.  Frank Drum and I add two packs of shark repellant to the Chevron FM-2 grease he is to use.  It is a mess.  The grease is a blue-grey now and somewhat lumpy as though it had rocks in it.  I spend about 5 minutes picking out the larger stones and throwing them overboard.  The grease looks good."  After 14 hours and 38 minutes of swimming, Mr. Erikson reaches the Golden Gate bridge and Girard sets off a flare to signal completion of the swim.

In his log, Girard writes, "9:45pm:  He is still strong, but not strong enough to head for Aquatic Park.  We will bring him aboard after we cross under the bridge at the green lights or dead center."  Grumbling ensued among some of the Dolphin Club members at the time regarding the "water finish" in spite of Erikson having swum 9 and a half miles farther than Evans.  Today, the recently formed Farallon Islands Swimming Federation has decreed the Golden Gate bridge as the "official" start and finish line.

Stew Evans' account of the race

The first successful Farallon Islands relay completed a year later with a satisfying landing at Aquatic Park beach on September 9, 1968.   Conceived as a race between the South End Rowing Club and the Dolphin Club, South Ender Bob Roper and Dolphin Ed Duncan started swimming from the southeast Farallon island at exactly 11:09 pm.  Lew Cook, Conrad Liberty, Stew Evans, Bill Harlan, and Bob Jimenez from the Dolphin Club followed in succession, maintaining a constant lead.  At the end, the South End team, using dead reckoning as their navigation device, swam too far south and encountered a building ebb when they reached the Golden Gate forcing an end to their swim.  The Dolphins, on the other hand, were using LORAN to navigate and swam straight into the Golden Gate.  Pete Biannucci was piloting at the time in a wooden rowboat and frantically steered the swimmer away from the vortex that would have swallowed him at the South Tower of the bridge.  The Dolphin team achieved landfall when Conrad Liberty beat his way across a dying current to Aquatic Park beach for a team time of 14 hours and 54 minutes.

Subsequent solo and relay attempts from west to east have failed, one team even resorting to the use of wetsuits.  But, like the English Channel, swimming east to west is a less risky proposition.  The start can leverage a predictable slingshot effect from a strong ebb tide to shoot through the Golden Gate and squirt past the Potato Patch.  2011 saw the success of two relay teams utilizing this strategy.  On May 20, the co-ed team of Phil Cutti, Darin Connolly, Dave Holscher, Vito Bialla, John Mathews, and Kim Chambers made the crossing 43 years after the first one.  A couple weeks later, on June 4, 2011, Kim Chambers, Laura Vartain Horn, Cathy Delneo, Melissa King, Patti Bauernfeind, and Lynn Kubasek created history becoming the first all-women team to complete the Farallon Island swim.

West to east, east to west, Golden Gate Bridge, Bolinas Bay, or Aquatic Park beach:  This is still one tough swim.  The cold, the current, the wind.  And did I mention sharks?

Dolphins in the English Channel

Crossing the English Channel is widely regarded as the pinnacle of open water swimming. More people have climbed Mt. Everest than have successfully swum between England and France. I would argue that swimming from the Farralon Islands to San Francisco is a more dangerous, arduous, and rare endeavor. However, there's no question that a solo swim across what the French call "La Manche" is a crowning achievement.

The shortest distance between England and Europe is across the Dover Strait. This is a narrow band of water that forms an hourglass pinch in the English Channel. The bulk of cross-channel swims start at Shakespeare beach, just southwest of Dover Harbor since France has disallowed starts from their shores. The most favorable landfall would then be at Cap Gris Nez in France, a rocky promontory south of Calais, which pokes its grey nose towards England. A straight line from Shakespeare Beach to Cap Gris Nez is 18.15 nautical miles. As with most measures, international standards bodies have been tweaking the various definitions but, as of 1929, a nautical mile is the equivalent of 1.15 statute miles, making it 20.89 miles or 33,123.75 meters across for us landlubbers.

Captain Matthew Webb was the first English Channel swimmer. He succeeded using breaststroke in 1875 with a time of twenty-one hours and forty-five minutes. The fastest verified swim crossing is just under seven hours in 2007, a record held by a Bulgarian, Petar Stoychev. Michael Phelps set a world record in the 200 meter freestyle at the Beijing Olympics in 2008 with a time of slightly less than one minute and forty-three seconds. If Mr. Phelps could string one hundred sixty-six of these performances together in open water, he could cross the English Channel in about four and three-quarter hours.


Twenty-five Dolphins have completed this solo swim. Toufie Blaik was the first to succeed when he crossed in 16 hours and 5 minutes in 1953. Twenty-two years later, in 1985, Suzanne Heim became the second Dolphin to accomplish this feat in 10 hours and 11 minutes. The next year, she improved her time to 10 hours and 2 minutes. In 1990, John Davies bested this by one minute, a mark of which he was extraordinarily proud. In 2004, Si Bunting lowered the Dolphin record to 9 hours and 44 minutes. The latest fastest time is 8 hours and 33 minutes, swum by Laurin Weisenthal in 2009. The oldest swimmer was Peter Urrea when he crossed in 1996 at the age of fifty-six.

A large plaque in the Staib Room of the club honors all the members who made this swim. Unlike the Polar Bear plaque, there is more than enough room for future English Channel swimmers. Ninety-five open spaces await tomorrow's successful aspirants. At the current rate, Dolphins may not fill all the available spaces until the next century.

The Victorious Bull

Just like the water in the bay, the population of men sitting in the sauna at any one time ebbs and flows. To some extent, these variations are predictable. On this particular morning, however, several more men than usual were warming themselves after a morning swim and chatting away amiably. During a lull in the hubbub, Joe Mannion declared, "The best tapas I've ever eaten were in Spain." The air was instantly peppered with shouts of, "The best sushi I ever had was in Japan!" "The best kimchi I ever had was in Korea!" The best borscht I ever had was in the Ukraine!"

Eventually, we exhausted our knowledge of local dishes and their origins. Joe patiently waited for the laughter and jibes to subside, leaned forward in his engaging way, and said, "Well, what I should have said is that I had a tapas dish in Spain that I don't think you can get anywhere else." Having skillfully regained the attention of the sauna inhabitants, he continued. "I was in Madrid and asked the waiter for something special and he said, 'Si señor, something special for you.' When the waiter came back, he put a plate down and said, 'This is huevos del toro.' I knew just enough Spanish to know that he had said these were 'eggs of the bull' so I told him they seemed very small for bull eggs. They were no bigger than golf balls. The waiter smiled and said, 'Aveces, señor, el toro gana,' and walked away."

A chuckle burbled among a couple of men as their various competencies in Spanish kicked in. Fortunately, Ivan Balarin, a native of Peru was there to translate, "Sometimes, the bull wins."

We erupted in guffaws laced with winces. Ivan began waving his arms in a "slow down" motion and said, "No, no, no. I have to tell you. I was participating in a skydiving tournament in Spain and I saw the bull win." By now, we were on edge for another punch line but Ivan was adamant, "No, no. I tell you. I don't like bullfights, but my friend said we have to go. And the bull, first thing, it knocks down three picadore horses. Bang! Bang! Bang! Knocks them right to the ground, man! You never seen anything like it! Then the bull jumps into the stands and starts to charge around. People were running like crazy, man. And there was a cameraman in the stands and he's looking through his video camera and he's looking all over trying the find the bull and the bull comes up behind him where he can't see him and BOOM! The bull knocks the cameraman right into the arena and jumps in after him. Boy! that cameraman really ran for his life. So then, the matador comes in and the bull just charges him and stabs him with his horns. Just KILLS that matador, man! Oh, my gosh. That day the bull won, man!"

Of course, we had to know. Did they let the bull live? Ivan said, "Yes. I think so. Yes. I'm sure they did."

Aveces el toro gana, I guess.

Polar Bear Champions

The perpetual trophy that honors Polar Bear champions since the winter of 1984-1985 was obviously not envisioned to last over twenty years. Perhaps the originator figured that sanity would ultimately prevail and the need for the trophy would fade. Indeed, the trophy case in the Staib Room of the Dolphin Club is littered with "perpetual" trophies that have outlived their usefulness and the memory of why they exist in the first place.

The Polar Bear trophy is not one of these. The brass plates that name the champions and their distance swum once adorned the plaque in regular and symmetrical columns and rows. Not any more. They are tacked in random order onto any available space whether vertical or horizontal. Eventually the plaque must be augmented or replaced, the madness must stop, or the obsessed must go unrecognized. Taken directly from the current haphazard landscape of the trophy and hand-transferred to paper and then to computer, here are the records to date:

I certainly don't expect the madness to stop and it would be a shame to have the obsessed go unrecognized. Perhaps this will be the year that the trophy gets an overhaul.

The Space Between the Ears

Non-bay swimmers regularly ask, "Why do you do it?" News commentators sometimes report on swim events or newsworthy phenomena such as sea lion attacks. When interviewing a top competitor on the beach, this is a question that's almost guaranteed. The broadcasting team back in the studio will collectively shudder and declare, "Those folks are crazy," or "That's not for me."

One way to describe the total experience of swimming in cold water is to compare it to drinking an excessive amount of alcohol. The sequence of sensations is inverted. For people who like their spirits, that first sip is delightful and refreshing. As the drinking continues, a pronounced euphoria settles in. Next comes the stumbling and the mumbling. Then comes the savage headache, the aching muscles, and the lethargic miasma that can last most of a day.

Swimming in the bay on the other hand starts with the pain. When the water is below 50 degrees, wading into the ocean feels like someone has wrapped a huge pair of vice-grip pliers around your shins and is exerting a massive squeeze. Immersing the chest is slamming your torso into a cement wall. When the heads goes into the water, ice cream headaches can ensue.

After five to fifteen minutes, though, the weightless gliding, the natural beauty, the watery caress and a sense of peace settle in. Climbing out on the beach later often includes a little stumbling. The frozen jaw and lips make communication sound like a drunken mumble. Then, with a warm shower and a sit in the sauna, the body reaches a tipping point. Suddenly, you're no longer cold and the feeling is much like that first sip of cold beer on a hot summer day after mowing the lawn. The subsequent euphoria can last well into the afternoon.

Conrad von Blankenburg once told me with great sincerity that the Dolphin Club has saved the lives of many people. I believe him. If it hasn't saved my life, it has certainly made it much richer. Joe Schatz says the club is "an oasis of mental hygiene." The National Geographic's term for what we experience in the bay is, "a wilderness experience in an urban setting." I think of it as pushing a large button labeled "clear and reset" every day. In any case, for many of us, the effort is only partly about physical exertion. It's much more about what happens between the ears.

George Freeberg's Poem

Walt Schneebli and Rich Cooper have recently completed a painstaking process. They scanned the entire collection of Dolphin Club logs since 1949 and loaded them onto an internet archival site. Their generous effort affords anyone with an interest in club history an opportunity to stroll down a watery memory lane with the click of a button.

I was doing some research for a blog entry and came across the favorite poem of member George Freeberg, published on the occasion of his death in the June, 1974 edition of the Dolphin Log. This is his poem:

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older, and will someday be old.

Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject, and on every occassion.

Release me from craving to straighten out everybody's affairs.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details, give me wings to get to the point.

I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of others' pains.  Help me to endure them with patience.

But seal my lips on my own aches and pains:  they are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet:  I do not want to be a saint--some of them are so hard to live with--but a sour old man/woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.

Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy.  With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all--but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

On the cusp of turning 60 years old, myself, I related to the sentiment he expressed and thought it worth sharing.

2012 Polar Bear Results

The results from the 2011-2012 Polar Bear swim are published. 119 folks completed the full forty miles. Another 11 people who are over 60 years old swam 20 miles or more to qualify for "Old Goat" status. The Polar Bear champion this year is John Nogue. He swam 165 miles. As is typical, a story accompanies John's achievement.

Mr. Nogue teaches biology and anatomy to college students Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Since he lives in Napa, this means that he could only swim two days during the week on Tuesday and Thursday.  On the weekend, he'd swim on Saturday and/or Sunday, depending on the demands of domestic duties. On swim days, he drove to the club and began swimming about 8 am. He'd typically swim two miles and head for the sauna to warm up. Then he'd swim another mile and a half and warm up again. Then he'd swim another mile and a half and warm up yet again. The triple-dip kept him at the club until around noon. I presume he was quite ready for lunch by then. This routine strikes me as a tough way to win the Polar Bear championship.

Polar Bear Champion Trophy

One year, I was sitting in the sauna next to Rich Livingston, a previous Polar Bear champion. He had noticed that my squares were piling up compared to the other participants and asked me if I intended to win the Polar Bear that year. I told him there was no chance of my taking that honor, but I was kind of interested in swimming at least 100 miles. He nodded sagely and then boomed in his pronounced baritone, "Ah yes. I call that the 'Golden Bear.'" The club doesn't officially recognize Golden Bears but I think they definitely deserve an honorable mention.

This year, Joe Illick, Ross Browne, and Alex Buehlmann garnered Golden Bears. At the age of 77, this is Mr. Illick's thirteenth Golden Bear. Since the year 2000, he has won the Polar Bear five times. One year, he swam over 200 miles and still came in second. In the annals of Polar Bear history, Joe is a standout.

A perpetual trophy honors past Polar Bear champions. The first winner was Elmer Tosta who swam 101.5 miles in the winter of 1984-85. The next year, George Kebbe won with 200 miles. The year after that, Stan Hlynsky set yet another record with 230 miles in a famously ferocious battle with George. Mr. Hlynsky's mark stood until 1992-93 when he helped (or possibly goaded) his friend, Patrick Freilinger, to swim 232 miles. Three years later, George Kebbe returned to eclipse this mark with 255 miles. At the time, the irrepressible George laughed his infectious cackle and said to me, "Larry, you think anyone will ever beat that? I don't think so." And then he wandered into the locker room trailing his famous guffaw.

Surprising everyone, Suzie Dods did break his record in the winter of 2002-03. She swam 256 miles. It was a stunner. On average, this feat requires a person to swim a little less than 3 miles every single day of the 90 days of winter. No vacation. No sickness. No slacking. The fact that two human beings were capable of accomplishing this in 50 degree water caused all observers to shake their heads in wonder.

To people who know George, it was no wonder that he took this as a challenge. He had already won the Polar Bear five times. He was now determined to put the record on a shelf no one could reach. In the winter of 2003-04, he swam 356 miles. Holding a full-time job, he came early every morning to swim two miles. He'd go to work and return in the evening to swim two more miles. He plowed the measured distance between the Oprah and the Flag like a machine. Four times in the morning. Four times in the afternoon. Unbelievable. Once again, he said to me, "Larry, you think anyone will ever beat that? I don't think so. HA-HA-HA-HA-HA."

So far, no one has broken that record. However, in the winter of 2006-07, Ralph Wenzel tied it. He also swam 356 miles. Ralph also worked full-time and he also swam every morning and every evening. Resisting the encouragement of many people to do a little more on the last day of the Polar Bear, he politely declined, "No, I have too much respect for George to break his record. I'm satisfied with a tie." In one way, I was hoping for a new mark. That would have meant that we'd have the pleasure of George's company in the sauna for one more winter.

One other Polar Bear record was broken this year. Vincent Huang extended his own record, completing his 34th consecutive winter swim of 40 miles or more. Not yet 60 years old, if Vincent stays the course as long as Joe Illick has, he may be the person to finally set the unbreakable record. It's hard to tell since it's quite apparent that so many obsessive-compulsive people belong to the club.

Endorphin Cocktail

The human body naturally produces endorphins, endogenous opioid peptides that resemble opiates such as morphine and heroin. Prevailing sentiment credits endorphins as the principal trigger for the mild euphoric sensation known as "runner's high."  As with so many of the undisputed truths of my youth, this truth is now disputed.  In a clinical study led by Michael Siebers, endorphins are definitively ruled out as a potential contributor.  Apparently, the endorphin molecule is unable to pass the blood-brain barrier.  However, help is at hand.  The new likely suspect for the pleasant feeling are endocannabinoids.

Whatever the biochemical explanation, Swimming in San Francisco Bay triggers release of a cocktail of related analgesics at least five different ways. Is it any wonder that more than 2,000 people belong to the Dolphin and South End Rowing clubs?

Aerobic exercise is the most well-known trigger. More commonly called "runner's high," endocannabinoids (probably) are released during moderate to extreme exertion when breathing is difficult. Swimming a mile or more at good speed certainly fits this description. When the weather is stormy and/or windy, breathing is extra difficult. This could explain why so many find heightened enjoyment swimming in bumpy water.

Aesthetics is a lesser-known trigger. Every day in the Bay is a distinct immersion in natural loveliness. The stream of phosphorescence as the lead arm slices into the clear yet inky water well before daylight. The full moon setting over the Golden Gate bridge as the sun rises over Coit Tower. A flight of pelicans coursing through the sky. A container ship slowly engulfed and disappearing into a dense and mysterious fog. These are but a few examples of what the Japanese might term "Yugen." Daily contemplation of this transient and stark beauty trigger spurts of dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin.  These chemicals rule when it comes to stimulating our pleasure centers.

Fear certainly plays a role in mixing the endorphin cocktail. Just entering and exiting the water during periods of high, crashing surf is enough to evoke a "fight or flight" response. Critters can also play a frightening role. Stinging nettles sometimes congregate in the bay. These purple-brown jellyfish the size of a large dinner plate deliver a ferocious prickle that has prompted several club members to keep a bottle of vinegar in their locker. Raging pinnipeds are another source of concern. Normally we share the bay peacefully. Occasionally, however, a rogue seal or sea lion will go on a rampage, inflicting vicious bites that require stitches and powerful antibiotics. Any of these can trigger a squirt of adrenaline, a hormone secreted by adrenal glands in conditions of stress. Today, I ran headlong into a full, floating, plastic gallon milk jug. That was a rude surprise and a serious increase in my rate of blood circulation, breathing, and carbohydrate metabolism.  Still, it wasn't as scary as swiping a handful of moon jellyfish (harmless, but reminiscent of grabbing a decapitated head.) Then, there's the self-inflicted fear factor. Swimming under the piers, through the roundhouse, or anywhere near barnacle-encrusted buoys and breakwaters is a sure way to make the heart race just a little faster.

Of course, immersion in the cold all by itself stimulates the pleasure centers. The Rejuvenation Lounge website lists twelve reasons to take cold showers:

1. Mood booster
2. Releases stress and tension
3. Improves circulation
4. Flushes out toxins
5. Clears negativity from your aura
6. Cleanses your chakras
7. Strengthens your immune system
8. Speeds up the healing process
9. Restores your energy levels
10. Brings you fully into your body and fully into the present moment
11. Cheap and environmentally friendly
12. Clears negative thinking

I'm no expert on chakras, auras, or the immune system, but the rest of this seems right on the money to me.

When the water is truly cold, a prolonged stay in the sauna is especially welcome. Leaving too soon leads to the physical sensation known as "afterdrop."  Afterdrop is a continued cooling of a person's core temperature during the initial stages of rewarming from hypothermia.  It is attributed to the return of cold blood from the extremities to the core due to peripheral vasodilation.  In a nutshell, this means,  "stay in the sauna until you get warm or you'll regret it."  The resulting enforced collegiality makes us prisoners of one another and slaves to each others' stories, opinions, and statements of true fact.  And some of the facts are actually true.  The clubs are populated by a mix of people from walks of life ranging from homeless to venture capitalist and from research scientist to commercial fisher.  Police, firefighters, physical therapists, astronomers, salespeople, gardeners, architects, actors, musicians, techies, lawyers, doctors.  Its a cornucopia of backgrounds and the range of expertise is vast. At its best, this positive social interaction is the fifth vehicle for increasing chemical levels and fostering an addiction to cold water swimming.  Scientists have shown that the chemical signal dopamine plays an unexpected role in social interactions. Mary Catherine O'Connor reports on the Smart Planet website that the key to the success of Facebook is the designer's focus on stimulating friendship and collaboration.  The designers are trying to mimic the power of serotonin, another neurotransmitter that contributes to feelings of happiness in humans.

As powerful as this cocktail is on its own, a sixth endorphin stimulus is sexual arousal.  However, this dopamine trigger is not as reliable on a daily basis as the other five and a discussion of the South End birthday swims and the wearing of birthday suits is a topic all by itself.

Sauna True Facts of the Day

In the twenty-four years that I've been a member of the Dolphin Club, I've known two or three people that could swim in the cold San Francisco Bay, take a normal-length shower, and not warm up in the sauna. For the rest of us, swimming in the winter means spending about one minute in the sauna for every minute spent swimming. Leaving the warm room too soon leaves a person performing a hypothermic dance in front of their locker and scampering back to the sauna to finish dressing. This enforced collegiality makes us prisoners of one another and slaves to each others' stories, opinions, and statements of true fact. At its best, this positive social interaction is the fifth vehicle for increasing endorphin levels and creating an addiction to cold water swimming.

One recent true fact cost a club member ten dollars. Phil Fernandez reported that the Pope had commissioned a perfume maker to concoct a personal scent in the same vein as Madonna, JLo, or Justin Bieber. The rest of the people in the sauna waited for the punchline while Phil protested the veracity of his tale. One individual was skeptical enough to make a ten dollar challenge. Unfortunately for that person, it turned out to be true that Pope Benedict ordered a custom-blended eau de cologne from Italian scent designer, Silvana Casoli. As reported by ABC News, "Casoli is not new to 'spiritually-inspired' scents. She created perfumes for pilgrims on pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. They were called 'Water of Faith' and 'Water of Hope' and were so popular that priests presented samples to the pope, which gave him the idea that he would like his very own." Now, the papal eau is one more sauna factoid to add to an extensive and growing collection.

The second sauna true fact of the day is vibrating tattoos. We were talking about the recent Tattoo Expo at the Cow Palace and Joe Locke said, "They now have vibrating tattoos that tell you who is phoning or texting you." Not one to readily squander ten dollars, I waited until I had finished warming up and consulted my internet search engine of choice. Sure enough, Nokia has applied for a patent for a material that's attachable to the skin and would produce a micro-vibration triggered by a nearby electronic device. Who knew? While not all sauna true facts are actually true, the hugely varied membership and expertise of the club members makes it risky to contest what may seem to be an astounding assertion. The next major breakthrough might be a heat-tolerant smart phone.

Jonesing for Squares

The Polar Bear swim ended last Wednesday. Many cities boast “polar bear” swims. In Chicago and Boston, bathers wade into Lake Michigan and the Atlantic on New Year’s Day and stay for several seconds. In the arctic countries, people cut holes in the ice and immerse themselves as many as two minutes. The Dolphin Club Polar Bear swim lasts all winter. It runs from the Winter Solstice on December 21 until ending on March 21 with the arrival of the Spring Equinox when the water temperature is between 48 and 53 degrees. This swim was the inspiration of Bill Powning and began in 1974 when the requirement was set at twelve miles. An official notice on the sign-up sheet some few years ago proclaimed that “the use of wetsuits and/or swim aids is viewed with scorn and contempt." This sentiment has not changed.

Members keep track of their distance in quarter-mile increments on large, quadrille-ruled charts mounted at the entrance to the club. Logically, swimmers often refer to the distance they’ve covered in a day in terms of squares. “We did four squares today—at least a mile.” Since 1984, earning a polar bear requires swimming forty miles (or 160 squares) in the San Francisco Bay or equivalent cold, open water. For swimmers over the age of 60, the benchmark is 80 squares. Over the course of a winter, the sign-up sheet develops a personality as members exercise artistic license to record their daily distance. Making these individualized marks on the chart after each swim bestows a sense of completion and confers a coda on the cold water plunge.

The chart becomes a touchstone, a measure of resistance to mortality. The deep satisfaction associated with marking squares creates a craving that any addict would immediately understand. When the chart was moved this winter to allow workers to repair the lobby floor, many of us experienced “square shock.” Our beacon was mislaid. Our anchor had dragged. Although realization dawned quickly, the feeling was visceral—a shock to the solar plexus.

Now that the Polar Bear is over for this year, the chart is dismantled and square withdrawal has set in. The chart is not just temporarily relocated. It is gone. It is history. The unique configuration of colors and patterns contributed by the 135 participants this year is obliterated like a Tibetan sand mandala. It has left a vague, empty space in our souls. I can't wait until next winter.

Landmarks of Aquatic Park

Like any geographic boundary that humans share, Aquatic Park Cove has named landmarks. (Clicking on the picture of Aquatic Park in the sidebar of this blog will link to a larger annotated chart). Of course, depending on the humans consulted, the names vary. In particular, a member of the South End Rowing Club will give different names for buoys than will a Dolphin. Different Dolphins will give different names depending on when they joined the club and what time of day they swim. The main reason for having names at all is to allow two or more swimmers to quickly plan a course around the cove without pointing, squinting, confusion and repetition. Having shared names doesn’t necessarily cut down on the repetition and confusion, but it does quell the pointing and squinting somewhat.

"The Flag"

One landmark that almost everyone knows by the same name is the Flag. It rests near the shoreline at the Van Ness end of Aquatic Park. The Flag is the artistic creation of Colin Gift. It has been in the cove for more than thirty-five years and, conveniently, has a swiveling fiberglass flag on top of a rectangular, fiberglass-coated piece of marine Styrofoam. The flag itself is a vibrant red and yellow replica of the international maritime signal flag representing the letter “O” and indicates, in solitude, “Man Overboard”. This is the flag that both clubs use on pilot craft during an out-of-cove swim to warn ship traffic away from the swimmers in the water. The clubs recently refreshed the colors and the iconography of the buoy. When, as happens around every five years, the Flag breaks loose from its ground tackle, members of both clubs react as if they had lost their life's beacon.

It is just a little less than four hundred yards from the clubs’ beach to the Flag. In the colder parts of the winter, some swimmers count this as a quarter mile. The more competitive and obsessive will insist that it is closer to a quarter mile from the Oprah to the Flag.

Thayer and "Duke" buoy at bow

The Oprah is the buoy that keeps the bow of the sailing ship Thayer from banging into the Hyde Street Pier. The Oprah got its name from the eponymous talk-show host when she was filming a segment in San Francisco and pointed toward the buoy to make some theatrical point. Only Dolphins call it the Oprah and I like it that there’s a story and a short name for, “the buoy at the bow of the Thayer."  In the winter of 2016-2017, Duke Dahlin swam 400 miles to shatter all previous records for the Polar Bear season.  In honor of this achievement many Dolphins now refer to the Oprah as the "Duke" or, sometimes, the "Duke-rah."  Granting Ms. Winfrey historical precedence, some call it the "Okra."

Driving to the extreme north of Van Ness street brings one to the San Francisco Municipal Pier.  Built in 1929, it curls around and defines Aquatic Park. Only emergency vehicles drive on the pier now and it bears the trauma of age and ocean. Where the pier attaches to land at the foot of Van Ness, three creosote poles stick out of the water up to twelve feet depending on the tide. Because they resemble American football field goal posts, they are cleverly known as the Goal Posts. It is definitely more than a quarter mile from the Oprah to the Goal Posts.

The Muni Pier has been structurally reinforced a number of times. One of the larger repairs is easily spotted from the water about three quarters of the way around. My friends call this The Repair and, while it doesn’t currently have a buoy marking, it is still a common swimming destination. Because it doesn’t have a buoy, people of various swimming speeds can go to the Repair and arrive at the same time. For those that are afraid to swim close to the pier and the fishing and crabbing lines, the Repair is more of a notion than an exact spot.

Roundhouse, Opening, and Jacuzzi

Muni Pier ends in a bulbous plaza that Dolphins call the Roundhouse. It is possible to swim under the Roundhouse. There are broken, barnacle-encrusted pilings to negotiate at the perimeter, but it’s not terribly difficult. When it’s very dark and the water is clear, a swim stroke produces a sparkling luminescence that is beautiful and magical. The quality of light under the Roundhouse is also remarkable at dawn and dusk.  SouthEnders call this structure the "Wedding Cake."

A cigarette buoy resides just beyond the confines of the Roundhouse. It sits between the Muni Pier and the Breakwater. In the 1980’s, a string of used tires provided scant protection for the cove. Storm surge and wakes from passing ships rolled freely into Aquatic Park making it a much wilder place to swim than it is today. With the construction of the concrete breakwater extending from Hyde Street Pier to Pier 41, our swimming hole experienced a major upgrade. The cigarette buoy marks the Opening. The Opening, like the Flag, is common terminology among all swimmers.

At the Hyde Street end of the Breakwater is a structure with concrete piers radiating from a circular capstone. When the current is flowing strongly in San Francisco Bay, this area is subject to incredibly forceful swirls of moving water. Owing to the water jet effect, many swimmers refer to this structure as The Jacuzzi. As it turns out, the capstone of the Jacuzzi is flat on top but has a pronounced recess underneath. When the highest tides bring sufficient water to seal off the outside of the capstone, 2 to 2 ½ feet of air remain trapped in the underside nook.

In order to enter this space and breathe the trapped air, the swimmer must dive beneath the surrounding capstone and surface in the center chamber. The radiating cement piers create a bit of an obstacle course so the prudent aqua-spelunker will feel around under the capstone for an opening before diving. Since this part of the structure is very rarely in contact with the ocean, it’s completely free of barnacles, starfish or other abrasive critters. The concrete is still quite hard, though, so a more experienced and chastened diver will advise a hands-first-not-head-first approach.

East of the Jacuzzi is a large orange buoy to which the hay scow, the Alma, is moored. This buoy was a favorite target for one of the faster Dolphins, Becky Fenson. When she was training for her English Channel swim, she cruised around this landmark many times. This buoy demarcated the boundary beyond which Dolphins were forbidden to swim at the time. The then-current president of the Dolphin Club was taking the motorized club boat, Arias, out for a spin one day and spotted her swimming two yards east of this point.  He spun the boat around, leaned over the pontoon, shook his finger and shouted, "Bad Becky!" A large group of Becky's friends delighted in this story and decided to name the buoy the Bad Becky. Since then, the National Park Service has installed a cigarette buoy slightly beyond clearly designating this as protected swimming area. Nevertheless, the name has stuck and its origin has faded into history. Many people now wonder who was Becky and what was it that she did here that was so bad.

The cigarette buoy just north of the Bad Becky acquired its own name in 2013 when Peter Perez tied the then-current Polar Bear record of 356 miles.  Not a supremely fast swimmer, Peter set this record by swimming three or four times every day while working full time.  He soldiered on through a severe case of shingles and clearly earned a buoy of his very own.

Balclutha

Moored at the north end of Hyde Street Pier is the 300 foot Balclutha. It is a steel-hulled, three-masted sailing ship built in 1886 and had a starring role in the film “Mutiny on the Bounty.” At her stern is a mooring buoy called the Kebbe. Mr. Kebbe is the first person to have swum 356 miles during a Polar Bear. This amounts to almost four miles every day for 90 days. When Dolphin Club member, Peter Drino, was crafting a series of fifty courses around the cove for his "Polar Bear Challenge" event, he needed names for buoys that had none. He decided to honor George for his Polar Bear achievements.  Some years later, Tom Keller recreated the Polar Bear Challenge and renamed this buoy the "North S'more" because its rusted white crust makes it look like the camper's toasted marshmallow treat.

George Kebbe

The mooring buoy at the bow of the Balclutha has many names among Dolphins. Peter Drino named it the "Luigi" in honor of the Dolphin Club commodore, Lou Marcelli. In Tom Keller's nomenclature, this is the S'more.  Some people call it the "Wenzel" to honor Ralph Wenzel, the second person to match George's record of 356 miles for the Polar Bear season of 2006-2007.

The next boat south from the Balclutha is the Eppleton Hall, a 1914 steam-powered, paddle-wheel tugboat. It is moored end-on to Hyde Street Pier, so it’s possible to swim behind it. It’s not so easy to swim behind the Balclutha or the Thayer as they have numerous pipes and cables snaking through the water to the pier. Also, debris tends to collect in the back eddies on the east side of these boats.  Certain SouthEnders and Dolphins refer to this corridor with affection as "Rat Alley."  Directly behind the Eppleton Hall, however, the swimming is relatively unencumbered and adds a modicum of distance to help round out a full mile around the cove.  Tidal flows are funneled through this area occasionally creating incredibly strong currents, especially on a flood tide.  The rudder at the stern of the Eppleton Hall is a thin, scimitar-like metal protrusion that invokes the appellation, "Blade of Death."

Eppleton Hall and "The Moon" Buoy

Just south of the bow of the Eppleton Hall is a buoy mooring the stern of the Thayer. Mr. Drino named this buoy the "Moon" in honor of a long-time Dolphin who devoted extraordinary hours to painting and maintaining the club. For the Keller crew, this is the "South S'more."

That brings us back to the Duke/Oprah/Duke-rah/Okra. All of these landmarks encompass about one mile. It takes a different amount of time to swim this course depending on the current. At the end of an ebb, there can be a “spin cycle” effect where the current is moving west at the shore and east at the Opening, helping a clockwise swimmer along. Other times, there is nothing but resistance the entire way.

There are other transient landmarks in the cove, but this describes the more permanent ones. Taken together, they populate one of the best swimming holes in the world.