2015 NYD Alcatraz

Alcatraz Viewed from Northwest

At 5:30am on New Year's Day in San Francisco, the traffic is sparse and the walk through Aquatic Park is dark and quiet.  Shattered bottles strewn in profusion across the landscape testify to the revelry the night before, but no revelers are awake to provide any details.  As if it were suffering a massive hangover, the City seems almost comatose.  Opening the door to the Dolphin Club, the contrast is stark and startling.  Lights are blazing from every fixture and the hubbub and press of over a hundred milling bodies gives the feeling of having popped through Alice's looking glass.  The crowd has assembled for the yearly swim on January 1st from Alcatraz island to Aquatic Park and the atmosphere crackles with excitement, fear, and anticipation.

Two clubs split organizational responsibilities for two annual joint events.  The SouthEnd Rowing Club manages the NYD Alcatraz swim.  The Dolphin Club oversees the more logistically challenging Escape from Alcatraz triathlon.  This year, the SouthEnd planners have segregated the NYD registration.  Dolphins register at the Dolphin Club and bare their right arms for the black magic marker that brands each swimmer with a consecutive number prefixed with a "1".  This extra digit distinguishes us from SouthEnders.  Swimmers from the adjacent club have their left shoulders marked sequentially without the preceding numeral.  Check-in at the finish line will also be segregated.  With the SouthEnd dock on the returning swimmers' left and the Dolphin dock on the swimmers' right, the alternate shoulder markings will expedite the job for the timers and recorders from each club.

A freelance photographer, various large cameras slung about his neck, has tracked down Diane Walton on her last day as president of the Dolphin Club.  Reuters news service dispatched him to get pictures of the New Year's Day Alcatraz swim and Diane asks me to provide guide service.  We exchange pleasantries on the dark, cold deck at the back of the club as people shuffle about preparing pilot craft; wishing loved ones well; or just huddling against the freezing wind piping out of the east-northeast.  The photographer and I agree that when we reach the boat to take swimmers to the island, we'll just see if he can meld into the crowd and board with us.

The separated registrations naturally cause members of the two clubs to congregate apart until time to go next door for the swim briefing at 6:30a. As we begin trooping to the front exit, word filters back that the door at the SouthEnd is locked and untended.  This gives me a chance to show our guest a walkway between the two clubs that winds up narrow stairs to a passageway overlooking the three handball courts.  On the SouthEnd side of the walkway we descend an even narrower and steeper staircase evoking comparison to the Winchester Mystery House.  We take our place beside a 4-oared barge under construction gaining an unobstructed view of the briefing station.  For the first time, I see my companion snap a few photographs.

Lovely Martha

The SouthEnd swim director begins the briefing instructing 49 Dolphins to board the Lovely Martha and 49 SouthEnders to board the Silver Fox, both docked along Jefferson Street in the Fisherman's Wharf.  The dozen or so remaining swimmers will catch a ride to the island in one of the motorized inflatable craft.  With a few more general instructions, he turns the briefing over to Gary Emich for course information.  Gary has personally logged over 1,000 swims to and from Alcatraz and he operates a commercial piloting service for private swims.  He speaks with great authority and says that although high winds had forced a cancellation of the test swim the previous day, his experience in similar conditions indicates the ebb tide will kick in about halfway across the channel.  He recommends that the fastest swimmers aim for the sailing ship Balclutha and that "mere mortals" aim farther east for the Jeremiah O'Brien and the "creakers."  The basic principle is to avoid being caught west of the "opening" and having to fight a building ebb to get to shore.  Because this day coincides with a massive "king tide" the currents at their maximum will stymy even the most powerful swimmers.

Briefing over, we file out of the clubhouse.  The photographer skips ahead down Jefferson Street snapping away.  Boarding the Lovely Martha with the other Dolphins, we meet no challenge to his presence verifying that our strategy of asking forgiveness rather than seeking permission is paying off.  The captain is driving from his station below so we have the flying bridge to ourselves, giving the photographer a superb vantage point to ply his craft.  The rising sun gradually mutates the clear, cloudless sky through a spectrum from midnight to navy--ultimately displaying the cityscape behind Fisherman's Wharf on a canvas of imperial blue.

Before Lovely Martha leaves the dock Dolphin swim commissioner, John Nogue, begins a roll call.  Although rare, it happens that swimmers disappear between the club and the water taxi.  Broken glass, familial entreaties, or just a general change of heart can bring someone to their senses and a u-turn.  If the individual, through embarrassment or laxity, fails to notify one of the event authorities, pandemonium eventually erupts when it appears that a swimmer has gone missing in the Bay.  By the time all Dolphins have answered to their name, the SouthEnders in the neighboring boat are in full snort.  In parody, their swim leader shouts out, "Roll Call! .... Is everybody here?"  Upon receiving the cackling responses of "present," "here," and "sober" he hollers, "Is anybody not here?"  No response.  He then merrily announces, "Then let's swim!"

The two boats cast off and slowly motor out of the wharf.  As the gas dock slides by, the Reuters man exclaims over the wholly unanticipated water-borne perspective and does his best to capture the beauty of the old boats tied to Hyde Street Pier.  The motion of the Lovely Martha adds a couple of knots to the piercing wind slicing out of San Pablo Bay and my companion asks in dead earnest, "Don't you get cold?"  Of course the answer can only be "Yes."  After a brief moment we both laugh.

As we pass by the end of the breakwater protecting the boats docked at Fisherman's Wharf, I explain why this location is named "creakers."  In the years before the concrete breakwater was installed, a string of floating tires provided partial protection from the storm surge capable of wrecking the fishing fleet.  These tires were anchored on the east end by three long creosote-soaked posts sunk deep into the Bay ooze.  Once the permanent structure was completed, these posts remained for several years, loosening in the incessant waves and making an eerie creaking noise.  The name survives long after their removal.

As we motor into the San Francisco Bay, the ripping flood tide collides with the opposing wind spawning a confused and lumpy sea.  Beautiful but daunting.  Swimmers are going to be swallowing some saltwater today.

The two boats coast to a stop on the southeast end of the island within a stone's throw of the sign warning of dire consequences for aiding escaped prisoners.  Within a few minutes we hear the call "10 minutes" float across from the Silver Fox.  I leave the photographer to his own devices, strip down to my swimsuit and goggles and stuff my clothes into a plastic bag.  I know from experience that the start often goes unannounced and want to be ready to slip over the side as soon as I see the first SouthEnders splash down.

The day before, the SouthEnd lead pilot published a Fleet Utilization Plan directing the Dolphin pilot craft to take up the west flank of the swim and remain on the southwest end of the island until the start.  Since the Dolphins supply 38 pilot craft compared to 17 from the SouthEnd, the usual flotilla doesn't surround the two swim boats before the start.  This is a bit of a blessing in that I can jump from the wooden rub rail without fear of colliding with some water craft.  Upon seeing the expected and unannounced splashes from the South End boat, I slide into the cold water and start stroking for shore.

As a swimmer whose speed ranks as "mere mortal" my strategy for these cross-current swims is to sight on the Golden Gate bridge.  Breathing on the right side and keeping my course parallel to the bridge ensures that I am swimming perpendicular to the current regardless whether it's flooding or ebbing.

The cross-current swim of greatest renown is the English Channel.  Distinguished Channel Swimming and Pilot Federation pilot, Mike Oram, has published several analyses of Channel tides and piloting strategies and they mostly boil down to the notion of "T-ing the tide."  The quicker a swimmer can get across the adverse current and get some assistance from the ebb, the faster the crossing time.  Trying to swim against the current just wastes energy and time.

As intellectually and mathematically satisfying as this strategy might be, a swimmer needs great discipline to maintain execution when the island starts sliding rapidly away on the right, the Golden Gate bridge keeps shrinking, and the Jeremiah O'Brien fades into the distance.  Immediately, the flood begins scattering swimmers across the bay with the slower ones being swept toward Treasure Island.  Pilot coverage is exceptionally sparse during this period for a couple of reasons.  First, two-thirds of the pilots had started from the west side of the island as instructed and were fighting the northeast wind to reach the rapidly dispersing pod being forced east.  Second, the swim plan made no provision for retrieving the numerous plastic bags full of clothes when the water taxis return to dock.  This means that all the motorized inflatable pilot craft from both clubs are crammed to the gunwales with garments and incapable of rescuing swimmers until they have made the 30 minute round trip to drop their bundles at the club docks and return to the scene of the swim.

Forbes Island

Three quarters of the way across my discipline deserts me.  Despairing of seeing the Jeremiah O'Brien continually recede, I begin crabbing against the tide.  Like a dehydrated man chasing a mirage, I claw my way toward a diminishing objective.  Eventually reason reasserts itself and I realize I just have to take my medicine and swim directly to shore until I eventually find the ebb current.  150 yards from Pier 39, I look up to see Forbes Island far to my right and gliding yet farther away.  Choking down a moment of panic, I determine to keep going due south until I find the ebb or find a ladder along the shoreline.  If all else fails I can swim around the breakwater west of Pier 39, pull myself onto the dock, and walk back to the club in my skivvies.  In a "darkest hour before the dawn" moment though, I shortly find myself crashing through the flotsam that delineates the crease between two converging currents.  I have finally found the ebb.  And it is strong.  6.8 feet of water has to get through the narrow opening at the Golden Gate bridge by 3p and I am now swimming in water that is in a hurry to get a head start on its exodus.

I am not alone in catching the ebb far, far east of the Aquatic Park opening.  Even the fastest swimmers of both clubs have been swept east of the creakers before finding the favorable current.  And the slowest swimmers have been carried as far as pier 35.

The inflatables are now busily at work, fishing tired swimmers out of the water and ferrying them back to the clubhouses.  In all, 15 swimmers (7 Dolphins and 8 SouthEnders) choose to retire early--somewhat less than 15% of the starting number and exceptionally high even for a tough swim like NYD Alcatraz.  A SouthEnd inflatable picks up a Dolphin husband and wife pair near the east end of the Pier 39 seawall.  As usual, the communication frequency chosen for this SouthEnd swim is channel 69 and the pilot radios his status.  Asked what numbers the swimmers wear, he says he doesn't see any markings on the left shoulders.  Instruction come crackling back over the radio to check the right shoulders.  Upon finding that the boat is carrying Dolphins, the lead pilot issues guidance to SouthEnd pilots to no longer rescue Dolphins.  "They can take care of themselves."  Upon reaching the creakers, the husband and wife ask to be dropped off so that they can finish swimming to the beach.  The pilot sniffs, "I'm not dropping you fools off here.  I'd just have to pick you up again."  He carts them the rest of the way to the dock.

Upon catching the ebb, a back eddy ushers me slightly inshore so that I cruise first by the Pampanito and then the Jeremiah O'Brien at Pier 45.  Cutting inside the breakwater at Fisherman's Wharf, the building ebb quickly propels me west where I thread between the Hercules and the Eureka; under Hyde Street pier; behind the Eppleton Hall and stroke for home feeling equal parts relieved and elated.  My crossing has taken 1 hour and 11 minutes compared to my previous high mark of 55 minutes.  Without question, this was one tough swim.

The gaiety in the men's sauna reflects the struggle of the swim.  When Mickey Lavelle arrives, the party shifts into high gear as the small wooden enclosure booms with the chorus of tenor and baritone voices joined in uproarious sing-along of Irish ballads and cowboy songs.  The circulating bottles of whiskey probably contribute to the high spirits.

The swim trinket is a towel emblazoned with the SouthEnd logo along with the date and name of the event.  Unlike previous NYD swims, no mention of the Dolphin Club appears.  Not enough towels are available for all swimmers so the SouthEnders enjoy first dibs with a promise that Dolphins will receive theirs when the reorder arrives.

Every NYD Alcatraz swim spawns its share of stories.  It is a cold, difficult, unpredictable swim and swimmers and planners must deal with whatever Mother Nature decides to dispense on the given day.  However, more than one Dolphin was heard to ponder in the days to come, "Hmmmm.  Separate registration, separate water taxis, separate fleet plan, separate start, separate rescue craft, separate check-in, separate trinkets, no mention of Dolphin Club.  What is it that makes this a joint swim?"